The first time I went to the Red Light, it was completely uneventful.
I stayed sober, which was a mistake, and was so freaked out about the idea of paying women money for sex that I didn't even bother going into a room my first Night Jump. The only thing that happened on the first Night Jump, was one kid, a spoiled rich kid who would manage to get kicked out of the army for dope before The Big Show (Invasion of Iraq) kicked off made out with and may have fucked a tranny. Which pleases me now, in hindsight. Guess he had that coming, dirtbag.
The second time I went to the Red Light though, I did manage to go into a room.
She was younger than I was, and absolutely beautiful. In that Aryan goddess, shield-maiden kinda way. She was a young man's dream, in oh so many ways.
I was drunk, this time.
Just not drunk enough.
Still not really sure what the boggle was.
Needing to get over whatever chivalrous notions I still held, probably.
I don't know.
It doesn't matter now.
Anyway, this girl, this beautiful, seemingly intelligent (she spoke better English than I did) girl freaked out at my inability. She started bawling.
She had just started, and I was the first 'nice guy' she'd met, and she felt horrible because I had stage fright.
So we laid there in bed for over an hour.
Me in my jeans and socks, her in her lingerie.
And I held her and she cried on my shoulder.
When I finally got dressed and went to leave, she tried to give me my money back.
I gave her the standard plus some extra and gave her a hug and she thanked me and asked me to come back and see her.
When I went down stairs, my friends were all sitting on the curb out front, eating doners and smiling at me.
When they asked how it was, all I said was, “Man, I beat that cootchie up.”