Blake strode his way up to the bar. This was a pretty low class club, and he didn’t like wasting his time. His hair was immaculately gelled to a point, a straight line all the way back. Both of his collars were popped, and he was ironed down to the Armani Exchange black lace-ups he had purchased yesterday for two hundred twenty dollars and seventy-eight cents. He had no need for dollar shots; that was all Brad. Blake didn’t particularly care for Brad or his bottom barrel loafers; he also didn’t care for staying in on a perfectly good Friday night. He was 27, too young to act like a washed out 30. And going solo? pShhh. He had been around enough to know that for trust, a wingman is necessary. Brad was just the right amount beneath him, not too embarrassing to be seen with, but he’d still get pick of the litter. Worth setting foot in this pedestrian whole? Maybe, if there were some babes around.
The club was currently empty, soiled leather couches lining the walls, with a banal disco ball lighting the dance floor. Bar to the side, glowing from the cheap rope light strung half hazard-ly around it. The music was loud techno, at least they had something right.
“Two shots of Patron.” He orders from the bartender, a flat chest-ed brunette, not worth his time. If this was all this dump had to offer, he’d down his shots and go. It would be worth shelling out for Brad’s drinks if it got him some.
“Two shots of vodka for me,” Brad says, having no problem with the well-wash this shit-hole had to offer.
“Patrons aren’t on the dollar list,” says the flat bitch, giving him a look like he’s an idiot.
“I don’t care about the price.” He says, barley giving her the time of day. She walks off wagging her hipless ass to get him his drinks.
“Who’re you trying to impress?” says Blake, starring at her swagger, drooling at anything with two legs.
“No one here. Let’s take these shots and get out of here. We can probably make it to City lights before the line.”
“Just give me a minute here, man. I might be ‘In’ to something.” Blake runs his hands over his hair in disgust, carefully straightening his faux. “Really?” he asks as Flatty comes back with their drinks.
She puts them on the counter. Brad picks up one of his and holds it out. “This one’s for you.” He says as he squints his eyes and lifts his head in a slight nod. She takes it from him.
“I’d rather have the Patron.” She says, winking at Blake. “Cheers!” She throws back the shot and takes their cash from the bar top. Blake is careful not to take his shots until she leaves. He’s not that desperate, not yet.
He’s just about to remind Brad that it’s time to bounce, when the male-whore nudges him in the arm, and points to the door. Four decked out ladies parade their way by and situate themselves around the other end of the bar. They were guidettes, that part was obvious. But a couple of them had designer labels. High class skanks, perfect.
“Four shots a lady!” a short b cup announced is a loud off pitched voice, sharp as the tips of his hair. The bartender gets out the cheap vodka and starts to pour. ‘Fuck, she looks even worst next to these Italian gems,’ He thinks.
It was the busty brunette at the corner that caught his eye. Those had to be D’s, no, doubles. Blake had an eye for two things, designers and tits, and this chick had both.
Flatty strode over and poured them another round, and Brad kept talking her up. Some people just had no taste. He ignored them, keeping his eyes locked on those doubles. The hottie had started to dance, and he gazed on, mesmerized by their soft bounce. He imagined himself grabbing them, rubbing those perfect pillows against his face right there on the dance floor.
The tightening of his pants reminded him not to imagine too hard. Taking hold of himself he felt anger at his loss of control; Guilt that he did, in fact, want to do just that right there on the dance floor, all class out the door. He was better then that. Better then Brad. Better that this shitty excuse for a club.
Composing himself he ordered another round of Patron. Flatty and Brad were into deep flirting now, and he practically had to slap her shapeless ass for some attention. She poured him his shots, taking her damn time about it.
He stood, straightening his shirts. One more hair check, and he was off to doubles with the shots. Dancing sleekly up to her, he gave her a slight upward nod and handed her one. She took it back slow, her massive chest rising slightly as she swallowed. He quickly threw back his own. and made his way up behind her, grinding in time with the beat.
He squeezed the glass in his hands in an attempt to keep some of his thoughts clear, but as doubles slowly turned, tits bouncing in time, he new his resolve was lost. Without thinking, Blake dropped his glass, grabbed those gorgeous double D’s, and motor-boated.
