The Four Whores Men

Some nights you and your buddy meet two whores. Some nights you meet four whores. Those are the nights when you are the Four Whores Men. Tonight was one of those nights. Let me set the scene for you. We're at Coyote Ugly, and the trashy bartenders are dancing up a storm on the bar while I'm drinking. As any red-blooded American male would do, I went off to pee. On my way back, I made a few friends who appeared to be out for an extremely good and story-full time. Four women out for a bachelorette party. (This seems like a good point to insert my theory. There are two types of bachelorette parties, the kind who bring lots of fake jokey panises with them and the kind who try to find the real thing along the way. Tonight was one of the nights where we started drifting out of column A and into column B) Now one might ask, how does a schmuck like you pick up four women.

A) I didn't pick them up, I just started the ball rolling.
B) Trust me, they were looking for fresh meat.
C) Go fuck yourself.

So I bring these pillars of the community back to my buddy for some freaking help, and we all start talking about whatever it is men and women talk about. I would be more specific, but I really wan't paying attention. So of the four, one is starting to climb all over me. She's from Equador and teaches Yoga, which to me seems like I just hit the jackpot. Meanwhile my buddy is preventing one of the group from just holding up the building, but that's not the good part. The good part is that the bride-to-be has drifted out onto the dance area and started really grinding with some random dude (I know he was random because I was asking around about this). So up until now, none of this seems too out of the ordinary. The part where it really starts to grow hair is when the bachelorette starts snaking her toungue down this dude's throat. Oh, but it's just a one-time thing right? Wrong. For over an hour she was cleaning this guy's tonsils while her girlfriends alternated between being concerned and rubbing against anything with a pulse. So back to my latino chick. We're dancing, we're grinding, she's showing off her rock-hard stomach and then out of nowhere I hear, "You know she's married, right?" No! I did not know that! She had the full court press going, her slut friend was playing tongue hockey with Dr. Anonymous, and the other two were at least sizing up my buddy, and I'm supposed to be doing the hardware check? Screw that! So I started pulling away from the group a bit and we drift outside (OK, it was last call) and bache-whore-ette girl starts pushing for us to all go back to this guy's hotel room. All I'm thinking is that somebody's getting date-raped or vomitting. Either way, I wanted none of it, and also I was pissed about the South American teaser ruining my night, so we bailed. As we left, I couldn't tell if they were going with the guys or going home. Who cares?