I wish I remembered to blog this on the 1st. That's the approximate six-month mark from an incident I blogged about on my trip to St. Louis. There is no law saying that I'm now free and clear, but I want to get this off my chest, and I figure if they haven't gotten back to me about this by now, they've dropped the case.
Remember when I said someone scuffed my car while I was vacationing in the Loo? Well, I lied. I needed to confess what happened at the time, but I couldn't be completely honest. Here is what happened:
I was at one of my favorite stripclubs in East St. Louis. Not only was one of my All-Time Favorites there, Autumn, to wank my pee-pee, I saw another new girl named Haley who, in this extras bar filled with girls who probably couldn't cut it any of the higher-standard clubs, rivaled Autumn on the looks scale. She is cute, too -- short blonde hair, perky tits she let me touch, frisky attitude. She wouldn't let me rub her twat when she exposed herself to me, but when I got up to reach into my wallet to tip her, she groped my balls.
I thought that was nice, and I kind of wished I had the money to take her to the same back room where Autumn takes care of me every visit. But I was totally spent, money- and cum-wise, from Autumn, and after the game was done I decided to hit the road.
There was some free weeklies in a stand right behind the front door -- you know, the alternative papers, apartment shoppers, etc. I saw this guy decked out in, like, vampire clothing and I decided to pick it up and read it.
Just then, out popped a girl's head. Hey, it was Haley!
"Are you leaving?"
"Yeah." At this point I was thinking: "There's the hot stripper who groped my balls. Ah well, nothing I can do after she walks away." But no, she doesn't walk away. Instead, she says:
"Why?"
She ... didn't go away as I thought. I had no money, and therefore no use for her. But she still wanted to talk anyway. And that's when "it" hit me -- this red mist of horniness that seized me and shut my brain off. Mentally I cased our surroundings: Me, her, the "foyer" of the club, very few people inside, nobody from inside the club that could see us (at least I think so), and her still interested in me. That's when I thought: This is the perfect time to show her my dick.
Seriously, I was so wrapped up in the moment and what my id wanted to do that I couldn't even speak. She asked me "Why?" and I swear I literally said, "bluh-bluh-bluh ... aw ... Autumn and ... uh, I ... bluh-bluh-bluh ..." I didn't have the energy to put my answer into actual words because I had no time because I could get caught. No matter that I was standing just inside the front door and a guy or, worse, one of the workers there could easily open the front door and see what I was about to do; in retrospect, the potential of that happening is high enough that I shouldn't have even considered doing what I did. But I did.
What I did was drop the paper, unbutton my fly, and take out my cock -- it was a little peener at the time, all hibernating after Autumn got through with it. I put myself back in, but not after Haley looked down at my manhood and, with her cigarette held in her hand in the air, got really ... grossed out.
"Why did you flash me?!?!?!" she cried, and in disgust she went back inside. Uh-oh. Now that it all just happened, it didn't seem like a good idea. So before she called management to beat my ass, I ran out the door, fumbled for my keys, opened the door, turned on the engine, and backed my car out.
---
Now, Pulp Fiction-style, let me to take you back to the beginning of my trip to this club. It is on what could have been the Main Street of this town called Washington Park. It is a busy thoroughfare/side street, except that, with the exception of a newly-built school and a Popeye's, is desolate and, I hear, very bad at night. That means that for this club I go to, they built a partial fence around the sides of the club to prevent either muggers or people from looking over and seeing what's going on there.
When I pulled in that afternoon, I thought about where on the lot to park. The last time I was there I was annoyed about this transmission pole placed right in front. I had a hard time pulling out of the lot when I left. So I thought about not parking anywhere near there. But, for some reason, I balked at parking, say, on the side of the club -- no reason, maybe I thought that if a mugger did find his way there I'd have nowhere to turn, or something. So, reluctantly, thoughtlessly, even though there were other spots right in front of the club, I parked directly in front of (or behind, depending on how you look at it) the power pole.
And I quickly forgot about that pole while I was dashing out of the club to elude the bouncers, getting my keys out, turning on the car and pulling away. I naturally looked behind toward my rear mirror, even seeing the pole behind me. And yet, because I needed to get the fuck out of there before they castrate me, I wasn't careful enough to avoid the pole -- and drove right into it.
It wasn't as if I was peeling in reverse at, like, 50 mph. But I felt it. And I would've gotten out to examine the car if I didn't feel like my life was in danger. So I went further down the road and found an empty parking lot to gauge the damage. And what damage there was -- sizable black scuff marks, possibly deep scratches, standing out on the yellow paint. I drove home, got a pot and rag (I was staying at corporate housing) and tried to wipe the blemishes off the car, to no avail.
So that's where I was with wondering whether or not to report the marks, all the shit about calling the rental car company, and fearing that they were going to force me to file a claim. I didn't do anything, and I didn't hear anything, so it probably looks like they're not going to pursue this. Thank God.
Now, I just have to wait until this completely blows over before I can vacation down in St. Louis again. First I have to hope I don't get the same rental car company. Then I hope that when I go to the club again -- and I have to, for the sake of Autumn -- Haley won't be there, or won't remember, or won't care, and the managers won't be looking out for me and making me, like, pay for the damage they say I caused, even though I couldn't've because I ran into a fucking trasmission pole. All of this won't be occurring in, say, the next six months, and probably longer since I'm still unemployed.
However, if the coast is clear, I am glad and thankful.
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