Reeling In The Hooker

1

[LOW MATURE CONTENT]
Reya's POV

It was raining outside. Hard. The umbrella I was gripping was helping me out to well. In fact, the umbrella was nearly collapsing from the force of the rain coming down. The droplets were so loud when they hit the concrete that I probably wouldn't be able to hear the attack of 9/11 if the first twin tower crashed twenty feet away. The strip club's doors were maybe a hundred feet ahead. I couldn't tell correctly through the thundering sheets of water falling from the sky. I shivered and pulled my trench coat closer to my body.

I picked up the pace, wanting to be inside already, to get away from this torrential rain. I nearly passed the door to the club. I whipped around, closed my umbrella, and went in. Inside it was dark with a purplish theme. Purple mist hovering above the floor, purple light bulbs, purple booths, florescent purple bar, even the bartender had purple in his hair.

The music was pulsating through the floor and I could feel each beat in my chest, but the music wasn't necessarily loud. It was like the energy in the room enhanced your perception of sound waves, how they feel, how they sound, how they trigger your brain. Its almost as if you are getting high and your senses are being overloaded, except they aren't being overloaded, they're adapting. Adapting to the energy.

That's probably why I love this place so much other than the fact that this place attracts filthy rich business men and stock brokers itching to get fucked. And the awesome part about it is they'll pay you maybe a thousand an hour just for blowing them.

I woke from my energy-induced high, and surveyed the booths, the corner around the pool table. The chairs around around the stopper platforms, but nobody caught my eye. At least until I scanned the bar. In a still at the far end was a guy with short dirty blonde or light brown hair. He had stubble on his face but I couldn't see the details of his face too well from my angle.

With a deep breath, I gained all the confidence I could possibly muster (which is alot, if you ask me) and began to approach him. When I sat in the stool next to him and layed my closed umbrella down on the counter (which, by the way, is actually not florescent, it's just frosted glass with purple lights in it), he didn't look up at me or react in any way.

He was mid-sip on his alcohol when I cleared my throat. He leisurely put the glass down and slowly turned his head to look at me and I almost died. He was sooo hot. In fact, there was no stubble on his chin, it was probably just the angle and the lighting that I saw him in at the time. He had these blue eyes, these indescribably beautiful blue eyes.

I was brought back to the real world when he agitatedly said, "Can I help you?"

His scowl was extremely sexy, I could just imagine me being his submissive already.

"No, I don't need help. Just some company. Maybe somebody to drink shots with," I took a gumball from my pocket and popped it into my mouth.

His right eyebrow twitched before he faced the wall across from the bar again and took a swig of his drink. Then, in a softer, a bit less agitated tone, he said, "My name's Hunter, I'm a mechanic, and the only way I'm gonna drink shots with anybody is if they buy them."

I arched an eyebrow inquisitively and took out two hundred dollar bills, new, crisp, and blue-faced. I tossed them on the counter and called over the bartender, "Gimme a couple shots of the strongest alchohol you got. I don't care what it is, just make it strong and make it quick," I told him.

Just as the bartender was about to leave I told him to keep the change because two shots of whatever he's going to give us better not cost but a hundred, let alone two.

Then Hunter arched an eyebrow at me and said, "That's probably the biggest tip that boy's had in his entire life."

I shook my head, "Nah, I doubt it. Millions, hell, even billionaires come here. I'm sure he's gotten a bigger tip before."

Hunter shrugged and swirled what appears to be brandy in his glass before asking me my name.

Should I use an alias? Eh, probably not. So I told him my real name. Reya Croft.

He laughed, "Like Lara Croft from Tombrunner?"

"Spelled the same way, but absolutely no connection to the movie or Lara," I told him.

"So, what's your proffesion?" Hunter asked.

"Well, " I said. "I used to be a bartender, a stripper, the manager of that one vaping shop downtown, a lifeguard at Long Beach-"

"I mean what do you do now," he interrupted me.

I cleared my throat and said, "I'm a hooker."

"A prostitute?" Hunter asked, his eyebrows in the middle of his forehead.

I groaned, "I hate that term but if you must use it, then yes, I'm a rich, classy ass prostitute. And before you ask I do not have AIDS or any sexually transmitted diseases and I'm not loose like those girls in western movies in the whorehouses."

"Um," Hunter stuttered, "I wasn't going to ask about any of that, but okay."

An awkward silence passed until I finally asked, "So do you wanna fuck or not?"

"Where?" he asked.

I told him, "My place, your place, the bathroom, the lawn of the fucking White House. I don't care."

I watched him as he pulled out numerous bills from his wallet. He plopped the cash on the glass counter and said, "That's $200. What can I get with that?"

I layed back in my seat, slowly crossed my left leg over the right, and smirked with one side of my mouth as I told him, "Whatever you want for however long you can last."

He chuckled, "You better chug some Mountain Dew, 'cause you're about to be up all night long."