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Erotic Story:
Fucking Danny
. . . The game was
rained out. It was fucking rained out. We had waited all of a
really shitty work week for this, and it was rained out. We
stared at each other. "Well," Jack said. "What the hell do you
wanna do now?" I shrugged. "I don't give a flying fuck. I'm
depressed." To illustrate this, I lay back on the couch and
put a pillow over my head. "How depressed?" Jack asked
thoughtfully. I raised the pillow. "Am I being graded on
this?" He shook his head and took a business card out of his
pocket and handed it over. "I got this from a guy at work. His
brother just had a bachelor party." I took it and looked at
it. Shiny black card with gold script. The name "Angelina" and
a phone number. I looked at Jack. "And Angelina would
be...who, exactly?" He looked serious. "She's a hooker, Danny.
A prostitute." I snorted. "I know what a fucking hooker
is...hey, that's funny if you think about it." Jack didn't
think it was that funny. "She'll do both of us for $200." I
stared at him. Jack was a solid guy, as sober and levelheaded
as they come, and not the type to wave a hooker's business
card around. "You're serious, aren't you," I asked. There was
a knock at the door. He was serious.
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