Vanessa

I picked up Vanessa very late in Parkside, on the last street before Park Ave. She waved and called out, emerging from shadows behind a small hedge, came to the car window and asked if her “pretty friend?” could come with us. I obliged, “Of course,” and we drove to a spot way in the back of the parking lot of La Quinta, just down the street, turned off the engine and lights and parked. I’d never met Vanessa, but she was easy, cheerful company. Took charge when necessary. Vanessa was in her mid-20’s, medium height, but she seemed taller because she was a skinny, irrepressible wreck. Her belly was muscular and her smile was sparkling white.

In the front seat Vanessa fellated me while I flirted with her friend in the back seat until the last minute, when I leaned in very close to the laughing Vanessa girl herself. I admit, I faked it. I couldn’t climax into this chick’s mouth while her pretty friend’s head was cocked toward me from the back seat. I shuddered, panted, and sweated to show my satisfaction with the whole deal, and offered to take the girls wherever they needed. I also told them, if they were buying drugs, I would be interested in going in on the deal. I ended up giving Vanessa $300 total, for the BJ and the crack.

She took the cash and went into a house, either on Oak Street or Casco the next street over, and left her friend with me in the car, kind of a guarantee she’d return. Her friend was a hot fox, wanted to be in on any partying I was embarking on. I asked myself, wryly, what would I do with her, if Vanessa decided to run with the cash? I could have been a pirate, she could have been my booty. Arrrrgh!

Twenty-two year old chicks do not press their flawless elastic breasts into the greedy hands of some random elderly crack guy as a compliment to the old perv’s charming conversation.

Vanessa came back and gave me four nice bags. She didn’t have to, and I would not have known had she decided to rip me off, or given me three rocks, or two. I gave her back one bag. A tip. I had no idea how cocaine buying worked, but I knew how to tip.

I had to disappoint the pretty friend, party-wise, but before Vanessa came back, the friend did lean in, modestly flipped up the hoodie up on the back of her shirt so no one could see her but me, then opened her shirt and unencumbered by lingerie, urged me to hold and caress her lovely, perky, and surprisingly heavy breasts. I stopped that behavior when I realized I had no more cash to give her. Twenty-two year old chicks do not press their flawless elastic breasts into the greedy hands of some random elderly crack guy as a compliment to the old perv’s charming conversation. They want cash or drugs. Of course they do, bless their tender little crack addled hearts. And if they smoke it with you, it no longer counts as far as any investment you may be counting toward the evenings depredations; we just smoked it up.

Confusingly, the only fact I was given about Pretty Friend was that she had to be at the methadone clinic in the morning with clean pee. I had no idea what that meant, though in retrospect, I don’t think the chick wanted to party, but she needed a sofa to sleep on. I had four bucks in my wallet, and folded it up and handed it to her with deep apology on my face. I asked about seeing her again, and she told me the best time to pick her up was early, early in the morning, like 6:00 am. Sometimes 5:00 am. Whenever I was in town for some reason at that unreasonable hour, I’d try to remember to look for my pinky blonde friend, pretty and strung out, young, seemingly wise. Cursed.