noir

So it begins, the anonymous vent that will I will share all of my secrets with. Well, almost all, since my identity will be one of them. I kind of wish I wouldn’t have gotten so many tattoos. If I didn’t have such identifiable features, I would’ve just made a video log. It would get more attention, too. I’m not going to lie I’m pretty attractive. I’ll figure something out eventually. I’m writing these things for the organization and guidance of my mental processes here, but also for the entertainment of others. Maybe something better will happen, who knows.

I’m 24. I’m from a somewhat major city in the southeast united states. A place full of erotic delights and temptations. It’s a dark place, too. Like any other city, we have our share of the homeless, substance abuse, violence, and a rich history. Lately, I’ve been working downtown in a bar. I’d say I’m a bartender, but that would be a lie. I’m what is called a “shot girl.” Known to some as annoying as shit, money hungry vultures, gutter trash. They’re often single female parents who have been sexually abused as children and visit a methadone clinic once or twice a week. The job consists on walking around a bar full of assholes with a tray full of little test tubes filled with watered down liquor that you sell for $3. The only way for us to sell these, then, is to dress like whores. I’m about 5′4, sturdy build. I have curly brown hair and dark eyes with a porcelain complexion, enormous breasts, a tiny waist, and a thick ass and legs. I’m covered in tattoos. I dress in all black, and look kind of punkish except these days I have a red hoodie since I’ve lost all of my jackets in various recent escapades. (So I started calling myself little red riding whore, and it’s sticking with the locals. I think that’s hilarious.) Trying to give you an idea of me here. The essence, I guess. So, back to the job.

Not only does one have to dress like a whore, to make decent money it’s pretty much necessary to let old men take shots out from between your breasts with their mouths, or for you to feed a shot into their mouth by putting it in yours. Or, even better, if they buy you a shot you can put it in the waist of their pants and get on your knees and pretend you’re blowing the little test tube before you drink it. It’s a lovely money maker, I have to say. You can do that, but you’re not allowed to be seen smoking cigarettes on the floor. That one cracks me up. Anyhow, you’re kind of like a lower form of stripper that makes a lot less money and keeps their clothes on for the most part. The Bartenders, bouncers, management, etc. treat you as if you’re completely expendable. The sad part is that we are.

To do that job, I pretty much have to stay drunk or fucked up on something. I have a tendency towards pills. I love roxy, xanax, percocet, vicodin, adderoll, valium, soma.. basically love almost every type of pill. Unfortunately, those aren’t too easy to come by so I end up being drunk mostly every night. I can say that the alcohol is what has gotten me into the most trouble. I’m a sucker for Jameson. I drink it straight at room temperature. I’ll usually chase that with some Miller Lite. (Don’t judge.) If I venture out into any other liquor it’d be Tequila or Jack Daniels. So, I walk about a mile to work every day from where I park and on the way in I usually stop at a local gay bar to get my “before work shot.” A co-worker of mine that I give rides to coined this term since it became our tradition.

So, like anyone else, alcohol makes me incredibly impulsive. Last night was going to be a work night, but I decided I wasn’t in the mood for work. I felt like getting fucked up. I can make up an excuse and say I had a bad day, but I know I’m just prone to substance abuse. I wanted to escape my own brain last night, which I want to do pretty often. Almost every other night, really. No good drugs around, so alcohol it was. So, I manage to become pretty tanked by maybe midnight. My ‘friend’ left me to wander the streets in this state alone because her dickhead boyfriend thinks I’m the antichrist. I’d hate me too if I were her boyfriend, though. Hahah.

This hilarious gay man and I are sitting next to each other at the bar. I adore him. He’s so warm and snobby and I truly think he should have his own tv show or something. The shit he says. Anyway, he asked if I wanted to go in the bathroom and do a “bump.” I’m drug savvy, I know what that meant! Of course, my drunk self could not refuse that offer. We both did two pretty nice sized bumps off of my car keys and went and sat back at the bar. That was probably the best cocaine I’ve ever hard. Ever. I suddently became Chatty Kathy and was probably incredibly annoying. At this point, my perception of the world around me was incredibly altered. I knew what was happening, but I pretty much lost all moral control. My conscience and values, and probably charisma as well were completely turned off at this point. I remember my gay friend leaving me after we sang Rich Girl from Hall & Oates together. (Oh, cocaine.) I was dissapointed until I somehow managed to run into this really beautiful girl with a pink mohawk.

I don’t remember this, but apparently I approached her. Told her I’d been looking at her all night. She had those little silver piercing things in her dimples, a really pretty smile, and a nice little body. She seemed gay. By the way, I’m NOT gay. Really, I don’t want to nor have I ever gotten the urge to have sex with women. At the time, though, I honestly felt like I was in love with her. I bet the animalistic PDA was disgusting but I’m pretty sure she and I were enjoying ourselves. I was underneath the shirt and everything. I remember having her pushed up against the back wall of the bar behind the pool tables. She was sitting in a stool with her legs wrapped around me and I was sliding my tongue down her neck and behind her ear. I remember sliding my hand underneath her shirt and playing with her nipples. She didn’t have on a bra. She had those little tiny perky breasts that you don’t need to wear a bra for and her nipples were kind of.. longer I guess. I don’t know, at the time I loved them. She kept telling me she was taking me home over and over. I was down, and totally ready to do that. Unfortunately as we went to get into the cab, she told me that she had a husband but he wouldn’t mind if she brought me home. She said he “Shares.” I remember being a little dissapointed. I didn’t want to share her. I thought I found the first girl I could ever be in love with apparently.

We get to her house after making out the entire cab ride there, I walk in a shotgun style house through a bedroom with two twin mattresses on the floor with three kids sleeping in them. To her bed. At this point I was getting sleepy, but she proceeded to take off my clothes and kiss me. I liked her body a lot. She apparently loved my breasts and my tattoos. The boyfriend or husband, whatever, was a fucking weirdo. I just wished he would’ve left. He just kind of laid next to us and watched for a while.

It’s strange, I went down on her. I’ve never actually got around to being fucked up enough to have oral sex with a female. I didn’t let her go down on me, I was feeling incredibly aggressive and had to do action. I couldn’t just lay there and recieve apparently. (Fucking cocaine.) She said I made her cum. I don’t know if she did or not. By the way, it’s very strange sticking your fingers into another girls vagina. It feels so weird. Anyhow, there was a point where she climbed on top of me and then put my hand on her husband’s cock, who was next to us in the bet. It was uncircumsized and it had a piercing. Bleh. He grossed me out anyway, but I still jerked it off. I was done. Rolled over and went to sleep while they fucked beside me.

Flash to the morning. Fuck. Her noisy kids woke me up because they were running around the house playing all morning while she and the boyfriend slept. I couldn’t sleep through that, plus I had no idea where the fuck in the city I was. I got up, scavenged the room for my boots and shit and then woke up the girl. They pointed me in the direction of where my car was parked which was about 9 miles away. Ohfuck. So that was a voyage, truly. Thank god this nice man gave me $2 for the street car that knocked about 7 miles off of that journey. I wouldn’t have gotten home until probably 2pm without him. Thank you strange tourist man. So finding my way back into the main part of the city, red jacket, cleavage out- still in last night’s eyeliner and reeking of pot, tobacco, and booze.. I walk by this church. The guy was like “Hey, do you want to come join us for service?” I must’ve really looked like I needed saving. I figured ‘fuck it, i’ll go in.’ They then proceeded to ask me way too many questions, made me get “saved” out loud, gave me a pocket bible and a “Welcome to Christianity!” booklet. By the way, there were only about 7 people there. This place was TINY. I snuck out the back about 30 minutes later when they started playing the shittiest Christian music I’ve ever heard in my life. I have no problem with Christians, god, or Christian music– but I just had an overdose in there. At least I helped them achieve their quota for how many people they’ve saved this week. I was already saved, but it probably wouldn’t hurt. I felt better after asking for forgiveness. That and some coffee and taking my morning dose of prozac.

The weather was nice, I had enough gas to make it back home. Showered, saw my boyfriend. Made up a bunch of bullshit as to why I didn’t come home. Which he seems to believe all the time. I wonder if I’m that convincing? I don’t cheat on him emotionally, really. I love him. He’s my everything. He is the only stability in my life and I’m trying not to lose him. I say that every week, and then I go out and do something ridiculous. Maybe I should’ve stayed in that church for the rest of the sermon. Fuck it. That’s just one tale. I feel a little lighter now.