There was a run down little building
around the block that guys from work
used to go to.
It had blacked out windows
and fire engine red paint.
An interesting color combination,
but I saw men flocking to it on their lunch breaks
in droves
then coming back to their desks all soaked and sweaty like.
I didn’t know what to make of it
but one of regulars whispered that they
had streamlined the operation completely
bringing in efficiencies from 1940’s war time production;
mechanisms of the assembly line
running at full capacity.
There was even one of those little hatches in the door
that slid back and forth
where you’d have to say a secret password
to get in. Luckily there was one guy in our group
that happened to know it. He was in finance.
The day we went, it was cold. Damn cold. I could see the steam escape
from the front door of the place after every open. Puffs rose into the air
and it looked like people were going in there to be cooked.
It was our turn in line. The password was uttered and we went
into the Hustle House’s bowels.
I stood there just inside the little entrance looking.
This place was like a dungeon; dark, dingy, industrial. Every surface was bathed in metal
with the exception of a few candelabras hanging on the walls.
There was also an unrelenting smell that permeated
every inch of the area and my nostrils, making my eyes water, I accidentally breathed in a big mouthful.
I couldn’t quite place it, but then all at once I realized what it was.
It was ass.
Tangy scents of it wafted about the room
in different flavors
making it the default air.
It was a free for all and the men would line up,
one after another they came in and kept coming
and sometimes there was only one whore
there for a long time until she was swapped
out with another one. Eventually one of the men would yell,
“she’s too loose!”, and that was the cue.
A man came through the front door
he would slide right in
but there were rules
and even a few signs.
One said:
Ten pumps maximum.
The other said:
Use this rag to catch it.
Some men took their time
went in slow, really making their pumps count
while others jack-rabbited them
running out of movements before
they knew it.
There was this one blonde kid from the bakery
he had these big thighs from standing on his
feet so much, his pumps were always fast
but he always complained.
Not enough time to get off he would say,
“I just need a few more pumps,
just a few. Its not going to hurt anyone.”
The bouncer grabbed him by his shirt collar, split his lip
and threw him out onto the street corner,
dick still all exposed to the wind.
He yelled at us through the window,
that next time he’d be ready and primed up.
I was next in line. I stood there staring at the whore bent over
with her skirt hiked up, ready and waiting.
The bouncer looked at me, red faced.
I wasn’t moving forward. “Hey, are you with him? What’s your deal?”
The kid’s blood from his busted lips was still all over the place
in front of me. Specs on the floor and dots of it
splashed across the pussy. “Come on man! Push in there!” the bouncer yelled at me.
“You gay?”
I couldn’t do it. I was going to be sick. With blood and cum still on my boots,
I slid out of there, busting open the back door and taking the alley.
The sunlight penetrated my eyes and blinded me in the process. And
for a split second I thought the damage the Hustle had done to me
was irreversible! I couldn’t see! Maybe that dungeon had actually turned
me into some sort of vampire after all! But then I knew it, I was never that lucky
to get such an escape from life.
I ran down the street and got back to my desk
with just 5 minutes to spare. I had sweated all the way
through my shirt but my boss denied me a break to change it.
So there I sat, smelling
like the Hustle House for the rest of the day.
Although I made it in, I was somewhat disappointed in myself
for never having made it to the step where I got to use the rag.
Well, there’s always tomorrow I thought.