Sex the Hard Way
I was out on a hard nights drinking with a married friend.
If you have any friends that are married, or have kids, you
know that quality time, which is to say adolescent drinking
binges at seedy bars with $2.00 Budweisers, is not an easy
thing to come by. I suppose my friend didnt want the
night to end when the bar closed, or maybe he just wanted
to top off a good night with some good sex, or maybe he just
wanted to fuck. Whatever the case, he wanted to get laid and
not with his wife. He lacked the skill and foresight to pick
someone up at the bar. He didnt have any old friends
or ex-girlfriends that would have been receptive to a drunk
married guy banging on her door at 4 A.M. with bad breath
and an enormous erection poking out of his jeans. The only
recourse was professional help.
Take me to a whore.
Im too drunk to drive you home, let alone to the
Take me to a whore. A big, nasty, fat-assed whore.
Shouldnt you think of your wife? You know
AIDS, hepatitis, crotch rot?
I want a whore. A snaggle-toothed, crack-addicted, track-marked
What if you get arrested? Wouldnt that be embarrassing?
I want a whore. A whore with yellow eyes and shit stains
in her underwear. A harlot, strumpet, streetwalker
You arent Henry Miller and this isnt France.
Lets go home.
Three and a half seconds passed. Okay, lets go.
I know I should have refused. I liked his wife, and his kid
was less aggravating than most. And of course, if he did catch
a disease I would be partly culpable. The comic value was
too tempting though, and opportunities like this dont
come along very often. We got into my car and swerved and
staggered to the west side.
Whores are like girlfriends. Theyre
always around when you want them least, but when you have
sex on your mind theyre nowhere to be found. If you
drive down Cicero Avenue on an average night you are guaranteed
to receive several propositions. If you are lucky, youll
even see some tit. On this particular evening, however, there
was about as much action as a church picnic. After a long
drive we saw one, but she wasnt right. Im not
sure why. What criteria does one use to judge the desirability
of one whore over another? Its not like youre
going to find Julia Roberts or Heidi Fleiss down on Cicero
at four in the morning sucking dicks for a twenty. Four limbs,
no peniswhat more could you ask for? Regardless, we
ended up driving for over an hour, passing up three or four
Whores that somehow werent up to snuff.
Then he found her. Like star-crossed lovers, ships in the
night, or something like that: a drunk married guy and a dirty
prostitute. She was six feet tall at least, in a dirty tattered
pink slip dress that showed off her hairy legs and chocolate
skin that managed to be both ashen and greasy. We pulled up
to the curb and she approached. Yep, my friend sure did call
it; yellow eyes, rotten teeth, you could even smell the shit
in her underwear when she leaned into the window. All he had
Ill admit Im not all that streetwise and I never
thought about what I would say if I ever had to proposition
a whore. I would expect some witty repartee, each party trying
to get their intentions across while avoiding entrapment.
Instead, my friend, who obviously had given this more thought
than I originally assumed, said, you a cop? She
responded, no, get in back, then climbed into
the passenger seat. She directed me to a residential side
street and, as we drove, explained her pay structure. Twenty
dollars for the orifice of his choice in the backseat of my
In an admirable attempt at time management and market efficiency,
she even tried to seduce me into employing her services by
rubbing my crotch and calling me baby a lot. You
shy? she asked. Yeah, Im shy. It has
nothing to do with the fact that you are a dirty, scabby,
filthy whore, Im just a little timid. We pulled onto
the side of the road in front of a small bungalow. She threw
her hammer-toes over the seat and got in backwith my friend.
I tried not to watch. Partly out of politeness and partly
because I was on the verge of breaking into maniacal laughter.
I would have thought that in a situation like this I would
be either very uncomfortable or very disgusted. Actually,
I was very entertained, especially by the alternating sucking
sounds and come on baby, come on baby! I turned
up the radio to block out the noise so I would not break the
romance with my laughter. Thats when the car started
rocking. It was either one hell of a blowjob or something
crazy was going on, but either way I had to look. Sure enough
they were pressed into the corner of my back seat in the throes
of a not very passionate embrace.
The only word to accurately describe what they were doing
was humping. Fucking or screwing would imply too much meaning
in the act. Either he was humping her or she was humping him
but humping it was, and in the back seat of my car. They didnt
even lay down a towel.
I stopped watching and turned up the radio. I guess our whore
hadnt joined the alternative music revolution because
without missing a hump she stretched her arm over the front
seat and turned on WGCI. Let a little Luther Vandross set
the mood. All right, a little rude, a little tacky, but she
had probably been out all night humping her little heart out.
She probably had a very difficult life, maybe physical or
sexual abuse. She probably grew up poor. Now she had to hump
to feed a tragic crack addiction. I gave her one song, it
was the least I could do. After Luther finished I changed
the station back in time to catch the Bangles classic, Walk
Like an Egyptian, and thanks to Susannah Hoffs, experienced
a bonding moment with our whore. Despite very different backgrounds,
cultures, occupations and interests we found unity in the
Bangles. She once again stretched her arm over the seat and
turned up the radio as if to say sing with me, rock
with me, we are one.
The power of the Bangles to unite cannot be underestimated,
and soon our little party grew. Attracted by either the music
or by two people humping in front of her house at daybreak,
an old woman came out, wagging a broom yelling, Do that
in front of your own house! I wanted to explain that
if a person could do this at their own house there would be
no reason to be in front of hers. Instead I drove up the block.
Thats when I met her pimp.
Before this evening I thought pimps had gone the way of Iceberg
Slim and Rudy Ray Moore. After the equal rights movement and
an increase in gender equality in the workplace you would
assume that your average crack addict would have enough confidence
and entrepreneurial spirit to strike out on her own. But there
he was: big, bad and black in a big, bad, black Cadillac.
He blocked me in.
Youre not gonna kill me. Not now! Not after Luther,
after the Bangles! I thought we had something! He made
a gesture and then backed up. He just wanted us to move. As
every shrewd businessman knows, positive community relations
are an essential ingredient for success. Its no good
offending the neighbors, especially when they can sick the
Man on you.
We turned into an alley full of potholes. The Whore simultaneously
gave me directions and performed fellatio on my friend, quite
the professional. I followed her directions while the pimp
tailgated me. I wasnt going as fast as he would have
liked, but considering the potholes, one wrong move at high
speed could have resulted in a bite-down tragedy. Despite
the opportunity for a truly legendary story at the expense
of my friend's genitals, I fought temptation and drove slowly.
My friend didnt bust. Twenty dollars
of smokes, nine pounds of ground beef, a CD, a good meal,
four sixs of Coors Tall-Boys, he didnt bust. I
could have busted on two drinks and a quote from Sartre, but
then again I wasnt the one who was married. You couldnt
help but feel bad for him. Like all things wonderful, this
fine ride had to come to an end. Besides, the pimp made things
a bit quirky and I was falling asleep in my seat.
My friend was having trouble coming. I didnt ask, but
I dont think the whore was getting her rocks off, either.
It seemed the only thing that was coming was the inevitable
adieu. The whore stepped out of the car without
even an apology. We headed east.
With the straightest of faces he looked at me and said, I
would have bought you one if you wanted one.
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