How do you sleep at night?

I am not ashamed at the following story, but I am still surprised.<br />
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Not so many years ago, I went to Kansas City for a professional conference.&nbsp; The hotel was nice, and the supper with my colleagues was great.&nbsp; After too much liquor, and too much food, I shared a ride back to my hotel in hopes of passing out and getting &quot;sleep&quot; before the next long day of meetings and seminars.<br />
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No dice. <br />
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I watched a bit of TV.&nbsp; Nope.&nbsp; I bought a pay-per-view dirty movie, and &quot;helped myself&quot; to its Happy Ending.&nbsp; Lights out.&nbsp; Quiet.&nbsp; Cool.&nbsp; No sleep......<br />
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I took a shower.&nbsp; I read for a while.&nbsp; No dice.<br />
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It was past midnight and I flipped through the Yellow Pages and contemplated calling an Escort service.&nbsp; Instead, I got up, dressed in a clean shirt, stuffed $400 into my pants, stuffed the ID and Debit Card into my sock, jammed the wallet under the mattress and left to go to a strip club.&nbsp; Any strip club.&nbsp; I couldn't sleep, and I needed to satisfy some urge in a way that&nbsp; wasn't possible in my hotel room.<br />
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I drove to Temptations.&nbsp; At the time, it was called something else.&nbsp; It was a grimy, full-nudity, no booze strip club with a reputation for high mileage.&nbsp; I parked on a very dark street in front of the club and entered under the blaring neon advertising &quot;FULL NUDE GIRLS.&quot;&nbsp; The freight at the door was something like twenty bucks and a pretty girl &quot;patted me down&quot; for weapons and squeezed Mr. Happy on her way through the frisk.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; THIS is what I was missing.&nbsp; The joint was new to me, and it was dark and smoky and loud and, well, perfect.<br />
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I paid the VIP upgrade and donned the neon wristband.&nbsp; My bottled waters, the rest of the night, were paid for.&nbsp; I was eligible to take a girl back to the VIP and give it Hell.&nbsp; I was set.&nbsp; I slipped into a &quot;safety&quot; seat fifteen feet from the dance floor, cracked my water and hunkered down for the night.&nbsp; It was then that I was relaxed.&nbsp; I understand now that the supper--though tasty and more than filling (and on someone else's tab!)--was not as great as I originally thought.&nbsp; It was a <i>business</i> dinner.&nbsp; I was in KC and it wasn't steak.&nbsp; It wasn't Barbecue.&nbsp; It wasn't Stroud's fried chicken.&nbsp; It was some fancy little bullshit bistro with froofy bullshit greens instead of lettuce and trendy bullshit fish and &quot;special&quot; bullshit Chilean wine and I was surrounded by <i>business</i> associates, not my friends.&nbsp; No wonder I couldn't sleep.&nbsp; I was way too wound up from puttin' on the happy face, when all I really needed was a charred-rare KC Strip, a potato with enough dairy product to clog ALL of my arteries, nine beers and a cigar.&nbsp; Here, at my home away from home, a strip club, I would relax.&nbsp; I could feel it.&nbsp; I breathed in the acrid second-hand smoke, closed my eyes and knew that I was home.&nbsp; <br />
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Home.<br />
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The girls were average in looks and way above average in attitude. I watched an entire rotation, bought a couple of stripper drinks and teased a couple of really young, thin ones how great it would be if an old, fat guy like me could score one of them just one more time, for fun.&nbsp; I was laughing and lying my way through the night when a blond Amazon that looked like something out the old days of Roller Derby sat with me and crisply told me to leave the girls to the losers.&nbsp; What I needed was a woman.&nbsp; And what a woman she was.&nbsp; Jemma took me back to VIP, and with the Mamasan sitting ten feet away, ground me for two songs, stroked me for two songs and blew me for part of one.&nbsp; Damn.&nbsp; She even swallowed.&nbsp; I flipped her $100 for the dances, an extra 50 for the nut and knew that I would sleep well later.<br />
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Jemma helped me get my pants and shirt back together kissed me on the cheek and asked where I was staying.&nbsp; I told her I was at the Barney Allis Plaza.&nbsp; Room 714. (This is my favorite fake room number.) &nbsp; I told her that if the house DIck gave her shit to call me on the House phone.&nbsp; My name was Deano.&nbsp; Deano Cash.&nbsp; In actuality, I was at the Harrah's north of the river and my name is Jack.&nbsp; How could I do her later?&nbsp; She had already sucked the second cum out of me, and I was no Spring Chicken.<br />
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I left, climbed into my pickup and drove to the Harrah's.&nbsp; The quickest way would have been to take the Highway.&nbsp; I chose to cut across Independence Avenue.&nbsp; Not really a short-cut, but it cleaves the underbelly of KC and the Avenue is home to dope dealers and street-walkers of all descriptions.&nbsp; It was between 2 and 3 am, I think.&nbsp; Too late for most of the working girls, as their peak times are for the professionals going home from work and the professionals going home from the Happy Hours.&nbsp; Traffic after midnight was unpredictable.<br />
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An aside about Independence Avenue.&nbsp; This four-lane arterial used to be the business corridor for a vast residential part of the city called NorthEast.&nbsp; As the years passed, it fell on hard times.&nbsp; Crack became prevalent and cheap.&nbsp; Homeowners moved away and became non-resident landlords.&nbsp; The dregs took over.&nbsp; It was exciting.&nbsp; In the late 1980s the local police tried something called &quot;John TV.&quot;&nbsp; They would bust the girls AND the guys and broadcast the mug shots of the men on a cable access station in hopes that the prospect of public humiliation would keep the johns away from the Avenue.&nbsp; It didn't work and the program was discontinued.&nbsp; The local courts tried making certain zones of the City off-limits to the working girls on probation with the promise that they would go to jail if found within the boundaries (which included <i>2 miles</i> of the Avenue).&nbsp; It didn't work either.&nbsp; Dead hookers began showing up in the Missouri River and the very real threat of violence to the working women worked for about a month, and then, after a cool drag off the crack pipe, sanity was restored and the girls stopped traffic and participated in the stream of commerce.<br />
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I took Independence Avenue for one reason, and one alone:&nbsp; after Jemma, the tips, the door fee and the drinks, I still had $110 left in my pocket.&nbsp; An Avenue girl might fuck me in my truck and let me truly have my way with her for half that.&nbsp; I was still horny.&nbsp; Worse yet, I was feeling a ravenous appetite for illicit sex like I had never felt before.&nbsp; I had never picked up a street-walker.&nbsp; It NEVER appealed to me in any way, and I am one of those guys that takes care even in strip clubs to be careful about cooties.&nbsp; I had ONE rubber left.&nbsp; I wanted to soil it inside the played-out, sloppy twat of an Avenue girl.<br />
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My head was spinning.&nbsp; I was blinded by this alien lust.&nbsp; I drove in circles for a while, toying with the idea of returning to the club (I still had my wristband, and would not have to pay cover again) and spending the cash on Jemma.&nbsp; Or one of the young, skinny ones.&nbsp; Or the black goddess with the tattoos on her ass.&nbsp; It was decided for me, by some instinct deep in my groin, to go to the Avenue and see what I could find.<br />
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I wanted a young one.&nbsp; Yeah.&nbsp; Twenty or so.&nbsp; One that is such a desperate addict that she didn't realize that if she cleaned up and got straight some Sugar Daddy would find her and keep her and she would never have to hook for a pimp again.&nbsp; One that might still be tight.&nbsp; Yeah.&nbsp; I turned off of Admiral and headed east on Independence Avenue, watching my rear-view for cop cars and the sidewalks for a girl.<br />
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I didn't see a single girl.&nbsp; Could it be that the cops had come up with a new strategy that was working?&nbsp; Perhaps in the passage of time the girls found a new place to ply their trade.&nbsp; I had heard that the West Bottoms were heating up with hookers, but NOT A SINGLE ONE?&nbsp; <i>On the Avenue?</i><br />
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I turned around and headed West trying to decide if I would go back to the club, make another pass on the Avenue or just fuck it and jump on the highway.&nbsp; I turned around again.&nbsp; I drove a bit slower, as I was the only vehicle on the road.&nbsp; Two girls emerged from the shadows in front of a Groceria and waved at me.&nbsp; I pulled off the Avenue onto a side street, and by the time I could come to a stop and roll down the window, one of the two was already there.&nbsp; It was precisely at this point that I understood the depth of this particular miscalculation.&nbsp; I had never done this before.&nbsp; I had NO clue what to do next.&nbsp; I did put the window down a touch more than half-way, but I left the door locked.&nbsp; I hoped the woman beside my truck would talk me through the process and not take advantage of the situation.&nbsp; I did NOT want her to know that I was a noob.&nbsp; But I was.<br />
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The one at the window looked to be anywhere from 25 to 50 years old.&nbsp; Hard to tell.&nbsp; No wrinkles, but bad skin.&nbsp; No teeth.&nbsp; Nice hair. Long and dark. &nbsp; Smelled of alcohol.&nbsp; Grinning that goofy toothless jack-o-lantern smile and giving me the hard sell.&nbsp; The blond behind her acted timid and more innocent.&nbsp; Obviously younger.&nbsp; Both were wearing short skirts, high-heeled boots and jackets.&nbsp; It was late October.<br />
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The young crone at the window wanted me to drive to her &quot;pad&quot; and agreed to multiple pops, oral and full service, for $100 for 30 minutes.&nbsp; She agreed to oral only, one pop, for 50.&nbsp; While she was grinning in a way that she mistook for appearing demure, she told me that Greek is reserved for regular customers only, and for $200 I could become a &quot;regular&quot; and own her ass, too.&nbsp; Too high.&nbsp; It was late and the cars were slowing to a trickle.&nbsp; She needed cash, or she wouldn't have flagged me down.&nbsp; I told her It thought is was too high and asked what her girlfriend cost.&nbsp; <br />
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Was I really doing this?&nbsp; Haggling with a hag?&nbsp; Acting like I was too good to pay that kind of scratch to fuck her IN THE ASS?&nbsp; The entire scene was intoxicating.&nbsp; I was in my early 40s and my dick was so hard a cat couldn't scratch it.&nbsp; The whole thing was so tawdry, so dirty and so foreign that I was turned on beyond belief.&nbsp; Then the blond spoke.&nbsp; In the soft soprano usually reserved for the ingenue, she asked:&nbsp; &quot;How much do you have?&nbsp; Please.&nbsp; I need the cash.&nbsp; How much can you spare?&quot;&nbsp; She looked about to cry.&nbsp; I liked her second question better.&nbsp; How much I could spare was a shitload less than I had on me.<br />
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I barked at the brunette that she should shove off and let me talk to her girlfriend alone and I would decide if I wanted to do them both.&nbsp; Her eyes lit up like she was still in the running, and stepped toward the sidewalk.&nbsp; I clicked the lock and the blond got in.<br />
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I closed the window, locked the door and drove away.&nbsp; I went about six blocks and she didn't say a word.&nbsp; She didn't give me any directions or ask any questions.&nbsp; I told her I was looking for a private place to get a better look at her.<br />
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I pulled into the parking lot of a Safeway supermarket and put the Silverado in park.&nbsp; I turned to look at her and found she was very pretty.&nbsp; And very young.&nbsp; She had huge tits and a pregnant belly.&nbsp; Her makeup was too thick and too tasteless and I could see she had a lazy eye.&nbsp; That imperfection only added to my desire I had for her.&nbsp; She said her name was Layla.&nbsp; I chuckled to myself, were Derek and the Dominos wailing in the background when her Daddy emptied his spunk into her Mama?&nbsp; How could you hang a name like that on a kid?&nbsp; She had long and shapely legs that were a bit heavy and she unzipped her jacket to show me her boobs.&nbsp; She asked again how much I could spare and told her that if I gave her all that I had that she would have to agree to come to my hotel with me, fuck me all night, in any way I wanted, and that I would get her cabfare home.&nbsp; She rubbed her boobs and told me that they hurt.&nbsp; &quot;My milk is coming in.&nbsp; I think I need 'em suckled....&quot;&nbsp; She trailed off.&nbsp; She told me she was seven months pregnant and it would be her second. She claimed to be 17 years old.&nbsp; I believed her.&nbsp; She had never been to Harrah's and thought the idea of fucking in a real bed with clean linen was so inviting that she might give me a discount.&nbsp; She said I had to come up with $100, cabfare <i>and breakfast</i>, and I could have her all night.&nbsp; She said she needed to get fucked as much as she needed the money.&nbsp; I gave her $100, drove her back to the bar, let her out onto the sidewalk and drove to Harrah's alone.<br />
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I didn't even listen to music on the 15 minute drive.&nbsp; Rain began to fall and the only sound I heard was the wipers scraping to and fro.&nbsp; I reached the neon and plastic universe of the casino, and it was so late that even Valet parking was closed.&nbsp; Fuck it.&nbsp; I parked there anyway.<br />
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I went back to my room and laid awake until the alarm went off at 6 am.<br />
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