My First Mistake

My first mistake of the night was telling the guy who flags down cabs at my hotel that I wanted to go to Chica Bonitas. I figured being up front wouldn't hurt. Boy, was I wrong. He said that I didn't want to go there: it's too far, it's too rough, it's too this, it's too that. He talked to the cabbie about it, and they were talking about the Library.

And like a damn dumb PL, I got into the cab, where I got the same thing from the cabbie: it's too far, it's too rough, it's too this, it's too that. So he took me to Scores. I told him again that I wanted to go to CB, but he argued that it'd cost me $45 to get there. Okay. Fine. Scores it was then.

Where I paid $50 for the cover, something I told myself I wouldn't do. They checked my ID and, if I remember right, they wanded me, too, then showed me to a table. On entry, a slender, dark-haired dancer greeted me, followed a beat later by a tall, cute AA (I think; it's tough to tell sometimes with the lighting in these places), with a full, very well-done set of breasts . The server was soon right on top of me. Ten dollars for a Coke, with a five-dollar tip (my choice).