Free The Diamond Club by Patricia Harkins-Bradley Page A

status. He flipped me over and while I couldn’t see his red rocket I was able to feel it launch off and fill me with it’s fuel. Once his fur was thoroughly matted and dirty he let in the jugglers. They withdrew their incredible clubs from their pants and passed them between me with impeccable timing. Never had I been dealt with by so many talented hands all at once. I felt like a chainsaw was tearing me apart with pleasure as they entered and exited me with incredible timing. This continued throughout the night as I was met by countless exotic acts that left me pleasantly exhausted.
    These were the acts that I could talk about. By the end of the trip I was educated in ways that would make even Sodom and Gomorrah uncomfortable to talk about. Needless to say when I was dropped off a three hour taxi ride later, I couldn’t hear anyone discuss a Ringmaster without having a small shudder of pleasure.

The Good Samaritans
    Roman again. He loves me, he dumps me, he wants me back for a little action on the side? God, what a prick.
    I had spent the better part of that Tuesday prepping for an interview with a social/mobile/geolocation app company (after enough time, they all kind of blend together). Whatever it was, the company was full of self-important douchebags who just wanted the opportunity to say whatever new buzzword they had just heard. I was happy to indulge them, as I needed to get out of the house and at least feel like I was doing something. Roman’s unceremonious dumping of my services (both professional and, ahem, unprofessional) had left me in an unproductive funk.
    The day was going as well as could be expected until I got a text in the middle of the interview. Apologizing, I took my phone out to silence it, but managed to catch a glimpse of who had sent it.
    Roman, of course.
    Seeing his name was like a punch in the gut, and I flubbed and stammered my way through the rest of the day, trying to maintain some professionalism as my job prospects sank like the Hindenburg. He didn’t stop at the one text, of course. As I hurried my way to the Diamond Club, the texts continued to arrive.
    “Come on, you know you want back on this dick. U KNOW U WANT IT -R”
    What I wanted was something to take my mind off of this disaster of a day. The Diamond Club would be the perfect respite, even at 3 on a Tuesday afternoon. When I arrived, the Club was definitely less busy than it usually was. Instead of the sexually charged energy I was used to finding, it almost had a relaxed, coffeehouse vibe. Funny how this place changes to give me exactly what I need, when I need it.
    Just as I was settling in to my usual table with a dirty martini, the most magnificent creature appeared. She was an olive-skinned beauty, 5′9″ with the most outrageous curves, and mane of perfectly wavy brown hair.
    I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen someone truly beautiful, and each time I’ve had the same reaction. I’m not sure what it looks like, but it feels just like it does in the cartoons - steam exploding out of my ears and tongue hitting the floor like a red carpet. If I could have gotten away with screaming “OWOOOGA,” I just might have. She got on stage and played some songs, but what they were about or what they sounded like, I had no idea. I was in rapture.
    Bzzzt.
    Roman again, and the spell was broken. My mood turned instantly into pure anger, as I began to angrily punch out a reply. I was tired of being his fallback option, his girl on the side, his doormat…
    “I hope you’re not texting your friends to tell them how bad I was.”
I could feel my face going pink, knowing from the sound of her angelic voice exactly who it was.
    “Oh, no!! The songs were great! You were amazing! I’m just, y’know… umm… having to deal with an asshole.”
    “Boy problems? Say no more. I just thought with the way you were staring at me with your mouth wide open all set you were appalled by how terrible I was.”
    “Oh.