"Blues Bitch"

If you google "Big Time Sarah". You can get a sense of what I went through.


I say "a sense" because seeing a picture of her frightening countenance doesn't do justice to what happened.


Years later, when I wake up screaming and cant remember why, I can only assume it's Sarah that haunts me.

Every Summer, I would make a yearly pilgrimage to Chicago to see my friend Chad. Chad strives to be a great host. Not resting on the laurels of a 20 year friendship, Chad goes all out in terms of creativity and quality of entertainment.
On a seemingly unrelated note, Chad also takes significant pleasure in any emotional or physical humiliation I might endure.

For Chad, the former paid dividends to the latter in a manner that well exceeded his imagination.

Chad had made plans for us to join his girlfriend at B.L.U.E.S., a little dive blues bar on Chicago's North End. Blues and live music in general isn't really my thing but Chad's plans were always fun. I had no reason to question that this night would be anything less than great

Chad was on the mark again. The music was fantastic. The bar inhabitants were straight out of central casting and the people watching was extraordinary. I quickly downed a couple of Jack and Cokes and let the feel of the place wash over me.

Rebekka, Chad's girlfriend, spotted her first.

"Oh wow. Look at her. She has to be a prostitute."

She was right. The figure that stood before us clearly had, at one time, been a prostitute. I use the past tense because literally no one in their right mind would pay to have sex with this woman as is. It was clear with this woman that while you might take the girl off the corner, you would never take the corner out of the girl

Clearly intoxicated, Big Time Sarah was dressed in full length fur coat and flip flops . Even with a five piece band on the stage, her raspy voice carried over the percussion and guitars. Complete with a gold tooth, the only thing more cliche would be if she actually tied off her arm and shot heroin right in the bar

As she was called up on stage and introduced for a set, Big Time Sarah was introduced to the crowd and exhibited no pretense, kicking off her flip flops and shedding her fur coat to reveal a thin house dress that Barbara Billingsley might have worn circa 1955. Sarah , showing no grace or eloquence, hunkered down letting her stubby legs dangle of the front of the stage.

To her credit and no one's surprise, Sarah was fantastic. She mesmerized the crowd with her throaty growl. Sarah was clearly the queen of the place and moreover, she knew it.

Sarah had a sort of lisp that made deciphering her nearly impossible but through her lyrics and actions , I gathered her third offering was the story of a woman who's sexual appetites had overtaken the stamina and abilities of her old man and BTS was in line for a newer, younger model.

The music faded until It was merely Sarah talking aloud with the leader of the band. The drummer kept rhythm with a slow beat as Sarah lamented her problems.

I'd love to tell you what she said but truth be told, I have no idea. I was only half listening until I heard her say

"Fact my new man here now."

"He is huh?"

"Yunh"

Now maybe it was my imagination but it seems at that point that, as if Charlton Heston himself had commanded it, the throng of bar patrons separated and Sarah and I met eyes

In a state of hysterical panic, I said aloud and to no one in particular,

"Oh god. Oh God! OH GOD! She's looking at me! SHE'S LOOKING AT ME!"

"Get up her boy!"

For reasons I still can't explain, I nearly ran up to the stage. My thinking was not unlike a victim of hostage situation.

just cooperate and don't look her in the eye and you'll be OK

Looking back, my running to the stage must have conveyed that I couldn't WAIT to be molested by this horrific woman

Sarah commanded me to get on my knees and I inexplicably did so.

I knew what was coming. I simply had no idea how bad it would get

Sarah pulled me close and mashed my face into her massive,sweaty breasts. This created a "sea-shell " effect as her lady lumps flopped on either side of my face

This has to be what a basset hound feels like


She repeated this several times. Each time I'd suck in a deep, gasping breath as she pushed me away before I was pushed against her. She pushed me away a final time and left me there, dazed. As she grabbed me again I wondered how long she was going to keep this up. It was at this moment that I realized Sarah had other plans

Sarah pushed my face down and ground her crotch against me. For a brief instant I caught a faint whiff of baby powder and funk. I started to scream and thought better of it. i wanted no part of opening my mouth and realized the vibration of the screams would only prolong my situation. I was "down there" for what felt like forever.

Jesus, what if this kills me

Then I realized that it wasn't a brill-o pad I was feeling through her dress but rather her pubic hair poking against my face.

Jesus, what if it doesn't

Sarah released me from her clutches. Maybe it was the oxygen deprivation but I have little or no memory of the rest of the night. I woke the next morning with an incredibly sore neck and back. I have made reference to the trapezoid muscles a hundred times in my life but could only describe my pain to my friends by advising that

"My resistor muscles really hurt,", Supportive as they were, Chad and Rebekka would giggle uncontrollably

Further demonstration of the kindness of my friends was evidenced by their eagerness to mark the occasion with gifts. A copy of BTS' CD stared me in the face when I awoke, and an extra small tank top that simply and appropriately said Blues Bitch lie crumpled on the floor.

Rebekka, having spied it at the club made a bee line to purchase it:

"We only have woman's small" advised the bartender
"perfect," replied Rebekka

Trying to sum up what it was like to have my face used as a loofah for a sweaty 250 pound sixty year old Blues Singer is understandably difficult. While I have no recollection of this, my initial response was probably the most honest.

Apparently upon my return to the table, the waitress ran to me and asked if I wanted a shot

"Yes. Two. In the back of my fucking head," was the response I am told that I had given.