Condoms and Coffee

The only time buying condoms were ever embarrassing was when I bought them alone. No hot sexy babe next to me to prove to the gas station attendant or the liquor store employee that I was actually going to use them. Quite possibly all three. On the hot sexy babe that would’ve been standing next to me, if not for the fact she was too tired to get out of bed, but still had enough energy to go a few more hours before the sun came up, our indication it would be time to go to sleep.

That was the lifestyle. Go to bed in the morning, go to work at night. Eat and fuck somewhere in between. So was the lifestyle of the faceless, finely chiseled figured strippers and the man they played with.Who happened to be the manager, who happened to be me, who happened to be trapped in the neon signs of a thousand nights, and rusted trumpet afternoon wake-up calls. So was the life.

The Arco on Roscoe and Laurel Canyon had an AM/PM mini-mart. Condoms I’d get, coffee would be the buffer. In and out and back in bed to tangle with the white-skinned, blonde haired, kiss-monster, BJ. She told the customers it stood for Bella Jean. I thought that was clever.

Her real name was Pamela. Pamela Scott. Half-Irish, half-Russian. Born and bred in the Valley. Went to Catholic School all her life. Her parents divorced when she was nine. She lived with her mother and brother, Adam, who ended up in a really bad car crash that left him paralyzed from the neck down. She was 18 when that happened. Planned on going to college in Boston, but after her brothers accident, decided to stay to help out at home. She got a job as a barista at a strip mall Starbucks, but didn’t make enough money to help with the mortgage, Adam’s hospital bills, food, and electricity.

So she got into stripping.

She didn’t have the typical body for a stripper. She was petite, skinny, natural b-cup titties, and not enough curves. Her body was as regular as regular could be. The kind of body that melded into the background of everything everywhere. Physically, there was nothing spectacular about her.

However, she could work a customer like no other. While the other girls had c-cups, rotund asses, and long, succulent legs, next to none of them had the personality like BJ. BJ didn’t wear pasties or fishnets or stilettos. She didn’t wear glow-in-the-dark bikini’s or floss-thin g-strings. What BJ did was accentuate the all-American, teen-age, girl-next-door. She wore her glasses on the tip of her nose, a short enough skirt to hint at cotton panties, a black bra inside an opened man’s button-up shirt. And none of it glowed in the dark.

I walked into the AM/PM. There was an older white lady with dead straight, dusty blonde hair. No customers. Just me and her. Good, I thought to myself. This wouldn’t be that embarrassing.

I headed over to the coffee counter and poured myself a day old cup of coffee. Added sugar. Added cream. Twenty stirs to the left. Twenty stirs to the right. Looked around. Still no customers. Good.

So I walked over to the register, put the cup of coffee on the counter and said, “That and a pack of condoms.”

She looked at me and stared. As if she didn’t believe me. So I smiled. Embarrassingly.

Just then, the door swung open. And in walked a Mexican girl with blue jeans and a sweater, hood over her head. Couldn’t see her face. I looked at my watch and it read 3:30AM. I thought to myself, what kind of girl would be out by herself this time of night? Then I thought, a stripper who just got off the clock.

“Well, it’s good to know kids like you are responsible!” The employee said. Very, very, loudly. “That’s very good, son!”

I couldn’t even look at her. I gulped once and nodded my head. Through my peripheral I looked at the Mexican girl who had walked in. She quickly turned away and walked to the coffee counter. She was wearing thick make-up.

Yup. She had to be a stripper.

“Ya know, I’ve been selling these a lot lately!” The old lady practically yelled. “I don’t know what it is. Maybe the cold weather?”

I pushed a smile. “Yeah. Probably. It’s pretty cold out there.”

“Don’t I know it! I was just out there sweeping! The wind chill factor must make it something like 30 degrees!”

“Yeah.” I said, fidgeting. “It’s pretty cold.”

“Ah! Ribbed! She’s gonna enjoy that!” The lady said, commenting on the condoms I chose. “At least you’re thinking about her!”

I nodded. Sighed in my head.

“That’ll be 3 bucks.” She said. I gave her three bucks. I grabbed the condoms. Started my way to the glass doors so I could get the hell out of there before the old lady said something else. That’s when I caught the face of the girl I thought was a stripper.

Brown eyes. Big. Eyelashes fluttered. Thick, heart-shaped lips. Smooth, tan, cheeks. And a shit load of make-up. She smiled at me. Dropped her eyes to the condoms in my hand. Bit her lip. Then turned away to finish making her coffee.

Hmmm…

Yup. She was a stripper.

So I got into my car, went back to my place, fucked BJ, and went to sleep as the sun came up.