Hi Folks.Things got a bit heated in the comments last week didn't they? ... Well relax this story is another shorter one but it should be a lot less controversial. This one is just a bit longer than last week's story so it's another shorty. That actually happened because we're working on a longer, darker story that there just wasn't enough time to finish this week. So at the last minute, I just wrote this story. This one besides being shorter was written and edited in less than 24 hours due in large part to the extremely great editing under pressure done by the incredible Mikothebaby.Enjoy! SS06
There are some things you just can't or at least shouldn't take home. I pulled my 2012 Mustang GT into the parking lot behind the bar in search of a few moments of relaxation. I was still so pissed off from the pressures of the day that I'd have felt bad about taking any of that anger, home to my lovely wife. She had enough stress in her own life trying to raise our three terrifying young boys. She didn't need me adding to it. When I get home I should be happy and ready to spend time with her, not vent the frustration that had built up after 8 hours plus of dealing with assholes.
As I walked into the slightly darkened bar, some of the regulars greeted me. This was one of those places where everybody knew your name and you were always glad you came. It was one of those friendly neighborhood bars and to be truthful it was only a couple of blocks away from my house.
My main problem was dealing with the union reps. It was almost like their entire existence revolved around slowing down production. Maybe in their minds, the more they could slow things down the better it was for their people. I wish just one of them was smart enough to realize that the slower they worked, the less money we made, and that trickled down to them. When they asked for things like increases in wages or benefits, it was hard to justify it when profits were down. What a bunch of morons.
And they were all so self-important. There wasn't a single team player among them. If I didn't have a mortgage and two car notes and my three spoiled kids, I'd walk the fuck out the door and never look back at that place. But who was I kidding. I was locked in. My job paid me very well and the actual work I had to do managing the plant wasn't very hard.
The economy was also so bad that if I did walk out of there I'd have trouble getting another job on that level and there were so many guys out there who'd give their left nut to replace me. My mother didn't raise any stupid kids so I'd stay and put up with it. I raised my arm and the pretty barmaid whose name I never could remember brought me a cold Dos Equis amber. Before I'd even taken a sip of the first one, I asked for another. I don't always drink beer, but when I do, I drink a fuck of a lot of it.
As I took the first pull on my bottle and looked around the room I saw a woman going from table to table. Most of the guys were shaking their heads and she'd move on to the next table. I knew she wouldn't last long in here. The owner, Murray, liked to run a clean place. Women could drink and hang out here just like anybody else, but he didn't allow pros to work in his bar.
When she got to the last table, she started to head for the bar. Her body looked like it had been spectacular at one point, but time and hard living had turned things sour. Her breasts were still nice but she walked slumped over as if the weight of the world rested on her thin shoulders. Life had given this woman a beating. I immediately felt sorry for her and I hadn't even seen her face yet.
When she got a couple of stools down from me, I heard her ask the guy sitting there if she could sit down. In bar slang, a woman asking if she can sit down or asking a guy to buy her a drink carries an implication with it. And most of these guys, like me, who were happily married, would never take her up on an invitation like that. It sounds innocent and innocuous, but one thing can quickly lead to another. And soon you find yourself sliding down a slippery slope that ends up in a place that you don't want to be.
As I sat there drinking my beer and letting all of the tension melt away, she drew closer and closer to me. She had to be pretty damned desperate to just go from stool to stool propositioning every man in a bar.
Just before she got to me, Murray's voice rang out. "Hey you, get out of here. And don't come back. I run a clean place. I don't need any pros working out of here. My customers come here to drink and to relax. They don't need or want anything else."
He flipped on the Lions preseason football game and stalked towards his office in the back. That had been pretty harsh. She'd been working steadily but quietly through the bar. She hadn't been overt about it and she didn't have on tons of make-up or a dress that showed off her boobs or her ass. I had to hide a smile, but I was also pretty relieved that she got tagged before she got to me.
To tell you the truth, I'd never actually spoken to a hooker in my entire life. I began to wonder if I was really glad that she hadn't reached me, or if I was a little bit saddened. What would she have asked me? What would I have said in response? Would being near her have filled me with revulsion? Or would I have been just a little turned on?
"Sorry," she said to Murray's rapidly receding back. "A girl has to make a living." All of the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. The voice was older and sounded like she'd been through hell and back, but now I recognized it at once.
She looked at me and her mouth dropped open at the same time mine did. Our eyes locked and recognition gave way to remembrances.
I was taken back to the first time I ever saw her. I was in the tenth grade. Boy what a kid I was. It was the middle of the school year when she walked into my class. I can still remember my teacher, Mrs. Ethel Mertz introducing her to the class. "Tell them your name, honey," said Mrs. Mertz
"Felicia Thomas," she said shyly. I went into a swoon. Her voice was so musical that it sounded like she was singing. Her face looked like she was halfway between being an angel and being a pin-up girl. I was in the tenth grade so during our time we were pretty innocent. There was no sex going on, at least none that I was involved in or knew about.
Sure we knew about it, but no one had done it. Nice kids just didn't do things like that in my day. There may have been one or two kisses exchanged occasionally on someone's front porch. But that was it. Up until Felicia showed up, everyone knew who the pretty girls in our class were, but we didn't really investigate the way they were built. Perhaps it was just the fact that we'd all grown up together and gone through school together so most of the girls in the class developed slowly in front of our eyes.
But from the first second that I saw Felicia, I knew why women were built that way. Of course, with me being on the smaller side and the smarter side and also the quieter side, I never really got a chance to speak to her much. I was, however, just as much a member of her fan club as everyone else.
The jocks tried to impress her with their athletic prowess and their aggressiveness. The cool guys and the slick guys tried to impress her with their coolness or their schemes, but she didn't seem to bother with any of it. I observed everything she did through the tenth, eleventh and half of the twelfth grades. The summers were the worst time of the year for me. I hated summer vacation and could hardly wait to get back to school to see her.
I went to school every day. I memorized her entire wardrobe. Just to show you how obsessed I was, there were several girls in the class that took a liking to me and I ignored them all because of my obsession with Felicia. Kathy Sanders made it a point to tell me how stupid I was.
Kathy was a nice enough girl. She wasn't a princess and she wasn't a frog. She was just a nice normal girl. She had a very cute face and a nice body. There was only one thing wrong with her. She wasn't Felicia. If there hadn't been a Felicia, Kathy Sanders would have ruled our school. Not even the cheerleaders could hold a candle to Felicia. Comparing the average eighteen year old girl to Felicia Thomas was like comparing Marilyn Monroe to a Campfire girl. It was almost as if they just weren't the same species.
Kathy asked me to go with her to one of the dances and I looked at her like she was crazy. I didn't mean to be offensive, but the thought of dating anyone except Felicia was foreign to me. I didn't even know what to say to her. There was an embarrassingly pregnant pause and then she turned red in the face. "So you'd rather go to the dance alone and stare at Felicia across the floor, IF she even bothers to show up, instead of going to it with someone who actually knows you're alive and likes you?" she asked.
I think I nodded but I'm not really sure. "What a fucking loser," hissed Kathy as she stomped away, leaving me standing in the hall in front of half of our class.
During our senior year, we went on a lot of trips and activities. One of those trips was to Cedar Point, the famous amusement park in Ohio. We had to sit through a two hour long bus ride to get there. I intended to have fun that day. I had a decent amount of money to spend and a few friends to hang out with. We'd already decided everything we wanted to see and do at the park. Little did I know that real life was about to cancel my plans.
.... There is more of this story ...