I could hear a siren going off somewhere in the distance. At first I didn’t react, just treating it as background noise; just like any another siren on an emergency vehicle that’s a couple of blocks away, on the way to deal with another trauma in the suburbs of Houston. You hear it but you know that it has nothing to do with you, so you just get on with whatever it is you’re doing. The moment that I made the sub-conscious decision to ignore the alarm it seemed to become more urgent …….. then it seemed to be right alongside me …….. then on top of me ……….. I came back into the waking state like I was being sucked down a tunnel and dropped back into my body. The realization hit hard; I open my eyes, only to be overwhelmed by a feeling of exhaustion. These fucking lucid dreams are driving me to distraction. Every fucking night, it doesn’t matter how tired I am, it seems that as soon as I fall asleep, I enter into another world ……… another reality ……….. another life. A life which seems determined to ensure that I wake up feeling as though I have not slept in weeks! Mind you, if the truth be known, I am not exactly living what one might term a normal life!
As the image of the room starts to come into focus, I am aware of a musky odour and recall that I never made it home last night. I have been working the Clubs for almost five years now and although I hate to admit it, I have lost count of the nights (or mornings!) that I don’t actually get home in time to get the kids ready for school.
Easing myself out of bed, I feel the hand on my shoulder pulling me back under the duvet. I feel the power and urgency in the grip as I am hauled gently but firmly towards the muscular physique of the guy who offered to ‘drive me home’ from the club at 2am this morning. It would seem that we didn’t make it home! Thanks to a few lines of coke, we partied for at least another four hours. I ache all over from the acrobatics that we had to perform last night in an attempt to get my partner of the night to orgasm. Any thought of sleep was out of the question for either of us until he had achieved his magic moment; for him because he had his image and reputation to protect ………. and for me? ……….because I have an image and a reputation to protect! Of course I know its all bullshit………. but for the time being at least, this is the life that I have. I was going to say chosen to lead but that would not be strictly true. It’s the life that I happen to find myself in at this particular juncture. I’d be a liar if I said that I wasn’t enjoying it at some level ………….but screw all that for the moment…. right now, it would seem that I need to satisfy my big, black seven foot three inch lover one more time before I can get home and catch a few hours of real sleep, ……….prior to meeting my kids off the school bus at 3.30pm.
Holy shit, these basketball players are big boys …….. if you catch my drift! About half of the team are occasional visitors to the club, with big money to spend on a good time. Needless to say, I saw a few pissed off faces glaring at me when I climbed into his black & gold Custom Van …… but I’ll deal with that later. For now, I have to take care of the task in hand …….. literally and metaphorically!
Without the delaying effects of the coke, it doesn’t take more than a few minutes to complete the task. This guy is so huge and so athletic that he is able to keep his almost entire weight off of me as he takes great care not to penetrate me too far. To be fair, this particular hunk of prime beef is one of the more considerate local sportsman ………he at least makes an effort to give the impression that he wants his partner to get as much pleasure as he himself derives from the situation. He is also one of the few who will automatically use a condom; although this may have something to do with the fact that he has a wife and three kids at his million dollar home on the edge of Memorial Park! The wives of these guys are either oblivious as to what is going on when these guys are ‘out of town’ or shut it out of their minds and just accept that it is the price that they have to pay to maintain their pampered lifestyle ………………… and they call me a Ho!
The ‘Big Man’ is heading towards his crescendo …… I tighten and relax my vaginal muscles around him in concert with his thrusting. As his pace quickens I arch my back and go into my peak moment routine. I learned long ago that there is a direct relationship between the perceived intensity of my moment of 'arrival’ and the amount of cash left on the bedside table at the moment of departure! It never fails to amuse me that however much I exaggerate the final moments of sexual ecstasy, male vanity will always ensure that they hold on to the belief that that have just been responsible for giving me the most amazing orgasm …….. ever! Sad …..but true.
The Big Man falls off of me a sinks in a heap alongside but after just a few seconds of near hyper- ventilation, he’s heading for the bathroom ……. I smile at the sight of his over-sized but now flaccid manhood looking absolutely ridiculous with the extension of the condom hanging off the end ………. the teat of the condom wafting around his knees. He smiles back, oblivious to what is really causing my amusement, blows me a kiss and disappears into the bathroom. My gaze follows him as I look up to take an admiring glance at his muscular butt.
Somehow I doubt we will be sharing breakfast together….. in fact, he will be more concerned about getting out of the hotel without being seen with me in tow. This didn’t seem to bother him when he checked in just before 2:30am this morning but now he is viewing the world without the benefit of the Champagne and Coke bravado that possessed him when we arrived.
He and all his sporting compatriots are extremely fortunate that the press boys do not delve too deeply into the personal lives of these local icons. The asshole hacks that work on the Houston Chronicle are just as likely to be found in the clubs trying to get their rocks off, on the cheap. The pro sportsman will spend an average of $1,000 for every hour that they are in the club, whereas the hacks expect the same level of attention for less than $100 ……… for the whole fucking evening! Then they wonder why none of the girls want to sit with them ……….. fucking losers!
The ‘Big Man’ lopes out of the shower. His physique is truly exceptional; his black skin glistening with what appears to be a hint of gold mixed in with the water drops sparkling in the early morning sun, which is now streaming in through the window of the Marriott Hotel at Houston Intercontinental Airport. I cannot help but watch him; a long way removed from the flab of the majority of loud-mouthed, uncouth Rednecks that form the mainstay of the punters at Cover Girls. He walks over to the chair where he had laid out his clothes with the care of a British butler. Not really surprising when considering that the casual appearance of his tight-fitting sweatshirt and designer jeans belie the fact that they are hand-made and probably cost in excess of a $500 a piece ……. more than the value of my entire frickin’ wardrobe!
He sits down to slip on his hand made loafers ($1000+ a pair), then stands up and reaches into the right rear pocket of his jeans and pulls out a wad of folded notes. Without even bothering to count it, he throws the wad onto the beside table and walks towards the door. It’s as much as I can do stop myself making a grab for the wad but I just prop myself up on one elbow, casually letting one breast hang out over the top of the duvet, smile and gush, “Thanks big fella’ you’re one real gent. ......... Will I see you again?”
He smiles back but doesn’t answer and walks over to the door. As he opens the door, he turns and says, “Thank you, ma’am….. that was one hellava night …..now you make sure your cute lil’ ass is out’a here by midday and I’ll see you again ……..soon! Now y’all have a nice day.”
With that, the door closed behind him and he was gone. As soon as I heard the door click, I couldn’t hold back any longer and dived across the bed to reach for the wad of notes. I unfolded the wad and started to count the $100 dollar bills. One, two, three ……….. fucking jackpot! $1,000……… not bad for a night’s work, especially when added to the $1,400 earned in dances and tips earlier in the evening. At least I can pay the baby-sitter for last night and the rent for the month ….. which was due a few days ago. The exhaustion hits me and I am just about to give in to it and fall back to sleep. I lean over to put the cash back on the bedside table, when I see a small baggie on the floor beside the bed. It’s about half full (or half empty if you prefer ………but I’m an optimist!). The Big Man had lost it the night before, even accusing me of ‘hiding’ it! I hadn’t but now I had a source of energy to at least get me home.
I emptied the contents of the back out onto the glass coffee table, reached for my purse and tipped the entire contents out onto the sofa, in my rush to find a phone card with which to get the white powder lined up. I could feel my heart-rate increasing with the anticipation of the pending fix. As soon as the powder was divided into two neat parallel lines, I took one of the ten crisp $100 bills from the bedside table, flattened it out and rolled it up; leaning forward and moving the ‘straw’ up to my right nostril in one practiced action. Pushing the index finger of my left hand hard up against my left nostril, in one deep breath, I snorted a whole line in one fell swoop. I fell back into the sofa and waited for the wave to rush over me. It took about five seconds to feel the full force of the rush. A few seconds later, I was good to go. They don’t call this stuff ‘Columbian marching powder’ for nothing!
It is always good to take a long hot shower after a night of coke enhanced sexual activity …….. and this morning was no exception. The buzz from the unexpected top-up had given me the energy to get my butt movin’. Once showered and dressed, I went back to the coffee table and snorted the remaining line up through my left nostril ........now I was really good to go!