Watching The Wheels Go By The day had meekly suffocated itself in a drizzle, another wasted day in the life of yet another lonely man looking forward to spending his yet another night in his trailer, alternating between looking at old photographs of people he didn't know and flipping endlessly from channel to channel on his TV. § I turned up COPS a little louder to mask the noise of the door hinges on my gun safe, walked down the hall, paused at her door, and indulged myself with a momentary fantasy- "One of these days I'm going to take an axe and cut her up into little pieces.". But not tonight. God, she makes me so angry. I hate her. The fantasy intruded again: " And when my jailor lie rotting underneath the crawl space, I could spend her checks any way I wanted to, and she couldn't tell me what to do anymore.". Not tonight. NOT tonight. I walked down the hall, opened the safe, and grabbed the keys to my jail. There it was, my Raiders bag with my bus pass, my collection of strip club magazines, and the pile of dollars I'd saved by skimming off from the grocery money. § Henri Charriere's escape didn't start auspiciously- the bus careened past the stop, and there wouldn't be another one for an hour and a half. § I wiped off the road filth that t that the bus had covered my eyeglasses in, and glumly walked in the cold drizzle down to the club. I heard the noise about a block away, and hurried toward the lights and the doorman. He just stood there, looking at me, as I walked in. There was a fat, bored looking biker chick reading a bad romance novel, I think she was the hostess. The blob in the mumu took my five without ever looking up. I sat down in my corner, or at least I tried to. The typical array of weeknight perverts were inside - cowboy hatted farmworkers, giddy Japanese businessmen, a smattering of frat boy yuppie nerds from Intel, and a smattering of bitter, lonely, paunchy, middle-aged divorcees in slacks. I stood next to a group of those rich yuppies, the ones in my favorite seat, and glared at them. I guess they finally got the idea, or just wanted to sit at the stage. Fuckheads like that think they own the whole world. The waitresses and strippers completely ignored me as I sat in corner by myself, walking right past me as if I wasn't there. Just as I was getting irritated enough to leave, a waitress finally took my order, and a cute little Korean girl sat down next to me, puffing away on a cigarette. . She was short - couldn't be an inch more than 5'2" - not to mention cute. There was some other stuff I don't remember, but eventually, she looked at me and asked "You want dollar dance?". "Yes!". This little bundle of energy in front of me gave me some majestic old growth- brushing my legs, brushing her hair across my laps, and sticking her fingers in and out of herself the whole time. After the dollar dances I bought from her, it just kept getting better. She actually sat with me and chatted- she was surprisingly sweet and intelligent. We could talk about anything, like the TrailBlazers, the weather, almost anything. I just knew we could really be good together. As much as I enjoyed talking to her, I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was so tiny, yet so rounded- an incredibly microscopic green brazilian bikini clung to every curve of her soft olive body. Her cleavage poured out of her pitifully strained top, stretching to the breaking point, so firm and round, straining to explode out of her top. I could see the faint outline of a pair of finger-like, totally kissable nipples. And down below, it got even better- she had a flat sexy tummy curving out to meet a luscious little pair of hips and a firm, round backside perched atop a soft pair of legs which stretched downward to meet the alluring stiletto heels covering her tiny, beautiful, feet. I just knew we could really be good together. But then, she changed in the blink of an eye. And it all started to go wrong. She'd been sitting there for what seemed like mere seconds when she finished her last puff on her cigarette, suddenly rose, and said, "I'm bored. I'm going to go talk to some friends." I couldn't say "Don't go, I just ordered a bottle of wine!". § Ook has had what as known as a long day. Ook's day started around 5 AM, and after three pots of java, he's ready for some serious stupidity, a Glenlivet, and maybe a flash of tease. It's now, what, about 11 PM? § Another day, another winter storm. The seat in my car was wet from the wind driven rain, so now I had a big old cold wet spot on my ass. Maybe if I just sat down fast enough, and hid in a chair, no one would notice. I just ordered my drink from the waitress when I spotted a ninety pound juggernaught headed my way. She was wobbling a bit on her heels, maybe a little tipsy, but not drunk. She sat right on my lap, which is a complete no-no in the moss covered cage, and planted a wet, long, nimble, tongue in my ear. "Enough talk. Buy a dance from me.". I leaned close and asked her what she was up to now, and she replied by sticking her serpentine tongue in my ear again, softly moaning "I want to take your big, thick dick and play with it inside me now, I want to take you home and make you my slave." "Uh, OK, yeah, sure.". Oh hell, I didn't care what she was up to anymore, so I told antiOok to shut the hell up and let me enjoy the moment. I never had ever gotten anything resembling this sort of attention from her, or from anyone in this club before, and I was completely taken aback. I guess the surprise of what happened was at least half of the rush. She took advantage of the fact I was wearing boxers and soft, combed cotton, pleated dress slacks in just about every way imaginable. This was just too good to be true, even the DJ helped out by leaving his booth and letting the Stevie Ray Vaughn tune run a full six minutes. Her body was warm, her hair smelled sweet and sweet, as she giggled in a sexy, naughty warble as she took notice of the effects of her handiwork. This place offers table dances, not lap dances, and here, I'd just had the most perfect lapdance of my life. And then, as suddenly as the rush hit, it wore off. "Hey, get your hands off her!" Oh shit, I really didn't need to be manhandled by a bouncer tonight. I'd just finally started to feel good again, and the last thing I needed was more physical therapy. To my relief, it wasn't a bouncer. There was a angry looking, balding, 50-ish twerp with thick spectacles, some ill-fitting jeans and a cheap flannel shirt covering a paunch. I didn't sense a threat from him, but I'm not fond of drawing attention to myself, either. At least not in a strip club run by nice folks from New Jersey who got their start in the construction business. "Look, I paid for her, and she's mine tonight, you leave her alone." This guy wasn't just weird, he was creepy. He was greasy. He exuded as much warmth as a tube of hemorrhoid ointment that had been in the freezer too long. She looked at me helplessly, got up and went back to his table. I satisfied myself with my drink and the fact that I hadn't paid her for the dance. And even at that, she slunk over to me when loserboy prime went to the can to play with his wee willie and collected her fee. For some reason, she felt the need to explain to me that "He's very jealous of you.". "Oh really? I hadn't noticed.". I got up and left, another good drunk spoiled. I was fairly certain she was going to play me next, and frankly I was disgusted with myself for violating my own house rules on dances. Time to go home and watch the stars fall silent.