TWO

I had her missionary style, but didn't get six or seven inches in before I hit the back a her cunt. As I was fucking her, her aromas got me lightheaded. I lost my mind and stuck my tongue in her mouth, which was a part a the deal for a hundred dollars, never mind the fact I didn't have the money.

But you ain't supposed to lose your head over one a these girls. These girls are for maintenance. No strings attached. Pure mechanical relief. Sex without conversation, emotion, attachment, guilt, or regret. These were girls to use and abuse.

But that kiss made me lightheaded in a way I ain't never been lightheaded before. It was something I couldn't think about -- and I wasn't the thinking type.

Shit, I said to myself, this is one entanglement I don't need. So, after I finished, I gathered my clothes off the dresser.

"Are you in a hurry?" she said. She was sitting there on the bed with sperm in her eyes and it made her look beautiful.

I pulled on my clothes, then headed for the door. I didn't have nothing to say.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she said.

One thing she hadn't yet learned about Bob Collins is that he don't forget shit. There wasn't no way to explain that, though, because I couldn't remember the words to do it.

Since I was just standing there like an asshole she broke the silence:

"Where's my money?"

"That all you can think about?" I yelled, trying to act offended in order to throw her off a her game.

She looked at me like I was some sort a idiot, which I suppose most of the time I am. "You can leave it on the table," she said.

Even if I did have money in the first place I wouldn't a paid her. Bob Collins is a man a principles. Principle number one was: Never Pay Whores. But this broad was special. She just had that aura, almost like she glowed. I had to look away because each time I looked at her I got such a warm feeling I didn't wanna think a her as a hooker. And I definitely didn't want the exchange a money ruining what feelings I had. I figured if I could get out a there without forking over cash, everything would be all right. I'd go about my life and forget any of this ever happened. So I ran out the door, hoping some big black pimp didn't chase me down.

But I'd done a shitty thing to her. I mean, fucking for money ain't the same thing as manual labor, but I'd be pissed if I worked all week and didn't get no paycheck. On the way to my house, I realized I was feeling way too guilty over this whore. I had to get over her. So I took the twenty-two bucks and bought a case a beer. I spent the rest of the night erasing my memory.