What's Worse

Being known as the guy that killed  a woman, or as the guy that a hooker refused to fuck even after payment? Wow.

I actually had written abut that very thing in my next   Microsoft Word doc that will never be published  book, Soup:

“So she comes in,” Fenton said as dramatically as he could, which is to say exactly how Fenton always talked,  “sits down, and then tells me you know what, she doesn’t wanna have sex, but I can look at her tits and jerk off.”

Soup and Nick sadly shook their heads.

“This is a call girl?” Soup asked.

“Well,” Fenton answered, “she took my money for sex, so yeah.”

“So you call this girl,” Soup said.

Fenton nodded.

“The girl shows up.”

Fenton nodded.

“Because she’s a call girl, and you’ve called her.”

Fenton nodded.

“She gets a look at the hand she’s been dealt,” Soup motioned towards Fenton, who suddenly stopped nodding, “and, for some mysterious reason, decides she’s just not in the mood at this particular moment.”

Fenton mumbled unintelligibly, which is to say exactly how Fenton always answered thinly veiled insults directed at his slovenly appearance.

“Even though,” Soup continued, “you’d already paid up front for her to be, you know, in the mood.”

“Whether she wants to be or not, by definition of her job,” Nick finally broke in.

“With cold, hard cash,” Soup agreed.  “Didn’t you tell her you could jerk yourself off looking at some pair of tits online, like a normal person?”

“Probably a picture of her tits online,” Nick added, slapping five with Soup as Fenton helplessly watched them pile on.

“So,” Soup looked at Fenton. “What’d you do?”

“What the fuck do you think I did?” Fenton answered.

Nick beat Soup to the punch:

“Started beating off to her tits.”