Bar Girl

Chapter 7. 'Lewd Lottery.'

Opportunities to earn. Bar lore. B.O.W (Bunch of Wankers) meet. Amor becomes the prize. Danny. Jordan.

Precious had a flypaper quality that made customers stick to her on contact. She was more mature, more motherly in her manner than the others, who behaved like the teenage girls they were and were treated accordingly by the customers. Precious, on the other hand, would treat her customers like infants in her care, allowing them to lie back and relax while she would coo and fuss and organise, and take control of all their needs, just like Mum. But, unlike Mum, when she put her customer to bed, after kissing him goodnight, she would climb into bed and fuck him to sleep. Before ten-pm she was again waving goodbye and leaving with a customer.

About this time, Amor began to emerge from her shell, dancing topless and lewdly for the benefit of a group of customers in an advanced state of inebriation, who egged her to further extremes. They called her for a ladies drink, bounced and groped and fingered her, and gleefully lined up drinks. Eventually, one paid her bar-fine, and they left to bar hop. Blen worked assiduously as a headline girl, catching two blow-jobs through her own endeavours, one being Luke, who complimented her on her developing technique. Girlie had a quiet night.

On returning to the lady-house they wondered at Precious's magnetism and worried over Amor. Blen was pleased that Amor was bar-fined, but disconcerted by her uncharacteristically forward behaviour. Anabel told them that Amor had asked her for some shabu, and she had arranged for her to buy some on credit, which she intended to pay off from her tip. Blen was confused, not able to settle in her mind whether it was a good thing or bad. Girlie was not concerned by the shabu, but by Amor's, frankly, crude behaviour.

Amor returned at about three-pm the following day. She could remember setting out bar-hopping, and then nothing until she was awakened by her customer in his hotel room at about one in the afternoon. He had fucked her and taken her for breakfast with his friends, who had all greeted her with great familiarity, after which he thanked her for an outstanding evening, gave her 300p and bade her goodbye. On leaving the hotel, having no idea where she was she had to take a trike back to the lady-house.

Precious did not return to the lady-house at all. Mid-evening, she entered Talent Spot leading a man of about fifty-five, with profuse silver hair swept back like Elvis, and came and sat with Blen and Amor. When Precious introduced her friends, Darren amiably ordered drinks for everyone. Mama came over to glad-hand the customer, and ask if Precious was treating him well. He confirmed he was very happy with her, and said they would spend a few days together. Mama said he could settle with the waitress, and before she wandered off asked Amor to speak to her after her next set.

Blen accompanied Amor to see Mama.

"I'm happy you develop a stage presence. It just take a little time, but be careful not to go beyond sexy ... lewd can be trouble ... I know the customers like it, ... but we do not want the Talent Spot to attract the attention of the inspectors. Now, I want to speak to you about an opportunity that would suit you, and we will not have to worry about inspectors. First, are you a cherry-butt?"

Amor was a little startled. "Yes Mama," she confirmed.

"Good. Bend down and touch your toes with your feet apart."

Amor glanced enquiringly at Blen then leaned forward.

"I'm just going to spread your cheeks and look at your butt rose." Mama prised aside her thong and spread Amor's cheeks to disclose her pristine anus. "Keep still, I insert only a finger." She pushed a forefinger slowly into Amor's ass, and her sphincter clung tightly to it. "I finish ... your ass is good ... you can stand up ... Here is an opportunity for you to earn 5000p."

"How is that? What is it to do with my cherry-butt?"

"All customers have an interest special to them, little fetish that some wife and girlfriends will not entertain, that is a business opportunity for us," explained Mama. "It is all harmless, but it give them great happiness. Some are obsess with the ladies ass. We provide happiness for these also. One time a month, on a Sunday afternoon, a club with this interest, they call themselves The Masters of Uranus, meet at the Old Bore pension house. It is formal. They have ceremonies and rituals to give structure and purpose to their meet, and, very important, to make last and increase their excitement and make them ready for a party. Remember always, sex is ninety-per-cent in the mind, and we will provide sex for the mind as also sex for the body. We have some experience girls who will do a show, but what they enjoy to see is a new girl. Their favourite is to see a cherry-ass girl have her ass-cherry popped. It is silly, but it is all in their mind, and they pay well for their thrill. This is where you come in. You have just the right look, you have a cherry-ass, you would suit well."

"But, what will happen?" asked Amor.

"I will lead you. I will dress you in a nice costume and you do as I say. The Masters have their fantasy that you are their prisoner, and at their mercy to enjoy how they like. I will give you to them and they will tie you. You will be tied on a chair with your ass exposed. Then there is their ritual. The Master will relax your ass. He is very experience, and he will make it pleasurable for you. Then, when he think you are ready, one Master will pop your ass-cherry."

"I do not think I like it." Amor was reluctant. She turned to Blen. "What do you think?"

Blen hesitated. "The pay is good."

"But, do you like to do it?"

Blen paused again, then spoke decisively, keen to encourage her friend to resolve her credit. "Yes, of course I like to do it. You will be satisfaction guaranteed now anyway. We all will be soon, so I will do it now."

"Well, OK ... I must try it then." Amor was resigned rather than content.

Mama addressed Blen. "That is good, Blen, you have the correct attitude. I will offer you for their cherry-ass next month."

Blen's mouth fell open and her eyes batted as she sputtered. "But what about my cherry? I do not go bar-fine."

"That is not a problem. In five weeks, if you still have your cherry-pussy, it will not interfere with this, their interest is the ass. It is just another opportunity to earn."

Mama turned back to Amor. "And you will also find that customers will offer a big tip for this service."

As they re-entered the bar, feeling control of her life slipping from her, Blen remarked to Amor, "I just want to meet a nice guy."

Amor nodded. "Why cannot we be like Precious?"

That night, before she fell asleep, Blen asked herself, If that little ceremony pay 5000p, what will 30,000p require?

By their third week, the girls felt comfortably at home in the nightclub environment, and their former lives seemed to have consisted of inconceivable deprivation. Amor, with the aid of her 'pick-me-up', formed a double act with Blen. She and Amor bought the same costumes, and had their haircut, styled and waved the same. They would parade topless when instructed, distinguishable only in that Amor's breasts now began to fill in response to her improved nutrition. They pushily introduced themselves, "I am Miss Blow-Job. She is Miss Boom-Boom. Which do you like?" or would stand on the stage, looming over a customer, pull their crotches aside and tease, "With or without Sir. What is your choice?" then bend double with laughter.

They became a popular novelty and customers would invite the pair to sit and drink with them. These drinks were converted frequently enough into blow-jobs for Blen, and bar-fines for Amor, and Amor's anxiety about her credit began to dissipate. There was one incidental opportunity they had to forgo for the present. At least once a night, a customer would ask to bar-fine the pair, but Blen was still confined to the bar.

On Tuesday evening, when the girls arrived for work and reported present to Mama, Mama told them that they would be representing Talent Spot at a B.O.W meeting on Thursday afternoon.

"What is B.O.W?" asked Amor.

"It is a special show featuring the headline dancers from many clubs. There are competitions, and a meal is served. There is a cover charge of 650 pesos, but it is very popular, there will be many customers."

"Why B.O.W?" asked Girlie.

"It means Bunch of Wankers, it is a joke, because the customers like to rub themselves off under the table watching the sexy dances," Mama explained.

"If they are horny, can they bar-fine us?" asked Amor.

"Yes, but they take you away at the end of the show. Also, one girl is guarantee a bar-fine, she is the winner of the Dirty Dancing competition. She is the prize in the lottery. The guy who win the lottery has her, one night, on free bar-fine."

"If is free I do not want to go," said Amor.

"The winning girl get a prize of 3000 pesos. It is free to the lottery winner," Mama said.

"Ohhh ... 3000 pesos ... OK, I go ... are there other prizes?"

"For the girls, there is a second prize, 1000 pesos, and third, 500. For the customer, there is many prize, including half-price bar-fines, they just pay the girl share. Also, free drinks, T-shirts, beer-wraps and discount-vouchers for meals. These things are used to promote different sponsors of the meet."

"Is there judges like in the Wet-T?" asked Blen.

"No. Here the customer are the judge. There will be Sampaguita necklaces for sale at 30p each. If a customer like a girl, he will buy a necklace for her, the waitress then take it to the stage and put it on the girl. The girl with most necklaces is the winner. For each necklace a customer buy, he will get a lottery ticket, so the more necklace he buy for the girl he like, the better her chance of her winning the contest, and the better his chance to win her on free bar-fine. If a customer buy you a necklace, encourage him. The waitress will also encourage because she get commission on her sale of necklace."

"Where will it be?" asked Girlie.

"It was plan to be in Daisy Chain, it is a big bar and it need lots of room 'cos there are many girl and many customer. But, the Station 4 police have hear rumours about NBI plans, so it will be in Tropical Island. It has a bar upstairs. The Tropical Island girls and the food will be in both bars, but the Dirty Dancing competition will be on the stage upstairs. If there is a raid, it will take time to go upstairs. This will suit you Amor, it mean your dance can be lewd if you like."

"What about me, can I be in the Dirty Dance competition?" asked Blen.

"No," said Mama, "You cannot be bar-fine. But, you will be in Talent Spot's team of dancers. The team from each bar dance sets, in turns. The sets are short because of many team, so you will do three, maybe four short sets thro the afternoon.

"Oh, and Blen, the Come2AC, the guys who video the Wet-T contest, ask me if you will do a photo-shoot with them. I said I ask, but you do not have a cell phone, so they cannot call you. It is between you and them. They must contact you."

"I do not know," replied Blen. "What is a photo-shoot? Why do they ask me? I suppose I must wait them then."

Tuesdays and Wednesdays were always the quietest nights of the week. The till rolls confirmed this in high season, but in the rainy season there was no need to consult the roll. The atmosphere in the bar was as if the doors had been locked with the girls inside. It takes a certain number of customers to create the buzz of excitement that feeds on its self, so, even when there were one or two customers present, the customers could not lift the girls, and the girls could not lift the customers to the point where excitement feeds on excitement and a self-sustaining party atmosphere is achieved. The girls went through the motions, like the hostess of a dinner party when most of the guests did not turn up, disconsolately serving up their tasty dishes in the knowledge that they would be returned to the larder unsampled.

Daddy consulted the till roll, nonetheless, and he could tell that if the bar shut on Tuesday and Wednesday, his deficit would be cut by seventy-two-per-cent. He knew, however, that when he reopened on Thursday he would have no girls. They would be working in Girls'R Us or some other bar. Retaining a reasonable stable of girls through the rainy season was an essential part of the strategy for a successful high season, but the loss grieved Daddy Don, who was an owner as well as a manager, and his grumpiness was less well controlled. Every half an hour he would emerge from the back into a bar bereft of customers, and like a desperate general rallying his despondent troops, urge the girls to dance with greater urgency, smile more broadly, and stay alert for any engagement, then order one or two futile initiatives before striding to the door to peer up and down the street, seeking to conjure customers into existence.

With no customers to glad-hand, the managers would relieve their boredom by visiting other bars to commiserate with their peers, and exchange gossip, rumours, opinions and jokes. The managers of The Horny Toad and Front Bumper sloped in on Wednesday evening, lowered their umbrellas, gave them into the custody of the door guard, sauntered over to where Daddy Don slumped dejectedly before the stage, shook his hand, and occupied the stools either side of him. Blen filtered to the front of the stage, waved and gave them the blow-job invitation. She knew it was pointless, but thought, since Daddy was there, she had better show willing. They gave her polite, but tired smiles. There being not a lot else happening, Blen hovered close to eavesdrop.

Jock, the manager of The Horny Toad, a short, sandy haired Scotsman, kicked off. "Now we'll be getting an influx of Russians. There's a small Russian start up airline that's applied to fly into Clark."

"Any new, fucking custom is welcome at this time of year," said Daddy, "but do we need any more Mafia types? Who will these guys be? New money? And in Russia new money means crime. Next thing is they'll be putting muscle on us."

"There is too much big money sloshing about already," said Gunter, the Manager of Front Bumper, a German with a good track record as a manager of several clubs. "Between Town Hall redevelopment plans, and these mysterious investors, land and rental prices are being pushed through the roof."

"Yeah. I got in just in time," said Daddy, "I couldn't buy this lot now. Fact is though, if I sold now, I could get a good price, and it would bear no relation to the profit I generate. Don't know how long that'll last. If I sold up, what would I do? I'm not going home, and this keeps me gainfully occupied. Best job I've ever had. I don't want to be a manger. Been my own boss for too long, couldn't do things someone else's way anymore."

"That was my intention," said Gunter, "I thought I would learn the business at someone else's expense, then buy my own bar. But the reasonably priced lots have disappeared, and I do not wish to rent. Now I am employed while a bar stays profitable. When it closes, I have to move on. It is very uncertain."

"Well, you could lease, if you think you can make the bar pay," said Daddy.

"I lease," said Jock, "and I wouldn't recommend it. The market in land is rising, and on a rising market, rent chases profits. When the rent is reviewed your profits disappear, and you start again. You're always chasing a moving target. I wish I'd bought years ago. At least I would have a nest egg. Now my landlord has my nest egg."

"Do you have a proper lease, or just Rights?" asked Daddy.

"It's a proper lease, but with review breaks. It ends in 2011, and I have an option to renew, but I doubt I will. That'll be end for me."

"Have you ever considered taking Rights, there's still a few bars available, Rights Only, off the main drag," Daddy asked Gunter.

"I've seen the adverts stuck up in the urinals," said Gunter, "that tells you all you need to know about Rights. If the owner is desperate enough to advertise his business in the urinal, he thinks the deal would only be attractive to a drunk. Anyone who wants the Rights can wait until the business folds and get them from the landlord, free of any premium."

Daddy said, "Well, you could partner with an entrant, like you-know-who. They put up the finance, and you manage for a salary and cut of the monthly profits. Come June, when the profits cease, you pull out, and three months later the bar folds. You can then start fresh with a new sucker in December."

"That is not ethical business. If I do not think it can succeed, I will not invest my time. I must leave the suckers to others," said Gunter.

"Very laudable," said Daddy, "but ethics are becoming rarer in business here. It's like a pyramid of suckers here. The trick is to stay off the bottom of the pyramid."

"The first time I came here, it was cosy and friendly," said Gunter, "the bars were small and wild. You would get up close with the girls, and they would plead to be bar-fined. Everyone had a good time. If the girls got a little wild no one cared, the local police and officials weren't interested, and small sums greased palms to ensure trade continued smoothly. I thought I could run a bar here, I thought I could organise a bar better, and I can, but now we all have been overtaken by big money."

"Yeah, it's no longer a lifestyle business," moaned Daddy, "The big money is taking over, and turning the girls into commercial prostitutes. That's fine for the Japs, but it's not the business I got into. Sitting watching girls, goldfish bowl style, in these big bars just isn't the same experience. You may as well go to a strip club. The whole idea was that you could sit up by the girls; you could talk and touch. That was the fun. Big money has driven out the fun."

"The police and NBI have turned against fun. Times change," said Jock.

"The police and NBI do nothing unless they're paid," said Daddy, "If you're the victim of crime, they won't do anything but take your complaint, unless you pay. If you pay, they swing into action. Ten years ago, a few thousand pesos would guarantee inactivity. Now, my fucking government is paying them to take action against my business."

"Yes, it's ironic that the United States turned Angeles into a brothel for its servicemen, in the tradition of your famous general Hooker, and ran it as such for fifty years. As soon as the Philippines had kicked your bases out, and the Filipinos practised prostitution on their own account, it became an evil. It is human trafficking. No action, no aid. So the government is forced to pass a Human Trafficking Act, and assign funds to persecute us in return for their aid. There is a case of hypocrisy here," observed Gunter.

"We don't practice prostitution," said Daddy, knowingly, "There's no prostitution and no trafficking. The TAAC has bought the best legal advice, and we have guidelines to follow which keep us within the law. We check that all the girls are over eighteen, and they are all recruited specifically to work in hospitality establishments. They are all licensed to work here by Angeles City Social Health and Welfare Department. They are all paid on salary, plus sales commission. We observe the dress code. If the girls are a bit pushy with the customers, or a bit unruly, we keep things in hand. That is legal. We don't require them to take early release if they make their quota of sales, and we don't require them to accompany anyone if they achieve early release. No prostitution. No lewd displays."

"Ha Ha Ha," said Jock, "and how often do the girls not leave with the customer who buys her quota."

"As often as they want," said Daddy, "that's all that matters. They may have their reasons for going with their customer, but that's between them and their customer. We don't get involved. That's all the law requires, and that's what we observe."