Free Fucking Daphne by Daphne Gottlieb Page B

place.
    â€œJesus,” I say, and shrug.

    What a weirdo. Arnie was kind of twitchy and made me nervous. He had a handlebar mustache and a shaved head. Tats. Scrawny. Kind of ugly. I didn’t interact with him too much, except over the phone. He used to call in all the time, ask about the balance in the cash drawer, ask which girls had showed up for their shifts.
    He always called me “Stud,” which I liked. He liked me, I think. Arnie said to me one night, “Hey, Stud, how ’bout you and your lady
friend join me for a night out? We can hit a few strip joints, get some drinks. Whaddaya say?” He motioned at Daphne. I don’t know how he knew I wanted her.
    I looked over at Daphne and willed her to agree. “Sure, why not,” she said. So we packed up our shit and headed out. Arnie had a Hummer. Who has a Hummer? You couldn’t even laugh. It was too perfect. We picked up his girlfriend, Alexandra. She had big hair, lots of rings, huge tits. She was light-haired and small. The opposite of Daphne. She asked for a bump immediately.
    Arnie whipped out a big bag of cocaine and passed it around. “You girls help yourselves,” he said. Even Daphne took some. I guess everyone likes free coke. Alexandra was practically shoveling it up her nose. Of course, so was I. But later, when I noticed Arnie giving Daphne a few long looks, I straightened up. If there’s gonna be trouble, it’s better to be sober.
    We had a good time that night. Daphne and I got along. The coke made her affectionate and kitteny. We went to the Phoenix and Arnie bought us all private dances. Even Daphne got one. She got into it and put on a real good show for the rest of us. In fact, she was so hot, she kept trying to get her hands in my pants all night. A real change from her usual self. And later that night, we had some of the best sex I’ve ever had. That is, until I asked her if she wanted to fuck Arnie.
    â€œI saw Arnie looking at you. He likes you.” I whispered this into her neck as my fingers worked her clit.
    She was dreamy and slow. We’d been fucking for hours. She whispered back to me, “I felt him looking at my tits. He was trying to see down my shirt.”

    â€œYou were flirting with him. You were shoving your tits in his face.” As I said this, I bit her neck for effect.
    She was close, I could tell. She whispered to me, “Yeah, baby, he wants me. I was flirting with him. Making him want me.”
    â€œYou want to fuck him, don’t you?”
    â€œYeah, oh god, yeah,” she breathed.
    And then I just lost it. I had a hand in her hair and I nearly knocked her head into the wall.
    â€œSlut!” I hissed. “I knew you wanted to fuck him. I saw you. You were practically humping his leg.”
    She screeched and put her hand on the back of her head where I had yanked her hair. As she sat up, tears started rolling down her face. “Diana, what the fuck are you talking about? I thought we were playing a game. I thought it was hot for you. I don’t want to fuck him. I don’t want to fuck him. I don’t want to fuck anyone.” She curled up and got angry. “You are a fucking psychopath,” she said. And then she added, “Get the fuck out of my house.”
    When I didn’t move right away, she grabbed the empty wine bottle off the nightstand and threw it at me. She missed, of course, and it hit the dresser, making a huge crashing sound and knocking all sorts of makeup and shit across the room.
    I left her house and stalked home. She called me early the next morning.
    â€œIt was a game, Diana. I don’t really want Arnie to fuck me any more than I want you to be a sadistic prison guard and me a desperate inmate.”
    We went out a few more times after that, but then she dropped me. “I can’t handle your temper,” she said. We were at Burger Joint
in the Mission, sitting in a corner booth so that everyone