T for Tom

Mata Hari

Posted in Europe by johnsontoms on November 17, 2011

Corey and I had finished singing our version of Elvis’s “Hound Dog” are were heading outside to smoke, maybe just because that’s what seems to come after everything. We left our Russian friends inside with the intent of coming back shortly, but through the red-lit hallway were walking two vixens – and as the silhouettes turned into seductive, dark faces, the words could have less direct: “You, are, uh, Merican?” Why, yes, yes, we are. And we’d like to make whores of you. The kinds of whores that don’t ask too many questions except for the right ones. They met us directly in the hall after entering the bar, as if they knew what they were looking for and they found it in us. It takes a special kind of cunt to make it so obvious, and the taller one wasn’t hiding that she was special. Our interest made obvious our intentions as well, but the only words were “yes.” We were not so direct as she.

“You will take us to American then, make us wives?”
“Not exactly.”

“See, you’re in Germany. Why would I want to leave this country?”
“I have got to use the loo.”
I wasn’t waiting for that to end and went outside.

There we were smoking for a few minutes when, inevitably, they showed up outside – I’m not certain if they were drunk or determined, or both, but after the usual round of “who are you”s and “where are you from”s she asked if we had ever fucked a German girl. The answer was no, but the words were “we’d like to.” Funny how that kind of thing doesn’t need to be spoken, but sure, go ahead and let them know. In the light I got a better look at exactly what was working me over. Sofina, the one with goals in mind, was taller than her friend, long hair that rolled with slight curls outside her eyeline, painted green to match the outfit, and with just a bit of lipstick. I could tell all of this easily when she came up close, put her face near to mine and asked each question with eyes of a child, inquisitive but sincere, and slightly impressed that I knew a little of her language. She stood with her arms close by her side, but only when she wasn’t trying to figure out to which side my cock hung. It was a nice game that I let her play all she wanted, hands down the outside of my pants. Would’ve been nicer on the inside, but I didn’t mind a slow start.

What I did mind was the interruption. Inside were two Russians we were entertaining, and one I was hoping to make. Her name was Paulina, the exact type you’d expect – long blonde hair over piercing blue eyes, short and the right kind of body, a woman’s. I knew time was running short but they beat me to any type of move I could’ve made when they came outside. The better part was informing me my friend John couldn’t be found, and they were ready to leave. Imagine finding yourself with two whores as your girl comes out, and, oh, my friend’s gone. Thinking quickly as I could I told them to go next door while I called my friend. Simple, get everyone moving before they get talking to each other. Corey was left to escort the four of them to the bar next door and I just knew that Corey’s naïveté would work long enough for me to find John.

Lighting a cigarette I listened to phone dial, and what I heard was the conversation in English next to me. John wasn’t answering, his phone dead, but alive was the girl in front me, the right kind. Dark, black hair, neatly trimmed to lay behind the ears, business blouse inside a peacoat, and a long skirt down to the slips, but beneath all this class was a cigarette in her hand – just right.

“I hear English. What gives?” I’m really good with words when I’m rushed.
“Common language. We’re from all over the place,” she said. But her accent was native German.
“No, no, we just met,” and she went on to explain the male was from Ireland, the other female from New Zealand, and she from Würzberg up the street, her name Sophia. All of them had come on different forms of business but now were just sharing a smoke. I spent a minute yokeling the Mc, but it was the girl I was after now. With just a nod she came over and asked me where I was going. Inside of course, to join my friends. She was doing the same, but was moving on soon. “Why don’t you come with us,” she offered, but I hadn’t even been inside yet with my friend on his birthday. Nevermind that he was a fellow soldier and I was responsible for his livelihood after leaving him with two whores and two Russians, one of which I was trying to score. “Oh, I’ll join you for a beer,” she said. Make it happen, bartender.

What makes this bar great doesn’t even start with the name, Mata Hari. Named after the WWII spy that played both sides until the end, it consists of about 65 square feet of floor space, and about 40 of that is taken by the bar. Throw in 25 patrons and you’ve got tight spaces. Naturally Corey had taken everyone to the other side and when I entered I was stopped immediately with nowhere to go except sideways to talk to Sophia. It made things easier that way, but numbers are easy to decipher – there were two girls I could make on the other side of the bar and I was stuck here with one. To make it worse, Sophia wasn’t even trying to play hard. She had her beer held in both hands right beneath her chin as she looked directly up at me, like a child holding their most precious blanket asking the parents if they can sleep in their bed tonight. What’s my name, where I’m from, what I do for work, all these passed over my tongue quickly, answering each question with a quick glance over my shoulder toward the whores, without any subtlety. Still she persisted. “Look, I have to join my friend, it’s his birthday and he keeps calling me,” I said.
“Can I come over?”, she asked. I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Why not?” as I grabbed her hand and brought her over.

And there I was, one girl knocking down my door that I wasn’t answering in order to pick up the other two. The one I had spent the whole night jawing, Paulina, was losing her patience with me – when it was just her and I we had it all, conversation, drinks, music, dancing, and her eyes into mine. It wasn’t anything more than a game but the game was easy. I had to mess that up by throwing in two whores and a puppy dog. And still I wanted all their numbers. I couldn’t think quick enough. Initially I had to get back on Paulina’s good side and show her I was listening. This of course was at Sophia’s expense. At this moment I had to finally ask myself what I was doing. What worth am I placing on their feelings if I can so easily ignore and put away their conversations and attention, throwing about what they want for a minutes at a time just because I’m trying to distribute myself amongst them? Would this even work? I had to leave Sophia with Sascha, the male Russian, for a few minutes to get Paulina. It was here that I was given the type of distraction I needed.

I don’t know if he didn’t bring any deodorant or just doesn’t wear any, but Sascha, the Russian, had an odor. It was bad. I don’t know if he could smell it, but he could certainly see that in a bar where everyone has zero personal space, he could stretch out all arms and spin like a dandelion in the air without touching anyone. It was the biting, acidic smell of pure sweat, and everyone came to the same conclusion at the same time: cigarette.

Everyone started grabbing coats and drinks and soon enough were outside, but fragmented. The whore had found me first, and began about her ways.

“How do I tell someone he smell?”
“You mean how do you ask, or you want to tell him?”
“Is there nice way?”
“Tell him he has an odor.”
“Close enough,” I said. Fitting at that moment she pulled out a can of aerosol from her purse and began spraying it about. Here I noticed that Sophia was having the same conversation with a separate group, and I had an in. After joking with her and explaining that I only knew Sascha through mutual friends, I wasn’t to blame. She was laughing when her friends brought her coat to leave. Quick!
“I need your number,” I nearly shouted it I was so desperate. The numbers came across, and before I could close my phone she leaned up to kiss me in the cheek.
“Call me when you’re leaving this bar,” she said. I knew I didn’t have the intention of joining her that night. She wasn’t the one that would give me what I needed, at least not immediately. She was a woman, not a whore. They were inside, and that’s where I went.

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  1. Before Me Lied A New Dawn | T for Tom said, on December 28, 2013 at 1:48 am

    […] put me then into a world unknown and leave inside me the pursuit of women, of romance, of raw sex.  I felt like Sir Edmund Hillary crossing the icy poles.  I knew what […]

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