Woke up out of a surreal slumber, my head covered in sweat, resting like an inanimate thing on the flesh pillow of some sleeping whore’s meaty thigh. As she slept on, I looked around the dark little cubicle, suddenly feeling a bit surprised to find myself there curled up beside her like a cat seeking shelter from a storm burst. A cacophony of 20 jukeboxes was blasting the usual distorted noise all at once outside the door. The overall impression of waking up there in the middle of that pounding Saturday night whorehouse was of a giddy childhood funhouse carnival ride, or gliding through multicolored space in a flashing crashing pinball machine of music and color and life.
The girl, I remembered as I sat up and reached for a cigarette, had passed out blissfully beside me, lured into a drunken sleep by the unusual soothing post-fuck caresses I’d given her. I’d even managed to sneak something resembling a kiss from her flaccid gaping drunken blowhole while I fucked her into a state of boozy submission. Another rare occurrence, I mused as she snored on beside me. When she finally woke up, she asked me the time. Knowing the customary hour was up and she was expected to check in back at the bar, she hastily threw on her skimpy dress and hurried down the spiral stairs, blowing me an automatic kiss over her shoulder. I felt sleep wrapping me up like a blanket as I reluctantly pulled on my boots and followed her down into the dark little bar downstairs.
As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw a few bored looking whores mingling with shadowy drunks there. The girl I’d just slept with (literally) was sitting alone at a little table in the corner. On my way out the door, I stumbled over and put a fiver into her hand so she could have a drink on me.
It was only after I was out on the street again though, limping down the pissy cobblestone road that it struck me; the sad, almost tragic little look she shot me as I blew her a kiss and disappeared back into the crowded alley… as if to say, “I wish we could have stayed up there sleeping together. That was nice.”
Or maybe it was just my imagination.
© Jonathan Shaw 2010.
Great story. If a tip isn’t a good sign of humanity I don’t know what is!