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.
Whatever.
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
refused.
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.”
