Judging from the action on the streets, the members of the world's oldest profession seem to be getting younger and younger. To be sure, prostitution has always been a young woman's game-one of the saddest sights imaginable is an aging hooker that nobody will raise the ante for. Concubines in various countries around the world are often quite young by American standards, many societies having cults that breed girls for such purposes to this very day. But in this country there are no such rituals. Young girls of high school (and some of even junior high school) age have begun to moonlight in prostitution, many of them to support a drug habit for themselves or a boyfriend, others doing it for other motives. Gail Sheehy points out the full time call girl's disdain for these amateurs, whether they be teenagers or housewives making a little extra bread behind hubby's back, in her excellent book on the New York City trade, Hustling.
Historically, girls in their teens were highly prized by customers in bawdy houses. For centuries, up to this day, the practice of inducing young girls barely into puberty into prostitution has been practiced in parts of the Orient, the Middle East and Africa. In many instances, the girl's own family is responsible for her induction into prostitution, an impoverished family selling a daughter into sexual slavery is a fairly common practice in many parts of Asia, for example.
In this country, however, it has been quite uncommon for girls to ply the oldest trade before they are eighteen or so, at least not until they are of age to leave the parental nest. There are, to be sure exceptions, particularly among the uneducated and poor, particularly among racial minorities such as Blacks and Puerto Ricans. But by and large child labor of most forms has disappeared during the past seventy or eighty years, the laws passed to prohibit such misuse of children apparently extending to occupations outside the law as well.
The phenomenal thing about the recent wave of young teenagers going into prostitution is that they are often from relatively stable homes in the economic sense-girls from middle income families. It is not easily explained, this trend displayed by certain girls from middle class families to turn to prostitution, either full or part-time, but most professional observers feel that it has some correlation with the anti-establishment movement on the part of young people that began in the middle to late 1960's.
There seemed to be a prevailing mood of apathy among the girls interviewed in conjunction with this book-the revolutionary rhetoric of the 60's seems to have led many of the 70's generation into a rather apolitical resignation to the fate of their country, and consequently their own lives. Many of the teenagers who have gone into prostitution on a part or full time proposition display a sense of alienation and boredom with their society. While some of the girls have turned to hooking for monetary reasons, such as a need for extra money for drugs, etc., still more seem to have seen it as a new kick.
The young lady I have chosen as representative of teenage hookers in general, is a plethora of anxieties and contradictions as the reader will see. At the same time, Annette, is an intelligent and attractive young woman of nine ten who can look back at nearly four years of part time prostitution and shrug her shoulders. What follows is her own story told in her own words.
The Author
CHAPTER ONE
My name is Annette Gallo and I'm a hooker. I have been turning tricks for the past four years, on and off, even though I'm only nineteen years old. I really don't consider myself to be a hooker in the strongest sense of the word, even though I've turned hundreds of tricks over the past several years. I'm a person first and foremost, and the fact that I've turned so many tricks doesn't really entitle people to label me 'hooker,' as far as I can see it. Not that it really turns me off or anything. It's just that there's so many more dimensions to me that this, to me anyway, is just a sideline. I mean, I don't really plan to be turning tricks in a couple of years, say... well, then again I might still be doing it, but I don't think that'll be my main number.
But before I get into telling you about my experiences at hooking, I guess I should tell you a little bit about myself. People say that being a native Californian is a rarity, but that's not the way with my generation. True, my folks, and a lot of people of their generation, came from another place, but many of the kids I grew up with in the San Fernando Valley, a group of suburbs north of downtown Los Angeles, are native born. In fact, we only moved once in my life, and that was just from Van Nuys to Northridge, a distance of only about six or seven miles, when my father decided to buy a bigger home in a better neighborhood. We didn't really need all the extra space at the time, as I was their only child, but my father's promotion at the bank where he works, gave us access to upward mobility, and he wanted me to grow up in a nice neighborhood. They were just beginning to develop Northridge in those days, and the homes were in an upper middle class neighborhood.
At any rate, they hadn't moved into the bigger house because they were expecting a bigger family. As both my brother and I were delivered by C-section, the doctor advised against her having any more kids, but then maybe they made the move because our family was smaller. You see, my kid brother had some kind of childhood disease from birth, I'm still not sure just what it's called as it's sort of rare, but it killed him when he was just three. I was five at the time myself. I think it sort of wiped my parents out when Peter croaked. I think they began to associate the place where we'd lived with him, and that may have been part of the reason for the move. Also, like I've said, my dad was making much more money now that he was managing one of his bank's branch offices, added to the fact that they didn't have to lay out as much for doctor bills as they had been doing- they must've dropped a small fortune on Peter's illness.
My brother's death had a profound influence on me as well as them now that I look back on it, but for much different reasons. I guess a shrink would look over the data and say that I got a guilt complex of some kind over my brother's death, although I would be overstating the case if I said that it affected my entire being that much. Being only a bit over two when he was born, I really don't remember all that much about it. All I .have are these emotional impressions, plus a few memories of when I was a little older. I guess it's a fairly common syndrome to get sort of jealous over a younger child, at least that's what I hear.
It's a fairly classic thing, though, for an older child, particularly an only child like I was up until his birth, to feel somewhat resentful of another child. That's the way I felt anyway. Not a real hatred-in fact, I sort of liked the idea of having a little brother that I could help 'mother,' even though I felt sort of threatened at the same time. I suppose where I really started to feel jealousy for him! came later, maybe a year or so, at the time when my parents discovered that there was something seriously wrong with him. They were taking him to the doctor's all the time, lavishing, at least what seemed to my little mind, more attention on him than me. Of course, I couldn't realize the seriousness of the situation being so small. All I knew was that my folks seemed to be paying more attention to Peter than me, and I felt left out.
I don't think it was a really conscious thing on the part of my folks. It was just that they were so shook up about my brother. Also, I don't want to give the impression that they ignored me totally. But I was no longer the center of attention that I'd been.
When he finally died, I started having all these guilt feelings for awhile, as if I'd been responsible for secretly wanting my parents to pay more attention to me. Not that it was a full-fledged thing-I was too young to really understand. But the glum manner in which my folks went around right after Peter's death, did little to assuage my guilt.
Then too there was the religion thing. My folks, particularly my mother, were devout Catholics. They were a mixture-my dad being a second-generation Italian (no there had been no Mafia ties), my mother Irish. A few words about this:
I guess the reason so many immigrants cling to religion so heavily is due to the fact that it is often their only relief against poverty and oppression. You don't find the rich from Europe immigrating to America, so it's easy to see that they had strongly religious ties to see them through in the old country. Feeling alienation in the new country, this whole pattern continues.
My dad was the first guy in his family to make it through college. His grandfather had to scuffle when he came to Akron, Ohio, and his father became a barber, scrimping to put his two children, my father being the eldest, through college. My dad was torn between the family obligation and his own future after graduating, but he decided to move west after marrying my mother, a girl he'd met in college, Mom dropping out in her freshman year.
Enough family history. The whole thing boiled down to the fact that they felt too guilty about my brother's death, my mom going to Mass all the time, lighting candles. When we moved into our new house in Northridge, my folks decided to enroll me in a parochial school, so I was taught even more about guilt. Luckily for me, my folks got out of this phase after awhile, and they allowed me to change over to a public school when I was in the third grade. In fact, they even stopped going to Mass, except on holidays and special occasions, for what reasons I'm really not sure. I guess the guilt had worn off or something, although they never have really gotten over the fact that their only son had died.
This had a curious effect upon my upbringing. It seemed that my folks got much more protective and strict with me, while at the same time, lavishing more love on me. They weren't real hard on me, not physically anyway-I can only remember one or two spankings, and these were small affairs. But they were overly concerned with my welfare, although I suppose most parents are. Mostly it was nagging, constant nagging. Be sure I wore this, be sure I didn't do that... Jesus, no wonder I'm so fuck- ing neurotic. At the same time, they were overly-indulgent of me, showering me with presents and spoiling me with material things.
This really came out when I grew older and began dating. Up until then, I could remember being pretty normal-playing with the kids and all from the neighborhood. I wasn't particularly fond of school, but I could make good grades without putting much effort into it. I don't remember learning anything sexual until I was eleven or so, and this was just the usual gossip and rumor passed on by peers, my folks never bothering to go into the discussion of sexual things, probably figuring that if it wasn't mentioned it would go away. Oh, my mother finally did give me some lame stories about the first time I menstruated, but it was pretty weak. She wasn't a particularly sexual person herself, and the talk made her uptight.
I was really shocked the first time I bled ... I think I'd just turned twelve. My mother just hadn't prepared me for anything like that, and when I awoke one morning, the sheets flecked with blood, I thought I was going to die. After she'd explained things to me, I was even more confused. She kept interspersing her explanation with things about not doing nasty things with boys and stuff like that, and I really didn't know if she meant that I was bleeding from being around boys. But so far I hadn't even kissed a boy.
All that changed in a hurry.
For some biological or social reason, I began to get very interested in boys not too long after that. And it seemed that they were more than interested in me.
Kids in the Valley began dating at a very early age back then, in fact it's the same today. This was back when the youth movement was sweeping the country-Anti-war, LSD, Marijuana, all was shocking the parents of the nation. My folks didn't like the idea of me going out with boys, but they were unable to stop me as I had become very independent by this time, running with a crowd of girls who were fairly wild that I'd met at my junior high school.
I didn't actually ball anyone until I was thirteen, but I began making out with a lot of guys. My girlfriends, in addition to my own practical experience, more than made up for all the sexual things my mother had failed to tell me. My mother would get all shook up with me, arguing and screaming, whenever I'd go out with a boy, but this only brought out the rebel in me and made me defy her all the more.
My father pretty much stayed out of the hassles, having curiously retreated into himself more and more, still suffering from the fact of my brother's death from what I can tell.
I never took any of the boys very seriously. Like many of the girls my age, I'd just sort of tease them along. I was getting very aware of the fact that my budding body was enough to drive the boys out of their minds. I guess it was sort of an awkward age, and I was really giggly, sharing my innermost thoughts with my girlfriends, Joanie and Linda.
I think I flipped out over several boys during my first year of junior high, judging from looking back at my diary I used to keep, but I never would go all the way with them. My friend, Joanie, had made it with her boyfriend by this time, an older guy who was in high school, but they'd been going steady for just ages and ages... four months or so. I wasn't adverse to getting into sex myself, despite the fear and guilt inside me, and was even anxious to find out what it was all about. But at the same time, I had that romantic thing about wanting to save it for someone special. As it turned out, approaching the end of the school year, I didn't have to wait very long.
CHAPTER TWO
That someone special was named Chris, and he was the first guy I ever balled. I met him at the beach that summer, and I really flipped for him the first time I laid eyes on him. His reaction was likewise.
Joanie, Linda and I went to the beach quite often that summer, despite whatever my mother's protests might be. Man, she just couldn't get behind anything I did then. She was forever accusing me of making it with guys, even though I wasn't, telling me that I shouldn't wear my bikini to the beach because guys would want to rape me and all that kind of crap. But I'd learned, like so many teenagers, to tune her out most of the time.
Since all of us girls were too young to drive, we'd usually coax Joanie's boyfriend, Dave, into driving. I don't think he liked the idea too much, preferring to spend some time alone with Joanie. But even though Joanie was going steady with him and dug him a lot, she was still in tight with our little clique, and told him just the way things were. So off we'd go to the beach in Dave's VW.
Sometimes Linda and I, and maybe some other girl would hitch a ride to the beach, when Dave wasn't available. Of course, we'd never tell our folks, as they would have freaked out. We never had any trouble though, even though we'd get a ride with an old geek who wanted to fondle us. But we could usually handle these dudes.
The day I met Chris, we'd gone with Dave -Joanie, Linda and I. It was about mid-summer, and I was really proud of my tan. I was filling out pretty well, and I really looked bitchin, if I do say so myself, in my skimpy blue bikini. I wasn't really too much into swimming in the ocean, but I dug soaking up the rays, so I'd just go wading in for awhile, then go back to my blanket and soak up the sun.
I was lying there on the Santa Monica beach then, looking up to watch the surfers from time to time, talking to the girls above the blare on the radio when this football comes bouncing over atop my tummy.
I looked up, a frown on my face, trying to see where it came from. Just then, this blonde guy with a deep tan, comes tromping up, kicking sand in his wake. My anger disappeared- at least my real anger as I took this dude in. He was the best-looking guy I'd ever seen. Still, I resolved to give him a bit of static, if not to bug him, to attract more attention to little old me.
"What's the matter, can't you catch?" "Sorry," he smiled, gesturing over his shoulder to his friend down the beach. "Bad throw." "Blame it on the other guy," Joanie piped in.
I wanted to nudge her to shut up. Didn't want her to take the guy's mind off of me. Luckily, she hadn't. His eyes were undressing me.
"I'm glad old Kerry's got bad aim," he continued. "There's a lot of things I'd rather do than play football."
"Like what?" I challenged him.
"Like getting to know you better," he said, turning to toss the ball back to his partner.
"Get lost!" I heard Linda taunt from over the radio.
I wanted to choke her, but when I saw that he took the ribbing without batting an eye, I was encouraged.
"Does she do your speaking for you?" he nodded in Linda's direction.
"What do you think?" I smiled at him, wanting to get to know him, but at the same time not wanting to alienate my friends with whom I felt really tight.
"I think you're outasight," he grinned, flopping down beside me, balancing on his tightly-muscled arm, thus avoiding a direct answer, but managing to deliver a compliment to me all the same.
"Wow, dig that," Joanie teased.
But she soon turned to tossing her compliments to Linda and Dave, seeing that I was interested.
After a couple of minutes of shooting the shit, he exchanged a power grip, newly in vogue, with Dave. I could feel my heart lumping in my throat as I talked with him, feeling like I never had before with a guy.
"Hey, man," came a distant shout. "Are you gonna play football, or what?"
The guy who was sitting with me, his name was Chris, just waved his buddy over. It was obvious that he was interested in me.
His friend came over, a guy named Kerry, who was shorter and stockier. Nevertheless, it seemed that he and Linda hit it off pretty well, but as he sat and talked, his options narrowed by Chris's decision to rap with me, I was pretty unaware of anything else besides Chris.
I learned that Chris was fifteen, but very advanced in the ways of the world for his age, at least for back then ... well, I guess it really wasn't all that long ago, but it seems like it to me. He lived in Santa Monica and was just entering high school. Not that I really cared about all that stuff. I was more interested in his body. It's the first time I can remember being sexually stimulated from just looking at a dude.
In short, whatever it was, he had it.
He finally mentioned that he was hungry, and asked us if we'd like to go get something to eat. I wasn't thinking about food, but I just wanted to go along with whatever it was he had in mind. I figured he just wanted to go grab a hot dog on the pier or something, a short walk away, but he started rapping with Kerry about us piling into Kerry's car.
Kerry eyed Linda, and she looked at me to see if it was O.K. with me. I could see that she was getting on pretty well with Chris's friend.
"Well, it's just that we're with ..." I began, motioning to Dave and Joanie.
"Go on," they assured us, Dave continuing. "But don't be too long. The sun'll go down in a couple of hours, and we'll be heading back."
"That's cool," Kerry piped in. "We can take you on home after we eat. I mean if that's cool with you girls."
"Sure," I rushed, not wanting Linda's indecision to ruin my chances of getting it on with Chris. While she was taken with Kerry, I could see she wasn't as into him as I was into Chris, and besides, she often has trouble making up her mind about things being a Libra.
"It's all the way to the Valley," Linda reminded him, just to make sure they realized it.
"That's cool," Kerry said. "I've got my old man's Pontiac and a full tank."
It was settled. We gathered up our things, brushing off the sand. I slipped a pair of levi's and a blouse on over my bikini, and Linda did likewise. As we bade farewell to Dave and Joanie, I could tell that Dave was happy that he wasn't exactly all broken up over our parting. Not that he didn't get along with Linda and me, it was just that he got along with Joanie better, for obvious reasons. Now they'd have the chance of maybe pulling off in some remote canyon spot on the way back and getting off a good screw.
Speaking of good screws, I had the idea in my mind. I don't know why, but I was just itching for Chris to put some moves on me. Like I've said, I hadn't gone all the way with a guy up till then, but I'd been thinking about it for some time and had pretty well decided that I wouldn't exactly turn the proposition down if the right guy struck my fancy. And Chris was just the guy. I just hoped that he would be as forward in the car as he had been on the beach.
We piled into the car, a big roomy Pontiac, and Chris and I got the back seat. I got an immediate premonition that this just might be my lucky day when Chris slid over right next to me and draped his arm casually around my shoulder as Kerry started the car.
"Where to?"
"It's up to you," Chris answered, turning his attention towards me. It was obvious that he hadn't been all that interested in food at all, but was merely using it as a ruse to get us onto the next stage.
Although I usually would have brushed a pass like this off, I was so turned on onto Chris, I didn't want to do anything to discourage him. The next thing I knew, he was crushing his warm lips to mine and I responded by sticking my tongue into his mouth. We pushed against each other in the rocking back seat, Frenching steadily, vaguely aware that Kerry was asking more directions.
Finally Chris broke off our lip-lock and asked in a somewhat bemused manner, "What are you yammering about up there, Man? Can't you see we're busy?"
"Sorry," his friend blurted, looking into the rearview mirror. "I just was wondering where we should go."
"Anyplace," Chris answered, winking at me. "Try a Jack-In-The-Box or something."
As he moved back towards me, I caught a glance at Linda. Seeing how quickly I was getting it on with Chris, she scooted a few inches closer to Kerry.
We resumed making out as Kerry wheeled the car through the streets of I don't know where. I was too hung up making out with Chris in the back seat to know or care. He got pretty aggressive, running his hands up and down my sides, and I'd put up a couple of token gestures of resistance, maybe putting my hand on top of his for a second, just to let him know I wasn't easy. That was very important in those days, even if you were easy.
The ride came to a halt all too soon, and I had to get it together and order a bonus burger or something like that, although I really wanted to order something Jack couldn't deliver. I hardly touched my food, although Chris ate like a wolf, so I let him finish my hamburger for me.
After we finished, Kerry started beating around the bush about what we should do ... it was apparent that he and Linda were not off to such a fast start as we were, although they were obviously attracted to each other.
"Let's head for the house ... the one up off Mulholland," Chris put in.
"Yeah... but," Kerry tried to put in, but Chris cut him off, asking if we'd like to go. Of course, I agreed, and Linda had to go along whether she wanted to or not.
The house turned out to be a secluded one in the Hollywood Hills that was under construction. It was some distance from neighboring houses and hidden from view from the main road behind a small hill. The driveway dipped down the side of the hill crest, giving a nice view of the now night-shrouded city. In short-it was an ideal spot for people in search of privacy, like kids who couldn't do things like that in their own homes. Otherwise-us.
Linda and Kerry seemed somewhat nervous about the whole thing, even though they were sitting sort of close together. In the meantime, Chris and I were making out to beat the band in the back seat. He was really pawing me up in the darkness, and I was doing little to discourage him, my tongue lashing out to meet his.
I was really getting a hot feeling inside my guts, a stronger one than I'd ever felt before with any other guy or even when I jerked myself off. Linda and Kerry were kissing too, as I could notice from the corner of my eye, but I was really too involved to find out what was happening. Chris had worked his hands up under my blouse and was massaging my titties, making them all hard.
After fooling around a little bit longer, I was practically jumping off the seat, my own hands running up and down his smooth body as I kissed him. He was getting pretty worked . up, the light hair standing up on his legs. He'd merely slipped on a tee shirt and was still wearing his trunks as it was a pretty warm night. From the bulge in his swim trunks, I knew he was getting as worked up as I was.
Suddenly he pulled back and cleared his throat loudly, and then did it a second time.
I figured it must have been some kind of prearranged signal from Kerry's response.
"Er... how about we take a look around the place?" he asked Linda.
Linda looked around at me, not sure what to do. But when I gave her a nod, letting her know that I too wanted this privacy, she agreed.
As soon as they left, I turned back to Chris.
"How many girls have you guys brought up here ? You've got it down to a fine art."
"Oh, a few," he answered cockily, bending down to kiss my neck. "Old Kerry never scores -too shy or something, but he makes out a little. He's alright though. Always can score the car from his dad."
I wasn't interested in hearing any more about the way he used his friend as transportation for scoring girls. I was too horny.
"Well, you'd better do a nice job tonight," I told him. "This is my first time, and I want it to be good."
"You're kidding?" he told me, not quite sure if I was putting him on or not.
"Straight," I assured him, a little surprised at just how forward I was being about the whole thing. "And if you don't believe it, just find out for yourself. But be gentle, lover. Don't hurt me."
A quick flash of apprehension went through me when I realized just what I was giving away to a guy I'd only known for a few hours. But just looking at him made me realize that I'd be gaining more than enough to compromise for whatever imagined thing I might be losing.
He was to prove to be a good first choice for me. He slowly began to unbutton my blouse, encouraged by the fact that I'd consented for him to be the first one. He blew in my ear, making my skin prickle with desire. He slipped my blouse off my shoulders and kissed one softly, his fingers moving around behind me to loosen my bikini top. That took about half a second, and once it fell away, he cupped my breasts in his hands and let out a soft whistle. While they weren't as big as they are now, they still were more than most thirteen year olds have.
"Mmmmmmm-nice," he said, dipping his head down to take a nipple into his mouth.
Other guys had been allowed to do this before, but none of them did it like Chris. They'd just slobber and chew too hard, but Chris had been around. He was really gentle, rolling my nipple around between his pressed lipe, bobbing it in and out with his tongue. I grabbed his head tightly and held him close, chills racing through me.
"Ohhhh-ahhhhhh!" I moaned.
Once he had worked both nipples up to the hardest point of excitement, he began to run his mouth down to my navel, causing me to squirm all the more. I tried to stimulate him as much as possible with my hands, but in my position it was hard to do much more than rub my hands up and down his sides, to massage his neck and head.
The windows of the car were beginning to fog up even though it was summer. His hands began working around my hips, and he finally was able to find the snaps of my jeans and they opened with a popping sound. Offering no resistance, I raised my hips off the seat so that he could slide my jeans and then my panties down my legs. Even though the air was warm, the sensation of it against my bare thighs caused my skin to break out in hundreds of goose bumps.
I was sort of shocked when he continued his oral explorations down in my pubic area, never having a boy do that to me before. But any mental objections I might have had melted away when I felt the fires dancing inside me as a result of his licking tongue's efforts.
"Jesus... oh, shit," I cried as his tongue slipped into my groove.
I practically smacked my head against the car window when I felt him working at me with his mouth and tongue. I'd never felt anything in the world like this before and it was about to drive me insane. He was real gentle and deliberate, unlike the guys I'd been used to.
"Ahhhhhhhh," I moaned as his tongue struck my clit.
I was getting all creamy down there. It really felt so fucking great. My mind went wandering through all kinds of crazy byways, flashing on and off like lights, fantasy figures of mine: Donovan, Donato Paduano, George Harrison, Adolph Hitler... or was it Menjou? It didn't matter. I just felt like I was ready to burst from the way his lips were sucking away at my love button.
While I was eager to get onto the real thing, I realized that I wouldn't be able to wait for him to slip his prick to me before I came. My heart raced wildly as he continued to suck on my clit, and my stomach rippled in spasms. Clutching him by the hair, I finally let go.
"Oh, I'm coming... I'M COMING!"
It was the greatest thing that'd ever happened to me. I lay back against the seat for a few moments, my bangs sticking moistly to my forehead, until I got my bearings back. When I'd regained my composure, I noticed that Chris had slipped his trunks off, exposing his stiff cock. I'd never seen a hardon before, although I'd felt a couple of them through guy's pants, and it was awesome.'
"Like to give it a try?" he asked.
I thought he meant a fuck, but he then explained that he'd like me to give him a blow job first. I swallowed hard, staring at his big prick. As diplomatically as possible, I told him that I'd never given head, and that maybe I'd try it later, that I wanted to ball first. Actually, the thought of taking that big thing in my mouth was pretty scary to me;
Chris didn't seem too upset with my reluctance, so he had me spread out along the car-seat, anxious to get his cock inside something so he could get his jollies.
"It's not so hard," he said, mentioning performing fellatio, not the state of his cock. "Let me show you how to make it, then we can get into other things."
I wasn't being a prude about it, it's just that it scared me. Yet, I was grateful that he wasn't pressing me, and was being gentle in the manner he was carrying this out.
He lifted up so that I could spread out underneath him. My head was still reeling from my first orgasm, but I was more than eager to get it on. Having already resolved my guilts about getting laid for the first time, the only fear I had was that it would hurt, having heard exaggerations from some girls about this.
"Be gentle," I reminded him as he lowered his tan body over mine.
"Don't worry," he assured me. "Haven't I been so far?"
I had to agree. He eased himself over me, and I spread my legs wide to give him better entry, my heart beating in anticipation. He grabbed his stiff cock in one hand and pushed it gently into my pussy. I felt a sudden sharp pain as it went in and let out a hiss, but he kept pushing, a bit more softly now.
It hadn't been as bad as I had expected. And then he began moving his cock slowly in and out, the mixed blood and juices of my pussy lubing his cock. The pain began to pass, replaced by the good feeling of his loving. I wrapped my arms around his back, and pulled my legs up over his thighs, rocking my hips up off the seat to keep pace with his steady fucking. He breathed heavily as he slipped the meat to me, his face close to my ear.
As he moved in and out more quickly, I felt my insides going crazy with desire. He suddenly stiffened, the car's rocking dying down, then pushed it in harder and faster, hot squirts of jizz shooting inside me. I felt myself going crazy as he shot his last loads into me, then gave into my second come of the night, beating on his back with my fists. I was no longer cherry.
CHAPTER THREE
I didn't get around to giving Chris the promised blow job that night, as Kerry and Linda came back to the car just a few moments afterwards. But I had a feeling that I'd be getting together with him again soon despite the problem of us living so far apart and neither of us having any transportation.
The next day, Linda had to find out every detail about my first screw, and I gladly filled her in, embellishing it a bit for effect. She went for every bit of it, much more approving of the whole scene the following morning than she had been the night before when it was right in her face. Having never balled herself, I think seeing me and Chris doing it had made her a little uptight.
She and Kerry, it seems, had come up to the car while I was balling Chris, and had slipped away again once they'd figured out what was going on. She had already been pretty surprised that I'd gone ahead and made it with a practical stranger so fast. I mean, we'd both talked about balling and everything, but the actuality of me going ahead of her was strange to her-to me, for that matter.
She didn't have to wait too long before she lost her cherry herself though. It came about like this: I wanted to keep seeing Chris, wanting to get into more sexual things with him ... and it was sort of romantic too. Since I didn't have any good way of getting together with him, or him with me, he suggested over the phone that we go on a date that coming weekend, doubling with Kerry and ... maybe, Chris suggested, I could talk Linda into going with Kerry. It seems that Kerry was kind of shy, a slow starter, as he put it, but that he really liked her. My end of the conspiracy was to try and talk Linda into it. This turned out to be a piece of cake, as she had taken a pretty strong liking to him as well. So it was all set. We'd be getting together again that coming weekend. I counted the days, which seemed more like years until I could be with Chris again, barely able to stand the anticipation. He called a couple of times during the week, so that helped. On the other hand, it only made me want him more. Being that he was a lady's man, I got kind of an ego trip going, realizing that he was probably paying more attention to me than he would to just any old girl what with all the calls.
Mom was freaking about the calls. She knew I went out with boys now, but she seemed to have a sixth sense that told her that Chris was something special. She didn't really think we'd balled, at least I don't think so. but she kept threatening to ground me and all this crazy shit. She finally relented about letting me go with him, but insisted that he come in the house and meet her before I went out with him. While it would be sort of embarrassing to me having to put Chris through this routine, I hoped it would take the heat off of me on the home front. I told Chris about it the last time he called that week, and it didn't seem to be that big a deal to him.
It turned out to be a mistake having him in. But then with Mom, it probably would have been bad if he wouldn't have come in. You just can't please some people one way or another. Chris was real polite and everything, much more so than I'd imagined he would be. But Mom wasn't buying it. I could tell from the way she eyed him, asking him all the key questions that mothers do when they've already made their minds up about something. It would not have mattered who Chris was. It was just that he was a boy, and Mom didn't like the idea of me going out with them. I should have brought home this dyke or something, that would've stewed her prunes.
Dad just shook hands with Chris, then returned to the den to hide behind the paper with his pipe as he'd begun to do most of the time. He'd only get rattled at me when mother went completely nuts and demanded he say something. Luckily, she didn't say anything to Chris about the way I could tell she really felt. She didn't work like that. But from the way she looked at me, as we went out to Kerry's car, I knew that she'd have plenty to say either when I got back, or the next morning. But that's a whole other story. Suffice it to say, she gave me a ration of shit. As time went on, she continued to give me a ration of shit about everything, every boy ... she just didn't let up. I'm amazed I've still got any hearing left.
It was such a trip to get out of Mom's range so that she wouldn't be on my case. Especially since it was with Chris. He looked even better to me than he had before, and in no time we were making out with each other in the back seat. We picked up Linda and took off for a drive-in movie. I didn't get to see much of the movie that night... some nonsense about stuffing a wild bikini or something.
Linda and Kerry Were being a lot more chummy this time, but they were still just feeling each other up-nothing really heavy. Not so with me. As promised, Chris gave me lessons in giving head.
After we'd fooled around a little bit, I could see that we'd have to do something. As the drive-in had security guards, assholes who went around with flashlights to make sure nobody really enjoyed the show, we ... at least I didn't want to actually ball. We'd be going up to the old house in the hills later anyway. So Chris, having a hardon that threatened to rip open his pants, suggested that I give him head.
I know it seems asymptotic of me since I was so afraid of it in the first place. But I just thought I'd throw you a curve before I went off on a tangent. Just making sure I was awake. A syzygy, as it were, as our two heavenly bodies came into alignment. Now there's something for you anagram fans. Where else is there a word with three Z's? I know - zzzzzz. But let's not talk about such trivia. Let's get to the important stuff-tits, ass, dripping cocks and twitching pussies. Enough to make you fucking crazy.
So what it was, I was getting into sucking his big meaty cock. I was a little scared when I viewed that pig fucker for the second time when he whipped it out of his pants. But I wanted to please him since he was such a nice guy, a credit to his sex and all. Mainly I wanted to do it for selfish reasons-so that he'd pay me back with another one of those super-duper pussy lickings he'd given me the last time.
I moved my head down towards his swollen tool, noticing the way the tightly-stretched skin of his cockhead glistened in the dim light. Along the shaft, little cords of blood ran up, and the meat was pulsing. That's the way it was on July 25, 1968.
They didn't know how to say pulsating then. Pulsing is what they used. It was to their disadvantage ... but I don't suppose Edwin Newman reads these pieces of shit anyway.
And so what about Adolph Hitler? He was one hell of a painter.
And here I was sucking cock. I swallowed hard as my lips brushed against the cockmeat, wondering if I could take it all in.
"Don't worry about taking it all in," he told me, seeming to read my thoughts. "Just do what comes natural, and I'll tell you the rest."
That made me feel a little better. He gripped the base of his stiff cock with one hand, running the fingers of the other through my hair.
Once I started, it seemed easy. I let a little of it slip inside my mouth, the tip of my tongue twirling around the tip of his cock, as he instructed. I moved my hand down to his shaft, pushing his away, and began jerking the skin up and down in a masturbatory manner as I sucked at his cock, taking the full head into my mouth.
My breathing adjusted, I began to take more and more of his meat into my mouth, my tongue working around the meat as I alternately sucked and blew.
"Great, just fucking great!" he shouted, evidently pleased with my efforts.
Blowing and sucking.
Pulsating. Or Pulsing.
Suck, suck, suck.
Mmmmmm-mmmmmmm gooooood.
I checked him out for a second out of the corner of my eye, pausing the suck for a second. His face was all contorted and smiling, his eyes glazed, the movie images dancing in them. He was close to coming.
It was a real turn-on to me to realize I could give somebody else so much pleasure. I went back to work, redoubling my efforts, determined that he would like it. Then this thought flashed in my mind-to swallow, or not to swallow. I had long thought that one over, and still didn't realize what it was all about. The idea of gulping down a load of goo seemed repulsive to me intellectually. Or at least it had till I met up with Chris. Now the idea didn't seem so bad. Joanie had told me all about it, besides, and had told me that it was really neat, having done it with Dave many times.
Now, with meat in mouth and Chris about to come, I knew what I had to do. It didn't seem like a repulsive thing at all. I was more in anticipation about it than anything else. To swallow his come would show just how much I dug him, the ultimate thing to do when giving a guy head. I had been afraid just a few minutes ago of actually blowing him, afraid I'd choke or something. Oh, it had taken some getting used to, but it had turned out to be really great. It had taken some doing, but now I was taking about three-fourths of his cock into my mouth, my first reaction to gag having been overcome.
So it would be a learning experience for me to swallow his come.
"Get ready," he warned me, his body stiffening in anticipation, his hand really tugging at my hair. "I'm gonna come soon. I'm gonna come!"
I steadied myself, pumping my head up and down on his cock, my lips pursed around the circumference of his meat. My hand continued to pull at the base of his prick, the edge of my fist smacking into his heavy balls on some strokes. My teeth gently nipped at the shaft as I heard him cry out, his body freezing in mid-motion.
"I'm coming!"
I felt the first hot slush of semen splash into my throat and began swallowing fast, my cheeks puffing out. My nostrils flared out as I took a breath between swallows, taking in the nutty aroma of his come.
"That's it, that's it," he cried ecstatically. "Eat it! Swallow it all up!"
He was happy that I wasn't spitting it out. He really had a load, and it took me some doing to swallow it and breathe at the same time, but I didn't stop until I had sipped in every last drop.
I held onto his cock until it began to wilt, lapping up the last trickles of come with my tongue. Chris just lay back against the seat, his eyes closed.
I didn't get paid back until we got up to the place on the hill. This time, Linda and Kerry didn't take a hike, but instead stayed in the front seat, making out. Luckily, there weren't bucket seats in the car.
I didn't have too much time to check them out though, as Chris didn't waste much time about getting after my pussy, eating it out real good.
After that, we began balling, and I can remember hearing her moaning loudly. Later I found out that she'd given her virginity to Kerry. She didn't want to be left out as both Joanie and I had joined the fucking club. But I didn't hear too much that night, as Chris screwed me twice, once in the regular way, the other time, dog-style. She told me about it the next morning though, but I knew she had finally made it with him from the way she was acting on the way home. This had worked out fine. With Kerry and Linda all hung up on each other, I realized, Chris and I would have no problems getting together for awhile.
CHAPTER FOUR
Somebody said once that all good things must come to an end, and I guess that implies all bad things as well, but when Chris and I broke up, teenager in love that I was, I didn't think things would ever brighten up again. About the only good thing to come out of the situation was that my mother eased up on me a bit. Not all that much, but for my mother that was a change. She'd been fearing me going out with boys all along, but she had been especially heavy about Chris, as he was practically the only guy I went out with during that time.
My mom was always laying into me things like "You're young-don't date just one boy." What a laugh. Before, she didn't want me dating. Now she wanted me to date other guys. But once I got over Chris and did start dating other guys, she began on some new bitch.
There's just no way to please some people, that's for sure.
Actually, I didn't go out with him for that long-maybe six or seven weeks. But to a girl who's in love for the first time, that can seem like forever. We didn't actually break up in that sense of the word. The fact is, we never really were going steady, although I didn't go out with anyone else during that summer, and I don't think he did either, as we spent as much time together as possible, or talked for hours and hours on the phone.
We did begin telling each other we loved each other though, and that seemed to be enough for me. We usually had to double with Kerry and Linda, who went together for some time after we'd broken up, by the way, as he still didn't have a driver's license, but he did hitch a ride up to see me a couple of times. My mom really freaked one time when he showed up, but her objections only seemed to drive me closer to Chris, from whom I could get the understanding and love I so desperately needed.
My head was really in the clouds, and when summer ended abruptly, and I had to enter high school, it was a real downer. Of course, Chris had to go back to school too. If we'd been attending the same school, there would have been no problem, but he lived over the mountains, about fifteen miles away. It was more than that though. I mean, when you're a kid going to high school, your whole peer group can change radically from one period of time to another. Like the people you were running with in the summer may get into something else, and you'll get in with a new crowd and... well, I think you know what I mean, and if you don't-tough shit.
It was a real bummer for me to go back to school, knowing that I'd probably only be able to get together with Chris on the weekends. High school seemed like a real drag, and I only got through the first week by daydreaming about the upcoming weekend. When I got together with Chris that Saturday, I really made up for lost time, and from what I could see so did Kerry and Linda.
But when the next weekend came up, Linda broke the news to me... she and Kerry would be going out alone. I could tell from the way she twisted her hands and avoided making eye contact with me that she wasn't telling me everything. I began probing her, my heart racing frantically, not sure just what she meant by all this.
"What's wrong?" I pleaded. "Is Chris sick or something? What is it?"
I'd wondered why I hadn't heard from him since Monday night.
"Well it's just that..." she began, her voice breaking as she made the attempt.
"C'mon, Linda. You can tell me."
I knew by this time that I really didn't want to hear it, realizing that it might be the worst from the way she was acting. But at the same time, I had to know the truth, get to the bottom of the whole thing.
"It's probably not that big a thing... I mean, I didn't talk to Chris myself," she began to blurt out quickly, only increasing my apprehension. "I just know what Kerry says, and Kerry says..."
Kerry was her broker, and everyone in the plane turned around to see if they could pick up on the news. No, that's something else. We were together at her place. Just the two of us.
"Well, what does he say?" I said, by this time quite shook up.
"See, there's this girl that he knew from before, and she goes to school with them, at Kerry and Chris's school that is, and anyway ..."
The worst. I had a hard time piecing together the exact details at first, as my heart had dropped into my stomach. It felt like a cold slap in the face. Somehow, I was able to gather my wits and ask her to repeat the grim details, lover of teen tragedies that I was. So she told me, anything at all to fill up another page.
I hung on her every word as she told me the story. It seems that Chris had been going with this other girl before summer. She had gone on vacation with her family and he had met me over the summer as you know. But the two had gotten back together at school, and he would be taking her out. The fucker had been too much of a coward to even call me and tell me about it, leading me to believe we were going out this weekend, then not even telling me he was breaking the date.
This gave me my first real tragedy in love. I really got into it heavily for a few weeks. I turned down dates with other guys, ate very little, fretted, poured my heart out to Linda, who by the way was still seeing Kerry. This only made it worse, since I'd hear all this second hand information from her. I'd ask if I still had a chance, if he and the girl were breaking up, but all these hopes were false, as I learned that I didn't have much of a chance, even though Linda tried to let on that I might to ease the hurt.
I probably was a big pain in the ass to her during this time, but I made up for it a few months later when I let her use my shoulder to cry on when she and Kerry broke their thing off. The only one who seemed to enjoy my situation was my mother, who was glad I wasn't seeing him anymore. She always tried to get close when I wasn't seeing anyone on a steady basis, and it only made me hate her all the more.
I got out of my mood by finally going out with some other guys a few weeks after I realized that seeing Chris again was a hopeless situation. I didn't go out and ball the first guy I met after him, it was more like the second or third. But I didn't get into making it with just one guy. I felt much different with the other guys, too. I mean, I hardly ever made it like I had with Chris. I guess I was still hung up on him. Then too, this is the first time I remember feeling some guilt about sex. I'm not sure just where it came from, but I'm sure my mother is in there somewhere.
My freshman year passed this way. I was still close to Linda, particularly after she broke up with Kerry, but I didn't see too much of Joanie, as she and Dave stayed pretty exclusive ly to themselves.
Sometime during that year, I first got into smoking pot, one of the guys turning me on. It was really trippy, but I didn't do it every day, for fear of getting busted I guess. I turned Linda on, and we'd sometimes smoke it up in her room when her folks were gone.
As I was dating off and on, my mom would get on my case a lot, and I tried to stay away from home as much as possible, which only increased the troubles whenever I'd get home. One time we were having an argument, over what I don't remember-just some ridiculous thing that she brought up. Anyway, I began yelling back at her, using a few four-letter words she'd never heard me use before-shit, I doubt if she even knew what they meant herself.
She began screaming for my father, something she seldom did. She didn't have to, for he must have heard me, as he came into the kitchen looking mad. Then he slapped me hard across the face and told me to go to my room until I learned how to talk to my mother.
It really shook me having him hit me like that. I ran to my room in tears, throwing myself across the bed and sobbing. I resolved to myself that I'd get back at them somehow, the thoughts of suicide and running away from home racing through my mind.
The next day, nothing was said about the incident, but I could see a smug look on my mother's face and realized that she felt I'd been put in my place. It only made me feel worse, but I didn't say anything about it, not really having the courage to kick out the jams and break away. I mean, what would I do if I left home? That was when a lot of kids were running away, dropping out and everything. But while I wanted to, I was really too scared to actually do it. At the same time, I resolved to myself, sitting there, drinking my orange juice, that I wasn't going to let them push me around so much in the future.
CHAPTER FIVE
Outwardly, I didn't carry on too much, but inwardly I was going through my own personal rebellion. The way my folks had been treating me was just too much for me to handle. Here I was nearly fifteen, my breasts swelling out, my body taking on the appearance of womanhood, and they, particularly Mom, were treating me like a kid of six. That summer, I fell in with some people who turned my head around.
Over my mother's objections, I'd gotten a job in a girl's clothing store. I needed some extra spending money for clothes and things, and felt grown up enough to be on my own in that sense anyway. After a lot of haggling, my folks gave in, feeling that at least the job would keep me out of trouble, and that it would teach me some responsibility.
Little did they know just how much responsibility I'd actually learn.
The shop was one of those overpriced ones on Ventura Blvd. For rich young girls who wanted to be in. I'd taken the job to get a new wardrobe myself, and the owner of the shop, wanting me to look the part, loaned me some clothes for work so that I'd always look just right.
About the second day there, I met Gwen, a girl who was taller than me, who wore her hair in a short cut. She had the day off on my first day, and over lunch we became very friendly. We knew some of the same people as she had just graduated from a high school in the West end of the Valley, not far from mine, one of our rival schools in sports. She had just graduated last year, so she was a couple of years older than I was.
She and another girl were planning to get their own apartment as soon as she'd saved up enough money from her job. She invited me to get together with her that night after work, so I agreed. At least my job would give me an excuse to be away from home more often.
After work, we went over to this friend of hers, a guy who she had gone out with in the past and went to Edgar College now. Frank was a year older than her, and she described him as just being a good friend. His place was a low-rent house, but he'd fixed it up by putting posters on the wall and everything. He was a real nice guy with long hair and a beard, wore glasses, had plenty of dope to smoke. Some friends of his were over there, and I was introduced around. I sat and talked, passing the joint around.
The music was playing in the background, and Gwen and I got into a rap about our backgrounds, moving close together on the couch so we could hear each other above the din of the Rolling Stones. We were really tripping on the grass-it was some really dynamite shit, not the spacey kind, but sort of speedy. We really got into rapping, and the whole conversation was punctuated with 'far-out's' whenever we'd find out something else Gwen and I had in common.
We both had a lot of the same likes and dislikes, even though she was older than me. Remember ,a couple of years was a big thing back then. Like me, she had been advanced a year back in grade school, that's when they used to skip kids pretty frequently. I used to make pretty good grades back then, and I had a jump on the public school kids starting out in the parochial school system. Even though we had both had good early records in school, we both had become unhappy, stemming mainly from trouble with parents, and weren't interested in going to college. I was jealous of Gwen since she'd already gotten out of high school and soon would be moving out of her parent's place. She thought that she might go on with school later on, but wanted to pay her own way. Remember, this was back at a time when kids were fed up with the so-called "Establishment" and higher learning institutions were considered to be a part of the problem.
After rapping for awhile, she gave me a lift home. As the days rolled on, my friendship with Gwen grew, making up for all the days I was missing at the beach. Linda and I did manage to make it to the beach a few times on my days off, but I felt like a lobster when I came back, not having built up a tan to speak of.
I began to gravitate towards Gwen's group of friends, all of them older than myself, except for the occasional times I'd go out on a date. My mother always objected to me hanging out with older people, but after she met Gwen she didn't mind so much. Gwen really put on a bullshit job, and so did I making Mom think that she'd be going to college in the fall and every thing, and it got to Mom's shallow values. I'd learned that the best way to deal with Mom, by this time, was to beat around the bush about it, or bullshit her.
About halfway through the summer, Gwen got a single apartment in North Hollywood, and I got to help her fix it up. It would be a place I would always be welcome to come to, she told me, either to visit or to crash if things got too rough at home.
As I was helping her hang a plant, I asked her why she didn't need a roommate. I knew that she'd been planning on that earlier, and knowing she didn't make too much at the shop as she spent a lot of her money on clothes, so it was surprising to me that she'd been able to afford the pad.
"Oh," she said coyly, "let's just say I've got my ways."
This sort of left me out in the cold. It was unusual coming from Gwen, who'd always been really open with me. I just shrugged it off though, figuring that maybe she'd hit up her parents for some front money and was too embarrassed to mention it to me. Little did I know how she came about her extra money, and it would have shocked the living shit out of me if I could have foreseen that I'd be earnning some extra bread of my own in the same manner in the not too distant future. But we'll get into that when the time comes.
Another thing happened that summer that was to have a deep and lasting effect upon me. It was the end of the summer, just about time for me to quit my job and go back to school. It was about a week after my fifteenth birthday. It was Gwen's day off, and I didn't want to upset myself by having to ride home with my folks, figuring that I'd just hitch a ride the few short miles to my house as I often did. I never let my folks know that I sometimes would hitch a ride, as that would have been more of a hassle.
So I'm thumbing towards home when this fat guy in a Ford picks me up. He was around forty I guess, and he really gave me the creeps. He began hinting around about sex, and I just slid as far away from him as I could. The guy kept going past the point where I wanted to be let out, and I started to protest, but he pulls this gun on me.
I just about shit.
"Don't try anything, Baby," he told me, keeping the gun down low on the seat so it couldn't be seen from outside the car. He went on to tell me that he would have no qualms about killing me if I tried to scream or jump out of the car. My mind just froze in flat panic. This was the kind of thing that happened in the movies.
A lot of things ran through my mind as I sat there terrified out of my skull. But every single time I'd think about being some kind of heroine and jump from the car, or maybe go for the gun, I'd think of the awful possibilities. I had a couple of chances, like when he'd pull up to a light. He had to keep his eyes on me and on the road at the same time, so I had a few chances. But I figured, trying to be as calm as possible under these trying circumstances, that he might just shoot me, and nothing was as bad as that. It's weird, but my mother's warnings resounded in my head a couple of times during that ride, and I couldn't help but silently agree with her.
The guy seemed fairly nervous, like he might have done it before-in short, a freak, so I just sat still. All those things that you're supposed to do, like check him out for scars, features ... I'm afraid I was too freaked out to think of that. He was just a big ugly guy.
He didn't go too far past my house. He pulled down this lane that led to an orange grove, a place I'd sometimes play when I was a kid. The whole area used to be rural, and there were still some orange groves growing in between the various tracts of houses.
He stopped the car in a cluster of trees and shut off the engine. The nearest houses were a long way away, and the darkness of the grove, the wind whispering through the trees, was really ominous. Once in a while, kids would park in here to make out, and I looked around in vain, hoping to spot a car. Shit, I would have even welcomed seeing a cop car. But we were well hidden.
The man, roughly ripped open my dress and began pawing at me, telling me to be very quiet or he'd blow my brains out. He had the gun in one hand, but I didn't offer any resistance as he crudely went about his task one-handed, fearing that the gun might go off.
"You could make this whole thing a lot easier, Baby," he finally told me. "Strip!"
I wasted little time in doing what he wanted. It wasn't easy to do in the confined space, and I felt a shame mixing in with my fear as his beady eyes pinned my titties. One thing I did notice-he had on a gold wedding ring. It was only after the ordeal was over that I found out that many rapists are married men, hiding their perversion from their wives. The same thing goes for other deviates such as child molesters. Of course, I wasn't really thinking about such social phenomena at the time.
I finally struggled out of my dress and panties, trying hard not to look at the weapon, but nevertheless very aware of its presence which predominated the entire situation. Once I was naked, he stared at me for awhile, and it gave me the creeps. He reached out with his free hand and fondled my boobs roughly, making my skin crawl.
"Please, Mr. I've..." I began, stuttering in my fear.
"Shut up!" he cut in harshly. "One more word out of you, and you've had it."
He shook the barrel of the gun at me menacingly, leaving little doubt as to just how I would have 'had it' if I got it. I was practically hysterical, but I bit my lip to keep from making anymore noises. I tried to calm my mind, remembering hearing somewhere, certainly not from my mother, that a girl shouldn't try to put up resistance during a rape. And that's what was about to happen to me.
He commanded me to lie down on the seat, moving aside so my legs could take up his side of the seat. Then he tugged down the baggy pants he was wearing, then the shorts. He had a hardon already. Just from seeing me in this condition I guess. The guy was a real sicko.
I was trembling, tears filling my eyes, but I made up my mind not to fight him. It would be difficult to relax, although I heard you should try to do that in situations like this. He bent over me, breathing heavily and crushed himself to me, guiding his cock into me.
I let out a sharp hiss, from the pain, as my pussy, as was the rest of my body, was all tightened up in fear. But I didn't want to make much noise. He brought the barrel of the gun up against my temple and reminded me not to yell. Shit, I was scared out of my wits, but all I did was whimper a bit, praying that he wouldn't lose control of himself during the rape and squeeze the trigger.
At least it was over in a hurry. He huffed and pumped over me, as I found myself silently praying. It hurt like hell, and I knew I was bleeding down there. But he finally let out a gasp and a shudder, and came.
I was still petrified as he zipped himself up, wondering if he might kill me now that it was all over. It was all like some nightmare, not really real. But he just told me to take my clothes and get out of the car.
"Don't look around," he told me. "Just keep walking out across that field and don't turn around until you've heard my car leave, or I'll plug you."
I was so glad to be out of the car, I didn't turn around. I clutched my clothes to my naked body, my bare feet stubbing over the plowed ground, but I just kept walking for what was the longest walk of my life. I finally heard the car start up and pull out. Then I started running and running, falling over stumps of trees and everything, so that I was cut and bleeding, covered with mud. When I got to the end of the field, I came to my senses.
I stopped and pulled my clothes on, not bothering to arrange them very well and ran up to the first house. When a man answered the door, I just put my arms around him and began screaming hysterically. His wife was right behind the astonished man, and they finally got the story out of me.
Everything after that is kind of hazy to me. The police came and took me to a doctor ... in a small hospital. Lots of faces and hands checking at me. Then my folks ... my father all pale ... my mother screaming and crazy. Someone gave me a shot. I fell asleep on the way home.
CHAPTER SIX
The next day I went through the whole routine over and over again for the benefit of a cop and my parents. I just wanted to try and bury the whole thing deep into my brain, but the other people just wouldn't let me. The cop was patient and as understanding as possible, but he still displayed an attitude that isn't uncommon among many cops as I've now come to find out. There's that old male thing about girls being hot to trot all the time, and that a girl who gets raped is asking for it. Even though the cops had reports on this same guy, at least a guy matching my hazy description, he badgered me to go over the details again and again, asking me if I'd provoked the guy, until he was satisfied it was legit.
I finally lost patience with him when he asked why I hadn't noted the license plates.
"I told you, he said not to turn a round or he'd shoot!" I screamed.
He got very paternalistic with me then, patting me on the knee. He wrapped up the report and left, warning me not to hitchhike anymore. It was a rhetorical statement if I've ever heard one.
Then it was my mother badgering me. She didn't doubt my story ... she could tell it was real. But she was taking this really weird attitude, praying to God, then telling me that I shouldn't ride in cars, and why did I do it, until she made me crazy.
Of course, I let on like this was the first time I'd ever ridden with a stranger, and promised her about a hundred times that I'd never do it again. She was so shook that she wanted me to go to a priest and beg forgiveness. As if I'd done something wrong. She was worried that I wouldn't marry a virgin, that nice boys wouldn't want to go out with me. She made me promise never to tell anyone, worried about my reputation and all. I wanted to puke, but didn't hassle with her as I was still pretty fucked up about the whole thing myself. But a crisis like this only brought out the worst in my mother.
There was one good thing that came out of it and that was that Mom didn't threaten to take me to the doctor anymore. See she always had this thing about threatening to take me to the doctor for a physical to see if I'd ever balled. This started when I was going with Chris, and she'd throw it in every now and then after I'd been out with a boy. I'd assured the doctor and the cops that I was a virgin, and it was just the right treatment for Mom, who really got behind tragedies. The virgin bit compounded the tragedy, so it fit right in with her feelings. So she now knew I wasn't cherry and couldn't pull that checkup shit on me anymore.
Ironically, she began to act more like Dad as time went on. Oh, she'd still pitch a bitch. But Dad, after reacting to the degree he now permitted himself, went back to his silences. And so did Mom, on occasions. She seemed to view me as a full-grown woman at times, and left me alone increasingly. But as volatile as she was she'd still explode and talk to me as an irate mother every so often, really pulling out the stops. Though this was less frequent than before, affording me long intervals of relative peace in between, her blowups were so heavy when they did come, I couldn't figure out if I liked Mom better B. R. or A. R. (before and after Rape).
It took me some time to recover, let alone Mom. I quit work a week early just to try and get my nerves together in time for the opening of school. Gwen came over to visit me a couple of times and was very sympathetic about the whole thing, and we decided that we'd try and still see as much of each other as possible once school started.
I don't think I went out with a guy for over a month after that. In fact, I kept pretty much to myself during that period, trying to put as much distance between myself and the incident as I could. I even got into my classes for awhile there, spending most of my evenings at home studying.
I saw Linda some, and got together with Gwen a couple of times-she'd landed a new job, working as a secretary for some smalltime photographer in Hollywood, and was planning on moving down there to be closer to her work. She assured me that she'd still try and see me.
But, aside from a few contacts via the phone, I saw very little of her that fall and winter. I finally got up the nerve to start dating again, but I found myself becoming a bit puritanical, stopping guys whenever they'd had too much of a feel. I guess that thing with the rapist was going to be with me for a long time. It's really not that easy to disassociate a trauma like that from men in general, especially when it happens to a girl so young.
I finally met this guy that I dug enough that I let him ball me one night at this party. I mean, we didn't do it in front of everyone, we found an empty bedroom. But when he put the meat to me the old zing seemed to be missing. He wasn't all thumbs like a lot of guys my age either. In fact, he was very gentle and slow. But still, I found myself hanging after he made it. He even gave me head to start finishing me off after he came, but my mind was so screwed up I just couldn't get behind it.
We tried again the next week in his car, but it just didn't do the trick. Since I didn't hear much from Gwen those days, I confided in Linda, but while she was sympathetic, she didn't really understand my problem. She had a pretty good thing going with this new guy she was going with, and she just couldn't understand why I'd have difficulty with sex.
"I mean, I can't believe it," she told me. "You of all people. I remember being so freaked the first time I watched you and Chris get it on. Like you were always ahead of me when it came to shit like that."
"Until that," I put in. That was the rape.
"Yeah, I guess that would fuck up your head," she conceded "But since I've never had that happen, and I'm not taking anything away from you kid-you're my best friend and you know that. But I just can't really relate to the problems you've been having never having been raped. Maybe you should see a shrink or something."
"Now wait a minute ..."
"No, no. Don't get hostile," she said, throwing up her hands. "I don't mean that I think you're whacko or anything. But they have a lot of shrinks who can help with little problems, well, I don't mean to call them little problems, but people that are trained to get to a person's root feelings and dig them out. It might help."
"Thanks anyway," I said. "I'm not mad... I just don't know what I am these days. Didn't mean to snap at you. But a shrink would cost money, and anyway I'm not so sure that's what I'd need."
"Maybe your folks could boogie some money for that," she put in helpfully.
"That's a laugh. My Mom would send me to a priest before she'd let something like that happen. She cares more about what things look like than how I feel. How would it look, her daughter going to a shrink?"
"I guess you're right," Linda said with a shrug. "Well, I hope you can get through this okay."
And she left. My bestest friend from way back, and even she couldn't really help. I flopped down on the bed and stared long at the ceiling. It was getting to be my best and most constant friend these days.
CHAPTER SEVEN
About the start of the spring semester I met Jim. He was enough to make me forget all about the ugly memories of the rape. He had just transferred from a school in San Diego and all the girls in school just flipped out for him. He wasn't very tall, but he had a nice lean build, and the most adorable face. He was real smooth and you could tell that he'd been around for a guy of sixteen.
And the amazing thing was-he flipped for me, out of all the other girls in our school. Of course, I was filling out in all the right places and was looking pretty good myself. But unless you get that kind of reciprocation from someone else, you can forget about things like that, especially when your on a downer like I was after the thing with the rapist, that guy in the orange grove... remember? I I thought I'd gotten that point across.
Oh, I'd gotten lots of attention from other guys, but they were just the old gray faces in the crowd that didn't mean all that much to me. Even the halfway decent ones were a stone bummer to me, even the guy I balled. But this guy Jim was something else again.
So when he asked me out, one day after a history class we had together, I flipped. I don't mean that he asked me out for right after the history class, but for the weekend. I counted the days until Friday: one... that was it. For he'd asked me out on Thursday.
We went to a flick, and he didn't waste any time coming on strong. I fended him off, a practice I was getting into those days, but not enough to turn him off. Just enough to let him know I wasn't any pushover, but not enough to make him think I wasn't interested.
We ended up heading for a lonely spot in the Hollywood Hills to do some parking. It gave me a bit of a creepy feeling to be parking with a guy like that in a remote area ... I mean the rapist memories flashed. Even Chris up at the house and all. But his kisses soon melted all that away. Before I knew what was happening, he'd stripped me off and we were going at it.
He was good, but he left me hanging. I faked it, not wanting to turn him off. This was the first time I'd faked an orgasm for anyone, but I was interested in him and wanted to please him. I don't know what happened, but somehow the thing that'd been happening since the rapist came up in my mind and I just couldn't let myself relax enough to get behind it. Besides that, Jim, for all his bravado, was pretty fast and rough. He was good at the actual screwing, but he didn't fool around too much with preliminaries.
Little did I know that by faking it, I was practicing something I'd be doing a lot when I started turning tricks. But little would I have suspected that I'd be turning tricks in the months to come.
I faked it though because I wanted to go out with him again. Not making it that first time didn't freak me too much. After all, I had a lot of rationalizations to go through in my head- the rape, the fact that he'd been so quick. But I was a bit freaked about it all the same. If I hadn't been so drawn to him in a romantic way, I don't think I could have handled it.
But the next time nothing happened, and when I asked him to finish me off with his tongue, he just sat up and threw this whole macho trip on me.
"Baby, if you can't make it from my cock, then something's wrong with you."
He said that he dug eating pussy, but that he'd be the one to decide when and where. It instantly led me to write him off. I put my clothes on and told him to take me home.
"When I'm ready," he smiled sideways in the way that only guys who are really hung up on themselves can do.
"You know where you're at?" he went on.
And he proceeded to lay this nickel-dime philosophy on me, telling me all about what was wrong with me, trying to get into my head, ending with this line about how I really needed him to straighten me out.
Fat chance.
But I didn't give him too much hassle. I just wanted him to get me home. After that, I never went out with him, but he was always pinning me in class, as if to let me know that he was king shit and knew where I was really at. I was really at a breaking point and knew it. About that time, I started thinking about Gwen. She seemed to be the only person who really knew where I was at.
Then the phone rang and it was her!
"Man, you must be psychic," I told her.
I poured out my troubles to her, saying I'd really like to get together and all. She told me that she wanted to see me, but that every weekend it seemed that I was out with some guy, and she was putting in a lot of hours at work during the week. So it was arranged that I'd go down to spend the night with her that Saturday.
It was fine with Mom, as she liked Gwen, so Gwen picked me up in a new car and we went down to her place.
"Must be making a lot of money at your new job," I said naively.
"I do alright," she smiled.
We must have rapped for about an hour there in the cozy livingroom of her apartment in Hollywood. Somehow, the conversation finally turned to guys, and I began to confess, encouraged by the killer dope we were smoking, that things were really all fucked up since the night with the guy in the grove.
"I can dig it," she said, shaking her head as she passed me another joint. "But don't think it's just him. I mean, you'd be surprised at how many guys are really rotten fuckers. Not all of them, thank God for that. But there's more of them that are real bastards than good guys, I can tell you. You'd better resign yourself to that fact. Only another woman can really make you feel good."
I was astounded by her remark, and gave a half-smile as if she must be joking. But she just stared at me intently, letting the statement sink in.
"Have I ever bullshitted you?" she asked, eyeing me firmly enough to make me squirm.
"You mean..." I gulped, "you make it with other girls?"
"Have for a long time, Honey," she smiled without a blink. "Oh, there's still nothing like a man, a good man. But with a woman it's different, softer somehow. It's hard to explain if you've never done it."
"Er... no," I put in.
My head was swimming. I'd never figured Gwen to be like that. I'd never really given much thought to girl-girl sex before, but I'd heard enough to get the stereotyped impression that all girls who like girls dressed in men's trousers and taught P. E.
"I'd like to find out," I finally managed, surprised at myself for letting the words slip out.
It was as if an inner voice had jumped out of me. But I really felt close to Gwen, and I didn't want to pass quick judgement on her about something like this even though the thought of it was strange to me. But Gwen wasn't any joker, she was a good looking chick that attracted many men. I just sat and shifted my weight on the couch after I'd let those words slip out, not sure if I wanted to take them back or what. So what if I didn't understand ... maybe I wouldn't be able to go through with it, as it did scare me. But it appealed to me in a way at the same time, although I'd never been aware of it until that moment. After all, practically every other thing I'd liked I'd been warned against, by my mother or someone else-sex, drugs, name it.
"There's no moment like the present," Gwen said to me, answering the question after what seemed like forever, but it had just been a few seconds, my mind racing over all that shit bottled up in there quickly.
"I just hope that it's okay ... that it turns out to be good, I just..."
"Relax," she told me, trying to pierce through my all too obvious anxiety. "I've never led you wrong before have I? So you either like it or you don't. But there's only one way to find out whether you're pro or con about something and that is to try it out."
I couldn't argue with her logic.
I let her do the leading since she was the only one who knew the steps to this tango. She moved close to me, soothing my fears with her soft voice. Suddenly she kissed me on the lips, and I felt a sudden tingle go up and down my spine. It felt so different, and yet so much the same as kissing a guy. I had to forget that she was a girl, but at the same time I couldn't divorce the fact from my mind. In feeling, it was like with a guy, but the psychological part of her being a girl really got to me and, surprisingly, made it seem all that much better. I guess it was that old thing about forbidden fruit tasting better.
My fears melted away as she circled her hand around my waist and pressed her lips more closely to mine. I found myself opening my mouth wide so that her tongue could snake in, tracing patterns on the roof of my mouth. It was heavenly! My tongue lashed out at hers, my body squirming as we Frenched on the couch.
And then she was unbuttoning my blouse, then unsnapping my bra. Her tongue went down to trace crazy circles around the buds, causing them to harden in anticipation. She was so much more gentle than any guy that I'd ever been with, and she was really sending me on a trip.
"Mmmmm," I breathed, relaxing. "That feels so good."
She lifted her head. "Just wait till I eat out your little box if you think this is good."
Then she went about making my other tit all hard and good feeling. She popped the nipple in and out of the pillow of flesh until I could hardly stand it.
"Oh, please," I cried, frantically, "I can't wait for it any longer, Gwen. Eat my pussy out for me, eat me. I can hardly stand it."
She gave me a wink that said 'I told you so,' then began tugging down my jeans. After that, she stripped off my panties and I spread my legs to give her good access.
Man, I can hardly describe what it felt like when she ate me out. Her tongue was like magic-Christmas and the Fourth of July all wrapped up in ore. She dipped that tongue into my pussy, rolling her tongue so that the edges met, and worked it in and out like a cock. But when she moved up my labia to suck my clit into her mouth, I almost went off right then. She popped it into her mouth and began bobbing it around, sucking with her teeth and lips.
"Yiiiiiiieeeeee," I found myself screaming as I reached the peak.
But she didn't let me off with that. No, she just kept sucking and licking at my love button until I was limp, sending me higher and higher. It was my first multiple orgasm, and it left me drained.
Later, she showed me how to eat her out, and it was just as much a thrill to stick my tongue up her pussy as it had been for her to do it to me. Especially when it came down to the fact that we were sixty-nining. It took me awhile to learn how to hold onto her clit with my mouth, it being so small and slippery, but she assured me that I was an expert.
As we relaxed in her bed afterwards, we talked about it, and I just couldn't get over the fact that I was so turned on by it. It was as if I'd never really lived before. Man, I'd been missing the boat.
"I didn't want to do it to you until I thought you were ready," she smiled. "Although it's been hard holding myself in check all this time."
"I wish you would've hipped me sooner," I told her, thinking of the bad time I'd had with guys lately.
"Yes," she agreed, "but if you hadn't gone out and found out about how rotten some guys -most guys can be, you'd have never had any- thing to compare it with. Now you really know."
I couldn't argue with her. But there was no more time for talk. She'd taken her vibrator out and had stuck it up my pussy, rubbing herself off against me while we kissed. Another first. That thing really hummed me off. Then I used it on her, as she explored my ass with her fingers, teaching me yet another form of sex. Man, I'd been a virtual girl scout up until this night with Gwen.
I lay back dreamily on the bed, talking with her again, feeling so close to her now, closer than I ever had to anyone.
"You must be making lots of money from that job," I asked again. "Working all those hours."
"Oh," she laughed. "That's not from that job, honey. Not at night. Remember how I told you that men are good for something? Well, I find them very useful when it comes to money. A guy paid for that car. A lot of my clothes came from other guys. They're useful that way. I couldn't begin to pay for the rent with my regular job."
She winked, letting the words sink in on me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"You mean you're a hooker?" I finally blurted out, sitting upright in the bed.
"And a goddamned good one at that," she smiled.
"Wow!" was all I could manage.
There was a lot about Gwen I hadn't known up until tonight. I was stunned.
"You really don't know a lot about me," she smiled. "But don't be so shocked. It's not as bad as it sounds. I just take gifts from certain men I know from time to time... cash or otherwise.
As I listened, not believing all that I was hearing, she told me how she had been turned onto hooking by an old friend of hers back when she was in high school, not much older than I was at the time. She'd gotten tired of hassling with her parents for money, so she'd turned to an occasional trick, the friend mak ing the introductions.
"Oh, it was just twenty dollar stuff at first, but then I was getting fifty, a hundred. I had a weekend with a guy not long ago and he got me the car. Said it's a down payment on more sex when he's in town for another meeting. He's some big shot from the south. My sugar daddy.
I really couldn't believe it. Just as I had held a stereotyped image of lesbians up until a few hours ago, I held a different image of hookers. Gwen wasn't a real pro, she told me, but she did turn quite a few tricks. She worked a book sometimes, filling in for this black girlfriend of hers when the other girl couldn't handle her full load, or worked conventions, the streets, bars ... whatever. She told me that she'd never been busted, reaching back to knock on the wooden headboard.
"I can usually spot Vice," she said, "but you can't always tell."
She wasn't big time for a pro, but more of a part-timer. Still, she'd built up a small clientele of regulars and sometimes had to turn them down if she wasn't in the mood. Conversely, she'd sometimes get the urge to go out and hustle the streets on a night when she hadn't anything going.
"It's more than the money," she confessed. "It's sort of a kick actually."
"But..." I broke in, my mind still not quite caught up with all the revelations of the evening, "you said most men are fucked up... lousy..."
"That's part of it," she smiled. "It's nice to make them pay for it. If they turn out to be a good lay then it's bonus time."
We sat up for another hour talking it over, and I was astonished just how much Gwen knew of the world. She told me of various fetishes that some of the Johns had, some of them sounding interesting to me, some of them disgusting. She had a fixed price with most of her customers and usually got around fifty or a hundred for a quickie, and around five for an all-nighter, but she was flexible enough to bend the rules once in awhile, as she didn't have to depend on the bread as a steady thing.
"I don't think I'd go for it on a steady basis, but it's a real kick in the ass sometimes. Shit, even though I usually charge more. I went out with this seaman the other night for twenty as that's all he could afford. He was an older fellow, an Irishman, and his stories appealed to me. As twenty was all he could afford, I left it at that. He more than made up for it with his fucking."
It still took me quite awhile to let it all settle in, but I couldn't really look down on her for it. After all, she'd just turned me onto the greatest sexual experience of my whole life.
It surprised me though when she went so far as to suggest that I should give it a try sometime myself. I just couldn't feature doing something like that for money. Of course, I couldn't feature making it with a woman until a few hours back, so I just went to sleep in her arms, with the thought in my mind, but not really taking it seriously. Still, if things got too bad at home, I could always make some money that way so I could split. But all that seemed so far away now. All that mattered was being close to Gwen.
I started spending more and more time with Gwen on the weekends, although there were times when she'd be entertaining a guy when I couldn't go over. A couple of months later a strange thing happened with Linda and me, a sort of a result of my thing with Gwen, that resulted in the end of my friendship with her.
Linda had asked me over to spend the night with her as her parents were going to be away overnight visiting some relatives. My Mom gave me permission so it was all set. Originally, Linda had hoped that she'd be able to have her current boyfriend over, and maybe fix me up with some guy, all behind her parents back of course, but they had a fight that day, so it was just Linda and yours truly.
She was pretty put out with her boyfriend, so we went over all the guys we'd known, putting them down. We'd broken into her dad's liquor cabinet, and we got pretty smashed on vodka. It only took us a few drinks before we were looped out of our skulls.
When we piled into her bed, something we'd done a number of times on the innocent level, either at her place or mine, she kept talking about how fucked her boyfriend was. I was so looped that I let it slip, but it came out anyway:
"You should try girls."
"You must be joking!" She sat up and stared at me.
"Don't knock it if you haven't tried it," I told her in a drunken manner, throwing all cautions to the wind.
I realize my come-on wasn't too great. Not knowing how to put it into words, I reached over clumsily and grabbed at her, putting a kiss on her cheeks.
"Stop it, Annette," she screamed, pulling away. "You don't mean you like girls?"
"Sure. I've done it with them lots of times."
In my drunken condition I didn't realize what I was saying, or how I was shocking my friend. She started screaming at me, calling me all sorts of nasty names. I finally sobered up and calmed her down, but she wanted me out of the house. Realizing I couldn't go home, I told her that I'd sleep in her folk's room.
"Just for tonight," she told me, having regained some of her composure. "But the door will be locked, so don't try anything funny."
I was so smashed I went into her parents' bedroom and fell out. It was only in the morning that I realized what I'd done. I felt terrible. Sure, I would have liked to make it with her, she had a neat figure, but I'd come on all wrong. She was too straight for that shit.
I knocked on her door and pleaded with her to forgive me, that I'd had too much to drink and was only joking. But to no avail. I argued and pleaded, but she wouldn't even open the door, and then I realized, with a sickness in the pit of my stomach, that I'd really blown it.
"One thing," I asked her before leaving. "Please don't tell anyone."
"I won't if you'll just leave," came the reply through the door.
I tried to calm myself down during the short walk to my house, figuring ways that I could cool the whole thing out. But when I tried to talk with her later in the week, she wouldn't have anything to do with me. I knew she wouldn't tell her parents, as that would've gotten her into trouble, but I was hoping she wouldn't spread it around school.
When my mother questioned me about why I wasn't seeing her anymore, I just made up this thing about her saying some rotten things about me... at least my folks and hers weren't close so there wouldn't be any questions from that quarter. Mom just figured that it was one of those schoolgirl fights that will happen sometimes.
I began living inside myself more and more during the next few weeks, just waiting for summer vacation. Though nobody said anything to me, I could feel everyone's eyes burning into me and it made me paranoid. I don't know if Linda said anything or not, but if it did get out, I made up my mind to deny it. I didn't have that many friends at school anymore anyway, in fact none. But it still seemed to me that it was all screwed up somehow, that I was an outcast.
I got my only sympathy from Gwen, whose only comment was that I'd better get my se duction techniques down straight if I wanted things to go better the next time. But I didn't feel there would be a next time.
She was my only solace, and as school drew to a close, much to my relief, I began to go more and more inside myself. Everything at home was fucked-arguing all the time. I had to get out, and wondered if I'd run away. But I'd have to get bread. Gwen's hooking proposition sounded better all the time.
CHAPTER NINE
I didn't really turn my first trick until right before my sixteenth birthday, and like everything else I was trying on my own those days, it turned out just short of disaster. It was the only trick I turned before that birthday, but it technically gives me the dubious honor of turning hooker at fifteen. Not that I consider myself to be a hooker. But I've turned my share of tricks.
Somehow, I'd managed to hold on during the summer, most of the thanks going to Gwen. My sweet Gwendoline. To take my mind off my troubles, I'd gotten a job as a waitress in this small coffee shop that wasn't far from my place. It was a family operation, and it didn't make a go of it, I'm sorry to say, as the folks that owned it were real nice, some people from the Netherlands who'd only been in this country for five or six years.
So anyway, I was taking all the stuff in from Gwen about turning tricks, not really giving it serious thoughts, but storing all the info away just in case. I wanted to learn to be tough with men, in a nice way of course, but how to get out of a tight situation. Didn't want one of those rape scenes. Her sage advice was the one that's been going on for years. Oh, there were the eyes you could scratch and all that, but the swift kick to the nuts was still the best way out of a jam that she knew of.
"You won't get into that kind of jam if you learn how to talk to men, how to let them know you can take care of yourself without being too brash."
But still, I didn't want to get into it as of yet, and Gwen didn't want to push me into it. I just got my vicarious thrills listening to her, and my real thrills from her gentle loving.
If I did turn a trick, I had resolved, I'd do it before she set me up. That way I could prove to her that I could take care of myself. I wanted her to be proud of me, especially after the way I'd mucked up the deal with Linda.
My parents, that means Mom, were really getting on me by now about what I was going to do with my life. That coming year would be my last in high school (remember, I'd skipped a grade) and they thought I should be making plans for a job, or college. We had some pretty vicious fights about it, only making me all the more determined to get out on my own at the first possible chance.
That chance provided itself one night at work, towards the end of the summer. We were on a busy street that was used by the trucks that went out to the Simi Valley. Just short runs from L. A. that took an hour. Anyway, there were several truckers who came in from time to time, and this one guy in particular, a swarthy, thick-chested man named Larry was always teasing me, saying how he'd like to go out with me.
"When you gonna marry me," he'd joke.
It was all good-natured fun. But one night, after I'd had a particularly bad fight with Mom, he came in and started the joking. Steeling myself, I waited until the boss was back in the kitchen and came up to his place at the counter. As there was only one other customer in the joint, I whispered to him provocatively.
"I don't know about marriage, but I do think you're cute," I teased.
"When do you show me how much you love me?" he smiled, not sure if I was joking.
"If you've got the money, I've got the time,"
I told him haughtily.
He raised his eyebrows and scanned me real good, not sure that I was serious.
"For real?" he asked.
"It'll cost you twenty," I whispered, looking around to make sure my boss was still in the kitchen.
I told him that if he wanted it, I'd meet him down at the corner gas station in an hour, closing time. I didn't want my boss to see me going out with a man twice my age.
"I don't believe it," Larry shook his head. "But I'll be there."
Mr. Schlievil offered me a ride home, as he often did when I worked late, but I told him somebody was picking me up. After he drove off, I walked down towards the corner. I really couldn't believe I was going through with this.
Sure enough, Larry was there in his truck.
"Man, I don't believe it," he said as I climbed into the cab. "I'd never take a bet on a sweet young thing like you turning tricks."
"Don't give me the morality bit," I said, "Do you want to screw or don't you?"
"Sure, you know it."
I told him that it would cost him twenty. "How about a blow job," he said. "I don't have time for motels and all-my wife's ex pecting me. We can go the full route later... some other time."
"Fine. But it'll still be twenty."
With that, he unzipped his trousers and whipped out his cock. It was dark in the service station and nobody was around at this hour. He couldn't get over the fact that I'd do it so casually, and he kept making comments to that effect as I took his thick prick into my hand and began jerking him off. I kissed his head, and began sucking, his tool growing hard. I had to stifle the desire to puke from his heavy crotch odors, but somehow I managed to bring him off, even swallowing his come.
"Okay, where's my money?" I demanded afterwards.
"Shit, sister," he smiled. "It's your word against mine now. You may be under-aged, but hooking's illegal. I don't think your boss would want to know you've been hustling in his joint."
"You bastard ... you wouldn't."
"Try me."
He thanked me for the freebie and drove off. The next day, I told the boss I'd be quitting a couple of weeks early. I didn't want to take the chance of running into Larry again. I'd blown it. For free.
CHAPTER TEN
I'd violated one of the first rules of hustling -always make the customer pay before you service him. I really felt bad about it, but Gwen finally coaxed my story out of me that weekend at her place.
I was really embarrassed and didn't want to say anything, but Gwen seemed to be able to read my mind.
"My, my," she chided me gently. "You just don't seem to have any luck on your own do you? Promise me one thing-that you'll let me supervise your next trick if that's what you decide to do."
I shamefacedly promised her, although I wasn't sure if I'd take it up again or not. By this time, Gwen had given up her job, and had taken up hooking full time. She didn't hook around the clock, but she did have enough extra customers now to justify sleeping in mornings.
I put the idea aside for awhile, resuming my senior year at school. The old paranoia would get me whenever I saw Linda, but I just tried to bury it. But things at home were becoming more and more of a hassle.
I had to leave home, but I had to get enough money together to do it. I confided in Gwen, and she told me she'd help break me in. Rather than let me go on my own, she fixed up a date with a guy who was a football coach at Edgar College. She called and told him that she had another girl in mind for him, and that we could make it a threesome if he liked. He said he wanted to see the merchandise first, as she was asking for a hundred for the both of us- he usually paid fifty. He told her that he was free the following afternoon, and for us to come down and watch practice.
I'd have to cut school, and that meant they'd be checking up on me-eventual static at home, but I figured what the fuck? I had to get out, make a change. So it was set. I left that morning as if I were going to school, and then met Gwen at a pre-designated corner. We went shopping and caught a movie, as we had to wait until late afternoon.
"Why does he want us to come out there," I asked, not sure just what the story was.
"The guy's kind of insecure... with all his macho trip, I don't think he can score free ass," she told me as we lunched. "He's had me come down there before, and I think he gets a kick out of having the other coaches and the players drool over me. I know he doesn't tell them I'm a hooker, and we both look like schoolgirls... so, you figure it out. I only know he pays for it, and that's his trip."
"Weird," I said.
We drove over and parked the car next to the chain-link fence by the practice field. We got out and watched the poor fuckers working out, until the guy spotted us and waved for us to come inside. I followed behind Gwen and trudged the long walk to the gate. He met us behind the bleachers, out of the sight of the players.
"Harry, this is Annette."
"Whew, nice," he smiled, letting me know that everything was definitely go.
"You girls wait in the bleachers for awhile," he told us. "I've got a little drill to put the boys through, then I'll let my assistants take over practice."
"The money," Gwen reminded him.
He shrugged and fished out his billfold, counting out a hundred and a half, looking around to make sure nobody was watching. We climbed up in the near-empty bleachers and watched Harry put the sweating jocks through some drills. He really seemed to be lording it over them, making them sweat hard, occasionally glancing towards us as if to make the boys jealous.
"Here," Gwen broke in, handing me a wad of bills.
"All this?" I exclaimed, counting seventy-five.
"You'll earn it. It's fifty-fifty as far as I'm concerned. Whenever we work together. Just remember..."
"I know, I know," I laughed, running the money all over my body. "Get the money first."
She laughed then told me to stash the money. I'd forgotten all about it, the fact that there were people around. Luckily, nobody saw us.
Harry turned the practice over to one of his assistants and told us to go and wait by the car. We'd have to go in Gwen's car as his was in the shop for repairs-he'd take a cab from her place.
So we went back to the car and waited outside, watching the poor sweating football players work as it was too hot in the car. It took Harry a long time as he was taking a shower.
He finally came jauntily down the street, shouting at some of the guys to pick it up. When he got to us, he just smiled, telling one of his players, who was gawking at us through the fence, to take a couple of laps.
He was wearing a football jersey with the number 81 on it, a hat and slacks. He wore glasses and had a moustache, not my stereotype of a coach exactly, but then I always goofed up those kind of things.
"What's the number for?" Gwen asked him as we drove off.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I just thought it might be for some sexual thing, like 69, or 13 ... "
"I guess it must mean I'm gonna eighty-one-a-girl, then eighty-one-a-other-girl."
I laughed at his poor attempt at a pun, resolving that I'd have to ask what thirteen meant.
She later told me that it was one less than fourteen and one more than twelve.
He fished a pint bottle out of his pants and took a hearty slug, offering it to me. I took one, realizing that I'd need it for this trick, and offered it to Gwen.
We were really roaring by the time we pulled up to Gwen's apartment building, and the coach was checking out my back field, making me all hot and horny.
"Damn," said Gwen, searching through her purse. "They changed the locks on the fucking doors, and I forgot to put the new key on my ring. I'll go get one from the landlady."
She lived on the first floor which was right of the street. Harry began fondling me, eager to get down to it, but I fought him off.
"Not here," I said.
"I can't wait," he cried, and from the look in his eyes he wasn't lying.
"Quick," I told him, half-drunk and not giving a shit. "Back here."
I had to improvise. There was an alley to the side of her building. The only window besides hers was on the second floor, a fence cutting through the alley partway down. On the other side of the alley was a warehouse with no windows. I just hoped that no one could look in from the street if he really intended to do what I thought he was.
There was a big gas meter partway down the alley, with a wooden structure for garbage cans blocking it off from the street. As long as we were going to be danger-lovers, we might as well try for us much privacy as possible.
I asked him if he was really sure he wanted it this way, and he just pointed to his pants and the obvious bulge. I opened his fly, looking around to make sure nobody was watching, and made as if I were going to blow him.
"No," he implored. "I wanna fuck."
I told him to keep his voice down. He insisted that it would be a bigger kick to fuck outside in the alley than suck, so I went along, hoping I wouldn't get busted on my first real gig. He pulled his pants partway down and sat on the big meter, and I pulled up my dress, ripped off my panties, stashing them in my bag, and climbed aboard. I hoped that he would hurry and get his rocks off.
It must have been hilarious to watch, but I hope nobody did. But somehow he managed to work me up a bit with his long cock, although I didn't make it. He did. And when he came he let out a long moan. Suddenly I heard a window open above us, and I jumped off of him and pulled down my skirt. Whew, it was only Gwen.
"You fucking idiots," she screamed in a whisper. "Get in here."
"My idea," Harry smiled up at her, zipping up his pants and following me.
"I don't care whose idea it was..." her screaming whisper followed us.
But she was all calmed down by the time we met her at the door. She's not the kind to get mad, and when she does it doesn't last very long.
"You fools," she taunted as we came inside. "You want to get us busted?"
"It's really fun doing it outdoors," he smiled at her.
"In the woods, the boonies. But not in an alley right in the fucking city."
"I dunno, I had a pretty good time," he laughed, pulling out his bottle and taking another hit.
"For a coach, you sure set a bad example," Gwen chided. "Whoring in the streets ... boozing."
She broke off, laughing. "It's just a good thing my landlady didn't catch us. That's why I take most of my tricks to a motel, or go to their place."
"But there's no place like home," Harry said, tossing down the last of the booze.
"I'm getting worked up again," he stated, "so let's get it on."
God, he really gets it up again fast, I thought. I was just coming down from my aborted mission in the alley. But then a man hadn't made me come in ages. But, I had a hunch, with Gwen around and everything, I just might make it. But if I don't, I've still got seventy-five bucks, and that's more than I made in a week at those other jobs. There was something sexy about Harry, despite his drawbacks, but I couldn't figure out why. Maybe it's because he was older than all the kids and didn't give a shit. Or maybe, the anticipation I was feeling due to the fact that I was trying something new out-it isn't how one becomes a hooker. I don't count that time with Larry, except as far as my starting age goes.
He took off his shirt, but left this weird neckerchief on that I hadn't noticed before. We all made for the bedroom. I watched as Gwen stripped off and gave Harry head, then I joined in by ramming my fingers up his ass at his request-the customer's always right.
I stripped off my clothes and fooled around with Gwen while Harry rested up, his eyes about popping from watching the show. She'd just about worked me up to my maximum peak, when he pushed her off of me and shoved his pecker in me. I wrapped my legs around him and began twitching my ass, trying to match his rhythm.
Worked up as I was from Gwen, I had an orgasm not long after he put it to me, but he just kept riding away at me, making me come again. I clawed at his back and complimented him on his loving, as Gwen had told me to do with most Johns. It wasn't really necessary for me to remember the rules though, for it was a trip for me to get off with a guy again, the first one since the rape, even if Gwen did give me a head start
He ate her pussy out before he called his cab, satisfied with our three-way conversation. After he left, I puzzled over the fact that he'd seemed so uninhibited with us after she'd told me he was shy.
"You'll see, kiddo," she told me. "Some guys can only be good with hookers. With other girls they're total wipeouts. You'll meet all kinds."
She was right.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I think that first session sold me on selling out. At the ripe old age of sixteen. But counting my first earnings, I felt pretty good about everything, even if I'd be meeting some weirdos in the future.
I met a real weirdo later that night-my mom. She was really pissed about my cutting school. The school calls home whenever you cut. I'd cut before, but she still was mad. If she would've only known what I was doing... oh shit, I hate to think of what she'd do.
I took it all in stride though, realizing that I had a little nest egg started. Just so Mom wouldn't find anything out, I'd decided to bank my earnings through Gwen, tossing in the meager sum that I'd made in the coffee shop. I didn't want Mom to find a passbook and wonder the worst-hooking or dope peddling ... she would have been right about one count anyway. I know this was putting a lot of faith in Gwen, as she could've skipped with my money if she wanted, but I really trusted her more than anyone I've ever known. I continued to do so, I'm happy to say, although we're on a much more equal footing these days.
Well, the old hassles kept on coming as I continued to ditch more school. Not enough to get my ass kicked out, mind you. I'd pretty much decided that I'd try to stick it out and get my diploma, no matter what the static at home was, or the estrangement from my fellow classmates. Once or twice I'd go out on a date, just for the sake of appearances, but I still got what I believed were some strange looks from some of the kids. I don't think they were hip to the fact that I was turning tricks, as I made it a point not to try that shit around school. But now that I had my little secret life on the side with Gwen, plus the bonus of earning some getaway money, I didn't let it get to me so bad.
There were still the scenes with Mom, especially when I'd cut school, but they weren't as bad. So I tried to hang on, only turning an occasional trick, hoping to make it through with a degree. I was truant enough to give them some problems, like Mom had to come in and talk with the counselor a couple of times. They didn't turn me over to juvie though since I had pretty good grades, despite all the cuts, and I didn't really give the teachers a bad time. They'd harp on about my high I. Q., saying I was college material and all, and still wonder about my attitude. So I'd try to shine it on with Mom, telling her that I really was thinking about going on to school, or a job, anything to keep her off my case.
Gwen was a big help. She'd really bullshitted my folks into thinking she was great. They thought she was working her way through night school, as she laid this whole story on them about how her parents had moved (which they had), and she had to make it on her own. As she was older than me and presented a straight image to Mom, my mother would encourage my visits with Gwen, feeling she was a good influence. I didn't date those terrible boys anymore (When I did date, I'd pick some straight short hair dude to impress her since I got plenty of dope, sex and kicks on the side), and I stopped cutting so much. In short, I was following Gwen's advice and trying not to make waves. Just get through those few more months, get the degree, then split. It wasn't easy, but since I had Gwen to fall back on it was bearable.
If Mom would have known that it was Gwen who was responsible for the infrequent truancies ... fuck. And that I was smoking lots of dope, practicing AC/DC sex, screwing for money. She would've flipped. But I kept up a straighter and straighter image during the senior year, so the blowups between Mom and I weren't so frequent. The funny thing was that a lot of my straight friends from days back were getting into all kinds of trouble with dope, everyone but Linda. She was going so straight from what I could see it made me sick. I really was glad now that I'd frightened her that night. Probably made her a candidate for the D. A. R.- anything to help.
I didn't turn tricks too often, as Gwen tried to keep the. weekends free just for the two of us. We could never get tired of rubbing and eating out each other's pussies it seemed, no matter how often we made it. When she advised the straight-arrow image for the home front, she ruled out most of the midweek sessions, not wanting me to have to be truant, or to make the drive clear back to the Valley. But if Mom knew I was with Gwen, Gwen always made sure I got back in time for school.
You don't want to fuck up a good thing.
I remember this one twosome we pulled together just because of Buddha's smile. I guess I'd better go into some background on this.
I still had only pulled one single since teaming up with Gwen, as it would have been difficult for me to make arrangements for a motel and transportation. I was dependent on Gwen for the place and car, and frankly I was glad she was able to see me around the rough edges so that I'd be in good shape whenever I went out on my own. I remembered too well the first attempts I'd fucked up on my lonesome.
There'd only been this one single, and Gwen had been in the other room. It was with an old standby of hers who'd called up one weekend when she wasn't booked. Gwen was feeling a little sick as it was her time of the month, and even my loving hadn't helped much. So she asked me if I'd like to try one of her regulars who'd come into town for a convention, cupping her hand over the phone, and I said sure, although I wasn't quite sure. She told him the situation, and he agreed.
Gwen assured me that the guy was harmless, and he turned out to be. He must've been about fifty-a real Rotarian type. I got fifty for my short workout on the couch, and Gwen let me keep it all.
The rest of the time we worked doubles, splitting the take. Like I said, there weren't too many of these as we had to try and schedule them on weekends, which wasn't always the case, and sometimes led to a truancy. My mother didn't know I was with Gwen on those nights, and I'd have to make up something, a ritual Gwen was trying to discourage. Shit-I just remembered this one time when I was truant, my angry mother called up Gwen, telling her to talk some sense into me about this truancy crap, since she seemed to have such a strong influence on me. Mom gave me the phone, and I tried not to crack up, listening to Gwen's mock lecture come from the phone. If Mom had known that I'd been truant because Gwen and I'd been entertaining some men at a motel...
Buddha's smile. An old Russian proverb as told by A. S. (don't want to besmirch the recently disposed writer of his moral integrity by mentioning his name in a joint like this) in a work spread from the gospel of India.
Yes, I'm getting to it. So there weren't that many guys willing to pay for a twosome. Sometimes we'd get a couple of men who didn't mind partying in front of each other, who could get two girls for the price of one by splitting the tab, but that didn't happen too often. And we didn't work a lot of weekends, as Gwen wasn't out to get rich quick. She only wanted an easy way to make a substantial amount without breaking her ass in getting it.
So this one double that we did this weekend in January came up. He'd been a customer a couple of times before for her, and he'd casually asked if she knew of any other girl who could work with her in a twosome. Solid.
The guy's a lawyer, fairly young with curly dark hair. He's been recently divorced, and can't hit up on enough chicks to satisfy his constant demand for sex. He'd been to pros before when in need, and felt no qualms about utilizing them again. But like I say, the guy can score on his own and does. But he got to thinking that he might as well get a scene on with a girl that he can't usually do with a straight pickup. That's it! Two girls!
It is arranged. For a guy with bread, the apartment he'd rented was fucked. Oh, the place was nice and roomy, but the furniture was really off the wall, a combination of about three phases of Post-WWII Hollywood furnished design. Adding up to yuk. He seems to notice that I'm taking all this in, the production paintings of shipwrecks...
"My wife took everything," he read my mind. "So this is it until I can get my own place together. You'd think a lawyer wouldn't get taken to the cleaners the way I am, but divorce is not my line."
I liked the guy immediately for his easy manner. I went and sat down while he got us a drink. I decided to try a beer as that's what he was having, figuring I wouldn't get so looped, and even Gwen, who usually goes for stronger mead, made it unanimous.
I lit a cigarette (I'd recently taken up the evil weed to calm my nerves when away from the real thing as far as smoke goes) and tossed the match in a large ashtray. Then I noticed this horrible gold-leafed statue of Buddha behind it on the table.
"I almost tossed him at first," Steve said. He'd obviously been watching most of my moves. "But I figured he sort of brought the total insanity of this room together. And we'll never know if he's really Jewish or not, the way he sits there with his hands in his lap, smiling that funny smile."
We talked a short while, chugging down the Coors, but soon it was time for better things. Following Gwen's moves, we went over to the chair where he was sitting and attacked him. He liked the girl to make the moves sometimes, and since there were two of us, it was to be a psuedo-rape at first. Nothing heavy, no flashback to real rape. Even if it would have been this way, at least I was the rapist and not the rapee.
We finally got him down to almost bare facts, and pulled him away from his Coors, climbing all over him. We both teased him, blowing in his ear While rubbing him all over, the other girl biting at the thighs. We took turns blowing him, warning him not to come. His face got strained and red, but he held back, signalling us when he was about to come. His cock really pounding by now, but he liked it this way, working up a nice set of aching nuts so that when he came he really blew his rocks off.
I finally got to ball him on the floor, Buddha smiling over his shoulder. And that's Buddha's smile. What do you want for a story? Got to make an attempt at plot. Shit. We balled Steve in his bedroom too, and got a hundred each for our night's efforts. The only thing that was weird, was that when we left, he gave us his card and told us that, while criminal law was his specialty he didn't usually handle pros titution cases, but if we ever got into trouble, to give him a call. It was a jolt of reality, for that would be a possibility, I realized.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It seems no matter how I tried I couldn't keep away from at least a yearly tragedy. This time it was my father's death. It came as a real blow to me, even though he hadn't been nearly as close as he could have all these years. In fact, despite my frantic relationship with my mother, I felt closer to her as the years rolled by and it developed into a weird love/hate thing. But Dad had become more and more of a background figure after my brother's death.
My mother really freaked at this very real tragedy. I felt sort of sorry for her. While their marriage hadn't been that good, the two of them hardly communicating except when it was about me, it was all she had. I'd be leaving soon, and at least she didn't try to throw herself into me. In fact, she seemed to grow more serene after we'd buried him. We had the few honest talks we ever had during that period. Although my mother's ideas were crazy and outdated to me, I could see her heart was in the right place.
Since he'd died when I only had another month and a half of school left, we had to talk this out. To make her feel better, I'd devised a plan to tell her that I was going to follow Gwen's example and work my way through night school. I'd be moving in with her and we'd share expenses, and I could go to a junior college for night classes. Actually, the story was true except for the school part. But more about that later.
Just to put the clincher on it, I told her that I'd stay with her, of course, if that's what she wanted. I already knew what she was thinking about, but her duty still was with me until I left home-that was her old world attitude, the one that got me into so much trouble, but now, looking at how old she was beginning to look, I couldn't hold any more grudges... not for the moment. She told me that she liked my plans very much and was glad that I'd turned out to be such a nice kid (Oh, I'm so fucking glad she doesn't know for her sake). She wanted me to go through with those plans, pleased that I'd fallen under the influence of such a 'decent and sensible girl' as Gwen.
They'd hoped to help me out with school, or whatever I wanted ... but now there would just be the small pension for her, plus whatever she'd get when she sold the house.
"No, no, don't worry about me," she patted my shoulder so dramatically that it made me realize she was born for this martyr's role, that she actually was happy to suffer. "I'm not meant for out here (California). This was your Daddy's idea. Hoped we'd get ahead ... and we didn't do too bad." She glanced over to a picture of my brother and fought back a tear.
"But my people are in Ohio. And as you know, your Uncle John wants me to come back and live with him, help take care of his kids now that your Aunt Darcy passed away. So I'll go help my brother raise up his kids, and you come back and see me when you have a break in school. I'm just so happy, after all the troubles, that you've turned out to be such a good girl. You had me and your father, rest his soul, worried there for awhile. You haven't even missed school this last couple of months. I'm proud of you."
You can say what you want about total honesty, but I wouldn't let her know what I'm doing for the world. It makes her feel good to think at least one thing she did turned out right. I really felt close to her for that last couple of months we were together, and even put up with her slight nagging that still came up from time to time, and resisted her attempts to get me to come back to the church with her. I'm sure she never misses Mass these days. But I feel sorry for her younger brother's kids, all three of them are just getting into puberty and beyond. My cousins will be lucky to escape with only minor neurosis. But it worked out nice for both Uncle John and mother in their time of need.
Somehow I managed to graduate. I really did make school every day, except around the time of the funeral, winning a bet with Gwen (she couldn't pick at me about the legitimate excuse for my father's funeral). I didn't do too much balling, except for Gwen of course, but what I mean to say is I didn't do much balling for dollars that semester. Gwen wanted me to get through school, and then my father's death had thrown things off. She was very kind to my mother during that period.
In it's own sad way, the death eased my leaving home. I had enough money to split, but once a girl graduates from high school, leaving home can hardly be classified as running away. But there was no need. I made a smooth transi- tion, following Gwen's advice, for we had decided to rent a larger, more luxurious apartment together, and pool our talents that I'd been undergoing training for.
So Mom sold the house and took off for Ohio and the old ways, while I looked to the future, moving my things into a nice small hillside apartment above the Sunset Strip. We didn't plan to set the world on fire, but we knew that we could make some good bread if we played it smart. And we didn't need any fucking pimp -Gwen had built up the trade herself, small though the regular count might have been, from customers originally inherited from her hooker friend. At least the majority of the regulars were high rollers.
But it was more than business that we got together for-our feelings for each other were so strong. I don't mean it was at a real romantic level like some lesbian things are. It was more like sister/sister. In fact, we each did a little partying with other women from time to time, either together or separately, and only once did I get it on with a woman for pay.
I remember my first trick when we moved into the new apartment, because it was the first time Gwen ever let me go out on a trick by myself that she didn't personally know.
But Steve, the lawyer, had recommended this guy Bill and personally vouched for him. Since Steve didn't go but one way, I wondered how he could vouch for a guy's sex trip without actually sleeping with him. I figured he must have been a real close friend, or gotten the rundown that he wasn't a freak from a mutual girlfriend. That's how I answered it. It was also to be the first night in the new pad, a place free from neighbors who snooped, as this area was full of people who did a lot of partying. I wouldn't get to try out the new bed. Although we had two bedrooms, fully equipped, we'd be sleeping in a big king-size waterbed from now on. The other bed was available for when we were entertaining at home, and might need two beds, or get a guy who didn't dig water beds or something. And yet, it's amazing to me, what with two beds, just how often we end up balling on the couch or the floor of the livingroom. Must have something to do with photography I'd guess. What?
This would be an all-nighter though, so it'd have to wait until the next night, sleeping on the waterbed that is. But I'd be getting three-hundred, which seemed like a lot to me. We varied our prices quite a bit-for the big spenders this might be worth five bills, and all nighter that is. Shit, some of them drop a couple of bills for a half-hour session.
So Gwen figured I'd have to learn to be on my own sometime, and a new guy who came with an okay from Steve would be a pretty safe bet. I'd made it with a couple of her regulars on my own, but this was the first new John. I was much more confident than I'd been a year back, Gwen having been a good teacher and influence.
I piled into my new (to me) used MG, that I'd bought with my savings to date, taking an overnight bag with me, and drove to the address in Burbank. It was a ranch-style house in a family neighborhood of upper middle class. No wonder he wanted me to pull into the open garage and come in through the kitchen opening. He was fucking around on his wife... shame, shame. But that's not our job to decide what's wrong and what's right. The guy gets what he wants and he's paying plenty.
"Sorry it was such a last-minute thing," Bill, a pleasant looking man with dark curly hair told me. "I would've come up to the apartment, but my wife will be calling tonight to let me know if she and the kids got in safely. And knowing her, she'll call twice."
He explained to me that, he'd been caught once before when she was away, and he had to really let her have his balls to keep the marriage together. "I really dig her... and the kids, especially. But Goddamn, a guy needs a change."
I asked him if the neighbors had caught him before, but it hadn't been that way... some other complicated thing.
"What if you've got to go out and work?" I asked, remembering that he was a contractor who had gone to college with Steve. "That's different. But tonight, to get out of going over to her fucking sister's in Pasadena, who she wants to spy on me, I faked a cold before she left. And I'd better be right here when she calls. She doesn't figure I'd have the gall to have a girl come over to the house, but she didn't know how horny I was for a little strange pussy."
Since it was an all-nighter, at least I hoped to God that his wife didn't sneak back and catch us, I got into my jammies the way he wanted. Before long, he had the pajama bottoms off and was pumping his cock to me on the floor, wearing only his undershirt. Then he had me sit on a table, right up on the edge while he ate me out.
The only remarkable thing, aside from this being my first trick on my own, happened later on when we were making it in his bed. The phone rang, just as I was about to come- I have no problems with that if the man is good these days-the phone rang. He slowed his pace, told me to shush, then spoke to his wife, still moving his cock slowly in and out of me. He even made it sound like he had a cold-one of your all time great acting jobs.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After living with Gwen for a couple of months, I was getting into the swing of things, handling tricks right and left. We still let our social life come first, though, unlike many hookers who have to work for a pimp to support a heroin habit or something. We got to keep all we made, unless there was some new setup involving a tipster. Consequently, we got more time to do other things we wanted.
One night, Gwen went out for an all-nighter down at the Marina, and I didn't have anything booked. I got really bored sitting around the apartment, even after smoking a joint. In fact, it made it worse. There was nothing I wanted to see on TV, nothing I wanted to listen to. I felt like getting up and going somewhere.
Fuck, and just my luck, I thought to myself -I'd left the fucking car at the mechanic's. Well, I'd go for a walk. As I came down the hill towards the strip, a mad impulse hit me, and it felt so good, so wicked that I thought I'd go with it just to see what happened. I remembered when Gwen had told me about the times when she'd just go out and pick up a customer off the streets, hustle a complete stranger.
It was just a flash, but I was just in the right mood for it. Street hustlers don't usually get as much money, Gwen had often told me, but if you're good-looking you could get more than a twenty-dollar chippy could. That was part of the game, to see if you could make a willing score, and to see how much you could get. But money wasn't that important, I recalled as I thought of her night with the merchant seaman. Yet, no matter how much you might want to ball the guy, you had to score some bread for it. That was part of the game, and no self-respecting pro would give it away.
There would be dangers, I knew, thinking back about the rape as I neared the strip itself. But I wouldn't really have to worry about that, I was advertising. That usually scares the rape-boys off. Yet there were those creeps that preyed on hookers alone, just as groups of hookers would sometimes prey on unsuspecting Johns ... but that was mainly New York action.
She'd have to look, to feel, very confident to go out on the streets, Gwen had told her. I did my very best, my mind flashing on the other thing to look out for-Vice.
When it came to that, I'd just have to hope for the best. Gwen, having hustled the streets more in her earlier days, claimed to be able to spot them, and the proof was she never got busted. But she didn't work a street to death like some hookers, the really obvious ones in the wigs and false-eyelashes, the platforms and the mini's. Unless my luck was terribly bad, I shouldn't have too much trouble, I realized, passing The Whiskey and getting a blast of music.
It wouldn't be all that easy picking up a guy on the strip, I knew. Most of the streetwalking pros work the convention centers, the airport. Ever since the hippies, the strip is a different thing. And as much as you'd like to, I reminded myself, don't go out with some longhair no matter how good-looking he is. It's a good possibility that he's looking to rip you off to score dope or something.
I figured I'd have to head for one of the few remaining cocktail bars, where the music was piano and the customers wore ties. Not many left on the strip, I remembered, but this only made the challenge greater, and the rewards that much more gratifying. It was a pretty exciting trip to head out like this in search of something.
As I walked along, I spotted a couple of guys who looked likely, and gave them a big come-on look as I passed. But they didn't notice. I wasn't exactly dressed to advertise my wares, having not planned the tryst until after I'd left the apartment. I passed another rock point, and fought off the temptation to go in and listen to my kind of music, determined to get to the one cocktail lounge I knew of, ignoring the comments of some spaced-out-freaks, who took me for free pickings.
Shit, I wonder if they'll let me in, I began to worry. I was under-dressed for a hooker, for a straight for that matter, who'd want to get into a middle-class joint, but overdressed for the rock joints.
Then all of a sudden, after I crossed the street corner by the rent-a-car place, I practically bumped into this guy. I hadn't really seen him coming.
"Excuse me," he said, stopping to offer his humblest excuses.
"That's all right," I smiled, "I didn't see you coming either."
"Oh, I saw you coming," he smiled. "That was the problem. I got so hung up on looking at you, I just walked right into you. My true desire I guess."
"Would you like to see more?" I asked cockily.
"Would I?" he rushed out, then caught himself, realizing that I'd made a professional come-on. From his reaction, I could tell he wasn't the heat. The guy was just too obvious. So this is how you learned.
He tried to beat me out of it, but I told him to find it someplace else. He wasn't a bad-looking guy, but he probably didn't have a lot of bread. He had on a shirt and jeans ... but they were the expensive ones that are custom made. He was willing to go, moving down from car to metered car to bargain with me. We finally settled on forty, and I could see his relief. He didn't have a lot more to spend I figured.
"I'll get a cab," he said eagerly. "Know where there's a che-reasonable motel around here?"
I was right. He was so taken with me that he'd put up most everything he'd had on him, figuring on cabs and motels.
"Tell you what," I told him. "You drove such a hard bargain, I'll throw in the motel."
I led him arm-in-arm to my place and we got acquainted during the ten-minute walk. I don't remember much about him, what he did or anything, but I think his name was Jason ... that's what we'll call him anyway.
He turned out to be an average lay as I recall ... nothing outstanding. I don't remember if he made me come or not. After you see as many as I do, only the unusual ones stand out. The big thing about Jason was that it was my first time slumming, the first guy I'd pulled off the streets.
Gwen got a kick out of it, but felt that she should warn me about doing it. Now that we were doing it as a full-time thing, she thought we shouldn't do it too much, but that it was good experience for me. And you were lucky it wasn't vice, she went on in a motherly fashion, kissing me to sleep on the waterbed, and I told her that he was so easy to make that I would've bet my ass and a tit on it. Unfortunately, that wouldn't always be the case.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I've heard all those bullshit stories about how hookers aren't supposed to make it when they make it-you know, like the girl isn't supposed to be able to come when they're with a trick. Then they (whoever the authority might be) might go on and say that a hooker isn't able to make it with men at all, that they hate men so much they're really lesbians. What a bunch of crap! Despite all the troubles I've had with my folks, despite the fact that I enjoy sex with other girls, despite all the other neurosis I may display-the fact remains that I dig sex with men in a big way.
Of course, as I've said, I don't really consider myself to be a hooker in the strongest sense of the word. I'm still young, and I just can't see myself turning tricks when I'm fifty, not even when I'm thirty for that matter. I just happen to be a girl first, who just hap pens to turn tricks to pick up some extra money that's all.
Not all tricks I turn are that pleasant. I've never really tried to keep tabs, but I figure I make it about eighty, eighty-five percent of the time when I ball a trick. The reasons I don't make it all the time are varied. Maybe the guy's got a short fuse and makes it before I can get worked up. Or he might prefer a quick handjob or, and a lot of guys like this, a blowjob. I can get it off from just blowing a guy sometimes, but this isn't always the case.
But the things that really stand out in my memories as far as the times I have a turn-off instead of the desired turn-on concern guys who are unpleasant to me in some way, not the jackrabbits who come quick. Man, when you have to make it with this sort of scum, you really earn your way. Perhaps some of the low-price hookers who are really locked into it can't be blamed for not digging sex, as many of these girls get more customers from the pits from what I understand. A girl who works a book or even the streets can be more selective. Still, I've had a few real losers even so.
Probably the biggest loser I picked up didn't have anything to do with a sexual trip ... just intent. You see, the third or fourth time I went slumming, I went and did it-yes, I picked up a vice officer. Had taken him to a motel, had taken the money and POW-he flashes the badge on me.
I felt my stomach drop about ten feet, then put on a crying act for him that was actually pretty real. For I'd never been busted before. He didn't go for it, and sent for a black and white. I felt really embarrassed, and could just imagine big headlines going all the way back to Ohio: Ungrateful Kid Caught Hooking ... shit-kid. That would be a real hassle. This was a few months before my eighteenth birthday. They could turn me over to juvie ... get ahold of my mother. Shit I'd rather pay the fine.
After being booked, I lied about my age, but they caught it on my driver's license, they took me over to juvie. I remembered Steve, during that drive, and figured he'd be able to do something. They didn't believe me when I told them I'd already graduated and was on my own, just kept asking for my folk's number. After they failed to connect, I had them call Steve's number. Luckily, he was home, and came down to straighten things out before I'd gone through a strip search. They did mug me and print me though, as he told them to try me as an adult.
He covered the bail, and stood up for me in court.
For that, I threw some leg on him several night's running. He was a good customer of ours, and he'd come in handy too. Gwen really rode me about getting caught. Just my stupid luck coming around again, I tried to tell myself. I'd had a big scare, but it wasn't worth going into a depression over like I might have a couple of years back.
"Oh, I got the make on him alright," she would tease, mocking the words I'd used the first night about Jason.
It was decided that Gwen was a better judge of character than I.
So back to the regular folks who fall under the law. My weirdo trade. I've tried a few weird acts, but Gwen and I don't specialize in that. We'll do it as a favor, but if the scene is too heavy, we direct them to someone we know who handles the fruitcakes. Some of the real weird ones, the guys heavily into a sadomasochistic trip, say, can be dangerous, and it takes a woman who specializes in this to handle the trade. And that trade pays plenty. But I just can't get into sticking pins through a guy's nuts.
I feel sorry for these guys who've imprinted and can have sex only if a rigidly-followed routine is performed. A lot of them are really nice guys. They're just hung-up, that's all. Some of them are married, but afraid to tell their wives of their real desires for fear they would leave them. Still others get their only human contact from these ladies who specialize in the bizarre.
I've heard some pretty strong tales from this one girl, a big fat black chick (who gets her own jollies by putting her 'slaves' through their paces) Gwen bumped into. We send her most of our special requests. She's equipped her basement with furnishings befitting a dungeon: racks, chains, whips, leather footwear, paddles... you name it. And she's got this other room, a special bathroom really, all hooked up with enema hoses and things for the water sports crowd.
Like I say, Gwen and I don't go in for that sort of crap. But I've peed an guys, let one pee on me, let some worship my feet, fucked them in unusual ways. But since most of our tricks are screened out in advance, the real fetish boys are sent elsewhere. But there are different cases. Like a guy who can get it off the regular way may want to try something a little 'dirty' or kinky with a hooker on a given night. Guys who only add variety to their lives may try out a secret desire with a hooker that he wouldn't try on his wife or girlfriend. If it's not too far out, we'll probably go along with it..
The first guy that came onto me like that turned out to be the Rotarian guy, the first one I'd balled on my own. Well about the third time he was with me, he admitted to me that he would like to wear my panties during the early part of making out. He was too fat, so we pulled them over one leg and cheek. It worked out.
I checked with Gwen later, and she told me that had never happened with her before... not with that guy. She told me she did have one guy who liked to spank her once in awhile, and I strangely found myself interested. I'd seen her pink buttocks a couple of times after sessions with him, and had gotten curious, wondering why she didn't send him to our bizarre friend.
"Oh, Herm is harmless," she told me. "And he's not hung up on it real strong. Sometimes he just goes for a straight ball. And his spankings are more playful."
From talking to her, I'd gotten to know that spankings can sometimes be erratic rather than just a childhood punishment. I found myself interested in it though ... not the heavy stuff, the sadism crap. But the idea of submitting to a playful whack or two before making it, seemed exciting. If it didn't work out-fine, but I had to see.
So I told Gwen about it, and she said I could try out Herm if I wanted, but that we should give it a try too. I stripped down and went over her knee, while she spanked me lightly and scolded me like a naughty child.
"Will you ever go out with a Vice again?"
SMACK SMACK.
"Oh, no..." I pleaded in a mock little-girl voice, getting into the act.
She gave me a nice spanking, just enough to pinken my cheeks and make my bottom tingle. And it was a turn-on. After she turned me over and made up to me with her tongue, it was all worth it. So I decided to go through with a date with Herm. As it turned out, he'd asked about me a couple of times, and Gwen was going to check it out.
Nowadays, Gwen and I will sometimes engage in spanking to add spice to our lives, but not too often. Sometimes she's the one who gets the spanking, and it turns me on just as much to watch her fanny grow red under my slapping hand as it does for me to get it.
But we're not hung up on it. I'd say that I'm probably more turned-on by it than Gwen, but she goes along with it to please me, being accepting of many trips, as hookers must be. I won't say it's a turn-off for her, but I'm just saying that I might engage in it more often if I was a with someone who really dug it. Not heavy shit, mind you. Just light, playful bottom smackings.
But I only had a hint of what spanking could do to me sexually that time Herm came over for our first session together. Gwen was in the other room, entertaining a customer, so Herm and I just stayed in the livingroom. He finally asked me if she'd clued me into what he'd like to do.
"I mean, you're so young. It'll be like doing it to my daughter."
"Oh,, please, Daddy," I pleaded, falling into the role he'd accidentally suggested. "Don't spank me. Not on the bare butt. Oh, please!"
He smiled broadly, amazed that I'd fallen into the act so well. From spanking Gwen, I know that she doesn't really get into the role like I do. So Herm was really turned on when I got behind it so big.
I warned him, out of character to make sure he got the point, not to do it too hard, and he agreed. Before I knew what was happening, he had pulled down my panties and thrown me across his lap. I had dressed for the part, in a print dress with white knee socks and shoes, so it only made me look all the more the child. If seeing my bared buttocks, with the cleft full of hair spoiled his illusion, you could have fooled me.
Down came his hand, harder than Gwen's, again and again off my bare backside. It hurt a little, but not too much, and as I bounced across his lap, my feet banging on the sofa, I could feel the warmth spread from my ass, down to my guts. The pain faded into a delicious ache, aided by the fact that my pussy was grinding into his thigh.
"There, that should teach you," he admonished me after he stopped. It was a race to see who could get their clothes off fastest. He bent me over the couch and took me dog fashion, his heavy balls slapping against my flaming buttocks, making me finally collapse from coming so much.
He paid me an extra twenty over what he'd been paying Gwen. She was a little hurt, and made a snippy remark, an unusual thing for her to do. But I reassured her that I'd just gotten into the part more, as I obviously liked being spanked more. She smiled and got over her pique, but turned me over her knee and added a few more hard slaps to my still-sore butt, "Since you like it so much," before eating me to sleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I know lots of folks would call me crazy, but I really like the life I've been leading as a hooker. As I've said many times before, I don't really consider my vocation to be that of prostitute... by that I mean I don't plan to do it forever. And the way we are able to run our lives, Gwen and me, is so different from most hookers. We make plenty of good bread, but we still have lots of time to enjoy it while we're young.
Yes, we're still together, and digging every minute of it. We got to travel last year, the tabs being picked up by two different gentlemen; one who took us to Hawaii, and another who escorted us to Mexico. Next year, we'd like to do Europe for awhile, using our own bread this time so we can get a real vacation at our own pace. Money's no real object. We've both got plenty, and we're not really hung up on material things.
So sure, I'm a hooker, but I'm a lot of other things, I'm into doing lots of other things. I decided to enroll in night school at Edgar College last semester, taking a course in art. I guess I did it partly to appease the guilt I might feel for writing my mother about how well I'm coming along in school. Gwen, who also has an interest in art, joined the class too, and we both had a lot of fun, plus learning a lot.
I'm thinking about going back the next term, taking a couple of day classes, as most of our work is at night. We have a nice relaxed schedule, and rarely do we get it on with more than two men apiece in one night. Oh, it might happen like that sometimes, but we'll make up for it by taking the next day off. We don't make book very far in advance, and our regulars know it. If we're too busy one time, it doesn't seem to keep them from trying another. No more need for me to go out in the streets, if there had actually been one in the first place... financial I mean. It was only to satisfy my curiosity that I went, and meeting up with the vice took care of that.
We still have Steve, and another lawyer to boot, around so we can call if we get in a jam.
Even though he's remarried, he still gives us a call from time to time. We don't have to worry about calling him when in a jam- after all, we're the clients. Not that we've ever needed to, thank God. I don't think his wife knows that he's our client, but she's never met us ... hope we never do.
We run our place in a pretty clean manner, so I don't think we'll have any problems, unless my luck (usually bad) pops up again. Last year, I totalled my car. The good part is that I had only a couple of bumps on my legs. The old luck hasn't struck this year, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed, hoping I'm outgrowing it.
So whatever comes down, if it beats the life I'm leading, I'm liable to go for it. So far, though, nothing has come close to tempting me ... but who knows? Maybe I'll get hung up on some class at school and find a whole new field. Yet I can't picture being a librarian, for instance. Like where would I file this book? I know, in the circular file. Fuck off, white man. But the whole point is, I'm young and I should do things while I'm young and can enjoy them. I happen to be lucky enough to work at a job that gives me lots of time off, pays very well, and provides lots of opportunities for sexual enjoyment on the job. The only problem is that it's illegal... but so are lots of fun things. But I'd no more pack up and go to Nevada where it's legal than anything, unless I could run my own life like I do now, and I know Gwen feels the same way. If it meant having a pimp, or working a house-forget it.
Like yesterday I had a great time, mixing my own fun with pleasure. I went to the beach and worked on my tan, while Gwen slept in. I came back and kept an appointment with Herm, who switched the tables and let me spank him this time ... first time, but it may be the last. I don't think he went for it as much as he does when he dishes it out. But we made up for it with a nice screw.
Then Gwen came back from an early afternoon customer and shopping, so we could team up for Tex. Tex is one of our favorites, the son of a wealthy Texas oilman who goes to Edgar U. Seemed that Tex, was a virgin though, not knowing pussy from possum. He hooked up with us a few months ago, and he was so grateful for us breaking him in, he laid five-hundred each on us, not to mention fucking both of us senseless a couple of times.
He just can't get enough of us, and we feel likewise about his big cock and big bankroll.
We know that kid's going to find a girl who'll do it for free (or pretend to so she can get next to his money in a more socially-acceptable manner) and it'll be 'So long, Tex.' So we get him as often as we can. We noted yesterday, that he'd made a concession to Hollywood, wearing black bikini briefs under his western get-up, but we stripped those off real fast and gave him head. He likes to watch us make it in the bedroom while he rests up for his next hardon, then jumps aboard with a 'Yeeehahh!"
And then it was out to dinner at one of the nicest places this side of Indio. Indio? Oh, Blythe, I meant. And then to bed, rocked asleep, on the waterbed in my Gwen's loving arms. It might not be for just anybody, but it's the life I love, and I won't trade it unless something better comes along.
EPILOGUE
As Annette says: "It might not be for just anybody," but it's the best life for her, at least currently. Given her exposure, her upbringing, this is probably true. Most psychologists have ceased utilizing the Freudian process in favor of more pragmatic methods, the standard being, "It it feels good do it," an oversimplification, granted. But from a personal view, moral judgement aside, Annette seems to have taken to her own happy style of hooking quite well, especially considering the guilts and anxieties that had plagued her early formative years. There are traces of neurosis still evident in her makeup, but for the time being, she is function-ing well, to borrow another increment of measure popular in psychology today.
Now it is true that most people wouldn't consider it a successful upbringing if their daughter went into prostitution, but putting the onus of legality aside for the moment, one can see that the girl may be better off indeed, enjoying herself in this occupation, rather than wasting away, tormented by fears of the past. And for those who still don't feel that Annette has shown that much growth, one must remember that she is only nineteen, and has a lot in front of her.
But regardless of what lies in store for one girl in prostitution, the major factor to consider is a sociological one, for, indeed, most of the thousands of girls who practice prostitution are not so fortunate as Annette and Gwen, by their own admission. One recalls Annette's statement to the effect that she would abandon prostitution before going to work for a pimp, or in a brothel. The sad fact is, most girls involved in prostitution are recruited by a pimp, most of the girls 'turned out' at an early age. All too often, the girl turns to prostitution as means of escape from poverty, and all too often she is of a racial minority due to the simple fact that there are more impoverished Blacks, Puerto Ricans, Chicanos and so on. The girls are often enslaved by the pimp, forced to turn over the bulk of their money to him, subject to violence, inducted into the use of narcotics and so on. Tough.
