This week’s blog post is a small excerpt of the first chapter of my (soon to be released) book, Bet On You.
Please enjoy (part of) Chapter 1: “My two Queens”.
“Why don’t you take us home and we’ll let you do an-y-thing you want?” she whispered.
A puff of warm breath from the “t” in want activated the erogenous zone in my lips.
The eastern bloc accent made me think of Bond girls.
“But of course.”
They were physically perfect and smelled like strawberries.
Tall, athletic, olive-skinned, and brunette, with super long eyelashes that fluttered in my direction.
Hair up, but more than long enough to travel past their perfect derrieres.
Their red, knee-high Louboutin’s fitted with sparkling diamantes sent rainbows of light in every direction.
I was voluntarily trapped on a huge chesterfield sofa with two of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.
Double and Trouble they called themselves, preferring mystique and anonymity.
They were entrepreneurs of the highest order and I had just been offered the ultimate indecent proposal.
“And what would my investment be?” I asked. My shoulders tensed into my neck with anticipation of their response.
“Two thousand dollars . . . cash,” Trouble said.
“Anything you want.”
Remaining cool like an Alaskan winter, I responded with feigned nonchalance.
“Ladies, ladies, ladies . . . you’ve seen what I’ve spent tonight; I couldn’t pay that much if I wanted to!”
I, and some pals visiting from overseas, had decided a gentleman’s club would be our home for the evening.
Like soldiers released on shore leave, we steam-trained into that place with blood alcohol levels high enough to blind most amateurs.
We needed a quick chemical intervention to level out the intoxication.
A chance encounter with a fellow patron provided us with exactly what we needed.
Sporting a traditional ponytail, buffalo leather vest, and more tassels than Dolly Parton’s wardrobe, he looked to be a legitimate Native American.
I stood alongside him at the men’s urinal and channelled my inner Geronimo.
“How,” I said, using my lowest octave and raising my right hand to show I held no weapon and meant no harm.
My left hand remained attached to my own “weapon,” as urinating on another man’s shoes is never cool at the best of times.
He was as high as a kite, and he knew that I knew.
“What do you need?” he bellowed in an even deeper voice, his accent confirming my guess.
“Drugs, please?” I enquired…………
I hope you enjoyed a wee taster of the pure outrageousness that is Bet On You!
Stay tuned across your favourite social media platform to await the release date!