Do You Think Bartenders Drink When They Get Home?

March 14, 2011 § Leave a comment


You come home from his place smelling like old man cologne, red wine, and elderly ballsack. When he comes you don’t dare look him in the eye. It’d be like getting caught peeking out the blinds at someone you suspect is stealing something from the neighbors. You just take his old cock in your hand, in your mouth, in your pussy, and you close your eyes tight and make a few sexy noises as his old jizz drips out of him like the running nose of a dirty kid in a trailer park.

You used to play with those kids, and the boys liked you a lot then, too. So did their fathers, uncles, and brothers. Sometimes their grandfathers, if spry enough, took a shine to you as well. Someone always had a silty bottomed two foot kiddie pool to sit in on summer days feeling the eyes of those men and boys on your belly, your legs, and they’d always keep an eye on your mouth.

In that movie about that hooker who gets to change her life because she fucks Richard Gere in a penthouse suite, she and her hooker pals don’t kiss a man on the mouth. Now men like this one, they’ve seen that movie, and they think you’re being special for them by letting them kiss you. At least the movie did that. Maybe if they made another movie where hookers wouldn’t let a man wear cologne around them you could stop going home at night stinking like Ed Hardy for the elderly.

You come home from his place and you drop your money in the bedside drawer. You drop your clothes straight into the washing machine, then march through the house to your back steps where you stand naked and smoke a cigarette. You don’t know how long you were out there, but the clothes can be changed over, and you head to your bedroom, brush your teeth, weigh yourself, take a shower, lay down in bed and grab your vibrator. When you come, you keep your eyes open. There is nothing that beats an orgasm after a long night of giving them away.

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