“Oh, man. So he’s got something to impress with?”
“Not just that.” I struggle to get the words out, the chuckles streaming from me. “He’d brought in a pic that wasn’t going to fit, no matter how much I resized it.”
“Did you tell him there wasn’t enough of a cock to tat?” Sparky’s roaring with laughter. “What the hell did he say to that?”
“I thought he was going to punch me in the mouth until I suggested a piercing instead. Thought it might give some poor woman a bit of pleasure at least.”
“Hey, Nails,” Wills shouts out to the prospect who’s bartending at the moment. “What would you have tatted on your dick?”
Quick as a flash he responds, “A nine-inch nail of course.”
I think as one, we all lean over the bar and peer over and down.
“Grower,” Nails says smartly, before moving off with a wink.
“So,” Wills prompts.
“So what?”
“Did you pierce his dick?”
I crease my eyes having lost the thread of this conversation. “Sorry, I was distracted by Nail’s nine-inch dick.”
“So he says.” Sparky starts, looking around. “Hey, Dirt!” When he catches our other new prospect’s eyes, he yells, “Has Nails got a nine-inch dick?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Dirt calls back, the sack he’d been using to collect empties dangling from his hand.
“You live with him.” Sparky’s unrelenting.
“Yeah, but we don’t compare dicks.”
“Hey, I’m a grower as I said. Dirt doesn’t get me hard.”
“Prove it!” Beef slaps a twenty down on the bar top. “That says it’s not nine inches. Come on man.”
Nails is a prospect. If he wants his patch, he’ll do whatever is asked of him. It’s always a good laugh teasing a newbie.
We all start slapping our money down, Beef starts recording bets which currently go from three to ten inches. The longest was a joint bet from the club girls who I think are just optimistic. I stare at Nails, trying to read the man, before placing down my own two tens.
“Nine,” I say, hopefully, thinking of a shit job I can give him if he’s lying. Shittier than taking down his pants and getting himself hard in the middle of the clubroom.
I can tell the man’s reluctant as cries start to go around of ‘drop ‘em, prospect’, and ‘does that man want his fuckin’ patch’, and ‘who’s got a ruler to hand’—the phrasing of the latter causing a few laughs. Beaver, I notice, is smirking at the other end of the bar. As a prospect who’s been here a while, he’ll be appreciating the heat is on someone else now.
With a sigh and a glare at the VP, Nails comes around the bar, and starts unzipping his pants.
“Hey, I’ll help.”
“Prospects don’t get whores’ hands on them,” Bomber snarls at Breezy. “Let the man handle himself.”
Again, we all crack up.
But Breezy does help, though in a hands-off way. She lowers her top so her tits are hanging out and fondles them, while licking her lips. Nails pulls out his cock and starts tugging on it, then fists one hand around it, fondling his balls with the other.
“Don’t you dare come,” yells Dirt. “I ain’t cleaning up your shit.”
Nail’s head goes back and fuck me, well that cock swells and lengthens. Quite impressively actually.
“Is that it?” Rusty asks. “Here, Liz.”
As I turn, he hands me a fucking ruler. “Why me?”
“’Cause you’re used to handling dicks. Come on. Go measure it.”
With a grimace I step forward. “Don’t you dare go off, Prospect. You get cum on me and you won’t get your patch.”
“Well for fuck’s sake hurry,” Nails gasps.
I place the ruler against his dick, pressing it against the root making him gasp.
“Hurry up!” His voice is tense.
“Nine inches!” I announce in delight, seeing the size of the pile on the top of the bar.
“Hey, let me check.” Beef comes over.
“Man, hurry the fuck up.”
“Hold it there, Nails. Yeah, Liz, I think you’re right. Good call, Brother. Anyone else want to take a look?”
Seems they all do. Nails is going red in the face. “Jeez, I’m—”
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” Thunder’s loud voice booms.
Eventually Beef takes pity on the man both fighting to maintain his erection and trying hard not to come. “Okay, put it away now, Nails.”
Then we all stand watching him try to get his very erect and reasonably long cock back inside his pants.
“Can I take five?” he asks, sounding desperate.
“Who’s serving fuckin’ drinks?” Judge bangs the bar top. “I want a beer.” He shakes his head at Beaver, warning him to stay where he is.
As a result, Nails doesn’t get his five minutes, instead he has to hobble stiffly back around the bar to pour our drinks.
I’m just reaching to collect the pot of money lying on the bar when the main door opens and I automatically swing around to see that it’s Mace, with a woman and teenage boy in tow. It’s the bitch who was here yesterday, and I wonder why she’s back. The boy is staring at me as I count up the money. I turn away, not knowing him from Adam. Not my business, or nothing more than idle curiosity as to why we have strangers in the club.
But as they walk past, I hear the boy ask Mace in a loud voice, “Do they swear a lot here then?”
Mace snorts and looks over at the money I just picked up.
“Just a bit, little bro,” he answers the kid. “Yeah. Just a bit.”
Then he’s taken them over to the stairs which lead to the bedrooms. Has Mace picked himself up a woman? If so, she’s quite a pretty-looking bitch, though older than the ones he usually goes for. Wonder if he’s going to share her? Hmm. Probably wouldn’t mind that. Would have to ditch the kid though.
Well I had me some entertainment at the prospect’s expense and earned myself a hundred bucks to boot. Good times. I stand with a beer in my hand, wondering which sweet butt I’ll get to warm my bed tonight, thinking once again this is the fucking life. I’ve got everything I want and need here. There’s nothing missing at all. Nothing at fucking all.
For some reason, I think of the kid who just walked in. He reminded me of me for some reason. Strange to think I was once a pimply brat his age. Christ.
As usual the blast of pain hits me by surprise, coming on with no warning. I place my elbows on the bar and put my head in my hands, trying to massage my temples.
“You okay, Bro?”
I breathe in deeply, let it out slowly, then do it again. Then again. After the third time, the pain’s receded sufficiently for me to speak. “Fuckin’ headache, Mace. Must have overdone it today.” While I’d been bent over with pain, Mace and at least one of his visitors had obviously come back downstairs.
“You know what causes them? You’re getting them more often it seems.”
“Yeah. Pretty certain it’s my age. Reckon my eyesight’s going. All that close work I’m doing, concentrating and shit. Probably eyestrain and I need glasses. I’ll go see the optometrist when I get time.”