Class, no? Then cliché number two when she said I had misunderstood. Like fuck I had. Cliché number three when I mimicked her saying, “Your fingers work magic,” and chucking something else at her. She leant against the door jamb, arms folded and finally, quietly said she’d been trying to tell me.If I had lost it before, I totally lost it then. “You sat in my sofa with your legs apart and came all over my face, screaming the fucking house down then, two minutes later, told whoever she is you’d never cum so hard.” Mimicked her again, “No darling, not even with her.” “Fuck off.” She did. I descended into my own version of hell which was mostly located in a bottle and stayed there until Mags, my saintly, patient and loving friend hauled me back despite all the invective and insult I threw at her.So, here we were in Mysore. Separate rooms but together, not a couple but a pair.I had a shower and relished the warm water cascading through my hair and over my body, cleansing the sweat of the. .”“You agreed to work your dept off...We have a dishwasher, we need a dancer..”He turned to the bottles and poured something into a glass. Amelie became aware of somebody standing right behind her, blocking her way to the exit. It was going to happen again, the third time in two days!“I need you on stage for 30 minutes...and you get to keep all the tips...here drink this, babe..” he said, putting a glass in front of her.“And...how much will..that cost me?” she asked and nodded towards the glass.“It is on the house..you will probably need it if you have not done this before, babe”She nodded again. Then she emptied the glass in two big gulps. About 6 cl of cheap vodka that made her cough. She left her coat and bag with the manager and tried to tell her self that this was just a dream, as she walked through the room. There was about 30 or 35 men. Only men. All eyes were on her. She could feel it. Lights were dimmed, except for one or two strong spots. The stereo played some old.
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