Fanta


It is not very often that you hook up with a girl who calls you to tell you she’s stuck midway in a stair of flights, and is saying her last words because her left butt cheek is locked and there’s no way she’s moving just the right.

I met Fanta in a dance club. It wasn’t your usual club, this was a tease club. The club was dimly lit with purple lights. There were four poles in the club, each for a corner. There were drinking bar stools lined up on one side of the club with schnockered men waiting in anticipation for their turn. The dancers were in tight fitting clothes, covering very little. And they were all in black.

Dark angels. That was the name of the club. Men paid 70p each to dance with a girl for 3 minutes. You couldn’t dance with a chic for more than three times at a time. It was a cheap place and we were happy to pay a pittance just to get access to a field where our soldiers could stand at attention.

It was my favorite hangout. See I wasn’t much of a looker, and I wasn’t a smooth talker either but I sure as hell was a man. And a man has needs. Dark angels wasn’t a whore house, you couldn’t pick a girl up and administrate a hot beef injection. You could however, get your beef hot, and if the girl toasting it was slutty enough, you could buy her off. Which was almost impossible because Dark angels number one policy was that their services ended in the club and nothing more.

“All you get to do is dance papi” Jean, the owner of the club was always cackling. She was the ugliest biggest flirt there ever was. She knew it, so she never played hard to get, but nobody wanted Jean, everybody wanted Jean’s girls and nobody got them – or so it seems.

It was a Friday night. It had been 5 months and 6 days since the storekeeper’s daughter moved. That’s how long I had been involuntarily celibate. I’d heard of Dark angels from a colleague who spent his free time ogling everything in skirt. “So long as they got boobs and ass, they’re game” was his anthem I wanted to just go home and bond with my porn collection, but he convinced me Dark angels was the real deal. So I tagged along. And that’s how I got hooked on to Dark angels.

I would very much like to bore you silly with how I saw her from across the room, and how the events that followed all happened in slow motion with Ronan Keating playing in the background, so I will.

She was dancing in one corner of the room in a devilish slow mo that caused a rapid movement in my loins. Her hair was sticking to her molato skin and her eyes were gleaming from where I sat. Sweat was glistening off her body like wet oil paint. I didn’t realize I had moved to where she was till she asked for my name. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t for the life of me remember my name.

6 dances, 3 drinks, 5 dinners, 1 strip tease.

And Fanta’s lifeless body was coiled around Dark angels dance pole, her face stuck in an almost smile and her feet massed up with blood as if this was just a pose for an artwork…….

 

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