[Ok....burg is throwing out there for your consideration a opening tidbit to a OPUS I am beginning...read this and tell me if I should put bi-weekly installments in the future to turn this thread into a ongoing novel. I dont need the fame, recognition or money...I just need to vent, and if I can provide you all with some entertainment and food for thought, I am pleased to do so...besides, the story(ies) are/will get prurient.

>START>

INTRO and setting. <A nice 2 story, 4 bed, 2.5 bath house on the edge of Henderson, Nevada...one of Dale Webb's cutting edge cookie cutter domiciles from 1993, when the whimsical building of houses in Vegas ceased being whimsical and became a Tsunami, and the proverbial "luckiest resident of Las Vegas" wasn't some red hot shooter at the craps table in Caesar's, it was some neophyte real estate agent who had just relocated from Busse, Wisconsin because apartments were still available on Koval Lane for 250 bucks a month and 99 cents would get you a HUGE breakfast at the BOARDWALK Hotel/Casino>

It's 9:58 pm; she wakes up early today.

A seconal from that Mexican Pharmacy in La Paz, and 4 percocets which she chews....she lies back down, rubs her belly around her navel while she waits 20 minutes in bed staring at the ceiling while the pills kick in. She connects the plaster pock marks in the ceiling to form a map of Maryland....or is it Madagascar?

She pours herself a glass of apple juice and turns the shower on...the drugs actually clear her head and she does some math: she needs to put in about 8 hours tonight. It's a Tuesday in July, and as such business will be unpredictable. If there is a convention or two, she will do well. If not, she'll be happy to clear for herself 2 grand on "Grind" calls, i.e. men who want a lot for a little. She hates grind calls....the men are always smelly ... and fat ... and sweaty ... and hairy in all the wrong places ... and lacking in any affable personality traits whatsoever; even if the survival of the human race depended upon it, she would never touch them or be touched, let alone fuck these men in the REAL EVERYDAY WORLD without first receiving enough compensation (in money or pills) to faciliatate 40 hours of being euphorically BUZZED sufficiently to allow her to watch OPRAH without feeling guilt or anxiety about her life's course. But this is not the REAL EVERYDAY WORLD ..... this is Vegas 1996.

Erin is 30 years old and gorgeous...she is truly blessed, yet another monument to life's unfairness, and how all men and women are not created equal. She has known she is ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS ever since she was 10, when Mr. James, the next-door neighbor who worked in the Police Commisioner's Office for the City of Salem told her so. In fact, he gave her 20 dollars everytime she entered his house alone, to show Erin just how fucking awesome and beautiful she was. Of course, the 20 bucks was not the ONLY thing Mr. James used, or did, to "SHOW" Erin just how beautiful he thought she was.....

Now, 20 years later, she tells herself she should have asked for a 100 bucks from that sick bastard. So it isnt a surprise or any fault of hers that she loves drugs..."The idea that a person can use lots of drugs and escape a terrible fate is anathema to most people." William Burroughs said that. He lived a long time. The shower is hot, her Victoria's Secret Body Wash lathers up her perfect skin and body, and she stares at her reflection in the shower door....when she finishes her "shift" at around 7 am, she will hit the L.A. Fitness gym on Spring Mountain Road on her way home. She may be the only drug addled and addicted, full time whore in Vegas that works out (with weights even) 2 hours a day, 5 days a week.

10:45 pm ... Her beeper is alive. She checks her voicemail: 4 potential calls, 3 of them repeats and a referral. Not a bad start. Her apartment phone line rings....it's Ray, her "Boss". Ray Cerrano is 41 and runs several of the escort agencies in Vegas having done so for over 8 years. Ray is sharp enough to know that Vegas-1996 is one giant urban slot machine and the first two red sevens have clicked in the windows and the third window is about to pop...he thinks to himself "I need more girls, and I need them yesterday...." He put Erin on the cover of VEGAS-AFTER DARK and several of the "Adult Guides" that litter the streets, that are inside all those broken newspaper dispensers and in the hands of about 500 mexican immigrants who line Las Vegas boulevard, "the Strip", and shove the guides and flyers into the paths of pedestrians walking in all directions. Vegas-1996 is not yet pretending to be "Family Friendly". But Erin is Ray's best girl. He keeps her stoned, she keeps him rich...it is mutually parasitic. Perfect for this town.

"I need you at Caesars at 2 am....what kinda shape you in?" he asks ..... You see, even though she is his best girl, Ray is a little wary: sometimes Erin eats all her pills too soon and goes into withdrawal, totally useless to him. That's when he has to call around for her, issuing a 911 to all the citywide drug dealers (except North Las Vegas "ghetto" dealers...he'll never forget "rescuing" Erin from inside a port-a-potty on a construction site that she hid in after being robbed and almost raped by a bogus Oxy dealer she met in a desperate moment when the withdrawal was so bad she was pissing out of her asshole)

"I'm fine." she says, "I hate Caesars Palace...everytime I go there security gets on that fucking microphone and yells "Buzzing one female up to 14, room 1458!!! Do u Copy that boobalah!! <static> Copy that Pops!" Ray gives her the info..."It is Four guys, they got some kinda accent, I think they are Turkish or some shit. They want the full tour....it's three grand." Erin ponders as his words swim through the chemicals in her brain...It seems it will be a good night...probably.


11:18 pm ... She is in her mauve Corvette driving up Boulder Avenue towards the northern Strip....in between call, The Sahara is where Erin hangs out with some of the other girls who work for ray or one of the other guys; the Sahara doesnt care if they congregate at the bars in the hotel since business for them is in the tank (relatively speaking) now that the new places like New York-New York and Monte Carlo are roaring. Her first call also happens to be at the Sahara, some guy named Patrick in room 506, Main Tower. Erin cranks her stereo....Better Than Ezra's "GOOD" fills Boulder Avenue just past Sam's Town...they will be appearing at the Hard Rock so she decides she wants to see them after hearing this song.

It's 11:23 pm, 94 degrees and her bare thighs coming out of her very short skirt stick to the seat even with a little A/C blowing.. She cuts across Paradise and pulls into the parking structure for the Sahara. She pop's another 3 percocets and she'll order a bloody mary before going up to 506...she likes doing her customers with a fresh euphoric buzz, that way she knows she is pleasant in their eyes. It's how she gets so many reapeats. That, and the fact she lets them cum on her face, something most girls will not do, except the real young ones, the ones who she most has to fear from cutting into her business. She can't imagine doing anything else at this point in her life, which is good because she COULD NOT, in fact, do anything else; her addiction (both to pills, AND this lifestyle and spending the money that it brings along with it) is so strong she needs at least a full year of intense therapy and rehab....her pills alone cost more in a month than average people make at their 9 to 5 jobs.


>Finito, for the moment>





Well?