Home Free

Not crossing the avenue, I bust a sharp left onto 58th street towards 6th Ave. Move faster now, time is stalking me. I enter Nation, this cute little supper club notorious for sugar daddies and escorts. The joint is owned by Big Dee, the guy behind some of the hottest nightclubs in the city back in the day. Clubs in the city are hush now, only prostitutes and tourists go clubbing anymore. Germs and gentrification changed community boards into concerned citizens who are against social gatherings due to covid-19, but in actuality they don’t want their million-dollar condos above a noisy, cop sprawling, drug dealing, vomit and piss stinking party block. 

Once upon a time though, Big Dee owned the livest joints up and down the West Side. We partied with celebrities, designers, CEO’s, mobsters, you name it; the city was ours. That was before bottle service, guestlists or promoters, the door host would just pick you out of the crowd. All you had to have was the right look and the right shoes to get in. And if you got picked and your friends didn't, too bad. The credo was, if you don’t get in, you’ve gotta get the fuck outa the way.

Now the scene is all fucked up and corporate with who has the most money to spend on a room full of gold diggers dressed in fashion nova looking for losers with lil dicks and big chips. The promoters are always tryna fuck, the bartenders are robbing you, the bouncers are bullies and the DJ’s play all the same noise. I’m good.

I didn’t come here to party; I came to get the job done. I walk down the stairs, straight to coat check. I pass my treasures and my jacket through a small dark window. 

With a folded $20 bill in my hand I stare the coat check girl dead in the face and say, “Don’t touch my bags and I’ll take care of you”.

“Yes, yes of course Miss.” Chick must be around my age, pretty face, definitely the shy type, she couldn’t look me in the eye. I resent her for her innocence, her ignorance. Her life has already been planned out for her since birth, no need to veer off course with independent thinking. Grow up, go to school, get debt, work hard, pay taxes, get married, have babies, die of cancer. Her mind was free from wish or worry. I chose a different path, do or die.

I glide in the corner pocket of the bar to scope the scene, pretending to call on the busy bartender. The air smells of steak, wine, lilies, cigarettes and pine sol. The spot is crawling with suits: stockbrokers, wealth advisors, real estate brokers and the type; self-proclaimed fucking masters of the universe boasting their latest conquest over brandy. A live band plays in the background, the girl softly sings Alicia Keyes’ “New York” set. 

Conversations echo off the wide mirror behind the bar; “Rich, the market is volatile and at this rate, with Brexit, the elections... the questions of growth positive stimulus in the US and the Eurozone folding will fuck everything up...I love risky markets boys, I make a lot of money when the world collapses….” An older man clinks his glass with three junior broker schleps.

What is the economy? Who is it? Where is it? The boogieman, the myth on everyone’s lips but who dare has ever seen this monster known as the economy? How much money does it have? What’s it gonna do next? It’s temper wilder than a bull, its hunger ravishing like a bear. While the band of thieves speculate the next move as good as bunch of gypsy fortune tellers floating in private jets, sniffing your retirement money up their nose while fondling underage call girls. But who am I to judge, right?

Two dolled up escorts in their mid thirty’s sandwich an old bald slug, drooling with money as he chews on an unlit cigar, they giggle wildly. 

“When are we going to Saint Barts?” one hustles while the other orders more shots.  

I look at my phone and answer a call “Hold on I can’t hear you. I run back to the coat check girl, “Let me get my coat I have a call.”  

“Just give me a minute this place is too loud.” I shout loud enough for people to hear. 

I run back outside and race across the street to the scene of the crime. I take the side entrance on 58th street where some employees are standing around smoking cigarettes. I rush in like one of them and wind up the bleached back staircase to the main lobby. There are three guys from down south waiting for the elevator. Damn that’s a sexy accent, I love cowboys.  

The attraction is received; “Howdy mam” the tallest salutes.  

“Pardon?” I lay out in a thick French accent. ”I zon’t zpeak Eengleesh veghy muush.” I dart my eyes down in bogus embarrassment. I can’t be bothered with these dudes. They kept talking about I don’t know what as they stand behind me eating my ass alive. They press 9 on the elevator so I press 10, let them get off first, then go back down to the 7th floor.

Room 723 is worse than how I left it. It looks like a monkey’s whorehouse, a rock and roll fuck fest, a fucking Kubrick catastrophe. Only constant is little Billy boy, seated exactly where I left him, dick in hand, snoring like mad. Hah! If you didn’t know me, you’d think he was fucking all this time. 

I return his black card and room key back in his wallet. My clothes drop to the floor and I kick my shoes off in opposite directions. I check his phone for any security alerts from Amex. There are no notifications besides a bunch of calls and text messages so I check his email real quick. 

Bam, there it is, American Express: Spending Limit Alert! I delete it, don’t even read it then turn the phone off, and drop it in the ice bucket, now just ice water and diluted champagne. 

I find the hotel’s body lotion on the bathroom floor, squeeze the entirety of the sweet jasmine smelling gunk all over Billy’s hands, smearing some on his hairy chest and shoulders.

In my purse I keep some spunk (Methylcellulose aka fake cum) for the finishing touches. I spread a generous amount on his limp dick and slowly stroke, spitting on his belly and thigh for extra lubrication. It’s always a 50/50 chance that the sleeping beast will rise to its master. Fine by me when the beast obeys because on a subconscious tip, his mind will copy what the body is presenting in the physical, and it will create a wet dream or lucid erotica as a memory to mimic the body’s actions. 

The brain is constantly filling in the gaps presented by outside stimuli in our environment. Like when you don’t really feel hungry till you smell or see food. Or when a girl fucks a guy and begins to feel emotions of love for him because the act of sex, methodically speaking, is an act of love. So, because you are ‘making love’ physically the brain will trick you into believing you are, in fact, actually ‘in love’ emotionally. No one is gonna admit to that, right? I know I sure don’t. Love’s fucking overrated anyway. The point is your brain is constantly creating  with illusions that complete the picture and prove a justifiable story. 

Put it to you like this, if Billy’s dick is hard, his mind will tell him that we had sex, even if he doesn’t remember it, even if we did or didn’t do it, his brain is reacting to the bodies sensations (my stroking) and his imagination will do the rest of the job for me. 

Plus, if a man wakes up with a hard on, next to moi, he’ll usually believe whatever I tell him happened. Especially these old farts who need a Viagra to get stiff, a hard dick is a miracle for them. Damn it’s good to be young.

There I go caressing his flaccid dick up and down, up and down, slowly rubbing the fake gizz all over his balls, spitting on his dick, stroking, spreading the sticky stuff on his inner thighs. I think I feel it pulsing, but it could just be the vibrations of his heavy snoring. After about a minute of rubbing and tugging, he starts to moan. Houston, we’re ready for takeoff. 

I position his hand with his watch on his thigh, his dick in my mouth, and take a selfie on my phone. Another snap of us kissing. Evidence if I ever need it. Damn his big dick is getting huge! See I told you the brain is fucking stupid. That’s my cue to quit it, Romeo’s bout to wake up any minute now. I lay my naked chest on the couch, ass up in the air over his lap like he’s about to spank me, feet dangling over the couch. I place his left hand on my left butt cheek and relax, awaiting the climax. 

I need to control my breathing, take it slow babe. Breathe in and out, calm down, it’s all over now. I focus on my breath and meditate for a few, waiting for the GHB and Special K to dilute out of his system. I feel satisfied, like a lion that just feasted. 

I meditate on the days adventure. Hermes is a plastic surgeon? If those are Catwomen am I Batman?  Woah, I might need therapy. That shit is so crazy I’d be locked up if I told anyone about it. Well, I mean, who am I kidding, my whole life is criminal, at least I can plead insanity. Fuck that, only dummies and big mouths get caught. Thoughts are moving a million miles per minute.  

I relax my face into the pillow and imagine myself floating face down in the sea, it’s just me and the water. The sun is jealous of our romance, he tries to burn my skin but I dive deep in the waters heart, away from the psycho fuck in the sky. I’m singing all alone in the sea, little nursery rhymes no one knows but me.

Time doesn’t exist when I think like this so I’m not sure if a minute or an hour pass when Billy starts to rouse. He sounds like a corpse coming back from hell, in total zombie apocalypse mode.

First, he scratches his hairy chest. Play dead! Billy grumbles, coughs, snorts, spits and curses, that’s my cue. I kick my heel hard on the side of his ribs, let’s get crazy baby.

“What the fuckkkk!!!!!!” He screams like a bitch. 

“Who the fuck are you?!”I blast off the couch “Where am I?!” my naked body screams in his face. 

“Relax honey, just let me think for a second.” He recognizes his watch on his arm and tries to find the time with blurry eyes. 

“Think?! Think?!” the question shakes the walls; I dig the room for my things. 

“What is happening?” I wail like a child who got caught doing something wrong. 

“Where the fuck is my phone?” he’s mumbling to himself. 

“Where is my purse?!” I yell back at him, throwing the dining room chairs over, I’m in full panic mode. 

“Slow down sweetheart, just slow down.” He gets up off the couch and attempts to calm me down, grabbing me by the shoulders. 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” My raspy whisper and glaring eyes are more threatening than any shout. He got the message and put his hands up, don’t shoot.

“I swear to God I don’t remember what happened. Let’s just sit for a minute to think. Please just calm down.” He’s so sincere, I bet he wears the same face to his wife after she catches him with other women. 

“I don’t care what happened. I need to get out of here. I have a fiancé!!!” I raise my left hand to show off the ring. 

“AHHHHHH!!!! Where the fuck is my ring?!!!!” Veins are popping out of my neck. I have the cutest tiny little vessels on my forehead that form a pyramid every time I holler.

“Stop screaming you gone get us kicked out. You swallowed it don’t you remember?” 

“What are you talking about I swallowed it? Who the fuck is you trying to play?” I find my pants and put them on without any panties.

He stares at me for a minute then rushes into his bedroom. My eyes follow him searching through his briefcase. I pull my bra from under the couch and clasp it on. Relax Billy, your money is all there.

“What did you do to me?” I’m sobbing through closed eyes and my mouth is hanging wide.

“You lying fucking cunt!”

“Cunt? Yea I am a cunt.” I grab a shoe from under the lamp and point the heel towards him. “A cunt that you just raped!!”  His hands are shaking now, naked body pulsing, eyes wide like a six-year-old that just shit himself. 

“Just get the fuck outa here ok.” He’s shook, scared to death, scared to look.  

“No. Now I’m not leaving. I’m calling the fucking cops. I need my fucking ring.”

“I swear to God you swallowed it downstairs at the bar! You’re fiancé stood you up and you broke your phone and swallowed your ring you crazy bitch!”

“BITCH?!” I’m about to attack. 

“Prove it.” My voice is calmer, pretending I believe him, but my eyes still raged in fury.

“Prove it? I dunno. Go check the cameras at the bar. I swear I don’t know what happened. Maybe someone spiked our drinks. Check your phone, you broke it before you swallowed your ring.”

“LIAR!” 

“Look at your fucking phone. Please, please.” He’s looking around for something, maybe his pants. His eyes absorb the crime scene. “What the hell happened here?” 

“You fucking LIAR!!!” I pull out my real phone; an uncracked, fully intact, brand new iPhone from my purse and wave it in the sky. His face drops. 

“Why are you fucking with me?” He clenches a fist, he wants to hit me, he doesn’t. Still though, I should get going. I’m franticly moving around the room grabbing my things. It’s time for the grand finale.

 “Please please please just tell me what happened. I won’t call the cops I swear. Just don’t let me live the rest of my life not knowing what happened.” I stare at him till my eyes start to swell up. “Please!” I beg. 

He collapses on the couch. “I don’t know what happened. Honest to God I don’t know.” He’s rubbing on his eyes. 

I crouch on the corner as if I’m looking for something and take a sip of ipecac from out my purse. In a minute I’m vomiting all over the carpet in front of the TV, leaking out my eyes, drooling down my mouth and snooting out my nose. 

Billy jumps off the couch to investigate the plasma, fingering through my multicolored macaroon yoke, “See, see!! It’s right here, it’s right here!” a sparkling diamond shines through his slimy fingers. He grabs my hands, still on his knees and proposes a peace treaty to me, slowly returning the ring to its finger. 

I look at him with compassion, naked in my vomit, balls hanging, mind spinning, what a sorry site. 

Slowly I rise up, grab my shoes and my purse all the while locking eyes with the stupid bastard. Stupid to think he could have me without paying the price. Stupid to think he could fuck me.  

Without another word I grab my coat and back out of room 723. Billy’s hands are on his face, his back is heaving. I think he’s crying, what a sorry little bitch.