Hooker Hand

Friday, February 25, 2005

This is what you call a pleasant surprise. I’m not going to do Day 5 of birthday week. Instead, today is all about the Hooker Hand.

I have done some really stupid things in my life – I have some moments I am not very proud of. I think if I were to rank my least proud moments, number one would certainly never appear on the blog, number two could potentially appear one day on an alcohol induced night and number three, well, I’m going to tell number three now. If you are one of those weird people that hold me in some type of regard, skip this story.

I have the tendency to really go for something when I have my mind set on it. If something sounds like a good idea, I get so fucking jazzed that I don’t even think about what I’m doing anymore, I just blindly dive in. Most of the time it works out ok. But sometimes, I look back and see what sparked the mad fury and I realize that I was absolutely retarded for even starting down this path, let alone finishing it.

And sometimes I don’t finish it. Sometimes I cut my losses and move on, ashamed.

And one time, that shaming led to my number three least-proud moment. So, like I said, I sometimes set my eyes on a prize and fucking go for it. If you’re the same way, you should stay away from 25-cent live peep shows in Times Square.

Times Square used to be the Mecca of filth and pornography. Pros would solicit men, women and children with reckless abandon. Then Disney came along and paid for a major Times Square renovation. You can’t even recognize the place anymore – Disney Store, theaters, video game joints, family restaurants – Times Square became pristine and the pros moved out of town.

Some business’ held on, however. If you walk a couple of blocks of you’ll see the sex shops and peep shows. They’re sparse, barely holding on. The only reason they survive is because there is so little competition. One day Max, G and I had the great idea to visit a sex shop/peep show. It was a Saturday night, we were home from college and it just sounded like a good idea.

We get to the place. I don’t remember its name; I think I blocked it out. We go inside and hang around the first floor for a little while. This is where all the dildos, fake vaginas and pornos can be found. The only people who hang out on the first floor are the people building up the courage to move up to the second floor. We loiter a bit, point out some funny porno boxes. Joke around about the losers that buy fake pussies knowing full well that fake pussy is more pussy than the no pussy we were getting.

Finally, we make our way upstairs. Video booth floor. The Video booth is the lowest of the low but I dare any New York male to tell me to my face that he never went in one. He’s a fucking liar. The premise is simple, you put a buck in the slot for five minutes of video, there are browse knobs on the control panel and you flip through and find whatever fetish you fancy. Technically, you make note of the movie and purchase it. In reality, you pop a quick one and let the clean-up crew worry about it. There are rules for the video booth. Never touch anything. Stay away from all the walls and NEVER sit on the seat in the corner. It’s a trap. Pull your sleeve over your hand when operating the control panel. Burn your shirt when you get home.

Anyway, I put my buck in and start flipping. Every fucking channel is gay porn. I step out of the booth, I see G looking above his booth – looking for a sign.

“Is yours all gay porn too?” He asks me.

“So far. No sign?”

“No. I’m gonna keep checking.” We go back into our booths. Finally I hear G shout, “I found some straight porn! Channel 72.” I start flipping to channel 72. “Nope. Never mind, bisexual. Camera pulled out, a guy was licking his balls.”

Max chimes in, “Let’s go to the live booths.” We each step out of our respective booths. And make our way to the third floor, the night being a bust so far.

This was my first and only live booth experience. I didn’t know what to expect. I went into a booth, put my buck in, screen comes up. A chick is behind the glass, doing her nails. She looks at me, I smile. She goes back to her nails. It’s starting to get uncomfortable. “Don’t you do something?” I ask her.

“You gotta tip me first,” she responds, motioning towards the hole in the glass I originally thought was for my penis.

“Oh. How much?”

“Five bucks for now.” Reluctantly I put five dollars in the hole. She starts dancing. The screen comes down about ten second later. Mind you, this was probably less than a minute. The timer on the live booths is obviously much faster than the video booths. I put a five in. The screen comes back in and the girl starts dancing around again, showing me her software.

Now I have pressure on me, I know the screen is going to close in five minutes. She’s talking it up, “Cum for me baby. Come on.” That shit doesn’t help; it just makes the whole thing even more stressful. Time was running out and I think she learned how to play me. While grabbing her tits she looks me in the eye and says, “You know, for twenty bucks I can jerk your cock off with my ass.”

For some reason this was the best fucking idea I ever heard. Here I am so far, eleven bucks down and nothing to show for it. For an additional nine bucks I won’t just get off but this woman will get me off with her ass. With her dirty, disgusting, diseased, ho ass. Here’s where irrational Jason kicked in.

I agreed, smile on my face, and she meets me outside of my booth and takes me to a private booth. We get there, she holds out her hand. I give her a ten.

“I said twenty dollars, baby.”

“Yeah, and I gave you eleven already.”

“That eleven is separate. I need twenty now.” I reach in my wallet and give her another ten, leaving me with five bucks. “And a tip.”

“I already gave you a tip!”

“That was for the peep show.”

“Well, how much tip do you want?”

“If you want me to get you off with my ass it’s a fifty dollar tip.”

“Fifty dollars? Why didn’t you fucking say that?” I was getting rip shit at this point. Now, if I was behaving logically, I wouldn’t have been arguing with this skank about pricing schemes for laying my dick between her ass-cheeks. “What the fuck, how much tip to get me off without your ass?”

“Twenty, baby.”

“What the fuck! I got five, what does five get me.”

”Go ask your friend for money.” And there it was. Every time we go to a strip club there is always that one friend that asks for a hundred bucks so that he can get into the Champaign Room. Go ask your friend for money. We’ve all heard it; no way was I going to be the guy that asks my friend for fifty bucks so a hooker can ride me.

“Give me my money back!”

“Fine, we can go to the touch booth for the extra five.” I didn’t even ask what the touch booth was; I just wanted to finish this shit. I give her the five; we go to the touch booth.

The touch booth is a booth where we stand on separate sides of a Plexiglas wall, there is a tit shaped hole she pushes her breasts through and I feel up her tits while taking care of my own business. It was officially my third lowest moment. And to make it worse, the whole time she’s telling me to ask my friends for more money.

Finally I had enough. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up and act hot for five fucking minutes!” She didn’t like my tone or choice of words and neither did the big, black bouncer that told me I should be going now. I was escorted out, met up with G and Max. They spent ten bucks inside verses my 36. They had a good time, I had a diseased hooker hand and I forever have to live with the fact that I almost got anal from a peep show hooker, cursed at her, and had my two friends witness my ass getting bounced out of a piece of shit, disgusting peepshow. I was that guy to the tenth power.

I washed my hands all night. Scrubbed them! G and Max were continuously ripping on me, calling me hooker hand. It wasn’t even that I touched her, it was what I wanted to do that really fucked me up. That was my third lowest moment. I’ll never tell you the first and the second might come out. It gets a lot worse than that. Lowest-moments are exponential; a lot of them gather low by the axis but as you increase in lowness the difference between them increases immensely. My lowest moment is a singularity; it’s the limit as lowness reaches infinity. Usually the lowest moment is incriminating and mine is as well. Several counts, actually. And one of them is manslaughter.

No, just kidding. Two of them are manslaughter.

Ok. Kidding again. First degree murder. On all three of them.

turn off the metallica, fanboy: The Very Best of John Lee Hooker

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posted by Jason at 5 Comments


5 Comments

Blogger saulcolt said...

“You gotta tip me first,” she responds, motioning towards the hole in the glass I originally thought was for my penis.
this was so funny to me.

Great Story!

saul

8:27 AM  
Blogger Chris Fabulous said...

Dude, I like you better now for the way you yelled at her. That's awesome.

By the way, I've been involved in many lower moments that I'm never, ever going to tell you or anyone, so don't feel bad. That was a funny story, but not as bad as you built it up to be.

2:33 AM  
Blogger Jason said...

Chris - it gets a little worse when I mention I was dating someone at the time - for about two years.

We broke up shortly after, tho, I think it's safe to say we were on our way down anyway.

10:58 AM  
Blogger Jorge Vega said...

Yo... I think Chris Fab was just being nice, Jason.

Cause that was indeed some low shit.

Great story though, you dirty ass whoremonger.

9:41 AM  
Blogger Jason said...

Jorge -
I know Chris well enough to know that he probably did have lower moments - and he's proud of them. I just had to trump him, is all.

10:14 AM  

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