The Bangover Diaries: First Encounters
The first time I ever saw a street walker up close, I was both repelled and fascinated. I must have been about 18 or 19, and driving in a seedy section of Mid-Town Memphis when I was beckoned to stop by a youngish (but older than me) black woman. I pulled over and she came up to the window and looked me over, sizing me up. When she spoke, she got right to the point. “You lookin’ for a date?”
“Well, maybe. How much?” I asked, more curious than serious. “You lookin’ for a French fuck?” (Blowjob to those unfamiliar with late 70’s slang) “No, just a regular” I said. “Twenty Bucks. We can do it in yo car…….”Said she, obviously looking for a quickie. “OK, I need to go to the bank first…. I’ll be back in a few minutes”, I said, lying thru my teeth. If she’d been better looking I might have taken her for a gallop, but it was all so new and scary to me. And, I was probably a virgin at the time, too although I don’t really remember. Even so, I was a walking hard-on at the time, and getting laid seemed like the holy grail, even if actually trying to make it happen was totally out of my comfort zone.
When I finally did get laid in the back of an early 60’s Chevy at the age of 19, I really felt like a man; but a long dry spell followed, and even when dumb luck came knocking, I often mistook it for something else entirely, and let it slip away.
A year or two later AV (After Virginity) I ran into a girl I barely knew from High school, a trim but plain looking redhead, at a TGI Friday’s on Overton Square one night. I was sitting at the bar as she and a friend walked by, and I got her attention “Hey you went to Central, didn’t you? I said as my opening line, as she gave a weak smile and a nod. Her friend was a cutie with blonde curly hair, just my type. After introducing ourselves, I started chatting with her friend for a few minutes of small talk, trying to put the make on, when Red interrupted our chat by asking if I’d like to take either of them home.
I was so taken aback that I assumed she must be kidding. I looked at the cute blonde, who’d seemed to be responding to my advances, and saw her nodding yes, and I could only play along, still thinking it was a joke. I asked the usual, “How Much”, when red said, “Forty dollars each, whatever’s your pleasure” as she took another drag of her cigarette and exhaled upward. She had a serious look on her face as she looked me in the eye coldly, her cigarette a few inches away from her face, between her fingers.
When I told her she must be joking, she said softly, ‘well if you’re not interested we’re leaving”.
And off they went. I remember my feeling of disbelief when I realized she was serious, and the look of disappointment (or, was it shame) as the blonde looked back at me on her way out the door. As bad luck would have it, I never saw either of them again.
I’ve kicked myself for being so naïve many times since; having 2 women at once would have been a huge confidence booster at that time in my life, but I’d missed out due to sheer inexperience combined with broke-ness ($40.00 was a lot of money in those days, $80 doubly so for a part-time cashier and bagger at Krogers), and it wouldn’t be the last time, either.
A couple of years later, just after joining the Marines, I was doing a weekend in Memphis with 2 chums and we stopped into a strip joint to drink a few beers, and my pal Cruzer was immediately working on a cute little black girl in the corner. As the evening went on and the beer bottles piled up, we got some table dances, and another petite black girl started rubbing all over me. I gave her a couple of bucks out of obligation and she got in my lap facing me, and after a few moments of grinding and moaning, she embraced me and whispered in my ear that she’d like me to fuck her tonight, if I had twenty five bucks for her. “I said, hey, ya know, I’m with my friends”, trying to deflect. She raised the stakes immediately. “Oh, I can come with all three of you for $75.00……..” and with that, I begged a moment to consult with my colleagues.
Shawn was in, he’d hardly even seen a black girl before and really wanted to experience some brown sugar. Cruzer loved black girls, in fact he loved all girls, so he was in. I was the only one who hesitated, more out of distaste at the idea of being last on a three-car train than anything else. “Honey, you know I’m not predjudiced or nuthin’ like that….”To which she responded, “Oh, I understand baby. Let me ask my friend over there” as she pointed to a trim white girl on the stage. (back in those days, to see a plump stripper was practically unheard of).
After she made the arrangements, we had a couple of more beers and it was time to get together to pool our funds. I went looking for Cruzer to collect from him and I saw him back in the corner, another black girl coming up from a-stradle on him, his full monty wet and hard. She’d beaten the other gal to the punch, as it were. As she walked away, Cruzer put away his weapon and zipped up his fly, and he looked up and gave me a sly smile and said, “She told me she would give it to me right here, so I said go for it, baby! She got on top and fucked me right here in the corner!”
She’d also taken his last dollar, and Shawn and I barely had 40 bucks between us, and so once again poor planning had spoiled the show. We returned to the motel alone and horny, except for Cruzer, who naturally had a spring in his step and a shit-eating grin to boot. Looking back, I wish I’d returned to the place, but back in those days, getting up the nerve to whore around required cash, peer pressure and plenty of beer; it wasn’t something I’d ever done by design.
It was a year or so later that learned the importance of being out of the country (the most critical element, in my humble opinion) and it led to my first actual encounter with a real, live whore. The great thing about being out of the country is that you don’t know anyone, no one knows you, and you’ll never see each other again by accident; the harsh look of someone who sees you with a girl young enough to be your daughter is easily ignored when they’re just another face in the crowd in a foreign country.
And, all of your wingmen are just as guilty as you, so there’s not much danger they’ll ever spill the beans about the things you did there, unless it’s with other guys. Kinda like Vegas……What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, and the code holds true for CR, DR, and any other whoring destination. Later, I came to realize that in any big city, the other side of town where you never go, where no one knows you, might just as well be another country. This is as true in Memphis, as it is in Miami.
