As I mentioned before, hookers were just part of the job. It was one of those things where you just have to leave your personal morals at the door: Yeah, I could have refused to rent to them if I spotted them. But money is money.

My first week on the job, I was 19. Young, dumb, and full of cum, as they say. It was a cheese job, and I’d often sit behind the desk with a 12 pack of Busch, maybe sneak into the employee toilet to cop a few hits off a joint of skunkweed.

This particular night, Busch had the night off. His rather disreputable cousin, Mad Dog 20/20, had agreed to cover his shift. And he had invited a few of his friends.

At around 2:30 AM, a woman I had rented to earlier in the evening came down to the front desk to buy a 20oz Mountain Dew. When she checked in, I thought she looked like a skeleton slathered in a thin layer of mayonaise, her sunken eye sockets adorned with two dull yellow grapes. She was missing her four front teeth on top, and appeared to have no teeth on the bottom. Her tits, two soggy grapefruits sloshing in her ill-fitting tube top, tried desperately to hide their shame at being seen with her.

But now, Mad Dog 20/20, the worst possible friend a 19 year old virgin can have, was up to his tricks. “Dude, she’s pretty hot,” he whispered softly into my ear.

She noticed me staring, and with a voice that could curdle yogurt, she oozed the words “What time do you get off?”

I played it cool. I gave her my best smile, and with all the charm I could muster, I uttered the three most romantic words I coulld think of.

“I got money.”

I stumbled out of the office, and lurched down the hall with She-Gollum in tow. I somehow managed to get my door open, and she came in and lay down on the bed.

Doing my best to sound sexy, I whispered “BAHHHHHH. . .HOW MUSCH IZZAT?”

“How much you got?”

My brain ground to a halt. “Wait,” I thought, “this doesn’t seem right. Not only was she oviously trying to take me for a ride, but she had actually pulled her pipe out of her purse, and was loading a fresh rock.

“Dude, just roll with it,” whispered Mad Dog.

“Alls I got is a hunnred.”

Before I knew it, my wallet was empty, and she was naked. Her body was a mass of scar tissue and bruises, her chicken-skin legs were in the air, and my face was between them. Her vagina. . .well, remember Odo from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine? Remember his mouth? Okay, picture that, but with a beard.

“Ooooh. . .fuck yes. . .you’re so good at that!” she moaned between deep draws on her pipe. An obvious lie, but, as Mad Dog kept whispering to me, “Fuck it. You’re gonna get LAID.”

Finally, my jaws (and sense of smell) could take no more. I lay back, undid my pants, and waited for bearded Odo.

“Shit, I gotta drive my kid to school.”

At this point, even Mad Dog was confused.

“Sorry, baby. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. And then, I’m gonna fuck your brains out..”

She left, and I lay there waiting, my dick lazily weaving back and forth like a boxer in the eleventh round.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Wait. . .

. . . she’s driving her kid to school.

At three in the morning.

Where the fuck are my room keys?

That night, I learned several lessons. Among them, MD 20/20 is a LIAR. And so are crack whores.

Useful lessons, indeed. And they only cost me a hundred bucks, a four alarm hangover, and the five TVs she stole with my keys on the way out of the building.

Ah, memories. . . .

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