Flash fiction: The Best Little Whorehouse Above Texas

The Best Little Whorehouse Above Texas

There are places where whoring and carousing are commonplace, places like Denver and San Francisco. People around those parts think nothing of a lady of ill repute strolling up to their carriage and inviting herself in.

Not here in Waco. In the Bible Belt, we believe in Christian temperance, which is a damn shame. That attitude leads to more than bible thumping; it leads to quite a few sore and abused sheep. Least it did before Madame Curry flew into town last year in time for the 1879 Waco Fair.

That's right, flew in. Madame Curry ("hot and spicy") and her girls flew in a dirigible, as they called it, right over the fairground. They were the most delectable and curvaceous fillies ever to grace our fair town.

It would not be lying to say every last tallywhacker rose to attention. Menfolk were used to decent Christian women; Madame Curry's girls were something else.

Madame Curry floated that dirigible down to the bandstand, and hovered there. "We're open for business, boys," she shouted. A red-haired vixen, Sally Mae ("and probably will"), lifted her dress to show how open they were.

The line formed quicker than spit dries in July. One by one, men climbed up that ladder, and came back twenty minutes later with shitfaced grins.

Of course, in every pigsty, there's one damn pig who don't enjoy mud. That was Reverend Goodfellow. With a sour look, the Reverend hightailed it off to find Sheriff Owens. It took a while, because the sheriff was fifth in line at Madame Curry's. When he found the sheriff smiling like a fool, the Reverend demanded that Madame Curry's be shut down. "It's against the law to run a whorehouse in Texas, and it's your job to enforce the law."

Sheriff Owens couldn't see any flaw in that logic, and with a disappointed expression, he walked up to the dirigible and called out, "You got to close down. It's against the law to have a whorehouse in Texas."

Madame Curry smiled. "I know it is, Sheriff, but we ain't in Texas. We're above Texas, and there ain't no law about that."

The Sheriff grinned and went back to the Reverend, but the bible thumper was having none of that. With the fire of God in him, Reverend Goodfellow strode up to the dirigible and demanded that the sinners be cast out.

Still, Madame Curry didn't look perturbed. She said to the Reverend, sweet as can be, "Reverend, it's true we have sinners up here. We could sure use your help casting them out." She gave a flirtatious wink.

The Reverend frowned, and swore the harlot would burn in Hell. "Ah," said Madame Curry knowingly, and was joined by a blond young man. "Are you certain, Reverend? This young fellow, Johnny Hardpecker, is in sore need of some hands-on healing."

Now, I won't tell tales, but that floating whorehouse is still above Waco. All I can say is, a whole lot of sheep are grateful.

*Originally printed in Pill Hill's Daily Flashes of Erotica