Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Rinse, Repeat

"Where am I?"

Unfortunately, this was not a new question for me. Pretty much every morning (or afternoon) began with that question. As I lay on a strange bed in a strange room with strange smells the pieces of the last twenty four hours began to merge and, as usual, it was the same old story.

It began as it always did with the post-work drink. Yesterday was particularly frustrating. My boss's innuendo and lame come-ons were more aggravating than usual and I'm pretty sure that he'd been snooping in her desk and messing with my heels while I was at the gym. It wasn't enough that he visually assaulted my legs every day, now he had to physically assault my shoes? Christ.

I think I'm nearing the breaking point here. I'd go to human resources, but unfortunately he is human resources. And it is amazing how because I'm overpaid I've decided to just swallow this shit. But I won't swallow him, this job isn't that good.

So instead I swallowed someone else for free. Screwed up thinking again. At least this one had hair. The other night's catch not only couldn't last past five minutes, but when I rubbed his hair it started to slide off his head. He was out cold so I pulled it off his head, stuck it on his cock and headed out the door.

What time was it?

Shit, it's almost seven. OK. Where's the purse? I began to look around the room. Saw my bra and panties on the floor. Was that a condom on my blouse? Great. Oh and it leaked. That's nice. Well, maybe I'll leave that in my desk so Jim can sniff at it.

I should have enough time to get home and change. Of course, that's a pretty bold statement considering I don't know where I am. But at least I'm an optimist.

Queens? That's just swell. Good thing the cum stain was on the back of the blouse because there's no way I'm getting from where ever the hell I am back to 2nd Street.

They promised the heat wave would break today, but like everything else, that was just a lie. I already smelled like an ashtray that had been soaked in beer so this humidity was really going to make me ripe. I can grab a shower at the gym at lunch.

The bathroom door was shut and the light was on in there when I made my break. Maybe if I don't see the guy, who I couldn't identify in a line up anyway, it didn't happen. This is kind of how I fool myself. It's been working for me so far. Can't you tell?


tourguide said...

Weird coincidences. Just saw on video "Looking for Mr. Goodbar," basically out of sociological curiousity (1977 adaptation of a controversial "sexual revolution" novel by the same name). Diane Keaton as a deaf-children's schoolteacher/late night slut.
The most telling sign of its time is that Keaton laughs at a guy who tries to use a condom. She says "what is this?" and blows it up like a balloon. No STD fears yet, not even Herpes.
The 70s disco/pickup bar scene and stereotypical characters actually beat out the Will Farrell satire of the ABA I also rented. Only the ending is really memorable and disturbing. You could make it into a 1977 theme-entertainment night, with - "Summer of Sam," and "The Bronx is Burning."

tourguide said...

You could add your entry into "Slutlit." The example I remember is reading some of Elizabeth Wurtzel's "Prozac Nation." She was so depressed "I gave so many blowjobs my lips were chapped and peeling." To which I could only think of Dennis Hopper's ex-biker character in "River's Edge." "I ate so much pussy in those days my face looked like a glazed donut."

Rambler said...

yeah, except I don't think Hopper's character and Wurtzel's were on the same page in life.

For some reason I sometimes find it easier to tap my inner lost slut than my inner me.

And she's not a slut! We have to see where the story goes.

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