One Friday Night in Billerica

MAGGIES is my favorite whorehouse in Billerica. I go there often, sometimes to get the old bean snapped and sometimes just for a relaxing after work drink with women who reek of cheap perfume, who walk around wearing only their underwear, and who seem to understand me.
The place is run by a large black skinned grandmother with a wide, wet mouth. She reminds me of my friend George's big friendly dog. She is always glad to see me, and I always end up with stains on my pants.
"Hey Girls!" she shouted to the others when I stopped in last Friday, "Look who de cat drug in! It Mr. Johnson. Evebody look real pretty now."
"Hey Maggie," I yelled, "Still got the hots for me?" She gave me a wanton smile and grabbed her crotch.
"Right here same as always. Come and git it, baby" Then she fixed me with a mock scolding expression while she wrapped me in her huge, wet, welcoming hug.
"Where you been, honey? You be bad." She said. "Lenore and Cindy there startin' to think you is gone somewhere else."
She nooded at the two beautiful whores sitting at the small bar. They were both wearing silky slips that hardly covered their shapely bodies. Lenore in red was tall, dusky and muscular. She had a gifted tongue and firm tits that stood high on her chest like proud melons. Cindy, the redhead, was short with baby blue eyes and red lips that contrasted her white, lightly freckled face. She almost had on a kelly green silky slip. My favorite color. They were both smiling at me like I was the best thing that had happened to them all day.
"Probably you been off Lovin' some foreign ho's," Maggie was still scolding mirthfully, "probably started going to one o' them stuck-up places in Concord or Lincoln..." Her good natured melodious voice was like an old song. She held my
arms with her big hands demanding an accounting of where I had been lately. I looked into her dark eyes as she licked her lips with a long pink tongue.
"Maggie, Maggie. You should know better than that. This is the only place I come - for loving," I lied with a big charming smile.
"Well, we glad to see you anyway, ain't we girls?"
The two whores at the bar said in unison "Hi Jiles. Looking for some fun?"
I shook my head no.
"Not tonight girls, I just came for a couple of beers."
They pretended to be disappointed, but cheered up when I walked over to the bar gave them each a long lingering tongue-kiss, and finally took a seat at the bar. Cindy went around and opened a cold Beck's which she poured into a pilsner glass. We chatted about the weather, the latest movies we'd seen, work, and politics. It was pleasant and relaxing. Several other johns came and went upstairs with
other hookers.
After a few beers it was time to get going. But I had to take a leak before the ride home. I excused myself to go to the toilet. There was a sign on the door that said "Gents/Ladies." Unisex. It was spotless, with the aroma of lilacs. Several stalls lined one wall, two ice-filled urinals were hung on the far wall. There was a huge mirror over the row of sinks. I went to a urinal, drilled a hole in the ice while I tried to read the jokes people had scrawled around the free condom machine. It was blurry without my reading glasses. Over the sink, there was a large hand painted sign that said:
"Employees must wash genitalia before returning to work."
Clean, I thought, washing my hands with soap, so clean you could fuck on the floors here. It gave me such a warm feeling that I changed my mind about leaving. I went back to the lounge and flipped a coin. Tails it was Cindy. I would be home late again tonight, I thought to myself, following Cindy up the circular staircase to her room, hypnotized by her lilly white bare bottom peeking out under the short green slip.