I once picked up a hitch-hiker on my way through Nevada.
Turns out she was a stripper who was hanging up her thong and going back home to a small town in Alabama.
On our drive we mostly talked about inconsequential stuff -- if we talked at all -- and watched the landscape glide by us. Occasional stops for gas and food, a rest stop so that she could use the bathroom and then suck my cock.
Anyway, one morning as we drove towards a glorious sunrise I asked her the question that had been hanging in the air for our entire drive:
"Are you really ready to give up your dream?"
She paused, the golden sunlight on her face, and then said softly "There is nothing for me at home except working at a Dairy Queen, but there are Bad Men in Las Vegas."
I gently enquired about these Bad Men: it turns out the guys who ran her particular strip club ran a Bukkake Ring, wherein rich gamblers would be able to drink expensive alcohol and then ejaculate on a stripper's hair: there would be a lot of rich gamblers, and a lot of ejaculation.
"I just couldn't do it anymore. When I look in a mirror my hair haunts me."
We drove on a bit more in silence, then stopped for breakfast, after which she sucked my cock in the parking lot.
"What about a different town?" I asked after she was done sucking my cock. "A town where they respect the Integrity of strippers?"
"Yeah?" she asked, eyes wide and hopeful.
"You ever consider Portland?"
"Will you take me there? Will you take me back to my Dream?
I zipped up my pants, we turned the car around, and headed to the Great Northwest.
Never let your dreams die.
I am Laslo.
No comments:
Post a Comment