[A1ice]

Damien groaned as he stumbled into his apartment. He liked the extra cash the regulars customers gave him, but he hated them at the same time. They know how much of a light weight Damien was. Not even bothering with the lights, he made his way to his room. Stubbing his toe on his side table, Damien went down with a loud; 'FUUUUUC-'.

After a moment of rubbing his poor toe, the bleached haired male climbed up onto his bed. Striping of his phone, keys, wallet (placing them on the table), jacket and shirt he sighed. If it was legal, Damien would so be a nudist. Undoing his slacks and pushing them down, Damien wormed out of them, kicking the off the bed somewhere.

Groaning as he heard his phone, Damien ignored the desire to chuck it at a wall. Instead he sat up and grabbed the annoying device. Seeing it was a text from a customer, he sighed. At the host club, regulars who donate a lot of cash are allowed the numbers of the host they visit often. Only to invite then to parties and such, the host still gets paid if wished as well. So it is like they are a escort.

This customer was a newer one in the host club, but she was loaded. She had a friend who just opened a new club downtown and was asking him to go with her to the upper VIP party above it. Pondering on it for a second, Damien shrugged, why not? It could be the alcohol still in his system, but Damien sent a flirty, 'yes' in reply. Once that was done, he set his phone off and passed out.