Monday, December 17, 2007

a xmas tale...


In the XMAS/NYE period of ’88 I met a very attractive, blonde surfy-chick at the Coolangatta Airport check-in queue whilst returning from a rare, financially successful, weekend’s bourbon/cocaine binge on the blackjack tables at Jupiter’s Casino. Sadly, ‘rare’ describes the financial success of this particular trip, rather than the frequency with which these self-destructive junkets tended to occur. Anyway, flushed with funds, still buzzing like a turtle from the narcotics and sporting a newly purchased ten-gallon hat which I’d hoped advertised some mighty gambling prowess, if not a sense of style necessarily, I boldly struck up a conversation with this girl. By the time we’d reached the counter I’d convinced her to keep company in the seat next to me on the flight. A double martini and two lines of coke later in the Qantas Club, I’d discovered her name was ‘Caroline Clay’ (‘Everybody calls me Cass…’) and that she was a 24 year-old real estate agent from Surfers Paradise, heading to the bright lights of Sydney to seek her fortune. Thirty minutes later, maybe somewhere over Port Macquarie at 28,000 feet, as I held a glass of champagne in my right hand and she held my wing-wang in hers, I generously offered her free accommodation for life, which my new ‘girlfriend’ graciously accepted with all the dignity manageable in the performance of a hand-job.
Upon landing in Sydney, we raced back to ‘our’ place for some thrilling first sex, after which she got dressed and headed into Kings Cross for some nightclubbing. I declined the invitation to go with her as I was not a dancer of any note and besides that had work the next day. She returned home at 7-00am, just as I was getting up, greeted me with a kiss, the offer of a blowjob which I gladly accepted, and was fast asleep when I left for the office. Ten hours later, when I got home, she was still asleep. I proceeded to cook my dinner/her breakfast, after which we had thrilling second sex, followed by cuddles and some thrilling third sex. At about 11-00pm I indicated I was going to bed, whereupon she had a shower and got ready to apparently go nightclubbing again. In a repeat of the previous evening, she cruised back in around 7-00am as I was getting up, we did a few quick laps of the rack and she was fast asleep before I left the apartment. This bizarre ritual went on virtually unchanged for five days, the only variation being the increasing degree of haggardness with which she greeted me each morning. By the sixth morning she looked ten years older than the girl I’d recently met; all the clubbing was starting to take its toll.
I inquired of Cass as to what she intended doing about getting her real estate career started in Sydney but the questions went unanswered. The nightclubbing however went on and her youthful visage came off accordingly.
I became a little suspicious…
One night, as she departed in the now familiar 11-00pm taxi, I decided to follow her from a safe distance in my car. She went straight to Kings Cross, alighted on Macleay Street and disappeared through a heavy, wooden door which may or may not have hidden a nightclub. I waited out the front for about five minutes, contemplating whether to go in and see what she was doing or simply go home and get some sleep. I was just about to drive off when Cass reappeared on the street, unsurprisingly (had I given it even the slightest thought) dressed in a denim mini-skirt, pink blouse tied off below her bongos and white, six-inch pumps. Superb; I was dating a hooker.
Now I should mention that I have nothing against hookers or hooking in principle. Having worked for eighteen years in the money market, I‘ve witnessed with my own eyes, amongst other various body parts, the miraculous sex-for-money-led economic recovery that took place in the 80s/90s. I say ‘to each their own’ and if franchising the comfort of your orifices is your profession of choice…well pucker-up then, Peckerhead…but having my ‘girlfriend’ fuck the indiscriminate orts and leavings of the sexual buffet for money (or for free come to think of it) is a ‘whorse’ of an entirely different colour.
Angry at being taken for a fool and slightly unnerved by the thought of five days worth of memorably unprotected sex, I slunk home to bed. The following morning I passed on the blowjob, scuttled off to the clinic for a complete check-up, which rather miraculously turned up nothing terribly disturbing other than elevated cholesterol, and spent the day preparing a break-up speech for later.
That evening, I gave Cass the speech, which spoke entirely of my inability to commit daily to a relationship and nothing of her ability to commit nightly to misdemeanours; I simply didn’t have the heart to let her know I knew. She took the news stoically, fortified mostly I’m sure by the reassuring words concerning her immediate future and partly by the shot of heroin she took shortly before I got home.
She thanked me for ‘everything’ and asked if she could move her meagre possessions out the following day, while I was at work. I agreed, passed on the offer of break-up sex and went to bed. When I got up, she wasn’t yet home from the previous night’s clubbing, however upon my return from work that evening, I saw that she’d made good on her promise; all her things were gone.
As I looked around the house, I felt a tinge of sadness, a sudden emptiness, though not because I was sure I’d never see Cass again, but rather because the cunt had taken most of my possessions with her when she went. In fact, she must have hired a fucking truck to fit it all in; TVs, stereos, tables, chairs, clothing, shoes, sports equipment, cutlery, crockery, paintings. All of it…everything that wasn’t bolted down; she must have spent the entire day there, with help, removing the contents of my apartment.
The ensuing insurance claim strangely failed to mention I’d left a heroin-addicted prostitute unattended in my place for a day...
(This story was first published a while back on Lombay's splendid site. I'm in the process of salvaging certain articles for posterity and dumping them on TWG. Aplologies to anyone from the old days who might have suffered through it before...)

38 comments:

Kitty said...

That sucks Fingers. I already read that post when I stalked your blog for hours on end a few months back.

:o(

Josh said...

That is fucking brilliant.

I know it is not cool to laugh at that sort of misfortune but Bwhaaaaaa. What a great story to have.

Admit it, stuff stolen is just stuff a year down the track and as long as you avoided the pox, it is all good.

Between that and your Merc. you have had some crazy luck my friend.

fingers said...

Kitty: Where the fuck did I post it ?? I looked everywhere for it before I put this up. Maybe I have a private section I'm excluded from on TWG.

Josh: Yes, I like to think of my life as serving as a warning to others...

Spiky Zora Jones said...

Fingers...babes, don't be so hard on me, honey. It was fab for a bit, wasn;t it. I left you that last can of who-hash, didn't I?

Like anyway wasn't it time to re-furnish the place.

Fab story fingers...I like. Ciao babes.

Betty said...

Well this is the first time I've ever read the story and I was so shocked! My mouth was on the floor the whole time.


Did you really wear a cowboy hat?

fingers said...

Spiky: What the fuck is who-hash ??

Betty: Serves me right for breaking the Golden Rule about not kissing hookers...

phishez_rule said...

So the lesson here is that if you're not going to use protection, you should at least have insurance?

BottleBlonde said...

I thought for sure you were going to tell us that your member rotted off after contracting gangrene dick from her. That would've explained your ever so sunny disposition.

itisthelittlethings said...

That bitch gave you high cholesterol? Quelle horror!

Ms Smack said...

Brilliant. I wish you had lobbed your old stuff here sooner. Fantastic story.

You know, I totally can picture you in a huge big-ass texan-looking cowboy hat. HAWT as our mutual kitten-friend would say.

I think, if I bonked you, I might encourage you to leave your hat on!

Mister Underhill said...

Ha, what were you thinking?

Oh well, alls well that ends well....

Mister Underhill said...

which is to say once the insurance paid.

Spiky Zora Jones said...

fingers...babes, Nothing is for free. You thought those blow jobs and humpity-humps were for free...Ha! It cost babes. It cost.

I asked my brother what it cost to get married. He sad he's still paying for it.

Here's another...you are a WINNER...come pick your free series 9000 20 inch screen lap-top computer...Ha, don't think it's free. you end up with 40 subscriptions to smut magazines. Hey, nothing wrong with that. Okay, that was a bad example.

Anyway...that'll learn yah.
Ciao babes.

Bo Bo said...

Fucking real estate agents....

fingers said...

Phish: I've since had myself laminated...just in case.

BB: Yeah, that would have been hilarious. Plonker.

LT: Hahaha...very good.

Smack: Wait till I find 'Weekend at Lamo's'...it's the wildest 48 hours of my entire life.

MU: I was thinking 'good looking chick...geee I'd like to fuck her'.

Spiky: You know why divorces are so expensive ?? Coz they're worth it.

BoBo: Especially the short-term rental cunts...

Madam Z said...

All those material things can be replaced, but, oh the horror! The most precious thing she stole was your innocence.

Effortlessly Average said...

What the hell? Bitch took my shit too! But I had the last laugh since all my shit was stolen.

Lad Litter said...

A great experience, Fingers. Life's rich tapestry. Not a bad way to celebrate the bi-Centenary. Just how did you manage to get around the insurance-police report requirements?

fingers said...

Z: Stealing my innocence was petty theft by that stage.

EA: That explains why she had boxers with a 'EA' monogram on.

LL: Um...I lied...

it's the little things... said...

That is the first time you've laughed at one of my jokes. I am officially funny. :)

fingers said...

LT: Yes but I've been doubled over in fits of laughter all year at your ongoing run of bad luck, baby...

rackorf said...

I might go and rent some prime real estate for Chrissy.

electro-kevin said...

Shadenfreude - only ze Germans could invent a word for enjoying the misfortune of others.

Well I have no German in me so ...

Happy Christmas to you and all your readers, Fingers.

Kelly said...

i'm pretty sure you are going to hell for what you just said to LT.

how about originality? GOSH

Just because I copy everything everyone else does doesn't mean you have to stoop that low. missing reading your comments.

fucker.

fingers said...

Rack: Chrissy's not that cunt ex of yours, is she ??

E-K: I'll grant you the Germans are not a funny people in general...but all good laughs usually come at sopmeone's expense.

Kelly: Hell-schmell...see you there, fucker...

Steph said...

Now if only she had done something depraved to your precious cats, my day would have been complete!

Steph said...

P.S. Merry Christmas, Cuntface.

fingers said...

Steph: Apology accepted, Dish Rag...

Steph said...

Apology? What should I apologise for?

Kelly said...

oh i miss being the bitch on the whore guide!

Steph, you are doing well at it though.

kitty- keep him in line. kick to the nuts, french kiss... whats-ever. ;-)

fingers said...

Steph: No need to grovel, baby. You're forgiven.

Kelly: Shouldn't you be out under a lampost selling matches this time of year...

Steph said...

Whatever old man. You'll feel worms crawling round your hallow eye sockets way before me, so it's all good.

fingers said...

Steph: At least I'll die with a decent command of the English language. Did you mean 'hollow', Webster...

Steph said...

Wow, you're a spelling Nazi too?


Dull AND old. Congratulations.

Betty said...

I'll say this for Fingers, he is very good with his command of the english language. He is always pulling me up on it and I most often don't appreciate it at the time but I try never to make the same mistake twice.

Becoz I dont wanna be the biggest twit on the net and right stuff like here here when its hear hear and then nobodie knows what im talking about. fanks fingers heeps and heeps for my grammor lessons they reely worked!!?!

fingers said...

Steph: Obtuseness is a very poor defence against self-improvement, young lady.

Betty: My New Year resolution is to break you of that boagn habit of saying 'of' when you mean 'have'...

rackorf said...

Nah the cunt ex is maggot. Hopefully its tits'll rot off on the 25th.

BottleBlonde said...

Merry Christmas, Sunshine!