Switchblade Dancing - 4

I took off my jeans, folded them up and put them back in the wardrobe, as you do.
The running shower reminded me that I needed to pee. I reached for the can of beer I’d smuggled out of the club.
Harry was taking a shower.

“Hey, Dolorez! You have two toothbrushes in here! Can I use one?!” he shouted.

Harry, a surfer from Gordon’s Bay (there are no waves, but he told me that ‘Koelbaai was his spot) was really polite all night, except for when he disappeared on me on the dance floor to buy more drugs. As soon as he’d left, this birdwatcher from up on the balcony caught my eye. I winked. He stuck out his tongue in familiar perverted fashion. After a few Carl ‘Big Black Cox’ numbers, the birdwatcher ‘that’ smelt like Wild Turkey and Pepsi put his hands on my breasts. Both (hands), in the middle of the dance floor!
Playing the fool (I’m lying; I was shocked, for a man had not touched me since Teddy’s unfortunate departure {and never had it happened in public} ), I looked up at the pulsating lights and thought I saw Jesus on the cross there - right there, in the badly painted milky way on the ceiling. I leaned into him (not Jesus, the birdwatcher), stuck my tongue violently down his throat, and pressed the finely crafted Japanese button on the very finely crafted switchblade that glided between his ribs.

Gotta love the Japanese; the blade was so sharp that not even Dirkie knew what was bothering his troubled psyche at the time. The dumb fuck kept on kissing me. I could taste the blood on his tongue, but I suppose there’s a reason why it’s called ‘Wild’ Turkey. He laughed!
Gradually I lead him off the dance floor, babbling and jumping up and down so as to not draw attention (you don’t want to walk like a zombie in a rave club - everyone would sense that something is wrong). Another guy who had a poke at my ass a bit earlier on passed me a Red Bull and vodka, obviously wanting something in return. He got a kick in the balls.
I handed the drink to ‘Dirkie’ and pretended to spill it all over him.
He smiled a rusty-toothed smile, and swallowed the rest gleefully.
After all, this was his lucky night.

“Go ahead. Not the purple toothbrush; that’s mine!” I said and burped at the same time.

“Whose is the pink toothbrush?” he asked.

I took another swig of my beer and sat down on the uneven parquet flooring. ‘My ex-husband’s,’ I whispered and stared at the bedside lamp. “Also mine!” I shouted back. “It’s new. You can take it home with you!”

Silence.

“Thanks. I’ll leave it here for next time!” Harry replies.

I stepped outside and opened the boot of the car.
‘Dirkie, this is your lucky night!”

Dirkie said a ducktaped prayer while Harry brushed his teeth and got ready for ‘action’.