You Get What You Pay For
By: Zero Zyzzyx



***obligatory warning: please see any other obligatory warning***



The only thing worse than having to go Christmas shopping is not having to go Christmas shopping.  Thats what I realize as I trudge through the university district, glancing at the shops selling used DVDs, hoodies, and water pipes.  I dont really have anyone to buy gifts for; my friends arent really into it, and they always went home for the holidays anyway.  I dont talk to my parents after walking away from the family business, which went under while I was away at college.  And Maria just told me last night that she needed some time to sort things out, which is code for needing time to find another guy and avoid having to talk to me.  But I guess not needing gifts makes it easier to deal with the fact that the forty bucks in my wallet that needs to last until Friday, since Im still working my part-time campus job.  Good thing I got that psych degree.

I wander into a pawn shop just to enjoy room temperature for a few minutes, and pretend to study the beat-up electric guitars and vinyl albums.  On my way out, though, my eye is drawn to a silver necklace in a display case at the front.  Its a simple chain with a single gold coin on it.  The price tag says ten dollars.

Do you know what kind of coin that is?  I ask the clerk.  He looks at me, at great effort, and manages to shrug.  

I shouldnt buy it.  But Ive got to get Maria something, and she said something about how she liked antiques.  It looked pretty old; at least itd be unique.  So I bought it, and tried not to think about the Top Ramen in my future.  I notice that on the back, its got something engraved on it: be what you desire.  Kind of a cheesy fortune, but maybe she likes that kind of stuff.  Heading out of the shop, Im about to stuff the necklace in my pocket, but stop.  The chain is so fragile, and the necklace looks so old, that it might break at any moment.  The only safe thing to do with it is wear it, so I slip it on and tuck it under my T-shirt.  

I grab a fast food burger and decide to head back to my empty apartment.  On the way, though, I come across Devlins, my old college bar.  I havent been there in years.   If the PBRs are still only two dollars, I could afford one.  Id have to be careful, though; theres nothing Id love better than to drink my cares away.

The place has definitely changed.  The front is the same: low ceilings, random bar crap, couple of small televisions with college basketball games on.  The downstairs is completely redone, with a few surviving pool tables, but the majority of it appears to be a dance floor.  It brings a tear to my eye; nothing is apparently sacred.  I guess they tried to turn the upstairs into some restaurant area, but the lights are off up there.  Its like this bar has multiple personalities.  Its not too crowded, seeing as its dinner time on a Tuesday night, but there are a few lifers hanging around.  I approach the bartender, one of those serious, no-nonsense dudes who stay bartenders for more than a couple of months.  Turns out that glasses of PBR are no longer two dollars, but pitchers are five.  Refusing to do the math, I order one and sit down to watch Duke trounce some team Ive never even heard of.

Next thing you know my pitcher is nearly empty and a different game is on, and the college kids are starting to file in.  I guess drowning your sorrows actually works sometimes.  I can feel a nice buzz going and I order another pitcher, using the excuse of watching the game to do some peoplewatching.  There are some pretty girls, although theyre always surrounded by a group of guys or huddle in groups, making them unapproachable.  Not that Id approach them anyway; Im useless when it comes to girls, and I dont need my heart stomped on any more tonight.  There are a few guys alone, so I dont stick out, and its not so crowded that the empty chair across from me is noticeable yet.  If anyone asks, Ill say Im waiting for a friend, then ten minutes later Ill look at my watch, drain my beer and storm out.  Its a perfect alibi.

Its not as though Im a bad looking guy.  Well, okay, Im not a good-looking guy either, or even close.  I look like your average unhip white guy.  Im too tall and thin and I look like the kind of guy wholl talk to a girl about Jung in a bar, which has technically in the past proven accurate.  But for now I dont want to be handsome, and I dont want to mack on girls; I just want to be invisible for a while, and forget who I am.

I drink another glass of beer and feel it combine with the growing energy of the bar.  Everywhere theres yelling, laughing, and swearing.  The DJ has arrived and the first waves of shitty techno and corny eighties dance music emanate from the lower level.  From my table overlooking them, I can see the first people dancing, the ones who enjoy being seen.  There are a couple of brunettes laughing hysterically, grinding playfully on each other  are they already drunk or are they just like that?  while their guy friends do the White Male dance and laugh with them.  The place is full now and someone has swiped the chair across from me, but I dont care.  I turn back to the dance floor.  When I dance Im always terrified of looking like an idiot, primarily because I do.  Im a terrible dancer.  I envy those guys and girls who dont care what they look like; they just want to have a good time.  I can see the social makeup of the dancers, watch how they cluster inwards into small groups, except for a few girls who, like loose electrons, shake and bounce off one particle and then another.  

My beer is empty.  You know what?  Fuck it, Im going to dance.  Nobody bats an eye as I thread my way toward the middle of the throng; its always the people on the outside of the circle who look foolish, because thats the only part the non-dancers can see.  It feels good to be in the middle of all these people, all the movement and sweat and excitement.  I dance ridiculously but it doesnt matter.  Elbows and hips strike and bump me from all directions, but I dont pay attention to them; it doesnt even matter if theyre girls or guys.  Ahead of me is a fairly busty chick whose dancing technique seems to consist of small jumps.  As her breasts bounce I wonder what it must be like to feel them, then I wonder idly what they must feel like.  I realize that every guy in the area has his eyes glued to her, and some of the girls, too.  It must be nice to get that kind of attention.  

I guess the beer is catching up to me because I started feeling dizzy.  My chair got taken, but a spot on the end of the bar happened to opens up right as Im passing by.    I cant stop thinking about that girls tits, putting on a show for everyone.  I can feel myself getting hard.  Suddenly everyones doing tequila shots and the bartender passes me one; Im not passing up a free drink, so I toast whoever is having a birthday and throw it back.

I start watching the scene. I look at the tight little bodies on the girls, and the tight little dresses stretched around them.  Im not the only one.   I notice the guys in the white T-shirts and caps prowling, hungry for meat.  Some guy hands me a glass of beer and toasts something incomprehensible.  The guy next to me starts talking to me about something, the game I guess, but hes completely blitzed.   These guys are absolutely hilarious, way funnier than the insecure little party girls.  They act like elk butting antlers at times; you can smell the testosterone.  Two or three of them are preening in front of a blond bimbo whos obviously not going to put out.  Girls are such cockteases, like whats-her-name, Maria, acting all nice and then striking you out.  Guys dont do that; theyre transparent.  All they want to do is get some strange, and these girls just string them along.  Why the hell cant everyone just have a good time?

I gulp down some more beer.  Girls dont know how good they have it.  They always complain, but when you think about it, they can get laid whenever they want; guys have to work at it all night.  Its not fair; Im sick of it.  I wish I could get some whenever I want it.  I could use a good fuck, and not some skinny little bitch either.  Someone with a big old hunk of meat to hang on to.

Fuck, I really need to piss.  But the bathroom has a huge line I dont want to hold it.  Wait, I remember there being a second restroom up in the section they closed off, maybe I should use that.  Whats the worst they could do, yell at me?   In the crowd its easy to slip up the stairs without anyone noticing, and a moment later Im in and the door is locked behind me.

I do my business and wash my hands, and then stop: something seems wrong.  I look in the mirror, trying to figure out why I feel like I look different.  Maybe Ive had too much to drink; its not like Ive changed my style or gotten a haircut in forever.  Sure, Im a little out of shape lately, but it happens.  One of the problems with long hair is that people think youre a chick from behind all the time.  So why do I feel off?  I need a smoke.

I walk out into the cold air and down to the corner 7-11 to get some cigarettes.  After a couple of drags my head starts to clear or feel lighter or something.  I pace up and down the street, hands deep in my pockets  its fucking cold.  I cant believe you cant smoke in bars here anymore; pisses me off.  I finish it up, put it out on the sidewalk, and head back into the bar.  Its getting later; Im low on cash, but maybe if I can find some dude whos blitzed out of his mind and thinks Im a chick, hell buy me a drink.  Cant hurt to try, right?

Sure enough, it actually works.  He buys me a shot of Jager and talks about him and his buddies winning some softball tournament. Can you believe the game? he asks.  It takes me a minute to realize hes talking about sports.  I shake my head; I never cared about that stuff.   I down the shot and feel the warmth spread across my chest.  He puts his hand on my arm to draw me in to say something to me  its hard to hear over the music  but then the buddies call him down to the pool table.  Guess its my shot, he says, and stumbles away.  

Next to me is some little sorority bitch; I roll my eyes as she twirls her hair and sips on some pear cider.  I feel sorry for her; how do flat girls deal with looking like boys?  Nothing even there for a guy to play with.  And then, after a guy puts all that work in theyre always lousy in bed, wont even go down on a guy.  I just dont understand why guys are always chasing that shit.

You wann come over to my table? slurs a voice behind me.  I turn around.  He looks like a bank teller: young, short hair, collar shirt.  I got an extra glass.  I say sure.

I sit and pour myself a glass and he starts telling my chest about the bad day hed had.  I lean down and let him have a little glimpse at the cleavage below the neck of my shirt.  Its hard to figure out what he was saying, between the Abba screeching over the speakers, and him being plastered, and me being pretty plastered, but I didnt care.  After a slow start to the night it was nice to get checked out.  He puts his hand on my knee under the table.  might get fired.  youre pretty.

I smile and blush.  Youre pretty cute, too.  Im not sure he heard.

A minute later he reaches over toward my chest.  A little forward, but thats okay.  He touches my collar and says something.  What? I half-shout over the music.

Necklace, I hear.  Necklace?  What necklace?  Then it hits me.  Oh, god.  The necklace.  Be what you

Ill be right back, I said, jolting up and bumping into a guy walking past.  Bathroom.  I wade through the crowd.  Its not easy; not only am I wasted, but my body feels weird, like my balance is off.  I catch a heel and crash into a guy, who grabs my ass as I get past him.  I take the stairs two at a time and scramble into the bathroom, locking the door.  I made it.  Necklace.

Necklace.  My fear subsides, and I collect my thoughts.  What was the deal with it again?  I cant remember why I was in such a hurry.  I take a piss as I search for it, hoping itll come to me.  Rummaging through my purse, I light a cigarette and feel calm wash over me.  Still nothing.

I look in the mirror, and now I remember: makeup.  Id forgotten to check it when I got here.  No wonder I was getting so little attention earlier.  I add another coat of lipstick, touch up my mascara.  Its hard to put on makeup when youre drunk, but Im good.  I run through the checklist.  Hair probably could use more color; its dirty blond, but its fine.  Heels: check.  Jeans: favorite pair.  Ass looks good tonight.  Girls are looking quite proud in their snug little top.  I give them a little hoist, grab my purse, and head back out.  Time to go put them to use.

Good, the guys still there.  Sorry about that, I whisper in his ear as I sat down on the bench beside him.  Thanks for waiting for me. I lean in close and let my boob nestle into his side.  So what do you do?

He started telling me, and I half-listen, half-watch the crowd, looking for cuter guys.  Its a bad habit, but I cant help it.  Every once in a while he says something and I giggle, and once I vamp it up and chew on a fingernail.  Guys go crazy for that stuff; and besides, even if want them to have it, you have to make them feel like theyve worked for it.  I arch my back a little, giving him a little more cleavage to look at.  I wonder what kind of package hes sporting.   Eventually I let my hand settle on his thigh, and soon hes half-listening to what hes saying too.

So, uh what do you do?

Me? I use my best bimbo voice.  I just like to hang out, get drunk, you know, party sometimes I lick my lips a tiny bit.  Sometimes I like to get a little naughty.  My hand moves a little upwards.  

Uh huh, he gets out.

Do you like to get a little naughty?

Not as much as Id like.

I giggle again; Im totally going to get laid!  I feel myself getting moist.  My hand reaches its destination; I love feeling it stiffen in my grip.  Feels good, but you cant judge until theyve grown all the way.  Follow me, I whisper, touching my lips to his ear.  I know a place.

I locked the door and let him kiss me.  God damn, hes cute.  I kiss him back.  He immediately rubs my boobs; they always do.   I can feel as the lust and the sensations mix with the alcohol in my brain.  It feels incredible.  As I let him play with me for a while, now that Id gotten what I wanted, the truth behind what was happening became clear.  A drunk stranger was squeezing my tits in a bar restroom.  And it made me hot.

We make out for a while.  My hands move down his back and grab a hold of his ass.  His have worked off my top and under my bra and hes fondling my tits like crazy.  They always do.  Im so turned on.  I want him so bad.  My hand move around to the front of his jeans, and I decide to move further.  I take my tongue out of his mouth, give him a sexy little smile, and sink down on my knees.  As I work his belt I think about what I must look like; I bet its a major fucking turn on.  Finally I pull down his jeans and free his cock.

Im little hesitant at first  I cant remember the last time Id sucked a guys cock.  I get the hang of it again pretty quickly, though.  I run my tongue down the shaft, tickle the head, and listen to that sexy whimper he makes.  Then I wrap my lips around it and feel the warm flesh in my mouth.  I have trouble taking it all in, but my own spluttering noises are kind of a turn on, and I think he thinks so too.  Once I get into it, though, its kind of like dancing: its easier when you dont think too much.  Instead I just enjoy it, speed up a little, enjoy the groans he makes and the feel of my tits bouncing up and down and the warmth between my legs and the sweat making my hair stick to my scalp.  He put his hand on the back of my head and started pushing me on him; I loved when guys did that.  I looked up, and saw that his eyes were shut, his face twisted.  Hes fucking my face like Im some kind of object instead of a person.  It feels so wrong, so dirty, but I cant help thinking of myself as the kind of bar skank guys fuck and chuck.  I reach down and finger myself as I take all of him in, spilling drool down my chin.  I cant believe Im doing this.  I feel like somethings happening to me I cant stop, dont want to stop.  My tits are wobbling like Im turning to jello.
 
Finally, he comes, and I managed to keep most of it in and only get a little on my chin.

As he zips up, he looks at me kind of different, frowning, like hed never seen a girl with cum on her before.  I wipe it off from toilet paper from the stall.  That was great, he mumbles as he unlocks the door and swings it open.  Uh maybe Ill see you around.

Maybe, I say, and turn to the sink to wash my face.  What was wrong with me?  Why had I what?  Sucked him off?  Ive always loved sucking cock.  So what had happened to me?  Think, goddammit.  You have to remember.  I was blowing him and then oh, fuck.  I thought about being a slut and I turned into a slut.  I look in the mirror and I cant believe what I see: a ragged-looking woman with stringy blonde hair.  My tits are so big and fake, and I look chubby, like a porn star who stopped working.  This cant be real.  I just need to change back somehow, go back to what?  What did I look like before?  Fuck!  I cant remember.

I light a cigarette and put the seat down on the toilet to sit and think.  The nicotine wipes away my tension, although the swirling fog in my brain stays there.   Everything is so confusing.  This isnt me.  I sucked a boy off and turned myself into a slut.  As soon as I thought that, I felt myself getting wet.  A horny, dirty slut.  With tits, great big fat fucking tits.  I cupped the left one with my hand, while my right hand snaked under my skirt.  Fuck, so horny.  Gotta stop before I need to get fucked so bad my tits love my titties. And boys love my titties.  Boys love fucking my titties.  Turning so slutty.  Gotta stop before I wanna be a skank before I wanna be a skank.  I wanna be a big fat fucking 

Fuck.  Fuck, thats good.  Oh.  Okay.

I stand up, woozily, and wait for the room to stop spinning.  Then I pick my top up off the floor and clasp it in place.  Ive gotta do something.  What was it?  I open my purse and put on some thick red lipstick, eyeliner, eyeshadow.  Seriously, what was it?  Im such an airhead sometimes.  Do I look okay?  My clothes look fine, knees are a little marked up but who cares.  Dye job is fine, nice and blonde.  My hair is pretty ragged, but its not like boys give a fuck what my hair looks like.  What do I gotta do?  Get laid, I guess.  

I go back down and look around at the bar.  One booth has a little girl sitting with her fat friend.  She looks like an ice queen.  Id fuck the manners right out of her if I had ooh, theres a good-looking guy.  Hes a little seedy looking, but maybe its cause hes starin at my chest.  He looks like the kind of guy who delivers shit in porn movies.  Too many muscles.  Too much eyebrow.  Well, Im not that picky.

Like what you see? I purr, sitting at the bar next to him.

He slowly runs his eyes down my body, stopping for a while at my big old rack.  How much? he asks.
Why dont you just buy me a drink?

He thinks about it a second, nods, and orders a couple glasses of something, whiskey, I guess.  This guy doesnt like to talk much.  The bartender brings them by; hes pretty hot, too.  Maybe I should do something about that later.

You dont look like much of a college girl to me, he says.

I take a big gulp of my drink.  Oh yeah? I ask in my flirty little voice.  What do I look like?

You look like the kind of girl who only cares about one thing.

Tonight I sure am.  Feels like I havent got laid in forever.  Maybe that last drink wasnt a good idea  cant really think straight.  All I can think about is getting this guys cock in my cunt now.

I bet you slept your way outta high schoo, he says and smirks at his own joke.  I never fucked a dumb whore like you before.

Fuck, Im horny.  I have to squeeze my legs together.  You wanna?

He took a sip of his drink.  So how much?

He doesnt believe that Im not a prostitute.  So he wants a number?  Fine, Ill give him number.  A hundred if you wanna go get a bed.  Fifty if you dont mind standin up.  That oughtta totally shut him up.

He nods, and finishes his drink.  Fine.  You better be good.  Wait, was that how it was supposed to work?  I gulp the rest of my drink, get up , and wobble toward the stairs to my secret base.  

I hitched my skirt up.  Okay, sugar, how do you want me?

He sneers.  With a face like yours I think Ill go from behind.  Asshole.  Hes lucky I need it so bad, or Id throw his ass out.  

Whatever, I said, and spread my legs apart, leaning forward against the sink.  You got a condom?

Yeah.  I hear his pants hit the floor.  This is wrong, somethings wrong, but all I can think about is how awesome its going to be.

Its even better.  Hes a little on the small side, but Im so horny it doesnt matter.  He spreads me out and fires away, slapping against my big round ass, making my tits flop all over the place.  I have to grip the sink to keep from fallin.  Hes groanin, Im pantin.  If fuckin feels like this, why do people wanna do anything else?

You like it? he growls.  You like my cock?

What a dumbass.  Its like, they always talk shit, but they always want you to be enjoying them.  I do, but its still so, just like, every time.  You know?  Feels good, baby, fill me with your big ol dick.

Im gonna fuck your brains out, you dumb bimbo.  Im gonna fuck you so hard you dont remember your name.

I laugh, kinda half-giggle, half-moan.  He must be doin a good job.  I really cant remember it right now.

Is that all you got, whore?

Fuck this asshole.  I start givin it everything, just so this guy can finish and get the hell out.  I swing my hips, buck my ass into him, grip him with my cunt like a fuckin pro.  I see myself in the mirror, pantin, snarlin, my stringy hair flyin back and forth.  He keeps talkin but I stop listenin.  Im fuckin him so hard I cant finish what Im thinkin about.  Head feels all empty.  Maybe I am ungh a bimbo.  Oh god.  Whatever I am feels fucking good.  Dont think just fuck.  Fuck.  Cant think.  Gotta cum.  Gotta oh, fuck!  Fuck.

Hes slowin down.  Gotta stop myself. He pulls out and I want it back in.
Heres your fifty, he says, tossin it on the floor.  Go get a shower.

I take a sec to come down from it, and start washin up, like I always do.  Gotta do the same things every time or Ill forget.  Wash face.  Fix clothes.  Makeup.  Cigarette.  Go out and get another fuck.

After that its all a blur.  Guys talk, cant tell what theyre sayin sometimes.  Head feels fuckin fried.  Couple of johns, a good fuck, a couple not-so-good fucks.  I like all the action, but everyones been wantin the vag today, so Im getting a little sore.  Getting sober too.  Too busy to drink.  Still cant think too much.

Come back out.  Must be closing time.  Im pissed; forgot to make the last guy pay.  Im so fucking dumb sometimes.  Couple of guys left, losers with beards and glasses.  Drunk off their ass, I bet they couldnt get it up if they wanted.  They sure as hell dont have money.  Looks like Im done.  Time to talk to the bartender.

Huh? I ask.  He says somethin to me.  Wish I could understand.

out at the bar.

I frown.  He must think Im a fucking moron.

said, you cant be talkin price out here at the bar.  Someones gonna cause problems.  I like you, darlin.  Youre nice.  But youre gonna get us both in big trouble if youre not careful.

Sorry, Mike.  I shouldnt get so drunk.  But it makes it easier.  I take a fifty out of my purse and slide it over to him.

Thanks.  Business good tonight?  It was busy, he says over his shoulder, as he goes to lock the door.  The last of the students have already stumbled out.

Started off slow.  I feel down for some reason.  Maybe it was how I looked after that last fuck, all tired-lookin.  I dont remember how I used to look, for some reason, but its gotta be better than that.  Maybe it was that one guy who was such a dick to me.  Was everything he said about me really true?

I watch Mike close up, cleaning the glasses and the taps.  God, Mike is hot.  Hes a good guy, too.  Maybe thats whats wrong; the fucking is great, and the moneys okay, but I never really get any good guys.  Whats his kind of girl, I wondered.  Whoever she is, Im jealous.  When youre done, I say, you want one on the house?

He grins.  You know it, babe.  Head down to the pool table and Ill be there in a sec.  It was stupid, but one of the things I like about doin Mike at the end of the night was how we do it out in the middle of the bar, instead of that old bathroom.  Makes it feel a little nicer, somehow.  I like feeling that way.

I grab the towels from the locker in the back and spread them out over the felt.  Mike spins me around and kisses me. I kiss harder.  We strip each other down, throwing clothes everywhere.  Then were naked and hes laying me on my back on the table, and the lights in the glitter as if theyre stars.  Silently, he climbs on top of me.  He smells like whiskey and sweat and musk, and his arms are strong, and his eyes dont look angry or sad.  He enters me slowly and I gasp.  He moves softly, kissing my neck and my shoulders and my breasts, and his touch feels like aloe, soothing my skin.  My legs feel weak.

My head is spinning but it isnt from alcohol; for once, I feel like Im here, not miles away.  Everything still feels strange, like my body had been spread thin and now it was tightening up, lightening, sharpening.  Instead of noisy wet slapping flesh everything was smooth, taut.  It feels like hes getting bigger inside me, or Im shrinking around him.

Its amazing that weve done this a hundred times and it still feels new.  He starts moving faster now, holding my tighter, and the stars seem to float and weave and I close my eyes and lose track of them and everything feels fine, just fine.  Wonderfully fine.

Later we get dressed and Mike disappears to finish closing up the bar.  I walk upstairs to the spare restroom, the one no one uses, because its cleaner.  I wash my face and look at myself.  Im still pretty cute, even if Im not a college girl anymore.  I work pretty hard to keep Mikes eye from wandering, not that it ever would.  Pretty soon hell have his own degree, Ill get my practice set up  and we can maybe get a house somewhere  I brush my hair, pick a couple of crumbs off my dress from where it got thrown on the floor, and head back down.  Mike is waiting.  I give him a kiss.  You ready?

Yeah.  Lets go home, Leah.





Fuck off, loser.

The girl sighed and took a swig of her amber.  It pissed her off how every douche with a backwards baseball cap saw a couple of piercings and a tattoo and assumed she was some kind of nympho freak.  She didnt know why she came to this bar, except maybe that the music was so loud she wouldnt be forced to have a conversation with one of these Neanderthals.  Well, usually.  Tonight she was here because her friend dragged her to trivia night so she could win a T-shirt or something.

Two frat boys broke into a fight in front of her, and knocked her glass off the table.  Fuckers!  They were damn lucky it was empty.  As she reached under the table to feel for the glass, she wondered what it would be like to act like some kind of animal, trying to punch or fuck anything that appeared in front of them.

There it was wait.  Why was there a necklace under there?  It looked weird.  Shed go turn it in to the bar as soon as it got less crowded.  Without thinking, she slipped it over her head and poured herself another glass of beer.


(the end)






