The Dressed-Down Hooker

Stories about hookers are among the most popular posts on my blog.  I don’t know why that is, but it definitely appears to be the case.

And as it turned out, towards the end of my most recent trip to Vegas, I scored a hooker story.  Note the phraseology there.  I scored a hooker story.  I did not score with a hooker.

It was a Thursday night.  The hot new night club, Haakasan, is open Thursday nights (see here), so I wouldn’t necessarily expect there to be a lot of professional working girls in the place, not with all those amateurs around.  Not that I’m casting any aspersions on those club going girls, mind you.  It’s just that when they go out in public exposing about 85% of their bodies, you might start suspecting that not all of them are planning on joining a nunnery.

In fact, I have noticed a few working girls on nights when the club is open, but there were no encounters worth blogging about.  I did, however, come up with a line I was considering asking the next one who approached me when the club was open.  I’d say to her, “Tell me, can you actually make any money on a night light this, when there are so many amateurs around?”  I thought about adding the word “talented” before the word “amateurs.” but I didn’t think that any hooker I was likely to meet would get the reference to the 1960’s TV spy show, The Avengers.

For reasons that are not important right now, I made an early night of it in the poker room and found myself over near the main lobby, on my way to my car, by around 11 PM.  This is one of the better spots to watch the club girls come and go from the parking lot to the club.  There was a fairly steady stream of such girls when I noticed a rather mundane looking blonde girl walking towards me.  She was dressed way too plainly to be going to the club.  Now, I have pointed out before that the hookers dress much more conservatively than the club girls.  But still, the hookers do usually wear somewhat sexy, revealing clothing. Their outfits are just not as extreme as the ones worn by the girls who go to the clubs and who are not—presumably—renting out their bodies by the hour.

In previous posts about hookers, I’ve talked about my “spidey-sense.”  I have a pretty good radar detector for spotting hookers.  Now this is not all that difficult, usually, but I do have some male readers who have told me that they never seem to be able to tell a hooker from a dental hygienist or a lawyer or an accountant.  Maybe I have a gift in this regard.  Frankly, if I am gifted this way, I’d prefer to have the gift that I could tell whether the person who had just bet had a monster or bupkis.  But sorry, this isn’t a poker post.

So when a “possible hooker” appears, my spidey-sense will start to tingle (and yes, that’s all that will tingle).  When this blonde walked by, my spidey-sense was complete silent.  The girl was young and fairly cute, but she was not even remotely provocatively dressed.  She appeared to be wearing a man’s shirt, not tucked into her pants—yes, pants—so she wasn’t revealing her figure at all.  I could tell she wasn’t overweight, but that’s about it.  The pants were tight I suppose, but not tight by Vegas standards.

At first glance, I would have bet my entire bankroll that this girl was not a hooker.

I hear my readers asking, “Yes, but was she showing any cleavage?”  Yes, I can hear you.

I couldn’t tell.  Because it seems, as she walked passed me, she was fiddling with her shirt, right at the level of her bust.  This was the only thing about her that really caught my attention, because it appeared like she was either trying to close up her shirt so she would be less exposed—or perhaps, perhaps, trying to undo a button so she would actually be showing more skin. 

She walked passed me without saying a word, more evidence that she was not a working girl.  Now, I supposed it’s possible she smiled at me as we passed each other, but to be honest, once I saw her fiddling with her shirt—plain and unsexy as it was—my eyes did kind of remain focused there.

I took a few steps away, as did she, and I was still convinced she was not in the vagina-rental business.  But the fiddling with her shirt thing had made an impression.  Innocently, I turned back towards her, wanting to see if she was still fiddling with her shirt and what the result of that fiddling had been.

She had stopped walking was just standing there, looking in my direction.  And thus we made eye contact and she gave me a big smile.  I recognized that smile.  That’s the smile a hooker gives me when she thinks I’m a potential customer.  No doubt about it.  I had totally misread her initially.  My spidey-sense had failed me.  I felt like I was losing my touch.

OK, it had been a while since I posted a good hooker story, and it had also been quite a while since this story herewhere I almost got arrested trying to score a hooker story.  So the memory of that night had kind of subsided.  And besides, my pal Woody is always after to me to get more hooker stories—his favorite kind of post.  So I thought for a few seconds and decided I would circle back and perhaps engage in a brief conversation with the young lady.  Why not?

I collected my thoughts and started to think about what I might say to her and what my “exit strategy” was going to be.  Before I had a chance to do that, however, I felt someone come up behind me and then move in front of me!  Fortunately, it was the girl and not a cop (though I suppose it’s possible they could be one and the same).

Before I even saw her, I heard her say, “Hi Sweetie,” Oh yeah, definitely a hooker.

Before I could respond, she added, “What are you doing?”

Suddenly my mind blanked and I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to say to her.

“Oh, nothing.”

She said, “Do you want to hang out for awhile?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

I remembered my exit strategy, and for some reason, that’s all I could think of, and I went right to it.  I said, “I lost all my money playing poker.”  Fortunately, that wasn’t at all true.

She didn’t think that was important, or maybe she knew I was lying.  “Are you sure you don’t want to hang out?”

I said I was sure.

“Well, why don’t you take my phone number in case you change your mind?”

I said, “No, I’m not gonna change my mind.  I don’t have any money anyway.”

She persisted, “Are you sure?”

I said I was.  So she finally said, “Well, ok, have a nice evening.”  And she walked off.

Damn, I had gone to my exit strategy so fast, I forgot to ask her the question about how she can make money on a night when all the club girls were around.

While I was talking to her, I was able to notice a few things about her.  One, as I said, she was indeed cute.  She didn’t look skanky at all, another reason I missed that she was a working girl.

The other thing was her cleavage.  She was no longer fiddling with her shirt.  But I swear, I couldn’t notice any buttons on it.  I’m sure they must have been there, and the two flaps of the shirt were fairly close together, but there appeared to be nothing there to keep them that way.  And actually there wasn’t a whole lot of cleavage exposed, but the shirt appeared to open all the way down.  So I could tell that she wasn’t wearing a bra.  And her breasts were quite large, and round.  It would appear that she had seen a plastic surgeon at one point in her life.  I wonder if she was able to write off her breast implants as a business expense, considering her line of work?

I wandered off and suddenly there was this huge crowd of people entering the area.  I assumed that some show had just let out and people were headed for their cars, or their hotel rooms.

Between the mass of humanity, I spotted the blonde again, and she smiled at me, but didn’t come over to see if I had changed my mind.

And then, appearing out of the mass of humanity that was walking by, another girl came over to me.  She was dark skinned (Hawaiian?), dark hair, and dressed just sluttily enough to be a hooker. Somewhat short dress, some cleavage showing.  Dressed a little flashier than the blonde but not much.  Good figure.

She came right over to me.  “Hi.  Whatcha doing?”  Apparently “what are you doing?” is the line of the moment amongst working girls.

Again, being the brilliant conversationalist that I am, I said, “Nothing.”

Then she asked me a question I hadn’t heard before.  “So, are you staying here?  Do you have a room here?”

I said no, because that was actually the truth.

“Where are you staying?”  That was none of her business, so I lied and said, “At a friend’s house.”

“Oh…..well you should get a room here.”

I said, “No.  It’s too expensive.”  That, by the way, was actually the truth.

And so she said “O.K.” and just walked away.  That was an interesting pitch.  She wanted to secure the location before making the sale.  I dunno if I ever mentioned it here before, but I once heard a story at a poker table about a guy who insisted that his “friend” picked up a hooker at the MGM and completed the, um, transaction across the street at the Motel 6.  I guess this girl didn’t want to leave the property to earn her fee.

Not long after, I saw two more hookers.  They were walking together very slowly (a hooker trait) almost holding hands.  One of them had huge tits and a low cut, strapless top.  Her outfit was almost too slutty to belong to a hooker.  The other girl was also sexy, low cut dress, short skirt, good figure (not nearly as busty as her friend). 

They walked by me and the one with the big rack said to me, “What are doing?”  Yes, that was the line of the night.  Before I could respond, she said, “You looked bored.”

Now having missed two opportunities to ask my question about the competition from the amateurs, I thought this might be my chance, so I played along a bit.

“I am, kind of.”

But in the meantime, the other hooker had kept walking, and she was pulling the girl talking with me away.  And so the girl who spoke to me turned towards her co-worker and walked away with her.

Huh?  They didn’t even try to make a sale.  But they were definitely there for that reason.  About five minutes later I saw them walking with, and talking up, a much younger fellow as they were heading towards the parking lot.  I lost them in the crowd so I can’t tell you if they went off together or not.  But it appears they preferred to rent their bodies to a guy much younger than me.

I understand that, but it seems to me, if you’re that choosy about who has access to your vagina, you should pick a different line of work.

Anyway, that was the last of the hooker sightings for the night.

And remember, if you’re in a Vegas and a strange woman comes up to you and asks what you’re doing, what she wants is for you to do her….for the right price.