Scenes from my real life: When Prostihookers Attack!

[jack_babalon]

Monday and the after work rush hour is kicking into overdrive on the corner of Ponce De Leon and Boulevard. I had just missed one bus and walked a mile or so down the road from the North Avenue station to score some cigarettes and Little Debbies before the next one rolled out. While i'm waiting for the 5:45 to show up I catch the show coming live out of the corner Chevron parking lot.

She struts out of the parking lot bellowing 'WOOOOOOO' at the passing commuters driving by. She waves. She jiggles. She turns around and drops the waist band on her pink jogging pants to reveal a slice of ass crack. She let's out another burst of 'WOOOOO' and lifts up her white tank top. Then, followed by a rather large African American man in an immaculate blue jogging suit and headband, she strolls down the block and turns behind the station only to reappear a few minutes later repeating the same mating call of the wild to the traffic.

Then it happens. Somehow she senses i'm watching her ('Prostihooker senses tingling... there's a potentail John nearby!). She comes walking up on me and I get my first good glimpse at her. There's a demented grin slapped across her tanned horse face, the effect is that of a fairytale witch who spent too much time in the sun chasing cabana boys. She's got a beer belly that would make any good ol' boy envious and the rest of her is thin. I mean supermodel, zero tits, Popeyes girlfriend Olive Oyle thin.

"Got a cigarette Bald Head" She slurs her drawl out at me.

"Nope." I say sucking on a fresh cancer stick.

"What-cha-allooking-so-meanfer? All looking like you wanna be kickin' someones ass and shit!" She's getting closer and her big friend in the jogging suit is scoping me out with little jerks of his head.

"Just waiting on my bus."

She's a foot away from my face and her breath is hitting me like a sewer spill at the trailer park. She looks around to see who might be looking and whispers to me.

"Whatchaneed baby, huh? Whatcha lookin' for?"

So here I am. Khaki and collared from a post work shit fest, standing there under the MARTA sign and Queen Skank here figures I must be on the prowl for some rent-a-Pussy or looking to score some stepped on product from Big Boy behind her. Now I know the rigors of being in the black market tantra business can rattle the brains a bit but does anyone take the bus to score their daily need for hookers and drugs?
How does that work if it does?
'Excuse me miss, I need a rock and a blow job stat! The #37 to Piedmont park is supposed to arrive in ten minutes. Oh and can you break change for a five I need exact change to get on...'

"I'm just waiting for the bus ma'am!" I repeat with a smile.

"Then get on the fucking bus mother fucker! Ain't no one stoppin' ya!" She spits when she talks as well. Lovely. Big Boy clears his throat and this is more remarkable than you think given that he clears his throat and is heard over the flow of traffic going by! She does her sway walk back to him and the two of them repeat their rounds looping around the gas station.

Five minutes later the #2 AVONDALE finally pulls up.

'Oh well' I tell myself when I catch my reflection in the security mirror by the rear exit 'We're all someones hooker I guess'.

Comments

[manifestress.livejournal.com]

I almost hit the floor laughing at this one...

[rubberella.livejournal.com]

that chevron gets A LOT of action..lol... drive by it everyday, and there's ALWAYS some craziness going on, and have seen Big Boy out there more than a few times.... hee hee...

[daucus-carota.livejournal.com]

So, how much do you think a hooker like that would cost... couple of twenties?
xxx

[arianthegrouch.livejournal.com]

As you may or may not know, I live right around the corner from there... the infamous Phoenix Bar is right across the street from me. I've known all sorts of gay dudes in my life, but absolutely NONE of them will go into the Phoenix Bar. Not the leather boys from the Eagle, not the party boys from the Heretic, especially not the hoighty toighty fashionista set from Midtown.

But somehow, no matter what, there's ALWAYS some sketched out gay crackhead standing sentinel outside the Phoenix... and always three or four reputable looking cars in the parking lot. I think I'm going to drop some acid some day and throw myself into this bizarre, unknown queer environment.

But from experience, you handled that situation as well as it could be handled.

[catwalk.livejournal.com]

ha! what if you had actually told her what you're looking for?
in a philisophical sense, of course.
could've asked her if she had any karmic balance or inner peace,
maybe a rock of universal insight and harmony...