Club Kid

It was Saturday night and my birthday. I had come to New York two years ago to liberate my libido and free the woman trapped inside me. Now here I was twenty-three, gorgeous and totally alone.

Worse I had no idea how I was going pay the landlord. Especially since I was already a month behind. This single monotonous mantra had droned though my head all day filling me with a dread I couldn't put into words.

Until at 2:30 AM I found myself all dolled up and on my way to The Club on 48th, something I had promised myself I would never do again. But I figured, what the fuck, maybe I'd get lucky and find some drunken sleaze ball who needed comfort and could pay for it. I only hoped I wouldn't get beat up again.

It was loud and packed of course with the usual mix of club kids, queers, and prostitutes lightly seasoned with Japanese tourists looking for Elvis and Wall Street types slumming it. Despite my worries I began to feel glamorous, not great, but better. I drank, danced, and mingled with the crowd for about an hour.

He had been scanning the dance floor for about the last five minutes, kind of searching  me out, a short squat lump of muscle. He could have been a bouncer but I knew he wasn't.

Not normally my type, but what's a girl to do. At least he had an expensive suit on, maybe some money too.

Usually gorillas don't go for us drag queens. Most often I land up with the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

Now the guy that had checked me out earlier that was more me. I'm sure he was a rock star, or a model, or a something. I guess I'll never give up trying. Mr. Right is out there somewhere,  just waiting to take me away from all this. Not.

"Hi —" and "I was looking for you —" and something about "— outside where we can talk," was about all I could make out over the numbing beat of the Techno. God I hate Techno. He seemed safe enough, so I decided to trust my woman's intuition.

I knew I'd struck pay dirt when I saw the stretch limo in the parking lot. Not one of those cheap fucks either, but a classy job with a bar and everything. And plenty of room to stretch out in the back too, with two bench seats one facing the other. If I kept my pretty little head about me I just might get that rent money tonight.

I had three surprises when I got in the car.  First, the Gorilla didn't. Second, the rock star was inside. And last Veronica was next to him.

Veronica, God I hated that faggot. Why do all the good looking men hit on her? I know she's blonde, statuesque and has enormous tits but she's such an obvious boring beauty. She's strictly a low life to, with no sense of humor.

None of that big hair crap for me. I'm a class act. Tall, thin, and tan with long legs, a cute face, and a tight ass. An athletic build. Built for sin. Of course Veronica and I'd fought over guys before, so there was no love lost between us.

The more I eyed the rock star the more in love I was. He was tall and dark with long black wavy hair. He was wiry, but with plenty of muscle, and chest hair.

He had this kind of cruel curl to his lip and glint of been-there in his eyes that sent shivers up and down my spine. I couldn't wait to be putty in his hands. I could smell his dark musk above the stink of Veronica's cheap perfume.

After he got us girls a couple of drinks, we did a little coke, then he got down to business.

"I like to watch," he began and my heart sank. "You two are really hot, but like totally opposite. When I saw you I had this great idea. Why not make my own rock video. Right here in the fucking back-seat of my limo. And I want you two to be my stars."

Veronica and I both slid toward the door.

"I'll make it worth your while," he smiled.

That stopped us in our tracks.