It was a weird slow night a few weeks ago. An adequate number of bodies in the club but so many of them were youngish hipster types, the sort my city is overrun with, so pampered by the ubiquity of titty bars and naked female flesh that they wander in, hang out nursing their pbrs, clutching their sweaty dollar/2 dollar bills hysterically demanding VALUE and AUTHENTICITY in return for each one they painstakingly dole out.
And god forbid you try to hustle them. They’re here to hang out, man.
I’m a little bitter, and I digress.
There were a lot of people in the club but few at the rack, fewer tipping, and even fewer getting dances. I’m more of a hit and run hustler usually, I don’t have the patience to coax a dance out of the unwilling when there are so many willing, but it’s good to branch out, so I decided to try sitting with people longer. Unfortunately the group I picked… was a group of businessmen: the founders of a sex toy company and their main investor. The founders are a jovial black guy and a squirrely awkward white guy. The black guy was taken when I walked up, being hustled by one of the younger new girls and shortly follows her into the back room; the funding money went to the bar, and I was left with Anxious Squirrely. I swore a little and tried to make the best of it, even though his conversation was already a bad sign:
“So… like… how much do you guys make?”
“How do you pick who to hustle?”
“Let’s talk about you, sugarpop!”
He told me some interesting stuff about silicon—dunno if it’s true. That silicon sourced from the US is always recycled so you should only buy toys that are made from silicon from China because it’s pure and has never been in anyone else’s vagina before.
“Oh my. I never thought of that!”
The other guy returns sans dancer and I got my hopes up but he heard us talking and started to laugh.
“We had a competition,” he told me confidingly over the table. “At one point we were like, ‘Well that stereotype about black and white dick! we can do a science experiment!’”
I felt my heart sink. It’s good to be hopeful and optimistic, I told myself. Maybe this isn’t going where I think it is.
“So we made two castings for two dildos from each of our dicks and then we compared sales! My dick sold 300,000! His barely sold any! And now if a girl says she likes one of those models—”
They leaned together across the table, Squirrelly chiming in:
“I fucked you! That was my dick, my dick’s been inside you.”
1- I’ve fled so many clubs because interacting with them is exhausting and causes massive burnout, the value of a dollar hasn’t been this high to anyone since the 70s.
I work where I work (at the scandalous dirty club) because it’s always been too much of a wild free-for-all to draw them. They stick to the cool clubs and leave mine a destination for the rich traveller. UNTIL NOW