"Just Once, Maybe Twice" (closed)

[CutiePie1997]

"Just Once, Maybe Twice"

(closed)​

Logan had never been in Barney's in the three years that she'd lived in Coopersville. It was a bar with a distinct fusion feel to it: one part country bar, one part sports bar, one part pickup joint, one part Go-go-girl, keep'em hid but shaking strip club. She knew that coming in here alone would attract her attention from a men in cowboy hats or team jerseys whose first question to her would be either "Are you a Florida Georgia Line or good ol' Hank Williams Jr kinda girl?", "Did ya see me score that game winning goal?", or "How much for just a blow job?"

But honestly, that latter question was what she was hoping -- and fearing -- some man would ask her. At the same time, she dreadfully prayed no one would. Logan wasn't a whore, and she'd never taken any sort of compensation -- cash or otherwise -- for providing sexual service to a man. The problem was she was entirely broke, the rent was overdue, her phone service had already been suspended, and the only available work in this dinky little town out in the middle of nowhere that she was capable of doing for quick income was that oldest of professions, prostitution.

So here she was in Barney's on a Thursday night, which was both the tri-weekly shift change night for 3rd Crew at the nearby oil plant and game night for both the men's softball league and the soccer league. The place was packed with men in smelly coveralls who'd come straight from work to cash their checks here and drink themselves silly; with men in beer ad tee shirts who the owner had to remind to take off their cleats before entering; and with men in grass stained team uniforms who weren't allowed to use their hands on the soccer field but once they got here amongst their wives, girlfriends, and known whores couldn't seem to control their appendages.

Logan got more than her share of second glances, suggestively spoken Hello's, and even a pat on the butt that made her want to slap someone until she realized it had come from another woman. She just laughed it off and made her way through the thick crowd to the far end of the bar where she found an open stool. She sat, waited for the busy bartender, and did her best to fend off the desire to burst out in tears.

Even before the man behind the bar had taken her order, four lone men and even a pair together came up to chat her up. Their eyes were only marginally ever set upon her own sparkling hazel pair, and twice she had to politely move a roaming hand off her back or thigh.

And as expected, she was propositioned between ordering her drink and seeing it arrive. An obviously tanked man close to three times her own age of 22, with a beer stein in one hand and the folded bills of his recently cashed paycheck conspicuously displayed in the other, slipped up next to Logan, looked down her cleavage, licked his lips, and asked, "Would two hundred bucks get me into all three of those pretty, tight holes of yours?"

 

[aSimpleMan4U]

(OOC: I couldn't really find an image for my character that fit the whole "fusion" thing, but this guys relatively handsome.)

Kenneth "Kip" Peterson set a dirty vodka Martini down in front of the unfamiliar beauty at the end of the bar, asking, "Do you know what your first mistake was?"

He could see a combination of panic, confusion, and regret in her expression. Kip had caught sight of that dress within seconds of her coming through the door, despite the fact that there had to be close to 100 people in the bar that on any other evening other than game and paycheck night would have been lucky to have 20.

He'd known right away that she was either waiting for some guy who had made the mistake of telling her to wait there and he'd be there shortly, or she was a working girl who was new to the industry and therefore didn't know the rights and wrongs. When no date arrived within about ten minutes, Kip was pretty sure it was the latter.

"It's the dress," he told her after telling one of his drunk regulars to beat it back to the dark boards. "The other girls, they wear something that fits tight to show off their curves, but it's always something … oh, how do I describe it … less disco ball on the ceiling, I guess."

Another pair of men came up to flank the beauty, but Kip hurried them off by whispering to them, "Two grand for three hours … each!"

After they'd said their premature farewells, Kip leaned in close and offered his hand. "My name is Kenneth, or Ken, but everyone around here calls me Kip. Why are you doing this? It's obvious you're not a working girl. So...?"

 

[CutiePie1997]

Logan was about to give this up, knowing she'd made a mistake in thinking that she could just let some random man pay her to have sex, when the bartender stepped up.

"Do you know what your first mistake was?"

She didn't honestly know that he was speaking to her naivety in the field of prostitution. She asked simply, "What?"

"It's the dress," he told her

He explained that the other girls -- the real Pros, Logan now understood he meant -- didn't dress so obviously. She repeated softly to herself, knowing exactly what he meant, "Disco ball, yeah."

He told a pair of wannabe Johns, "Two grand for three hours … each!"

Logan's eyes widened initially at the dollar amount. Four thousand dollars? For three hours? Oh my God! Suddenly, she began to think maybe she could do this after all. But then the two men politely told her never mind and departed, and she realized that the bartender had actually been running them off with the unmanageable dollar figure.

"My name is Kenneth, or Ken, but everyone around here calls me Kip.

She took his hand, telling him, "Logan. Everyone calls me … well … Logan."

She smiled nervously, then laughed, then donned a blank expression as he asked her, "Why are you doing this? It's obvious you're not a working girl. So...?"

"Why do you think?" she asked with a bit of a defensive tone. She leaned in closer and spoke under the sound of the booming country song, "I have bills and no way to pay them."

Another man sidled up close to her, ordered a drink -- mostly to justify his proximity -- then smiled to Logan as he offered out his hand. "James. James McPherson. I don't think I've seen you here before."

He was dressed in a nice suit jacket and slacks, and Logan could tell from his collar that until just the last hour or two he'd been wearing a tie. He was attractive, maybe 40, and reeked of money and power, at least relative to the oil field workers and farm hands who made up the vast majority of the men filling the bar.

"Logan," she said, taking his hand. She glanced at the bartender for his reaction to her first positive response to one of his patrons, but Kip just stood there half watching, half not as he did a behind-the-bar task. When the man asked if a last name came with that, she answered with a flirty smile, "No, just Logan."

"Oh, like one of those runway models or pop music kitties in the Vevo videos," he said with a wide, playful smile.

He was letting his gaze wander about Logan's face and well displayed bosom, as had the other men before him, but Logan didn't mind as much. James appeared to be the kind of man she might let pick her up back in the city on a Friday night, the type of man who would treat her to a weekend on his boat and out at fancy restaurants in exchange for the sexual treats she gave him when they were in private.

(OOC: Okay, I set the stage. Take over.)