Soft Boy // 0:05 – 0:28

Categories: Club D, slut stories

I’m living the dream, it’s just one of those dreams where you’re losing all your teeth. If you think that it gets better… darling, take a look at me.” – Wilbur Soot

About 6 months into our new tradition of going to Club G every Saturday (a.k.a. The Slut Sabbath) I found myself sitting outside with Joe, watching the usual mix of new people and regulars mill around in various degrees of undress. A beautiful starry night with a light breeze & amazing vibes running wild throughout the club.

Most Saturday nights at this point, Joe while willing to talk to whoever might walk up to the little patch we’d staked out in the back patio, still spent the majority of his time playing games on his 3DS while I sat & waited for my next plaything to get caught in my web of smoke & cherry scented perfume. Neither one of us were very good at being social quite yet, but it seems to come easier to me in situations where clothing is optional & alcohol is not only encouraged, but freely available if you’re lucky.

I gazed around at the clumps of people that had accumulated in the short time we’d been sitting down. I instantly spotted a chubby, cherub faced dude with a Justin Bieber haircut standing off to the side of everyone, trying his damnedest to look cool. I gave him a quick look then dove back into the glow of phone, scrolling mindlessly through club Facebook posts trying to discern with as little effort as possible who was available for the night.

“What’re you playing?”

I looked up & was greeted with the very same face I’d caught a few minutes earlier putting on his best Derek Zoolander impression. He was peering over Joe’s shoulder, trying to figure out what game he was playing.

“What the fuck is that hair cut?” I blurted out before my brain could think better of it.


“How old are you?” I quipped. He had to be at least 21 to be inside the walls of our humble little club, but he had a baby face from hell.

“How old do you think I am?” he shot back with a surprised smile on his face.

“Too fuckin’ old to be taking style tips from Justin Bieber.”

And that’s how I was introduced to Private Pyle.

I’ve never been one for bullying as a form of flirtation, but some people just bring it out in me I guess. And Private Pyle was that type of mother fucker. Hindsight being 20/20, it makes sense. The lizard parts of brain picked up on his bullshittery long before my conscious mind noticed anything.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, a big dick & a pleasant disposition can make up for a lot, but the second either of those things falter the red flags become glaringly obvious and you end up with a situation like me & PP ended up venturing into.