The House of Ill Repute

Mr. St. Franklin was a difficult man to be friends with. He viewed all others in order of their usefulness to him. Yet, Mr. St. Franklin, defying all odds, had a friend.

He was Bob, who was without a doubt the nicest man in the twelve western states (as well as a grand swath of western Canada).

Bob and Mr. St. Franklin had known each other since childhood.

They were going on a road trip. It was an semi-occasional event that Mr. St. Franklin look forward to with relish. Bob looked forward to it with a mix of destain and resignation, however, being so nice, he simply couldn't deny Mr. St. Franklin (who also didn't hear the word "no" well).

The destination of this semi-occasional sojourn was to a place where they dreamt of finding, acquiring and enjoying the company of willing, reliable and flexible women.

That place was high in the mountains to the south, known far and wide as "A House of Ill Repute". It called it's siren's song to them.

Thus Mr. St. Franklin was that day all a quiver with anticipation. He had his car filled with gas (slightly more than half paid by Bob), extra napkins, cash in his pockets and a clean change of underwear in a ziplock plastic bag in the trunk, upholding the Boy Scout Motto, he was prepared.

The brown car (it is unclear if that is the paint color or the color from the deposits of the many years of dirt) had been kept operational with liberal use of duct tape, super glue and bailing wire. The floors were located under some three or four inches of trash, mostly fast food wrappers and empty super jumbo sized drink cups. The vernal seats, light tan, now were worn and grey. Almost all the windows worked and one wiper had a mostly new blade.

It is a five hour drive, assuming no inclement weather or mechanical issue. During their trek Mr. St. Franklin will not stop talking, although he would stop frequently to relieve his bladder. It will test Bob's gentle nature and belief in the sanctity of all life.

Before they arrive at A House of Ill Repute, they stopped and checked in at The Lowest Cost Motel. It was the closest motel to their destination and convenient to The King Kong All He'd Eat for $20 Bucks Buffet (with children's menu), located just across the highway. They intended to secure substance prior to pushing on to the last leg of their journey.

At Da Kong, as it is affectionately called, Mr. St. Franklin burned through the first roast of beef in ten minutes, then he headed to the seafood aisle.

Bob, throwing extravagance a nod, added two jumbo shrimp, on the side, to his salad.

As they grew to satiated the local management was forced to close their 24 hour establishment, Da Kong had been left with nothing more to eat.

Thus, in fine form, they proceed onward to A House of Ill Repute.

On their previous visit, Mr. St. Franklin had come up a bit short, of money that is, and was forced to sit in the car for several (14) very cold hours as Bob was enjoying many earth shaking moments (or so Mr. St. Franklin had surmised) of pleasant female companionship.

While Mr. St. Franklin was sure that the Ladies of the Midmorning were clearly trying to over charge him, the extremely large bouncer had made the point to Mr. St. Franklin that A House of Ill Repute was not a charity, and saw no need (nor did the management have desire) to ensure Mr. St. Franklin's happy ending, further, their service was a time based one, which, $15.00 simply wouldn't buy even 10 minutes of female companionship.

They did sell him a box of Kleenex.

Mr. St. Franklin had whiled away the time dreaming of his good buddy Bob's carnal desires being fulfilled in oh so many evil and twisted ways. While Bob, ever the gentleman never spoke of what went on inside. Had he, it would not have matched what Mr. St. Franklin's twisted mind had dreamt up.

Bob had spoken with several very nice ladies, whom he had shared his story of pain and woe, leading to tears all around. Eventually two women couldn't stand it any further and took Bob to their room for loving consolidation. They had fallen asleep together.

The next morning the girls had insisted they cook Bob breakfast, and hugged and kissed him, imploring him to return as soon as possible, so when Bob had climbed into the car filled with sticky Kleenex with a sunny smile and positive disposition, he found Mr. St. Franklin in a horrid mood from attempting to sleep all night in the frozen Mountian air and almost no gas in the car (as Mr. St. Franklin explained, "I had to keep warm!"). They slinked down the Mountian to a gas station which accepted bottle returns for gas.

This time Mr. St. Franklin had sworn it would be different.

He had cut back to just super sized meals, he had forgone trips to the quarter sucking laundry mat, he has skimped on all, saving a bit here and there to ensure adequate resources to placate A House of Ill Reputes' ravenous desires for cash; he had started the road trip with $200 in folding paper money, $17.00 in quarters, a dime, a nickel and two pennies, now depleted by the $20 for the buffet and $20 for the bed at the Lowest Cost Motel.

This time, he was determined to really truly enjoy himself!

A House of Ill Repute was staffed by several hard women. Their most frequent visitors were long haul truckers who had lost their way. It was located at the end of a dusty rutted road, with deep potholes strategically placed to function as amazingly effective speed divots.

It was up this long road that Mr. St. Franklin carefully piloted them, occasional finding a pothole that left the back bumper scraping the ground dragging the US Marine bumper sticker through the dirt and coating it with dust the likes they hadn't seen since Tripoli.

Eventually they arrived at Nirvana, a set of weather beaten double wides, with a large flashing Neon light in the window that incessantly blinks OPEN 24 HOURS!! The large expanse of the parking lot vacant save for a 18 wheeler parked far away from the rotting front porch, as if hiding in shame as it's driver slinked in for a visit.

They roared up, their excitement reaching a fever pitch, sliding to a hard stop in a cloud of smoke and dust just at the edge of the porch, the car belching and sputtering like a horse hard ridden for hours across a desert during the heat of the day, foam flowing from the over taxed radiator, making a wet spot.

Mr. St. Franklin slopped out of the car and began his lumbering stroll towards the front porch.

Bob, emerged, clearly relieved both he and Mr. St. Franklin had arrived intact. For the last couple of hours Bob had been attempting to decide if his suicide or the murder of Mr. St. Franklin was more humane...he was leaning toward murder.

Of course with a semi competent defense attorney and a jury made up of folks who had had some interaction with Mr. St. Franklin, he would most likely have gotten off, perhaps have a parade named in his honor.

Normally, when customers entered A House of Ill Repute, the girls would all rush to the front room to line up and attempt to entice a customer to part with their hard earned cash, today, as the door opened and Mr. St. Franklin stood in the doorway casting his large shadow into the vacant room.

Had it been a spaghetti western, someone would have been whistling a haunting tune in the background, but it was silent save for the buzzings of the neon sign as it flashed on and off and a fly slowly circling in the center of the room.

The living room wore a cherry red wall to wall deep pile shag carpet with matching drapes, nicely framing the 70's imitation wood paneling. To the left a bar, upon which sat an ashtray with two cigarettes, still burning and three lonely steaming coffee cups.

Bob squeezed around and past Mr. St. Franklin, his presence in the parlor, as if magic, lifted the dismal atmosphere. Music drifted out of hidden speakers, the 70's paneling just didn't seem so old, and he was greeted by the squeaks of joy of the on duty Ladies of the Midafternoon! "Bob!!!"

It was clear they remembered Bob, the girls gathered about Bob cooing and petting him, how was he? why so long between visits? was his Heath good? did he like her new nipple piercing? Just the normal inane banter one would expect when old friends were reunited after a long absence.

Mr. St. Franklin oblivious to the lack of attention lumbered deeper into the parlor, "Ladies! I have arrived!"... As He waited for some response he put on his "charming" smile.

The Madam of the house appeared, clapping her hands, "girls! Girls!" She said in a firm voice, "customers!".

Slowly the knot of ladies disentangled themselves from Bob and ever so slowly began to form a line. Mr. St. Franklin, always partial to blonds stepped up to the only blond.

"Howdie little lady, how about you take me back and let me introduce you to Heaven!" She shuddered...the thought of being trapped under Mr. St. Franklin's immense bulk brought to mind the time that a customer had so enjoyed her pleasures that he had expired when upon her...that was bad, but he was a smaller fellow, while should such occur with Mr. St. Franklin...she shuddered again simply considering the possibility of such an outcome.

Before she could respond, Mr. St. Franklin had reached out and put his arm around her, his eyes sparkled.

Her name was Sally, she was a Godly woman. She was introduced to her chosen profession as she had attempted to "save" the many women who plied the trade. She had a long history of praying over, begging, pleading and witnessing to such fallen women. She generally made quite a nuisance of herself.

Then, after years and years of preaching about the sin of sex, she had some....

She saw God.

Ever since that day she has been joyfully engaged in further efforts to not only preach the good news, but, also to get closer to her maker. Admittedly it was a pretty strange pathway to becoming a wanton whore, and more than one man had reportedly been a bit unnerved as she preaching hellfire and damnation at them one moment and quite literally singing out Jesus's name the next.

Further, the kinkier the sex, the more and more powerful her "joy". She had actually crippled a few men when the throes of joy had taken her. She still prayed for God's forgiveness for the damaged members that were no longer in circulation.

It was this woman Mr. St. Franklin was planning on entrusting his dream of joy and satisfaction. Sally realized that this was her test, her 40 days in the desert, her 40 nights of rain. And if this is how God chose to test her, she would show the strength of her faith!

Mr. St. Franklin and Sally headed towards the back.

Now dear reader, let us pause here for a moment.

Please consider that sex, done even poorly, could be a strenuous activity, known to leave fit young men breathless...and Mr. St. Franklin wasn't young. Further, a man such as Mr. St. Franklin having excellent insurance as a teacher (with very low deductibles) was a new Cadillac in waiting for the members of the medical profession who were lucky enough to be called upon to look after his lack of good health.

In preparation for this journey Mr. St. Franklin had visited with his Doctors.

His habits had left his ticker in a somewhat weakened condition, his blood pressure exceedingly high in the best of circumstances and lets not mention his diet. So it is unsurprising that they had prescribed several expensive generic medications to him.

They had the effect of keeping everything sort of going, alas with a few side effects.

Bob was relaxing, having an extremely nice visit with Marge who was so excited about her new great grandchild and was showing off pictures. Stella was drawing Bob a bubble bath, when a most pitiful sound echoed through A House of Ill Repute.

It tore at one's soul, combining the loss of a child's loved family pet with the crashing realization that Santa was a lie. It could have been the sound that accompanied the decent of the dark ages upon those gentle souls of Europe.

Mr. St. Franklin emerged.

It seems though Sally had worked upon Mr. St. Franklin with skills of legion and determination such as had not been seen since Moses had lead the people from Egypt.

For forty minutes using mouth, lips, tongue, nipples, with cooing sexy lies she prayed for him, laid hands on him, ministered all over him for all she was worth...

Though Mr. St. Franklin was large and lumbering, the same could not be said for his member. His doctors had by medication robbed Mr. St. Franklin of the ability to have an erection in exchange for keeping his ticker ticking. Worst yet, so diminished was his sensitivity that no stimulation could be sensed. Sally, like the devil who greeted Jesus in the dessert was met with failure as she could not overcome the effects of Mr. St. Franklin's medications.

So after forty agonizing minutes, when the alarm went off, with joy and satisfaction an illusion just of out of reach, frustration and balls blue a throbbing, Mr. St. Franklin had realized that all was lost. Worst yet, he had paid in advance knowing of the no refund policy of A House of Ill Repute. He, now destitute, with nothing to show for his $177.17 investment.

He demand that he and Bob quit the establishment.

Bob, wavered, but he really was a very nice man, and just couldn't leave. After all it would be rude, Stella had drawn him a bubble bath, and Marge had more pictures to share, he explained.

Mr. St. Franklin stomps onto the porch, contemplating the cold hours in the car. He stepped down off the porch, in confidence that again life had showed him no mercy, no quarter, for how could it be any other way?