Goddamn useless whores seem to permeate the skin of a decent bar like your fingers get waterlogged and pruny when they’ve been wet too long. Those whores really take away from a decent drinking experience. Sure, everyone likes your standard bar-fly, but the thing of it all is that the bar-fly that tries for a real relationship somehow doesn’t yet know that they’re a bar-fly. It’s like maybe a dog doesn’t know it’s a dog, so it’ll sit when you tell it. Barflies haven’t figured out that their power is in their pussies and who’s making use of those pussies. They think it’s a standard world out there, the kind they grew up watching on Tuesday night television. Mom, Dad, a couple of kids, maybe a friend thrown in for the Eddie Haskel effect and every one of those fuckers is some kind of sick happy. Dad never gets drunk as fuck and brings home some other lady, the cops get called… it’s all ugly in the real world. But these whores just don’t know that’s what is really in store for them, not that Different Strokes happiness. Nope…, it’s whoring and drinking and maybe they might wind up with a bad coke problem that finally wins them their soul.
But until they get there, they just fuck up a perfectly good booze binge with their flirting and kissing and general romance gone bad kind of shit. Oh hell, everyone there knows that she’s going to be fucking at least 6 out of the 9 guys in the bar within the year, but until she understands she’s a bar-fly, she’ll think she’s heartbroken after each one of them. You see, that’s how you know who’s got a soul. People with soul know who they are and don’t fight it. People with soul don’t try and be anything. But bar-flies and whatnot, well, they just don’t understand where things are really at, you know? I mean, fuck, they think they’ve been in love with every guy at the end of a dick they’ve sucked. They just don’t know that you can’t do that. They just haven’t realized that they don’t love anyone; Christ, they’re just warm wet holes some drunk bastard can stab over and over again until one day a new bastard stabs differently. Shit, by the end of your bar-fly incident, it’s not even about the fucking, it’s who can hurt you differently. It’s like a race to try and destroy each other.
I can’t say that I hate them, though. Shit, as long a bar-fly knows who she is, I can really take a liking to her. That’s when you know it’s going to be good. Hell, it may get violent, but it’s a the kind of violence that’s reserved for long hot wet nights where the air soaks the sheets and the pool of sweat at your feet makes you slip around as you’re fucking your woman up her ass. Before that, it’s all sweet drama culminating in some kind of a slap and then a take down. Next thing you know it’s just hair pulling and you cum in her mouth. After that, there’s no pretense. You don’t have to say sorry or I love you or any thing else that’s the standard bullshit for people still pretending. After a fuck like that, you just lay there and smoke a cigarette and then you finally say, “Well, do you think we have any wine in the house?” That’s the way it is with a good whore. You don’t have to pretend to be there.
My second wife was one of those good bar-flies; though if you asked her about it, she’d deny it – even back then. She’d let you fuck her right there at the bar in front of everyone and then just deny it. She’d deny it even if you were standing there with your cock in her mouth. That was the only drawback to the woman, she just couldn’t seem to not lie about everything. Now I know I’ve told some lies and I imagine that the average person is going to tell a few lies here and there, but these lies are lies with purpose – be it good or bad – it’s purpose all the same. Hell, I got caught, by my woman, with a bunch of condoms in my suitcase right after I got home from a trip and I flat out told her that I didn’t put those in there and I had never seen them before. Well, it didn’t work that well, but who gives a shit? We were talking about my X telling lies, weren’t we? Well, she’d usually tell you the truth about most things, I suppose, but she’d lie about the weirdest things. Once she told me she’d been fucked up the ass before, so I went in diving for it and she’s all tears and slobber and I finally get out of her that she lied and didn’t know what to do so it didn’t hurt. It was those kind of lies, you know? Weird. Anyhow, she was a bar-fly that didn’t mind being a bar-fly and she was good: she had a soul.
So those are two kinds of bar-flies out there – those who know who they are and those who just pretend to be who they think they want to be. Well, I guess those are the two kinds of people in the world also.