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Ethoxyethane
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Feb 24, 2015
The waning moon hung high blanketed by dense off-white clouds in the black night sky, giving the earth a fogged quality to the air. Both the moon and the clouds would remind a woman, Jane, of one thing: pills. Little cloudy white pills.
Jane was the only occupant of a playground at the late hour of nine. The cheap plastic slide attached to a vibrant colored red and blue jungle gym cradled her reclined form. Smoke riveted in ribbons from a freshly lit cigarette and uravaled in sloppy smoke swirls before evaporating into the night; ribbons broke when she drew the filtered side to her lips and drew harshly the smoke into her lungs. “This is fucking bullshit.” A sigh filled of translucent smoke escaped her loose lips. She peered inquiringly at the gate entrance slightly ajar. Did she not close the gate? Maybe she should lay off the Vodka. Her turquoise colored eyes rolled to the vodka-filled water bottle in her hand. Ack! To hell with it, maybe it would jog her memory. She wet her lips, mouth, and throat with a swig of the vicious liquid.
Too distracted and vacant she was from the burn of Vodka in her throat to notice the motorcycle illuminated with superficial blue LED lights pull up to a park spot outside the iron fence. A man dressed in all brown and midnight black unmounted the bike, revealing his bearded face from the helmet, which he sat on the bike and ascended up the elevated pathway into the park.
“Park closed at six.” His tall form stopped a few feet before Jane.
Alerted, Jane straightened her position with a measure which granted her soak in the sight of the man and for her right hand to easily slide past the waist band of her dark grey sweatpants. She did. There was brief stirring at her crotch region, face adjusting, strange with searching, and a second later produced a vacuum sealed Ziplock bag rolled tight and rubber banded with hundred dollar bills. “7K.” She launched it toward his direction.
The man caught it alight with peculiar interest and robotically held it against his flared nostrils with a long, crude sniff. His nose was big and crooked, to match his character. “That’s a 7K pussy right there.” He breathed as he shuffled the bag of cash from his nose and in his flaky over worked hands.
“Yep, too expensive for you. Now fuck off.” Jane paused and hesitantly inquired, “Hey… wait… do you know anyone who can get their hands on Valium?”
“I might… for the right 7K price.”
“Now you can really just go fuck off.”
“Yeah, real nice if AJ finds out what you just done went and asked me, Sweetheart.”
She snickered and drew a deep drag from the cigarette, “What the fuck has that got to do with me? AJ can join you in fucking yourself. It's no one's business but my own, nor does he even care.”
“WHEW! With the shit you know girly! ’course The Vueen- the V-queen- ain’t observant o’ shit. ‘less she jus’ pretending. You’re on borrowed time unless you straighten yourself up, Sweetheart. Ain’t no damn fool keeping an addict stripper liability around with them pigs roasting about.”
She knew he had a subtle point. "I'll do whatever I want and take responsibility for the consequences... Sweetheart.."
He appraisingly sucked his teeth, "Ain't you quit anyway?" The man back-pocked the baggy and half turned on the rubber soles of his muddied brown boots to exit. The wood chips he stood on shifted with the motion.
"Yep."
The Gentleman's Club: "The Most Beautiful Women in the World" - 10:12PM
The Gentleman's Club had an initial exciting scent of vanilla that would fade the further one walked in, overpowered by cigarette smoke, beer and liquor. It was a large brick building, four stories high. The first floor was dedicated to the customers: the floor was completely open and walking in there would be a mini stage with a pole thirty-five feet high surrounded by empty chairs, always empty, that hardly ever got used. A small bar wrapped against the wall to the right of it. Stairs to the left of it. The real stage and bar was straight ahead, it was a bar-stage combination that had maze-like structure for the bar tenders to stalk their way around to get to the customers who would be seated at the perimeter of the bar-stage. This club did not have feature dancers, instead there were five to twenty dancers on the stage at a time assigned in split-shifts of the hour. Dancer would walk up to the customers, whose table was their stage, and dance for the customers seated around the stage-bar: the more the girls got tipped the longer they would dance. When not working the stage the girls were free to work the floor and offer private dances. The private dance room was in the back right corner and was a room lined with love-seat style couches against the wall, open to all receiving a private dance though reserved in a closed off fashion from the rest of the club.
Upstairs, the second floor was where the champagne room occupied a portion less than 1/4 of the space. The fashion was similar to the Private Dance room on the first floor, though had couches and tables sectioned off with sheer curtains or beads. No true private room to be alone with a dancer. There were two bars: one in the champagne room and the other in the open space atop the stairs, conveniently located with two random stripper poles in front of it. More than half the section floor was closed off to the public and used as the dancer's conveniently large dressing room.
The third floor was half-walled dorm rooms available for nightly rent for strippers to stay over night.
The fourth floor was rumored to be a music recording studio. It was always secured and locked up. No one was allowed up there.
Jane seldom followed rules. That stage shift was something she employed as she saw it fit and hardly spent any time on it. Her craft of words and mysterious confident seduction and classic beauty appearance were what benefited her income, and it served her quite finely. Unless the drunkard DJ played the techno/dance music too loudly where Jane would then find her voice later in the week. Having no tolerance for such behaviors she went into the DJ booth and turned the volume down herself so she could actually have conversation enough to make some cash. She refused to tip those DJs.
However, there was one rule Jane was quite fond of: Dancers must wear exotic evening
until midnight.
There was a man alone at a bar. Jane eyed him and zoned his stance before squeezing past the empty chair next to him. Her eyes were piercing with strong intensity and mesmerizing. “How are you doing tonight?” Good or Fine was what they always said. She would not let him even utter more than the start of whatever word he would of used. “No you’re not. You don’t have a girl in front of you, you aren’t getting a dance. You’re just sitting here, bored, staring at your drink. Now what kind of fun is that to have in a strip club? None at all when you and I should be back there having a dance so when you are sitting here you will have images of me dancing for you penetrating your mind. Doesn’t that sound like fun?" Her voice was pregnant with youthful enthusiasm and expectancy, her alluring smile infectious, "Come on, let’s go!”
Jane was the only occupant of a playground at the late hour of nine. The cheap plastic slide attached to a vibrant colored red and blue jungle gym cradled her reclined form. Smoke riveted in ribbons from a freshly lit cigarette and uravaled in sloppy smoke swirls before evaporating into the night; ribbons broke when she drew the filtered side to her lips and drew harshly the smoke into her lungs. “This is fucking bullshit.” A sigh filled of translucent smoke escaped her loose lips. She peered inquiringly at the gate entrance slightly ajar. Did she not close the gate? Maybe she should lay off the Vodka. Her turquoise colored eyes rolled to the vodka-filled water bottle in her hand. Ack! To hell with it, maybe it would jog her memory. She wet her lips, mouth, and throat with a swig of the vicious liquid.
Too distracted and vacant she was from the burn of Vodka in her throat to notice the motorcycle illuminated with superficial blue LED lights pull up to a park spot outside the iron fence. A man dressed in all brown and midnight black unmounted the bike, revealing his bearded face from the helmet, which he sat on the bike and ascended up the elevated pathway into the park.
“Park closed at six.” His tall form stopped a few feet before Jane.
Alerted, Jane straightened her position with a measure which granted her soak in the sight of the man and for her right hand to easily slide past the waist band of her dark grey sweatpants. She did. There was brief stirring at her crotch region, face adjusting, strange with searching, and a second later produced a vacuum sealed Ziplock bag rolled tight and rubber banded with hundred dollar bills. “7K.” She launched it toward his direction.
The man caught it alight with peculiar interest and robotically held it against his flared nostrils with a long, crude sniff. His nose was big and crooked, to match his character. “That’s a 7K pussy right there.” He breathed as he shuffled the bag of cash from his nose and in his flaky over worked hands.
“Yep, too expensive for you. Now fuck off.” Jane paused and hesitantly inquired, “Hey… wait… do you know anyone who can get their hands on Valium?”
“I might… for the right 7K price.”
“Now you can really just go fuck off.”
“Yeah, real nice if AJ finds out what you just done went and asked me, Sweetheart.”
She snickered and drew a deep drag from the cigarette, “What the fuck has that got to do with me? AJ can join you in fucking yourself. It's no one's business but my own, nor does he even care.”
“WHEW! With the shit you know girly! ’course The Vueen- the V-queen- ain’t observant o’ shit. ‘less she jus’ pretending. You’re on borrowed time unless you straighten yourself up, Sweetheart. Ain’t no damn fool keeping an addict stripper liability around with them pigs roasting about.”
She knew he had a subtle point. "I'll do whatever I want and take responsibility for the consequences... Sweetheart.."
He appraisingly sucked his teeth, "Ain't you quit anyway?" The man back-pocked the baggy and half turned on the rubber soles of his muddied brown boots to exit. The wood chips he stood on shifted with the motion.
"Yep."
The Gentleman's Club: "The Most Beautiful Women in the World" - 10:12PM
The Gentleman's Club had an initial exciting scent of vanilla that would fade the further one walked in, overpowered by cigarette smoke, beer and liquor. It was a large brick building, four stories high. The first floor was dedicated to the customers: the floor was completely open and walking in there would be a mini stage with a pole thirty-five feet high surrounded by empty chairs, always empty, that hardly ever got used. A small bar wrapped against the wall to the right of it. Stairs to the left of it. The real stage and bar was straight ahead, it was a bar-stage combination that had maze-like structure for the bar tenders to stalk their way around to get to the customers who would be seated at the perimeter of the bar-stage. This club did not have feature dancers, instead there were five to twenty dancers on the stage at a time assigned in split-shifts of the hour. Dancer would walk up to the customers, whose table was their stage, and dance for the customers seated around the stage-bar: the more the girls got tipped the longer they would dance. When not working the stage the girls were free to work the floor and offer private dances. The private dance room was in the back right corner and was a room lined with love-seat style couches against the wall, open to all receiving a private dance though reserved in a closed off fashion from the rest of the club.
Upstairs, the second floor was where the champagne room occupied a portion less than 1/4 of the space. The fashion was similar to the Private Dance room on the first floor, though had couches and tables sectioned off with sheer curtains or beads. No true private room to be alone with a dancer. There were two bars: one in the champagne room and the other in the open space atop the stairs, conveniently located with two random stripper poles in front of it. More than half the section floor was closed off to the public and used as the dancer's conveniently large dressing room.
The third floor was half-walled dorm rooms available for nightly rent for strippers to stay over night.
The fourth floor was rumored to be a music recording studio. It was always secured and locked up. No one was allowed up there.
Jane seldom followed rules. That stage shift was something she employed as she saw it fit and hardly spent any time on it. Her craft of words and mysterious confident seduction and classic beauty appearance were what benefited her income, and it served her quite finely. Unless the drunkard DJ played the techno/dance music too loudly where Jane would then find her voice later in the week. Having no tolerance for such behaviors she went into the DJ booth and turned the volume down herself so she could actually have conversation enough to make some cash. She refused to tip those DJs.
However, there was one rule Jane was quite fond of: Dancers must wear exotic evening
There was a man alone at a bar. Jane eyed him and zoned his stance before squeezing past the empty chair next to him. Her eyes were piercing with strong intensity and mesmerizing. “How are you doing tonight?” Good or Fine was what they always said. She would not let him even utter more than the start of whatever word he would of used. “No you’re not. You don’t have a girl in front of you, you aren’t getting a dance. You’re just sitting here, bored, staring at your drink. Now what kind of fun is that to have in a strip club? None at all when you and I should be back there having a dance so when you are sitting here you will have images of me dancing for you penetrating your mind. Doesn’t that sound like fun?" Her voice was pregnant with youthful enthusiasm and expectancy, her alluring smile infectious, "Come on, let’s go!”