Heidi Fleiss of the Piedmont

"Step right up and don't be shy, because you will not believe your eyes. She's right here behind the glass and you're gonna like her, 'cause she's got class." The Tubes from "She's A Beauty"

Here at the Asylum the worse time, is the night time. Right after the nurse comes in and hand feeds me those mind numbing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star pills, the ones that make you think Horton Hears a Who is a documentary, there's a span of time that allows the mind to drift before slumber overtakes you. It was during this transitional clock turn that I planned my escape. For one night I was going to be on the outside. With the dexterity of Harry Houdini I left the incarcerating walls behind me and ended up in the strangest of places.

South Carolina is subversively kinky. There's something brewing just under the surface, ready to break through in a Old Faithful style fountain of perversion. It's something you can smell. I holds true for all small town communities. Lives are lived with secret rendezvous and peculiar fetishes of all sorts of debauchery. And it was on display for me to witness last night.

I was suffering from a brutal attack of the Nits* (The Nits can only be described as an unwavering need to get out of wherever you are). The cure was to bomb up to a local watering hole, sip a beer, and listen to the locals. What I got was a show that Spielberg couldn't have directed any better.

The bar was the same as every small bar in the greater US of A. Photos of the regulars on the wall, a tough no nonsense broad handing out plastic cups of semi-cold ale, a game of the TV that no one cared about. But the seat that I occupied offered me a chance to over hear the scintillating commentary of those waiting for their drinks. The first of these, as Tyler Durden would refer to them, single serving friends was Brian. A 22 year old transplant who left his small town life in Indiana to be part of the thriving Metropolis that is Rock Hill, SC. Our ideas of "Big City" were obviously way different. He informed me, with little build up, that he needed to find him some ass. And there was a gal in the pool room he could get with, but he wasn't sure if he could afford to pony up her fee. This is Jack's Total Shock. I inquired as to which femme fatale was the alleged Heidi Fleiss of the Piedmont. He pointed out a very attractive girl, early 20's, great body, missing two fingers, but who's looking for perfection in a prostitute? I was transfixed on her now. This place rocked. Brian got his beer and left. He would never know how he had made my evening.

As I watched the Simpson’s fingered gal work the room I had to say I was impressed. She was very friendly with everyone, men and women. And at the rate she was moving, I knew I would be on her radar before too long. Single man, out of shape, firing down cancer stick one after another, staring at her, yeah, I wanted to talk to this one.

My next two friends where the A girls. Not in the sense of good grades, no. Names were Angie and Anna. They were attractive enough to not have to pay for a drink if they so chose, but they weren’t looking for easy marks this night. I’m not sure which one said the statement that opened my eyes wider than an IHOP pancake, but I had a new fascination. The gals were looking for the cream to their Oreo cookie, the PB&J to their bread, the trois in their menage. I offered my services only to be shot down like a wayward spy satellite. Hey, you don’t step up to the plate, you don’t hit home-runs, am I right? They were kind to me as they left, so I didn’t have any resonating hatred towards them.

A mere second after their departure, the original object of my curiosity paunched. Her name was Ashley. Does anyone’s name not start with a fucking A in this place? We chatted for ten minutes. She didn’t know me, hadn’t seen me around, and I guessed that she had been way around. I told her that I had recently moved form Hell-A. This started her on a tangent about Disneyland, Hollywood and Vine, LA Ink, and how she wanted to go so badly. I told her that Santa Monica Blvd would be her kind of place. (It’s an area known for it’s adult entertainers). I was waiting for the big moment. The sales pitch. And she delivered with a hand creeping creepily up my thigh. $50. Reasonable, I thought. There was no way I was doing it, I just thought that she was priced to move, so to speak. I kindly declined, much to her dismay. She mumbled something and took off like a bat out of hell.

I paid my check and left. Satisfied that my new home state certainly had it’s share of kink.
Ever run across an evening like this? Ever been propositioned by a sex worker? Did I make the right decision, I mean, $50!?