March 1, 1999 |
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A French burger: a tiny one inch perfect little halibut burger in a plate of cream with a sprinkle of pepper for atmosphere. Okay, now I really should tell you about Friday night. It was yet another juicy tale for all those ol' modem shaped eardrums out there. This is a true story of how Rebecca got lots of stuff for FREE. The time was February 26, 1999 this past Friday night. Well, I had a bug up my skirt all day to go out dancing. Even before going to work. Damn, I just thought to myself. I have so much PEP after getting over that nasty flu this week. It's about time Rebecca cut herself a slice of rug! I went to work in a tiny red plaid miniskirt with no nylons. Just leg and those little black velvet shoes that let me run silently. So I must have looked like quite the little sex kitten at the morning meeting. But, I do my job, you know? I am not all fun and games (so to speak). The people around my work respect me no matter what little schoolgirl clothes I am in, and frankly. Some of those horny little scripters really get off on it. And there I sat across from the most unsocialized man on earth at the complimentary Company C lunch. So here is my FREE LUNCH that Friday afternoon: As kinky as I was, I sat there with curls in my hair and my wooly zipper-front sweater. I know this guy sitting across from me ONLY gets out of his house to go to work. He's terminally married. I even hated his stupid pony tail. So when he told me I was eating too fast, I gave him a piece of my mind. "That's my pet peeve." I say, trying to be course. "I HATE it when someone tells me I eat too fast. It all stems from the time I was ridiculed when I was fat." That pretty much shut him up. I got drunk there across from this moron at that company time out to eat. I didn't plan on it, but I hadn't eaten anything in about 25 hours prior, so that complimentary maragaritta was plenty to get my shit whipped. So the moron had to watch me yell drunkenly over his meal for 40 minutes. I insulted Coca Cola drinkers. I proclaimed that the chips where injected with oil. All that sort of drunken silliness. The moron didn't know how to except me at all. As loopy as I was, I knew I was still in control of his unsocialized mind. And I had a nice time taking advantage of my tight clothes in front of ALL my co workers that Friday lunch. Someone even got a shot of the entire Company C team. My naked thighs right there in the front. Then I did a shitload of work the rest of my day at the office and I even got out early that night. Before I could talk myself out of it, I drove straight to the Lava Lounge from work. Dan the bartender gave me The Usual: a port dinner wine that I forget the name of now. In the back I saw a guy I recognized as Dick Weed. His friends call him Tyro, but he didn't ask me to use that name yet. So I just didn't call him by anything when he slid over to me to share my company. "Hey there." I say. I was so full of myself that I knew 2 of the Lava Lounge regulars already. And then Declan the bartender's sexy girlfriend slid into our conversation too. She had a beer, and a butch hair cut. But she has the most brilliant eyes and "a perfect nose." I tell her. "What?" She smiles at me, hoping my compliment wasn't just the wine talking. "You have a perfect nose." I repeated. And Tyro agrees while adding his own personal flair to the compliment. Rose (the beautiful girl's name) told Tyro and I about one of her old boyfriends while I drew her a dragon. "He had an older, 60s Ford with a custom paint job that read "Jockstomper" in bloody type across the hood. The guy had a foot tall mohawk, and he had to hold it at a 45 degree angle just so he could sit in the car. Rose had to leave, so Tyro invited me over to his place for a good stoning. So here's my FREE POT story: I have smoked pot with Tyro once at his place before, so I knew he didn't mean any harm by it. Tyro never comes on to me. I like that about him. He dresses in a blood red 70s silk shirt and black leather jacket. Silver bracket ear rings. Elvis cut, complete with side burns. He got me SOOO riteously stoned on his 2nd Avenue couch. He played Black Sabbath for me on his brand new mini stereo system. He had a tiny furry Scotty dog stuffed animal that matched my outfit perfectly. The red plaid bow on the dog matched the plaid on my skirt. And the black fur matched the black fuzz on my sweater. I saw the irony in that as baked as I was. Then he showed me a great surreal painting he did. It stuck to the television on static cling alone. Didn't need any adhesive other than the static to keep the painting on the face of his television. And when he turned on the set, the light from the monitor blazed the colors of the painting in a whole different light. It was Cling Baked Television for stoner entertainment at Tyro's house. Tyro. He's from New York, so I figured this was a thing he likes to do. Have people come to his house, talk about art and get stoned with him. I like him. He's a bass player too. I still haven't heard his band play at the Lava Lounge open mic night yet. Dick Weed is his band name. And when I asked him how he ever came up with Cling Baked Television, he didn't even take his eyes off the painting: "I got REALLY stoned." he explained in a monotone voice. When I got back to the Lava Lounge with a nice high going, the dragon picture is tacked above the bar. Makes a great conversation piece for me. I overheard 2 friends asking each other what they thought of the drawing. They didn't know the artist was sitting right under them. "Yeah! What DO you think of that drawing?" I ask. They liked it. I talked plutonic with them for an hour until I got more drunk. When I thought I was just plastered enough to get me to a dance club, I left the Lava Lounge. I saw my one-night-stand wallowing in a drunken state just outside the Lounge doors. I swung him around a bit to show him who I was. He looked stunned at me, but I think it was all the alcohol. "Are you playing tonight?" Drill asks me. I assumed he meant whether I wanted to fuck him or not. But I still had that dancing bug going. I declined him and just booked down 1st Avenue in my tiny mini skirt. That attracted some attention to say the least. Girl wearing next to nothing at a full run in the rain. Can you picture this? Anyway, outside the Showbox I saw Orion the pretzel vender. There was a crowd gathering in front of the club so I knew something was going on that night. Some guy makes stupid horsey clicking noises when he sees me. I get all huffy: "What the hell was that?" I mock him and I get a round of laughs doing it. The guy backs himself up. "What?!? That's how I talk to all my girls, right Stacy?" He motions to a nearby chick in an obnoxious outfit. "Yeah. He does that to all the girls." She had to agree. I look back at the clickitty guy with disgust. "It's pretty idiotic." "Hey. I'm in this next band here. I'm cool. It's MY way that's all." I suddenly respected the guy for standing his ground. "Oh. Okay. If that's your way. It's cool." And the hot guy behind him laughs. "Na. You're right. It IS pretty idiotic." "Rebecca!" Orion greets me from his pretzel vending stand. "Do you want a free ticket into the club tonight?" And that was about the extent of my FREE CLUB PASS story. Orion hands me a ticket to see the 4 or 5 local bands playing that night in the Showbox. I think it only had a value of 8 bucks or so, but it was worth giving Orion a little ThankYou peck on the cheek. The bands sucked though. I am glad I didn't waste my money on that shitty music, and I certainly wasn't going to waste the rest of my Friday night in its ugly presence. After the stage crew took some action shots of me in the crowd, I left the Showbox. I wanted to see if the Fenix had any better music to offer me. But I didn't even make it to the Fenix that night. I guess it was the pep in my step and the ass in my skirt that was stopping cars Friday night. A limousine pulls up to me. "Hey! Where are you headin off to girl?" "Are you offering me a ride?" I ask, eluding to the FREE LIMO RIDE I excepted there. I have never taken a ride in one before, so I was intrigued by the vehicle's glamour. The black driver was more then happy when I slipped my half naked ass into his shotgun seat. Instantly upon sitting in the limo, I got FREE BRANDY: The driver hands me some amber-colored liquor in a fancy glass. It was HIS drink. I took it, wondering if he knew how illegal it was to drive drunk. "What is it?" I ask, taking a sip. He thought he was being cute by not telling me what liquor it was. I made some wrong guesses, but got the Cherry Coke part right. The fancy dressed brother in back fixes me up with my own glass of liquor straight from the serving bottle. "That's REALLY good Brandy." He tells me. This guy was the classier one compared to his driver. He said he was a Pianist, but I didn't hold him to that. Then the driver cut in and told me his name: "I'm Jimmy Jam. I bet you never had yourself a brother before." "What. You mean sex with a black guy?" I ask, getting more drunk. I needed to get it clear what "had myself a brother" meant. Jimmy Jam says he hasn't had a white woman. Sisters may be horny as hellbitches, but they also tend to be so damn angry. Then he drives me to a black club without asking me. I receive my FREE BOUQUET OF ROSES here. In an attempt to buy his way into my panties, Jimmy Jam pulls within the vicinity of a flower bouquet vender. I yell across the street at the old vender, knowing it would make me look good screaming at flowers from a stretch limousine. "HEY! You. Flower guy! I need me some flowers, now!" Jimmy Jam picks out the least expensive bouquet for me. It's uncool to appear so cheap, but the roses smelled nice, so I kept my cheap opinions to myself. That was the last of my freebies for the night: here's the list: Free lunch, pot, club pass, limo ride, good brandy and a bouquet of roses. Now here's the conclusion on Jimmy Jam, the FREEloader: The Pianist gets dropped off at the front of a black club called The China Harbor. I knew I was fucked staying in the limo alone with Jimmy Jam. But Jimmy did nothing so far that I didn't want to happen first. I made it clear to him that I was not a prostitute. I just wanted to have some fun. "You don't want to sleep with me do you Rebecca?" Jimmy Jam says. "Nope." I answer flatly. "Aw, how come? You truly haven't had sex until you do it wit Jimmy Jam. I stays hard, and I could keep it hard all night for you Rebecca." I shrug it off. "Just 2 nights ago I had a perfectly good white boy give it to me all night. So, sorry tough guy." I kiss him anyway. He had the fattest tongue I have ever got in my mouth. It made me think of cunnilingus. I guess I was leading him on a bit, but he knows I am up for anything on a whim. I just need to be talked into it. He's got to charm my pussy right out from under me. But Jimmy Jam couldn't even be a gentleman for me. He was too despirate. Kept grabbing my hand and putting it on his tiny little boy's prick. That big black cock theory was BLOWN on Jimmy Jam that Friday night. He was pretty small. We were in the rear of the China Harbor parking lot in the rain. The big white limo had beached itself, and I thought I would be cute and dive through the window that divides the cab from the back. Jimmy Jam watched my mini skirt fly up playfully. I had no attraction to him at all, but I want that "first white girl" tag on his tiny little brother. Halfway into sucking Jimmy Jam without using any special technique, I stop. "Nope. I don't want to do this anymore. You can just put your thingy away now." Jimmy Jam is pissed. He fixes himself a coke and brandy with his little dingy still hanging out. "What's UP wit chew ANYHOW, Rebecca?" He drinks hard. "You don't want this, than you can jes up and leave." "Okay." And I open the limousine door and throttle myself out. Now just picture this: some guy is out for a walk in the rain and he hears screaming from the rear parking lot of a night club. Following the screams, he spies this cherry sweet girl caught half inside the back of a stretch limousine. Some black guy has his arms around her waist trying to haul her ass back in and she is creaming: "Let me out of this FUCKING LIMOUSINE. Let me GO! LET ME FUCKING GO you asshole!" I knew I wasn't getting away there. I decide to ditch him at the club. The fucker wanted me to pay his ticket too, but I make us go dutch. I bee line for the bathroom. When Jimmy Jam gets lost in the crowd of China Harbor dancers, I make my escape. The Pianist was at the front desk. "Tell Jimmy Jam that Rebecca is ditching him." I say. The Pianist goes wide eyed: "But my boy really wants to hook up wit chew tonight.""I know." Were my last words before ducking into midnight showers. I had a long run to my car from the China Harbor. Jimmy drove that fucking white limo hell and gone from my ride, but I won't let myself be trapped into staying with an idiot just because I might have to foot it a bit. From down the road I squat behind a hedgeline to check if I was being followed. Sure enough, I saw that distinctive white ghost pull out of the China Harbor drive and onto the street. He went the wrong way though. I only had to walk 2 blocks until I found a taxi driver getting high on a residential street. He gives me a smooth ride to my car through the rain. The guy liked my story. He had a segment on local access TV, and he gave me his calling card. I tipped him heavily, and bid him a happy high. |
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