Thursday, December 31, 2009



Back in 1999 I was lucky enough to live in a very bad part of town.
As I would pull down the gravel alley at 5:30 in the morning on my way to work, there were two girls on the corner that always asked me if I wanted a "date". Being a bit of a rube, it took me a while to figure out what was going on there.
But before long, as I would pull into the alley at the end of the day, and they would wave at me and I would holler out the window
"Hellllloooo Ladies!", "Yabba-Dabba-Doo!" or "Honey, I'm home!"
And these girls would all laugh and wave because, well, am a funny guy, even to a whore.
Some times I would go to the corner and talk with them late at night, staying out of sight so as to not drive off any prospects. There were probably 3 or4 girls that worked that area at any given time.
One night a guy I knew from High School pulled up.
Boy-howdy, was he surprised to see me!
But thats not what this story is about.

This story is about the very pretty little whore that would work the streets on occasion. She had beautiful, soft looking, well groomed hair that she would toss about in a very sexy way. She seemed different from the other girls…very different. She was pretty and clean and wasn't all schitzed out, mumbling to herself, or pacing back and forth incessantly.
I figured she was a "Part-Timer"; a bored housewife that came out on occasion for a little taste of life on the edge.

One morning in my driveway I was checking the oil in my truck. This pretty little whore was passing by and so I said
“Good morning”, because really, I had been dying to say something to this pretty little whore.
She stopped and tossed her hair back and shielded her eyes from the sun and says
‘Whatcha’ doin'?”
I looked at her as I slid the rag slowly down my dipstick.
“Jus’ checkin’ my oil “ I says, and added with a grin “Would you like me to check YOUR oil?”
She didn’t miss a beat and fired right back:
“Would YOU like to check my oil?”
She was smiling pretty as she tossed that sexy hair around again.

Well, I must have turned about 5 shades of red, because, yes, I would have liked to check her oil, but I really did not have the guts to go about it.
Of course, she already knew all this, but decided to let me off the hook.
“You don’t “date” do you?”
It was less a question, and more of a statement spoken as a matter of fact.
“No ma’am, I don’t…I’m probably better off all by myself”. I don’t think I have ever felt more embarrassed my whole life.
“OK” she says, flips her hair back and starts away.
She got a few steps away. It may sound silly, but I had some notion that maybe I had hurt her feelings. So I added as she walked away:
"You are awful pretty though.”
She stopped and turned around and just laughed and flashed a big pretty smile, and said
"And you are awful sweet, and are probably better off all by yourself” and tossed all that sexy hair as she turned away while waving good-bye. She had let me off the hook again.

A few nights later on New Years Eve, a happy married couple I know saw her and they pulled over to the right in their Convertible Rag-topped Corvette. It was nice out, and they had the top down. They wanted to know how much she would charge to take on the both of them!
Just a little curious, they were... just wanted to see what it might cost for a little taste of life on the edge.
Before you could say “Tit-Bit and Gimme a Dollar” they were surrounded by the Vice Squad.
They were arrested and spent New Years Eve in Jail.
Yep. You see…
That pretty young whore was a Cop.



Anonymous said...

Your blog keeps getting better and better! Your older articles are not as good as newer ones you have a lot more creativity and originality now keep it up!

Martijn said...

Woah! Helluva story, Steve! I'll never forget: a pretty young whore probably holds a badge. It's kind of sad though, that what seemed the best deal prooves to be a fake. Suddenly, the image gets into my mind of Stan Laurel eating that wax apple.

Anyway, I'm mighty glad I live in a country where cops can't do stuff like that. What's it called again? Enticement, I believe. Quite illegal overhere! No, here in Holland you know where stand are: a whore's a whore, of course of course.

Happy New Year!

Martijn said...

'you know where you stand' that should have spelled, or 'you know where you are'... New Year's Resolution: better spelling this year. Hey, again.

Anonymous said...

Great story, Steve. And a timely warning to all of us not to get married to a woman who is open to any type of sexual exploration. It can only end in jail.

Martijn, I prefer life in your neck of the woods. Where a whore is not a cop, but a cop is (aren't they all) a whore.

UF Mike

Lily said...

Ok, its official, I'm getting old/turning into a prude - I REALLY don't like the word 'whore', its right up there with my other loathourites 'bitch' and 'c**t'. What words make you cringe, Bullets?

Angela said...

Hi Bulletholes, so you are still writing? Pretty story. I don`t mind the word whore (Hure in German, or Nutte), and I`ve met some who all had a story and some were real pretty (Hamburg is a harbor city, so no avoiding them). Our laws are like the Dutch, so no surprises there...only a man who goes to whores could not be my friend. It is not the word, it is the deed. So I guess I am not prude but old-fashioned?
Happy New Year to you, Steve!

bulletholes said...

Almost martijn! its Called 'Entrapment"...its kinda the same thing though!
Just stay in the house Mike!

Lily, I apologize. it is rough talk, and I should have thrown in a few leess abrasive characteriztions.
What word pisses me off? Hmm...i think irregadless gets me twisted off a little bit. So does 'whatever" when said in a certain tone by certain people, like my x.
Hi Angela, yes, I have slowed down, and don't even get around the blogs much. Its not that I'm busy, i'm just kinda blogged out.

Anonymous said...

I just passed through Hamburg. A beautiful city, if you like the damp and the cold and the hopeless wind blowing in from the sailor-killing sea. I enjoyed an evening at the Weihnachtsmarkt there. Mutzen rules!

UF Mike