Kill Whitey

“Make love?” Jesse shook his head. “Dude, that’s top shelf, Grade-A pussy. You don’t make love to something like that. You fuck the shit out of it and then you fuck it again till your dick falls off. Then you pick your dick up and fuck it some more.”

Darryl laughed. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jesse. That’s why you don’t get laid—because you don’t know shit about women.”

“I get laid.”

“In your dreams, maybe—if the chick is blind. And retarded.”

“Fuck you, Darryl. I know women.”

“You don’t know jack. You’re a novice.”

Jesse shrugged. “Oh, yeah?”

“Hell, yeah. A woman like that—every swinging dick, would-be player in the world is trying to fuck her. Anybody can fuck. Fucking is easy. Fucking is what animals do. You want to impress a woman like that? You gotta be different. You can’t fuck her. You gotta make love to her, instead.”

Jesse sat back and didn’t reply. He seemed thoughtful, as if Darryl had just handed him the Holy Grail. I wondered if he’d use the information, or forget about it like he did everything else in life.

My attention returned to the stage. I grabbed a cocktail napkin and mopped sweat from my forehead. Sondra wound around the brass pole jutting from the center of the stage. The spotlights shimmered over her body as she arched her back and ground her pelvis against the pole. Her long, black hair flowed over her back, swaying seductively. She twirled around the pole and I snuck another glance, checking out her perfect, heart-shaped ass.

It was lust at first sight.

Think I’m being crude? You weren’t there.

I popped wood, and pulled my t-shirt down over my crotch.

Jesse must have noticed my reaction, because he started laughing at me.

“Larry,” he said. “You’re allowed to look at her, you know. You don’t have to be sneaky about it and shit. Fuck, what are you, like twelve years old or something?”

I glanced at Sondra again, watching her glide across the stage. She did a split and I got harder.

“Do you know her?” I asked Jesse.

“Hell yeah, I know her.” He fumbled a wad of bills out of his pocket. “Her name’s Sondra Belov. Russian chick. She started here a few months ago. But before that, she used to turn tricks. Maybe she still does.”

“What?”

“You know Lou Myers? Works out in the yard? The cab jockey?”

I nodded.

“He told me that she used to work at that massage parlor in York. The one on Princess Street. Turned tricks in there. Twenty bucks a pop. I ain’t bullshitting you, man. She’s a ho. He banged her a couple of times.”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“Can’t. I haven’t gotten a lap dance yet.”

As if on cue, a strawberry blonde approached our table. She smiled at Jesse and jiggled her hips. Her body sparkled with glitter. She was short, but well-proportioned and really, really cute.

“Hey there, player.” She slid alongside Jesse and ran her fingers through his hair. “I see you brought along some friends.”

“Sure did. This is Yul, Larry, and Darryl. We work together. Boys, this is Tonya.”

I nodded, barely acknowledging her. It was hard to take my eyes off Sondra.

Jesse slipped a ten dollar bill into Tonya’s g-string. “My friend Yul would like a lap dance.”

“H-hey,” Yul stammered. “I d-didn’t…”

I glanced away from the stage. Darryl and Jesse were laughing. Grinning, Tonya began to gyrate in front of Yul. Her hands slid over her breasts, then down to her flat stomach. Yul’s mouth hung open.

“T-that’s okay. You really don’t have to—”

Tonya put a finger to his lips and then sat on his lap, slowly grinding against him. Yul closed his eyes and sighed. Darryl and Jesse slapped each other the high five.

Funny as it was, I turned my attention back to the stage, studying Sondra. Her belly button was pierced and a small diamond glittered in the spotlight. Her stomach was flat and flawless. Jesse was full of shit. Nobody that perfect could have worked as a whore. Especially not for a measly twenty bucks. I’d seen hookers. You could find them in downtown York and Harrisburg, or you could watch them on episodes of Cops. Sondra didn’t look anything like those women. She seemed fresh.

The number of guys around the railing had noticeably increased as soon as Sondra began her performance. They crowded around the stage, waving money and calling out to her. Sondra complied, noticing each and every one of them. I noticed the looks on their faces as she’d move on to the next guy. They all looked satisfied, as if she’d danced for them and them only. Halfway through the song, she shed her thong and teasingly draped it over a customer’s head before tossing it aside. She was partially shaved. Had a nice little landing strip of dark pubic hair and nothing more. Her lips were as full and perfect as the ones on her face. Crouching, she arched her back and spread her legs. Even from where I sat, I had a clear view. It was like glimpsing Heaven.

I melted.