TftDS: Indecent Proposal Part 2 Teaser

Part 7:

Indecent Proposal Part 2

Today I would like to talk about a concept I’m pretty sure we’re all familiar with. I call it “The Drunk Whisper.” For both of you who are unfamiliar with this concept, this is what happens when you are so inebriated that you think you are whispering even though you are definitely not. The drunken whisper consists of leaning in close to someone, covering your mouth so that no one else can hear you and then speaking in an raspy tone at your normal volume, if not higher. In these instances, the big secret that you only wanted one person to know is heard from quite some distance away and now even the bartender knows about that you cry during sex. Then again, maybe it’s just me.

The final story in our journey stems from this concept and, as we will discover, the drunken whisper tends to become more amplified in a tiny car when you’re sitting right next to someone. I was just south of the big city on a rather boring night. Last call was over, no one was on the road and I should’ve called it quits by now. For some reason I don’t remember, I decided to stay out and keep working. It’s been a hot few minutes since I dropped off my last ride and I didn’t feel like anything would be coming through anytime soon where I was; so south I went. I left the app on hoping I might get a ride or two on the way home. Usually when I try to do this I get stuck in the middle of fucking no where giving multiple rides because I’m the only dumbass in the area. It’s not an enjoyable experience because I just want to be home but my wallet convinces me that I need to keep going. Tonight, or this morning rather, I might have gotten lucky. I received a call while I was still in relative civilization.

I meander my way through a dark neighborhood to a dropped pin and no real address, just a range. The street lights are few and far between and most of the porch lights have been turned off for the night. I pull towards the curb when I hit the dropped pin and decide it’s best to go ahead and call the client who, based on her name, is probably about 80. It was a Mildred or a Gertrude or something like that. As I am going through the motions and prepping the call a bubbly brunette comes running out into the street, waving me down. She’s a bit bigger and has thick make up covering her acne but she smiled wide and seemed sweet. I assume that she’s coming to tell me that her grandmother is on the way out. Instead she flings the passenger door open and says that it’s actually her name as she sits down next to me.

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