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"Thank God, I caught you," I exhale out.
"Why?" the woman's voice is harsh, like she's stopping herself from slapping me. "Did you want to take me up there to your sex room?"
What the fuck?! I look at her with confusion. The anger in her voice makes me flinch.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask her.
"That's what you do, don't you?" she asks. "You fuck girls. And then throw them away?"
What was with this bitch?
"Isn't that why you ran down to catch me?" she asks. Fuck, she's got a fucking edge to her. Normally, I'd just call her a bitch and walk the fuck away. I'm not wasting my time on some fucking feminazi bitch. No pussy is worth that much.
But this one somehow is, because I stand there, just taking the abuse.
She's looking at me, her eyes raised. "Well?" she asks.
I notice out of the corner of my eye that the man she was with is looking worried. Like he wants to intervene. I'm not sure what his deal is. Maybe her manager. Can't be her fucking pimp. Somehow, she doesn't fit the mold.
"Sorry, love," I say, wondering what else I can say at this moment. Fucking Prince Sin - yeah, don't look at me like that, I kind of am taking a shine to the fucking name - all of a sudden without anything to fucking say.
"It's just that when I saw you on stage, you reminded me of someone I used to know. A long time ago," I say quietly. Her eyes widen and I don't know why I say it, but I fucking do, "A happier time."
That fucking takes her back. She wasn't fucking expecting that. "Who?" She asks me. "Another slut you slept with?"
"Where the fuck is this hostility coming from? Jesus fucking Christ, love," I exclaim. "It's like you hated me before I even got here."
"I know who you are," she says with a sneer.
Oh. Fuck. Me.
She must have seen me on the fucking telly. Waving my Godzilla cock around like I'm fucking drunk. Which, considering the vast quantities of booze, I can safely say I was.
I'm about to try and explain my way out of my actions when she asks, "Who was it?" She looks at me, and for a moment I think it might be her. That it might really be Alicia. But fuck me, that was so fucking long ago. After my mom died when I was thirteen, I remember coming back to school and wanting to talk to Alicia. She was the prettiest girl in the school. Smart and funny, as well. But above all, she was kind. I remember after Mom died on the first day back I felt an urge to talk to her. Fuck, I even got as far as getting up the courage to walk up to her. But fuck me, she was so fucking pretty when she turned my way, I had nothing. I froze. Couldn’t speak for the life of me. So what did I do? I fucking pushed her into the pond that we were walking next to. And after a moment, I ran away. Dad was pissed, of course. He said I needed more structure. Fuck that. I needed a father who didn't cheat on my mother and beat her. Didn't force her into an early fucking grave because she gave up on fighting the cancer. I can count the number of fucking times I've thought that if my father had only been nicer to Mom, treated her like a real fucking human being, maybe she would have been able to survive the fucking cancer as it ate her away.
Anyways, where was I? I'm sorry, I just got distracted, you know?
Right. For a moment there, I had the vibe that this bird in front of me was Alicia. God, she was gorgeous. And she didn't even know it. I'd managed to keep track of her until she graduated from Yale. Now I didn't know where she was.
"Someone I used to know, love," I say, answering her question. "Her name was Alicia. Alicia Bayer."
If I didn't know better, I'd think that her eyes are beginning to tear up. But she stops herself and she looks at me with a cold, hard, face.
"Well, sorry," she says. "My name is Misty."
Give me a fucking break. I know strippers have stage names. I own a strip club so I can fuck strippers, remember?
But the music is changing and the dancers are changing shifts so I'm not going to call her on it. Instead, I look at her.
"Listen, love, have dinner with me on Friday. What do you say?" I ask. Fuck, that's three days away and I want to fuck her now. But something tells me that with this girl, I need to play it right. Play it fucking old-school.
She's studying me. Like a fucking hawk.
"What's your phone number?" she finally asks. "I'll call you."
I program my number into her phone and she gives me a brief smile before walking away, without even a goodbye. I see the man she's with slink away behind her. Fucking loser. But whatever, I don't care. I'm too busy looking at that beautiful ass. I can feel my cock twitch.
But fuck me, mate. It'd be a lot easier if she were Alicia.
