Even Sluts Can Be Entertaining

50. Even Sluts Can Be Entertaining

I was in a large protected harbor, on a mooring ball, among 200 or so boats. This was a very popular stopping point for boaters of all kinds. Sailboats, power boats, big ones, little ones, old boaters, young boaters. It was all here.

While onshore tending to some office business late in the day, I overheard a group talking about a local bar. I eavesdroped on their conversation to find out more. About a half mile down the road was a classic dive bar. It was called The Monkey. Being bored, I decided to walk there and pass judgment. Dive bar or just pretending?

The parking lot was about equally divided between rusted out pickups, motorcycles, and old beater cars held together with duct tape and chewing gum. The place looked sketchy but I went in anyway.

Dark and dank. The smell of stale cigarette smoke, years of spilt beer, with an undertone of puke. It was a godawful place. A motorcycle gang had commandeered one of two pool tables. The loud crack as they broke the racked triangle of balls pierced through the jukebox music and the undertone of chit-chat. A few utterly foul sluts were clinging to the bikers, worshiping them. I noticed one biker was sitting on a bar stool in the corner while one of the foul sluts was sucking him off. Another biker was standing behind her pressed up close. Her tiny shorts were pulled to one side and he was fucking her greedily.

I found an empty stool at the far end of the bar.