6 Homes and $30 Dollars

I got pulled aside by two older white men slumped into a corner booth next to a mini stage. They literally pulled me. I had been walking toward the back stairway, and along the way, the one nearest to the walkway grabbed my arm and pulled me onto the couch. A dancer with a botched boob job slowly wove her way around the pole for them. She stepped around a little pile of ones. I sat with the man who had pulled me aside. He had recently dyed black hair, a bulbous body, and large pores, visible even in the dim club light.

Him: You are delicious. I could eat you up right here.

I smiled at him, and examined his clothes. He wore a white polo and khaki shorts with a Rolex around his wrist and thick golden class rings on his hairy sausage like fingers.

Him: You’re so exotic. You know that? What are you? Black and what?

Me: And Puerto Rican

Him: Puer-to Ri-co. Such a beautiful island. Were you born there?

Me: I was born here. I haven’t been there since I was a baby.

Him: Well, you gotta go back. I love it out there. I was just in Costa Rica. Breath taking. You’ve never seen water so clear and blue. I’ve got a house out there, you would love it.

Me: That’s cool.

Him: You don’t believe me. I’ll show you. I’ve got cameras installed in all six of my homes and I can access any of them through an app in my phone.

He squints his eyes as he flips through his phone

Him: It’s loading. I want to show you my condo in Costa Rica... Damn it. Why is my internet so slow in here?

Me: You don’t need to show me. I believe you.

Him: No, wait. Here it is! It’s coming.

He held his phone out so I could see. The app had all of his camera feeds presented in a six-by-six tiled format, and at a glance my impression was that the space seemed mostly empty and unused. Just some white walled rooms with no activity.

Him: That’s the Costa Rica condo. I’m gonna show you the house my ex wife had in Florida. She was a former Miss Philippines. I gave her this house, a Rolls Royce, and a BMW. When she filed for divorced I kicked her ass out. Ha! She thinks she’s entitled to half, but wait until she hears what my lawyer has to say.

He scrolls through his cam options and opens the Florida folder. He points to a video of the interior of a garage. There are cars (surprise), but I’m not a car person, so it looks ordinary.

Him: There! That’s the Royce, a BMW, and over there is 1963 Stingray in mint condition. I’ve got garages full of cars. I’ve always dreamed of being featured on Leno’s show about classic cars. Now that’s a collector! He’s got hundreds of cars, enough to fill a whole parking garage.

Me: I didn’t know that.

Him: Anyway, that’s what you learn from being generous. You get taken for granted. Just like now. I was waiting on a girl. She said she would be right back and now here I am, waiting.

Me: Which one?

He was waiting for my coworker, a dancer with a butterfly tramp stamp, but I’d just seen her go up to a room with a pretty Latino man. Poor spurned white man.

Him: You know what? I don’t need her. Fuck her. She’s missing out.

Me: Yep.

Him: I’m a generous man. If you were my next wife, I would buy you a house and— what kind of cars do you like?

Me: I’m not that into cars, to be honest.

Him: But if you had to pick one.

Me: I don’t know. A Camry?

He pursed his lips.

Him: You know what? I could see you in a little yellow Porsche. I would buy you the Porsche and any other car you might want if we were married— as long as you signed a prenuptial agreement. Hell, I’d even give you a million dollars if you stayed with me for two years— providing you let me fuck that tight little pussy of yours as much as I want. Are you sensitive?

Me: What?

Him: Are you sensitive? Down there?

He leaned over and whispered in my ear.

Him: Could you come for daddy?

He’s not daddy so much as granpie

Me: I’m soooo sensitive, daddy. Do you want a dance?

He agreed to a fifteen minute room, and I led him upstairs to pay the bouncer.

Him: $160?! I remember when it was $100.

He turned to me.

Him: Let’s do it for $130 and I’ll tip you the difference. I just don’t want to pay the club.

Me: I don’t set the prices.

He turned to the bouncer.

Him: I want to speak with a manager.

My manager comes down and the three of them get together to discuss the price. One minute this shit bag is telling me about his six homes and offering to buy me a Porsche, the next he’s haggling for a price difference of $30. At this point I just want to make money after the time I’d already sunk into the interaction.

After a lot of back and forth, they settle on a price, and they shut us together in the room. I’m relieved to be making money, but now I’m stuck with him in a tiny room. He dives into dirty talk.

Him: I wanna choke you with my big hard cock and have drool running down your cheeks and blow a load all over your pretty little face. Then I want you to suck on me until I’m hard again and then I wanna plow you doggy style, on the floor. Would you like that?

I try to imagine him with an erection. I can’t. I can only imagine a little limp baby carrot smushed between sweaty mandarins. Also, two loads in one interaction? Seems ambitious for a man who looks to be on the precipice of a massive coronary.

Me: Sure.

At the end of the dance he propositions me.

Him: I’ll pay you $500 to come back to my hotel right now.

Me: That’s hardly anything. I can go on a date with no sex for $1,000.

Him: $1,000?! He must be stupid. I’ll tell you what. I’ll pay you $1,000 to come back to my hotel. Take my number and let me know what you decide. I’m leaving for Costa Rica in the morning.

I took his number, and when he left I texted him that I wasn’t coming. He replied:

Him: Your loss! Where I’m going, I can buy a girl for $60 😎🌴👙