Daddy Fucked My Ass At The Speakeasy

The hidden door was behind a bookshelf, the password whispered in the back room of a barbershop. My father Arthur took me to a prohibition-era speakeasy where the bourbon was smuggled and the jazz was live. Velvet booths, dim chandeliers, and a crowd that knew how to keep secrets. We fit right in. By the time the band played its last set, I was his for the taking.