Partners in Crime
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My Good Friend Van and I were once partners in crime. We first met when I was working as a doorman in a bar in the mostly white, mostly middle class suburb nudie bar in Dallas. The name of the bar was Holsteins and it was a medium sized place with your usual wooden floors, small stage for live music and a respectably sized beer garden. All in all it was a fun place to work and it wasn't very tough. Unlike some people I've met in my life, Van im and I immediately hit it off.
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Now, I've seen Van meet a lot of people for the first time and they don't always take too kindly to him. In Van's eyes, he doesn't need to like or respect you right off the bat. You have to earn his friendship. Sure he'll be cool with you but he won't necessarily like you until later, sometimes much later. I think one of the reasons we hit it off so well from the get go is because we are very alike, maybe not so much in demeanor, but in arrogance, vanity and a love of good scotch.
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I was talking with him on the phone today. We've been talking quite a bit recently which is nice. Ever since his engagement it's been hard to catch him in a conversation and even more difficult to plan a night out on the town. We were talking about how things have changed since we first met. In the past, anytime we'd go out we would consume endless amounts of alcohol, pop all manner of pills, snort coke like it was nothing and attract all sorts of attention from the opposite sex. When it came to women, Van usually did most of the talking. He was always way smoother than I could ever hope to be. He sort of exuded this ‘ass-holeish’ persona that women seemed to gravitate towards. I never understood it but I always just went along with it.
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There were times when we would spend the entire night, from 9 p.m. until 7 a.m. in the morning, out boozing, never calling our girlfriends who would worry about us on a regular basis. They knew how we would get when we were in each other’s company, so I'm sure they spent many restless nights at home or with friends thinking about what and who we might have been doing. (I should apologize to any women we were with at the time for not letting you know we were o.k. but I'm not going to since it would be meaningless to do it now because if I really thought it needed to be done I would've done so long ago).
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Just an example of our antics was once when one of Van's drug dealer friends was having a birthday party at a place called Sugar. Van, his friend Wade and I met up at my old apartment in Lewisville and did a little pre-game coke. Once we were ready to go, we called a cab and headed off to the West End to the restaurant/club. On the way there, in my cocoa leaf induced frame of mind, I thought it would be a good idea to call up a bunch of women I knew and see if they wanted to meet up anytime over the course of the evening. Being 10 p.m. on a Saturday I didn't really expect anyone to pick up. And nobody did, so I ended up leaving a lot of messages telling them where we would be. The three of us were the first of the birthday partiers to get there and right off the bat we attracted the attention of a group of 30-something years old girls who were having a Bachelorette party. They invited us to sit with them and partake of some of the festivities. We did, but they were already drunk, giddy, and acting slightly immature, so I could only stand so much of their banal conversations. The word married came up so often that I decided to step outside to vomit and for a phone call/smoke.
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When I started making my way back inside, there were two girls standing in the foyer between the inside of the bar and the outside world. They started flirting with me, and the longer I stood talking to them, the clearer it became to me that they were ‘rolling.’ I saw this as an advantage for me since every time someone I knew had take ‘X,’ they loved being touched. I started just randomly touching and patting and caressing these girls in what could've been taken as a perfectly innocent and friendly manner. I knew what I was doing though. I was hoping that my seemingly simple caresses would build them up to want more from me. Sure enough, the conversation turned to a sexual one. They started asking if I like to eat pussy and other questions of that nature. Naturally I gave them the answers they wanted to hear. At on point, one of them suddenly threw her arms around my neck and jumping up, wrapped her legs around my waist. Her weight sort of nudged me over against the wall, which had some sort of thick cardboard carpet hanging from it. It had a rough surface that dug quite cruelly into my back, but considering the position that I was in, I didn't think about it too much. Then she started kissing me.
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Then Van noticed me making out with some random chick and decided that I may have ‘needed help’ as he'd tell it. He came over and as soon as he did the other chick was all over him. It wasn't long before we took turns taking the girls into the bathroom to partake of our stash of ‘lucky-white-powder’ which we followed up with more making out and consequently wandering hands.
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Some time over the next few hours the two girls disappeared. Van and I didn't worry about it much because the rest of our party finally arrived and brought with them some more women, one of whom was an incredible super vixen of the Dominican persuasion. From the moment I saw her I had a hard on. She stood about 5-foot 9, taller than what I usually go for, but always nice to have. She had skin that was absolutely impossibly soft and smooth. If you've ever felt alpaca fur and can imagine something softer than that, you'll understand. Her two rows of perfectly gleaming pearly whites were blinding and her long, straight and incredible smelling hair made me think about having her scent on my pillow. Her body was long and lean but I think that she had to work to get it that way because her face had a lot of round features as though she had been heavier set in years gone by. Her ass made me think this as well, thick, plump and luscious. So luscious that, much to her delight, I grabbed and rubbed it several times over the course of the evening. It was obviously a source of pride for her and she loved the attention she got because of it. The skirt she wore really hugged that fantastic booty so tight that I kept thinking about what she would look like if I bent her over and fucked her. I won't even go any deeper into my wild imaginings on that particular subject.
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Luckily for me, the ebony beauty was sitting next to an empty seat. With a quick and knowing glance over to Van, I immediately sat down next to her, and happily we hit it off great. She wasn't ghetto, she didn't have long sparkly fingernails or a hairdo that had the nativity scene cut into it, she was very well spoken and could carry on a conversation without mentioning her clothes, shoes, handbags of jewelry, and I was in love.
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As the night wore on and more drinks were consumed, my ebony beauty and I became exponentially closer. We broke away from the table for a while to easier carry on our conversation in the little foyer that I mentioned earlier, away from everyone else and any extraneous noise. Eventually the party moved to a place called the Ghost Bar (I think) which, from what I've seen the whole two times I've gone there, seems to be frequented mostly by Asians. Now, Asian women are a bit of an oddity to me. Normally, as a super hot woman gets older, they retain some semblance of that hotness into their later years. With just a minimal amount of imagination, you can see past the wrinkles and white hair, sagging boobs and mom ass and see how incredibly gorgeous she once was. This isn't the case with Asian women in my experience. All Asian women end up looking like bulldogs to me; all jowly cheeks and pout mouthed. It's been a general rule of mine to only sleep with Asian women and never to take one as a companion, but I digress.
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Eventually of course, my ebony beauty wanted to dance. I'm not much of a dancer when I'm sober but you get enough Scotch in me and I will shake it with the best of them. I don't really know how to dance but I get out there and move around. The most importantly thing is that I have a good time, which in turn makes it seem like I know how to dance. We started getting sort of tired after about half an hour on the floor so we took a breather on a long leather covered bench adjacent to the floor. I asked her if she wanted me to rub her feet. She of course looked at me like I was crazy for asking her but when she saw that I was serious she quickly kicked off her shoes and put her feet on my lap. As I sat there massaging her feet I noticed that even they were gorgeous. They were the kind of feet that you wouldn't mind worshiping. If God were a woman, her feet look like these. While I was massaging her godly tootsies, she kept making such suggestive moans that I was half expecting to see a small puddle form under her ass from all the juices that had to have been flowing. I also noticed that several other guys and girls were taking not of us and it seemed pretty obvious that I was making the guys look kind of bad. So I kept doing it.
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After a sufficient foot rub and a little more conversation, and a little more drinking we got back onto the dance floor. After sitting for such a long time and having more than a few drinks com to us, we did that sort of drunken wobble that you do after you've been sitting and drinking for an extended amount of time. We managed to get our groundings after am minute and started dancing. The top that my ebony beauty was wearing was made of a very loose fabric that I think was silk. It was a deep blue, backless piece with a string that went around her neck and another that went around her waist and tied in the back. There was a lot of slack in the front so that it formed a sort of flowing opening that her breasts were precariously close to falling out of several times while we danced. I prayed silently that it would happen, just so I could get a peek at what must have been a truly amazing pair of breasts. There was a point where we were dancing so close that I could feel her lips against mine. I had my arm wrapped around her waist and she was straddling my leg, grinding herself against the fabric of my jeans. I wanted her. She must have known what she was doing to me because she then took her hands and opened up the already loose fabric at the top of her shirt and showed off one of her magnificent breasts to me. Then I did what any sane, ‘dark skin’ loving male would do. I started sucking on it.
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Right there on the dance floor she was rubbing her crotch against my leg while I was sucking on her perfectly sized and shaped breast, with its dark swollen nipple, all the while her head was thrown back in complete indulgence of the sensation. Through it all we never stopped moving our bodies to the beat. When I finally pulled myself free of her chest, I went straight to her luscious mouth and we locked lips. I was in heaven. The coke that I’d been snorting all night only enhanced the physicality of everything that was going on. I felt like I was in a dream. I'll never forget how soft and full bodied those lips were and how slow her tongue swirled around in my mouth. She finished the kiss, biting my lip as she pulled away, and then biting on the side of her own bottom lip. As has happened so often in my life, I fell in love for just a night with this perfect future masturbatory fantasy.
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Eventually, we made our way back to the table where I excused myself to use the bathroom. While I was standing there at the pisser, one of the other guys that were sitting at the table came in almost immediately after me and stood there at the next urinal. As he stood there, he told me that my ebony beauty was his woman. All I could muster was a noncommittal and confused, "Uh-huh" at the news. He went on to say, "I know she's incredibly fucking hot and I know how she is when she goes out to bars and clubs and I've come to accept that over the five years we've been together. So while I don't really mind you putting her breast in your mouth or rubbing her feet or even kissing her like that on the dance floor, all in the full view of everyone out there. But you need to know that it isn't going to go any further than that. So if you're looking to get your cock wet tonight, I suggest you start looking somewhere else because that is something that I absolutely will not tolerate." I found it oddly comforting that he said this all in a very matter of fact tone without any real emotion. What I found to be a little discomforting was when he moved his jacket aside to show me that he had a holster and a gun under his coat. I didn't talk too much my ebony beauty after that and a little while later they let. But the night wasn't over yet.
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Once it was back to just Van, Wade, and myself, we found ourselves in a cab on our way to some loft party that Wade heard about. In the back of the cab we each did few more bumps of coke and I remember thinking to myself, "Man, we got a lot of this stuff." As I'm writing this, I can actually feel the burn in my nasal passages and taste the bitterness on my tongue. We got to the building the party was being held in and the first thing I noticed was that it was beautiful in a sort of abandoned warehouse sort of way. There was one long stairway going up to the party on the top floor, with a doorway going into each of the three lowered apartments. Van and I waited on the landing in front of the third apartment while Wade went looking for his buddy who was having the party. It turns out that his buddy had actually left the noisy crowded party for the sanctuary of his own apartment and the company of seven or eight of his own friends.
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When we went into the apartment, we realized two things. One is that it was deceptively huge. Two is the fact that Van and I felt like complete outsiders not only because we didn't know anyone there except for Wade but also because we were surrounded by frigging arty hippies types. All the guys had those thick and sort of scraggly beards with matching hair, paperboy caps, band t-shirts, and well-worn khakis or corduroy pants. With one exception, all the women had long messy hair, long skirts, and either a tank top of some kind of thin sweater with a t-shirt underneath. The exception was wearing her pajamas. Van and I stuck out like sore thumbs because of our shiny and clean looking club attire. We kept to ourselves at first just because we are innately leery of any and all hippies until we really get to know them on a personal basis. We don't know why this is. We stated talking about a sick fantasy of us getting murdered by these hippies. About how they'd drug us, rape us, stab us, rape us again, chop us up into little itty bitty bite sized pieces that they could cook and eat later after they'd dried out our hair and smoked it in a pipe that they made from our bones. We talked about, in vivid detail, for about half an hour laughing to ourselves as we drank some beers that the murderous hippies had give to us when we entered their home. After a while the hippies warmed up to us and our different culture and we started having a goodtime. It turns out that the hippies also enjoyed partaking of Columbia's finest so we shared a few rails off the surprisingly flat stomachs of a hippie women who had no problem walking around topless, fetching beers for anybody who needed one. I had imaginings of a coke-fueled orgy happening later on.
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As the night wore on, a black guy in the crowd entertained us. He was a very capable guitar player and sang for us some David Bowie, Bob Dylan, and other popular guitar music as well as some songs of his own which weren't as good but weren't' intolerable.
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Around seven in the morning, we finished off the last of the coke and all the beer was gone. One hippie couple had passed out on the couch under a blanket. I thought I smelled sex in the air around them but I'm not quite sure. Another hippie was passed out in a chair with his arms folded under his head on the table in front of him, still clutching a lit cigarette. Yet another was slumbering on the lazy boy in front of the TV, while some nameless porn played silently on the tube. The rest of the group had left at various points through the night and it was now just Van, Wade, the head hippie, his girl, one of her friends, the black guitarist and me. The girls were still topless which was pretty sweet, though the novelty of it had faded. The conversation was beginning to wind down so we knew it was time to go. Especially since I had to be at work at eleven that day. We said farewell to the hippies and went outside to see if we could catch a cab at this ungodly and obscenely early hour. The black guitarist asked if he could catch a ride with us to the Dart station and we said, "Sure thing black hippie guy." We never did get his real name.
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Black hippie guy was really cool right up until the end of his cab ride. We had let him in under the presumption that he would at least toss in a buck or two for his ride since it was kind of out of our way. Nope, not a thing, he didn't even offer. He just grabbed his guitar said, "Peace," then jumped out of the cab and didn't even look back. The three of us looked at each other with that ‘What the fuck’ look you do when someone does something like that. With the clarity of hindsight, it's now obvious to me that he wasn't ever going to pay for that cab ride because he's a hippie, and most hippies are broke. Not cheap mind you, just broke. The only money hippies really earn is from panhandling, selling things they made, playing music, petty theft and selling drugs. Oh and sometimes working in record stores and being massaged therapists.
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We finally got back to my place around 8:30 Sunday morning. We sat on my couch filling each other in on our individual experiences throughout the night. I never told Van about the incident in the bathroom because I knew he'd get more than a little pissed that someone would do that and I didn't want to put any kind of damper on what was otherwise a most enjoyable night. As you can imagine I was completely useless at work the next day since I was so incredibly tired. And since I'd inhaled so much coke, couldn't take any kind of nap. I had to keep blowing my nose all day and was somewhat alarmed by the amount of blood on the tissues I was using. But figured it was no big deal since I don't do this all the time.
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I made the mistake of telling my girlfriend at the time about certain details of the night, like the two girls in the entranceway at Sugar. But I wasn't foolish enough to say tell her that I was making out with one of them, just that I had spoken to one, maybe two of them, but not for any extended length of time. Secrecy wasn't to be taken lightly. Girlfriends have always told me that they want to know everything I do, when I go out, but I don't think they really mean it. I think it's better to just not tell them if there's a chance of them losing their cool. She got super pissed when she figured out I was doing coke that night. Much to my surprise, she made this deduction from the wads of bloody tissue that were in the trashcan in the bathroom. She confronted me about it and when lying didn't work, figuring it was too late for her to ruin my night, I just came clean. Wow did she fly off the handle. I felt like I was getting a lecture from a D.A.R.E. academy graduate. It was hard for me to take her seriously though because as much as you might hate it, all you women look so incredibly cute when you're mad. Then when you get even madder because I'm laughing at you, you become even cuter. It's the way of the universe.
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So that's the kind of night that Van and I normally had when we went out. The time for nights like these seems to have passed due to relocation and responsibility but still, they really were the good old days.
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The End...
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