50. Even Sluts Can Be Entertaining
I was in a large protected harbor, on a mooring ball, among 200 or so boats. This was a very popular stopping point for boaters of all kinds. Sailboats, power boats, big ones, little ones, old boaters, young boaters. It was all here.
While onshore tending to some office business late in the day, I overheard a group talking about a local bar. I eavesdroped on their conversation to find out more. About a half mile down the road was a classic dive bar. It was called The Monkey. Being bored, I decided to walk there and pass judgment. Dive bar or just pretending?
The parking lot was about equally divided between rusted out pickups, motorcycles, and old beater cars held together with duct tape and chewing gum. The place looked sketchy but I went in anyway.
Dark and dank. The smell of stale cigarette smoke, years of spilt beer, with an undertone of puke. It was a godawful place. A motorcycle gang had commandeered one of two pool tables. The loud crack as they broke the racked triangle of balls pierced through the jukebox music and the undertone of chit-chat. A few utterly foul sluts were clinging to the bikers, worshiping them. I noticed one biker was sitting on a bar stool in the corner while one of the foul sluts was sucking him off. Another biker was standing behind her pressed up close. Her tiny shorts were pulled to one side and he was fucking her greedily.
I found an empty stool at the far end of the bar. A sleezy looking girl wearing way, way too much makeup waited on me. She was chewing gum, open mouthed, making snapping noises. Classy, I thought. "You gonna order or what? I ain't got all day."
"Just a Budweiser please." She slammed open the cooler, grabbed a bottle and slammed the cooler shut all in one fluid motion. Popping the top off the bottle was equally smooth. She slammed the bottle down on the bar in front of me sending a shot of foam up about 3 inches and making a mess. "That'll be five dollars." I peeled a ten off my money clip and slapped it down on the bar.
"Keep the change, darling."
This seemed to win her approval. Her tone and attitude clearly shifted. "Gee, thanks, mister. Let me know if you need anything else." As if to demonstrate her innuendo, she reached her hand down the top of her shirt and adjusted her bra around some big fake tits.
The barmaid sauntered away, taking her station at the far end of the bar. She was huddled with three barflies engaged in girl talk. All three were ratty looking. They had on three variations of the same outfit: daisy dukes cut so short and worn so low I wondered why they even bothered, and tops designed to show as much cleavage and sidewall as possible. They used their fake boobs as bait for their next fix.
I guess a 100% tip had not been seen at the Monkey in some time. The barmaid was telling her cohorts about it, nodding her head my way. The others straightened up, rearranged their boob display and began some animated conversation. I'm guessing they were talking about me because they'd point and kept surveying me. Their discussion quickly escalated, getting louder and louder, until you could clearly hear them. Soon they were shouting at each other.
"You think so, bitch?! You're nothing but a skank. I could whip your ass with my eyes closed!"
"Yeah, Carla?! You and who's army, cunt?! Get the fuck out of my face before I deck you one!"
The first girl, Carla, jumped up, ready to fight. "Come on, whore! I've had enough of your bullshit! Gimme your best shot, slut!" She pushed the other girls shoulder. "Come on, Brenda! Come on! What? Are you afraid of me or what?" as she pushed her again.
That did it. The two whores got into a knock down, drag out brawl. They were grabbing each other's hair, pulling and twisting, kicking and screaming. A couple of the pool table bikers came over to watch. "Twenty bucks says Carla gets whupped tonight. You on?"
"Yeah, I'll go twenty. Carla's not been herself lately. Especially since that accident on Toby's bike. Kinda set her back, know what I mean? Her blowjobs just ain't the same no more. But she's scrappy, ya know? I think she can still take Brenda."
The girls flailed around, wrestling, kicking and punching each other. Brenda spit on Carla's face, sending her into a Tasmanian Devil fury. They grabbed, punched and wrestled, finally falling to the floor. The biker guys were all crowded around now, calling out encouragement to one or the other girls.
"Kick her in the cunt, Brenda! Carla's cunt ain't no good no more anyway!" "Stomp the shit out of her, Carla! Brenda's nothing but a fat pig anyway!" "Rip her fake tits off!"
The sluts kept on fighting, rolling around on the floor, pulling hair, slapping, punching. Finally, Brenda managed to break free and stood up. She kicked Carla in the groin causing her to double up in pain. Then she stomped on her ass causing two of the biker dudes to restrain her. "Ya owe me twenty, dude."
The fighters were even nastier looking than before. Blood dripping from Brenda's nose, Carla had a bleeding cut by her eye, dirt and blood smeared over their chest and arms. Hair looking like a fright wig, makeup smeared every which way.
Unbelievably, instead of going to the wash room to clean up, they simply walked out, arm in arm, as if nothing had happened. Blood and dirt, smeared makeup on their faces, disheveled hair and all, acting like besties. As they walked out, Carla said "you drive, Brenda. I don't feel like it. And stay in your fucking lane! You can't get another DUI, bitch. You've got three already."
This dive bar was definitely not pretending. Shit! They even had live entertainment!
