The Bark At The Moon Bitch (Or Gunfight At The Hickabilly Hotel)

Not every “casual encounter” from the internet ends in a cum shot, some times it ends in gunshots and a crime scene…

It was 2000-something, I hooked up with this blonde, single mom MILF chick through one of the cheap hooker sites — I can’t remember if it was Craigslist or Backpage at the time — and I was on my way across town at 1AM to see her. We had agreed on $100 (which was far too cheap and should have been a red flag) for a quick sucky-fucky while her kid was asleep.

Along the way, she texted to ask if I could stop and pick her up two packs of KOOL 100’s. Sure thing, not a problem, happy to oblige. Now we’re up to $110, I thought.

I stopped and grabbed her cigs and followed her (shitty) directions to her house. As I imagined, it was a piece of shit, in the shitty hick part of town. (I mean, what else would you expect for a $100 fuck?) She was standing at her door, motioning for me to pull in the driveway, but I’d done this enough times to know: NEVER park in the driveway where someone else (like a pissed-off boyfriend or husband) can block you in. So I parked on the street and walked across the front lawn towards the door.

As I approached, I quickly noticed she wasn’t the girl from her photos. Not even close. Yeah, she was blonde, but that was about it. (Another red flag.)

“Did you grab the cigs?” she asked, holding the door open for me.

“Yes I did, here you go,” I said, motioning for her to go in ahead of me. (Never walk in first.)

I followed her in and quickly cleared the room with my eyes. It didn’t seem like anyone else was there. The place itself looked like she was squatting or just using the place to shoot heroin or smoke crack. There was a couch in the living room (heroin couch). That was it. No TV, no coffee table, no shit on the walls, nothing. (Another red flag.) In the kitchen, a table, but no visible chairs. The place didn’t stink like crack though, it smelled more like tobacco and …despair.

“Did you bring the money?” she asked.

“Yeah, here you go.” I handed her five twenties and she quickly counted them.

“Awesome!” she said as she stuffed the money in her bra, “Have a seat right there, I’m just gonna make sure my boy is asleep and we can do it right there on the couch.”

She left the room and I looked at the ratty, old couch and just couldn’t bring myself to sit on it. I figured I’d just settle for her sucking me off while I stood there in the living room and maybe bend her over the couch, but I sure as hell wasn’t sitting on it. I was a bit disappointed she wasn’t what I expected, but figured I’d come this far and already paid and was still deciding whether or not to stick around and get what I paid for.

But as I was contemplating this, she made up my mind for me. I noticed she didn’t go into the bedroom like she said but rather slipped out a sliding glass door from the kitchen into the backyard…

What the fuck?

Next thing you know, I could see her through the glass door throw her head back, her hands to her mouth, and start HOWLING like a coyote into the sky — like she was fucking barking at the moon!

“Awwooooooo! Awwwwoooooooooo wooo-wooo-woooooo!” she barked.


This freaked me the fuck out. I was already kind of freaked out about her not being the girl in the photos and about the shitty house and the squatting and the couch and everything, but this was too fucking freaky even for me. I made a bee-line out the front door towards my car.

Just as my first foot hit the steps, I heard a loud truck rev-up a few houses down and could see it rolling towards me, lights off. There were two men in it and one was yelling, “You motherfucker, you fuckin’ my girlfriend!”

It was so blatantly obvious to me at this point that she had signaled them with her howling and that this was all a set-up to beat me out of a hundred bucks and two packs of cigs. But it gets worse...

A red bead from a laser sight started bouncing around the lawn trying to focus on me. Whether it was from a real gun or not, I wasn’t sticking around to find out. I boogied fast as I could to my car, jumped in and fired it up. As I went to take off though, this big-ass redneck monster truck cut me off.

It was just then I saw the unmistakable shadow of a paintball gun come out the passenger window and its laser sight hitting my windshield.

Fucking amateurs, I thought.

Motherfuckers didn’t know what they just got themselves into.

I leaned over and opened my glove compartment to grab my Sig (—that’s a handgun, of the 9mm variety). They were now out of the truck, two typical redneck-looking dudes, one shirtless, yelling a bunch of nonsense about blowing my head off, blah, blah, blah — yeah, yeah, whatever. I threw my door open, jumped out and without hesitation, pumped a round into their big, fat truck tire. Then another into their taillight. Then pointed it at them.

I saw the paintball gun hit the ground and they threw their hands up, the shirtless dude yelling, “Whoa! Whoa! Wait! It was just a joke, man! This ain’t a real gun. It’s paintball!”

Too late, fuckers.

All the lights in the neighborhood were coming on. I had to get out of there, so I popped one more shot off well over their heads, for good measure, just to see them dive to the ground (and squirm), buying me time to jump back in my car. Then I backed up over their lawn, peeled out and took off in the opposite direction. I figured they wouldn’t call the cops, lest they turn themselves in for their stupid scam, but just in case, I’d pretend I was really, really scared (not a lie) and thought it was a real gun (also not a lie, at first).

Within a minute, I was back on the highway heading home when I started getting texts from the girl again stating that unless I brought her another $500 she was going to call the cops. I texted back, “I already called them,” and that was the end of it. The next text I tried to send was blocked so I figured that was indeed the end of it. And it was.

The moral of the story is DON’T IGNORE THE RED FLAGS. When dealing with hookers, it’s often no different than dealing with drug dealers: you’re always putting yourself at some kind of risk, whether it’s getting arrested or robbed or killed. This goes for the $100 hookers as much as the $1,000 hookers. You never know. The prostitution climate of today is far different than it was. There was a time when there was more honor in the sexual underworld. Today, it’s more dog-eat-dog, and if a hooker or a pimp can beat you out of money without having to put out — or beat you out of more money than was agreed — they will. That’s not to say ALL hookers and pimps are scammers and thieves, but rather, when dealing with a criminal element, you better learn to think and act like they do, or else you may not only lose your money, but your life, too.

Of course, none of this stopped me from hooking up with random whores on the internet. It just made me more conscious and aware of how I was doing it. After this incident I stuck to hotel whores and sugar babies. Hotels are essentially public places and the chances of you getting rolled (robbed) are a lot less than with random house whores in shady neighborhoods. (No more shitty neighborhoods.) And sugar babies, well, I’ve been rolled by my share of them, too. There’s a trick to finding the right ones, which I’ll get to in an upcoming chapter of my fucked-up sex life.

In the mean time, be careful out there.

— MM

*Perhaps the howling face in the photo was a harbinger of things to come?

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