Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 These are all ficionalizations of her excuses.  So, no further Trigger
Warnings if not necessary, to avoid any Spoilers.  Nothing too rough, it
starts out "Just a Fantasy..."

   ;

   Homecoming Queen (Teen Fant)

   "Huh!" I just bounced my calf on my knee.  Leaned back and put my elbows
up on the bleachers behind me.

   College campus, Athletic Complex, but if you squint, you could think it
was a high school.

   He's not a college guy!  In his pads, jersey, tight pants, and carrying
his helmet.  Like an antique armored warrior, or the modern equivalent. 
Running laps, back and forth after practice to work up a sweat.

   Fresh sweat, don't have to imagine the uniform, neither.  Friend of
mine, in high school, happens to be the same size, and you know, I never
realized it was all one peice.  Chearleader, like the underpants are built
in.  Convenient really, for taking them off, or just pulling them down to
pee, or whatever.

   The armor smells like old sweat.  Not even his, again a High School
friend.  He'll graduate this year, thinking a career in Photography, maybe
photojournalism, or you know.  Porn?  "Huh!"

   He's making me wait, of course.  Getting down, and sticking his butt up,
in those tight shorts, stretched over it, and pushing off, to lift his
shoulders.  Pump his arm, sprinting so hard, I can hear the slaps of his
sneakers ecchoing from the stands.  Next to the track, a little straight
one, like a drag race track with a pit for long jumping, but he didn't. 
Stomped up to a stop, swaying with all that weight.  Hugh on his shoulders
and taking off the helmet to wipe his forehead.

   "Huh!" Looking up, and seeing me there.  As if he wasn't showing off for
me.  Didn't see me, up here, watching the team practice.  The slap of their
armor together, and grunts.  Chasing the guy with the ball to pile onto
him, and crush him into the dirt.  Or letting him go to throw it down, do a
little dance in celebration, then lining back up, for the melee all over
again.

   "Hey," he's laughably bad at acting.  Nervous, now that he had some
confidence.  "Uh, you going to Homecoming?"

   "I don't know," I rolled my eyes, "Huh!  I get so many offers."

   "Yeah, everyone wants to go with you."

   "Yes, but none of those Boys seems to be willing to do what it takes, to
earn it."

   "Well, I would.  I would do anything, really."

   I crossed my legs again, the other way, and bounced my tenny.  Right in
front of him, from the high ground, so he has to look up at me.  Not my
skirt, draped over my demurely crossed thighs, but my foot.  My shin, and
calf flattened over my knee.  The nylon rubbing against itself, white but
stretched so thin you can see my cleanshaven legs, the tan through them,
and the material somewhere between smooth or rough.

   "Like what?"

   "I would worship at your feet." He kneeled, "Be your slave, do anything
you want, be at your beck and call, all night?"

   "Forever."

   "Okay."

   "Promise me, forever.  Slave.  Take off my shoe."

   Would that this was some sort of punishment.  Humiliation, or test of
his gentelmanly dedication, but this isn't my fantasy.  He loves my feet,
and legs, especially sheathed in this white nylon, and the old sock. 
Sweaty, so bad I had to crumble them up to put them on, and they almost
smelled like stale popcorn this morning.

   Found them behind my bed, no idea how long they'd been under there, but
now they felt damp, and soft.  Or this one, he rolled down my ankle like a
rubber in reverse, and slipped off my heel.  "Hhuh!" He's really into it,
but sits down on the lower bleacher seat.

   "Don't sit, Kneel.  On your knees, and you better rub it good." It's
okay, he's got knee pads, and shin gruards, but now he's not so out of
breath, and gasping deeper.  Sniffing my toes, and caressing my heel. 
Rubbing under my sole with his thumbs.

   "Nihim!  No tickling!" It's hard to keep in character, giggling like a
schoolgirl to cover a fart.  Instead of the Cheerleader Queen, popularity
bitch, rich and condescending.  Looking down her nose at freshmen, and
taking all the best guys at school.

   I don't know about you, but I didn't get anything out of high school. 
Grades, AB honor roll, but other than that.  Socially/ Boyfriends?  No, I
got a shitty library, to hide in, and run away with books.  So, this is
like a second chance for me.  To see what it's like, for the popular girls.
The chearleaders, and fashion queens.

   So, another nice thing about dating a Senior.  I get a chance to
remember, what it's like being 17 again, only this time without it sucking.


   "Mh, smoQ!"

   Well, maybe a little, wiggling my fresh painted toes in his lips,
through the nylon, the seem catching on my big toenail.  Sucking the sweat
off of them.

   "Oh!" god!  "Yeah, that's good." I dropped it.  On his leg.  Up so he
can turn the other one sideways, in front of the other bleacher seat. 
Bolted down to concrete, anybody watching us?  my boyfriend.  "But now my
other one hurts." I held it up, but with my other foot on his thigh. 
Rubbing up and down it, back and forth from the knee pad to the athletic
cup.

   He has to hold it up, I can't balance it on my knee, without putting my
foot down.  My damp panty hose, in the gritty concrete, probably with
spills from beer, and soda, maybe some gatorade, but "Huh!" He slipped it
off, and caught it.  Behind the ankle, and slipped the white nylon down. 
So It bunched loose from my wiggling toes, and he could stretch it between.
With his lips, sucking, and licking, and snuffling obscenely right here in
front of him.

   Honestly, I'm a closet exhibitionist.  I know, it's weird and
counter-intuitive, but I don't want attention.  I really hate it, and it
gives me panic attacks, but somehow that's a thrill.  To think about, ever
being that brave.  Brave enough to this, but.  "Huh!" Britney, or whatever.
That girl I'm playing, she's used to it.  All the stares, and boys leering.
Getting under the bleachers to try and look up my skirt.  The tight crotch
of the lining, panty shaped, but more coverage under my buns.

   "Huh, fuck.  Lets get out of here."

   "Where?"

   I used to go here.  I guess you could say I graduated, but.  "Come on,"
it's not like everyone knows this.  They don't ask, saw me here, on campus
the last few years, if they even bothered to look at me, and this is a High
School Chearleaders' uniform.  The "Tigers," but almost a Burnt Orange, is
what he calls it.  No stripes, except for the leaping striking snarling cat
on the logo in front, and on the sides of his helmet.

   The annoucer's booth is closed, but there's like this walkway.  Almost a
balcony going around to the door on the side.  You can't really see us, if
you bother to look, from the ground the alluminum slats mostly get in the
way.  I mean, I'm sure there's some shadow or whatever between them, but 50
feet in the air?

   You can't really see them, but enough of the fantasy.  That was plenty,
to get me randy as hell, so all I really need to think about is pulling the
rubber from my bra, and getting his jock strap off.

   "Huh!" the stale sweaty stink of old uniform, "Snh!" The plastic cup
like a mask, "Huh, snhhhh!" The ball smell, but with the crotch pulled out
of the way, I have to peel the prophylactic open carefully.  I don't even
want to think about this delay either, just get this skirt down, and squat.

   "Uh, fuck!" He rips the nylon crotches open roughly.  Desperately, and a
run splits down the inside of my thigh like a bolt of lightning.

   "Yeah," put his hands on me, "Push it up." My top, or the chearleaders'.
That's not attached, but my foot slips out of the skirt, so I move it up.
Next to his hip, kneeling like he had, tried to with the bleacher seat in
the way, but now I can feel him.  Grip him, aim him, and thrust my hips. 
Singing down to grind on the fabric stretched between his thighs.  His
thick black coarse curls, and his fingers squeezing my chest.

   "Uh, fuck, yeah!"

   I fucked him.  I fucked the hell out of him, then sat on his face when
he finished before me.

   Like the queen I am.

   ;

   {This is of course Fantasy.  Role play, why it's here.  However, I feel
that people's fantasies reflect their personalities, and inner desires. 
Things they hide from eachother, even their lovers.  So, it says something
about her, for example, if even when she's playing the "Innocent" role in a
classic exploitation scenario, she almost can't help but turn the tables,
and play the abuser.  Because she isn't, playing.  She is the abuser, so
Trigger Warnings.  She's subtle, but insidiously clever about it.}

   ;

   "Coach" (M"f" Sport Fant Teach...)

   I heard something in the locker room, so I went to check it out. 
Probably just some student, came to get something she forgot.  They're not
supposed to leave stuff here, that's why they have their own lockers in the
halls, but it could be vandals looking for something to steal.

   I caught her, red handed.  "What are you doing in here?" So to speak,
though the answer is obvious.  She was bent over the bench, in the middle.
Her hands up under her skirt.

   "Nh?" Grunting, she slid down to her knees, on the floor, and started
pulling up her underpants.  A cheerleader, in uniform.  "Well, huh!" She
panted, "What are you, doing in here?"

   "I work here?"

   "Yeahbut, this is the girl's room?"

   "I know, but I have to check on it, before I lock up."

   "Don't you remember me?" She pushed herself up, on the bench.

   "Should I?" Shake my head, "Actually," I should.  "Do you even go to
school here?" She looks a little too old.

   "I used to have you, coach." She winked, "I remember you.  Standing up
so strong, and commanding, with your whistle," she played with them on my
chest, "And stop watch?"

   "Look, young lady," I took her arm, "It's about time foryou to leave."

   "But I came her for yoou." She rubbed my arm, squeezed my bicep.  "Huh!
You remember health class?  Sex ed, teaching us about vaginas, and growing
breasts?" She rubbed herself, against me.  "I just wanted to make it up to
you," she pouted, up at me.  "Show you how much I appreciate, all you
taught me.  And missed being in your class." Pulled my shirt out to feel my
abs, rippling her fingers over them, and up to my ribs.  "HhH!" She
grinned, and shivered, a little, biting hir lip, and grinning.  "Now I'm
legal, and so horny, for you."

   "Huh!" while she was busy, kissing my chest, and turning to the side. 
With her mouth, on my nipple, her tongue slipping out to lap, and tickle
it. "Uh huh?"

   I guess, it would be, all right.  I mean, it's not like she is, my
student.  I would never, they're teenagers, I know they're in such a hurry
to get out of here, on with their adult lives, but we're here to teach
them, help them, not take advantage of them.  Why, I never even thought of
it, beyond the men who would.  Could come here, even the boys trying to
sneak looks when the doors were open, catch them changing, or fresh from
the shower.  I never would, I spend to much time worried about the men like
that, because they're out there, and they'd love nothing better than to
find a young horny teenager, and take advantage of her.

   Goalie, I suppose.  A lot like goaltending.  Unfortunately, on the other
side of the field, you don't get many opportunities to score.  On defense.

   "Oh, all right." I'll deal with the tresspassing later, but right now
she's pulling the bow in my waistband, the drawstring, over my athletic cup
holder.

   "Jock strap?" Right, that's what kids are calling it these days.  "Mmh!"

   Yes, I work in a gym.  There's balls bouncing around, so I wear a cup,
that's not even if one of them starts to fight, and tries to kick me in the
nuts.

   I can't help but think slut.  All right, I know kids, my students
especially, and for the life of me I can't remember her.  Her name, when
and where she might have sat in my class, it could have been years ago,
Juniors, and Seniors don't have physed.  So, at least 2, 3 years ago, if
she graduated.  But I've got 5 classes, per day, every year, and at least
25 students per class, so she could have been any of hundreds of girls,
I've had.  In my class, over the last couple year, and that's if this isn't
all some lie.  She had the Tigers uniform, home of the Tigers, but you
could get those, or she might have a friend, who still goes here.  Another
cheerleader.

   "Oh!" I patted her head, "God," what a good cocksucker.  "Huh!"

   "Mhm!" She nodded.

   Which one?  She'd have to be the same size, those uniforms are custom
made.  Fitted to their proportions, and yeah I looked at the cheerleaders.
1: That's my job, I teach them cheering, and 2: That's their job.  Why they
do all that chanting, clapping, and flipping around, for attention.  Is
that what this is?  Why she's doing this, for attention?  Ask me why a girl
wants to blow a guy, just a blowjob, or a handjob, with nothing in return.
Why, she was already fingering herself, I assume that's what she was doing,
under her skirt, when I came in, and found her.  but.
"Nh, huh!" I couldn't hold it back, but she stopped.  Pulled back to
just the pulsing head in her mouth, and gulped.  "Ngh glh guh!  Hah!"

Grinned up at me, and wiped her mouth.

   That can't be it.  Yeah, I heard about, and even read about cum hungry
sluts, but that can't be all there is.  To it, wanting semen enough to suck
a dick for it, but I always wondered.  What do girls get out of it?

   "You satisfied?"

   "Fuck no." She lay back on the bench, and slipped her underpants back
down to her knees.

   "Huh!" So, I shrugged, and got down between her legs.  I'm not, really
into, eating pussy.  It's all right, but kind of gross, and, I guess I felt
like I owed her.  For the blowjob, it's fair enough, and maybe I can get
her wet enough to finger her off, or something.

   She was already wet.

   "Slut?"

   "Oh, I wouldn't call you that."

   "Shut up, and eat me.  Huh!  Yeah, deeper.  I just called you a slut. 
God, you couldn't even help yourself, could you man?  Hihihnih!  Well, I
guess you did, to a blowjob, from a teenager, at work."

   "Look, now I don't have to."

   "Yes," she pulled my hair, "You do.  I said Eatit!  You think they're
going to believe you, because you're an adult?  The coach, you have tenure?
'She came onto me!  She said she was 18.' Hihihmn!" She shook my head, "Of
course not, it would be he said, she said, and you know as well as anyone
how that works.  So, you're not going to tell anyone, and you're going to
kiss my ass, real good so I don't tell on you."

   "Nhm," She pulled it hard, you know it probably is time to get a
haircut.

   "I'm not asking you, slut.  Kiss my ass, lick it out real good, I want
it clean enough to eat out of."

   "Nh, lnmh!"

   "Yeah, deeper.  Get it good 'n wet."

   ;

   Rachael {...Not that she's conscious, of all of it.  The psychological
aspects, because it's all in the transitory stage between conscious, and
subconscious.  She's working on it, doesn't even realize yet that it's the
transition from a Delusional Psychopath to an introspective, self aware
Sociopath.  It's all still mostly "Fantasies" at this point.  Also, TW:
NERD.}

   We stopped running, when we made it to the trees.  The real Coach,
actually really out of shape, kinda ironic.  Doncha think?

   "Uh," he panted, "Um," and grunted, cutely.  In drag, I can't help but
think about how the tank top, whistle, stopwatch, school ballcap, sweat
pants, and hightop basketaball shoes are more like drag to him, than the
padded water bra, inserts, tight panties, garter belt and stockings he'd
rather be wearing under it.  It's not a fantasy for him, any more.  Men's
underwear is uncomfortable.

   Not why I cut the lining out of the uniform.  At the bottom, where it
covers your privates under the skirt, because I'm not using it to shake my
pompoms, and root for the Team.  I fuck in it, and take pictures, for
profit.  It's a lot better for everyone involved if I can wear real
underwear under it.

   "Do you like it?"

   "Uh!" Try to sound like a creepy rapist, why don't you?  I hopped up,
and held his shoulders to kiss him.  "Pronoun game?"

   "Well?" He thought, "You know." I shook my head, blinked right in hs
face.  "Sucking dick?"

   I shrugged, hopped down, and kept walking.  He followed me, "I don't
know.  I guess?  It's all right." I nodded.

   "Well, what do you get out of it?"

   "Sucking you off?  Well, that wasn't so much about me as what Britney
wanted.  I'm more like Daria."

   "Yeahuh?"

   "Yeah.  So anyways, for her, I guess it was to get out of trouble, or."
I waved, "Whatever."

   "Oh.  Hoakey..." He scratched his head, "What about the jism?"

   "What about it?"

   "Well?  Uh, you know.  You like, the way it tastes?"

   "Not really," why I gulped it down so quick.  "Huh!  Again, Britney, not
me."

   "That's what I love about you." He grabbed my ass, "You could be
everybody, so like.  You do everybody.  I mean, act like them.  So like,
you know.  I never get bored with you, cuz ever time your likea, stranger.
So like, it's like, you know.  A first time, all over again."

   "Okay?" Shrug.  What did I get out of it?  I mean yeah, eaten out, and a
fingerbang, I bet it'll do all right on her BBS, but.  "Huh!" It's so
boring?

   "What?"

   "It's just.  You know, such a nice day?"

   "Yeah."

   I didn't even get off, but in defense, the coach did show up to play
Referee, but it was getting good and hot, and heavy there.  For a minit,
"Uh," but I can do better.  We can do better, I mean not just better then
the coach gets with the cheerleader letters, or the photos.  Spreads,
pictorals.  I mean, it's so obviously a set, and she's so obviously not
into it, and yeah, the money's real good, but "Really?"

   "What?"

   "Shutupaminit, I'm try'na think."

   "Oh," he takes my hand, "All right."

   It is a nice day, but.  No, Rachael, think about this, a minute.  I'm
close, I can almost feel it, but it's one of those 6th senses, you're not
really aware of, because they don't teach you that in high school, and I
wasted my college money on Journalism.  "Phft!" Yeah, that worked out!

   "Slut," shake my head.  "Huh, for one things, sluts are like.  Great.  I
mean, you know, you're a guy, right?  So like, Yeah, if you went out and
got laid, all the time.  Banging any chick you could, you get high fives
for it.  But if we do it, it's just such a sexist double standard, and it
doesn't add up mathematically either."

   "Uh huh?" Good listener.

   "So, if guys are supposed to have all the sex they can get, but if girls
do it, we're sluts, and whores, right?  So, how do all you guys get laid?
Fuck eachother?  No, that would be gay, and homosexuality is bad, Mmmkay?"

   "Hahaha!"

   Control.  It's not about sex, but I mean.  If the question is, why did I
write the fantasy that way, "Well?"

   "I love you."

   "You too." Just a quick kiss, it didn't distract me too long from
tracking the thought down, but "Huh!"

   They just turn so nice, when they get off, but really that's when
they're the most pliable.  That, and it just makes me horier, but "You
know, if he called the cops, they'll be looking for a teenager, and a woman
dressed as a cheerleader." I slapped his ass, "Go get the car."

   "All right, he ran off, with my panties in his pocket.  Puffing it out a
little, on that side, so I couldn't get a good grab, and grope, but as he
runs off, I can watch his other cheek, flex, and stretch, catch the ground,
and push behind him.  Throw him out, to take another step.

   "I love to watch him run." Look back, at the car, at me leaning up half
behind a tree, and peeking out, biting my lip.

   I mean, yeah.  "Come pick me up."

   He'd do anything for me, and I like it.  But, when he gets off, I can
get him to do Anything anything.  Like past his whole anal aversion, it's
homophobic, I know, but the kid grew up in Texas, and old habits die hard.

   "Well," I can hope.  I would be there, if it happened.  To mount him,
before he went soft, and the blood drained down to the bottom of his body.
"Huh!" I ran across as he pushed out the passenger side, and ducked in. 
"Drive."

   So, I guess I'm a dominatrix.  Got out a couple cigarettes, while the
lighter heated up.

   What does he get out of it, though?  I mean, he's obviously a bottom,
and cute little one, with all the running around I make him do to tighten
him up, and his thick thigh holding down the gas petal.  "Huh!" Yeah.  "I'm
a slut, but.  I always come back to you."

   "Why?"

   "Because you're beautiful, and you're not afraid to show it?" I told
him, all the times we had this conversation about how he could be so lucky.
"You're a catch, sure not what all the normal girls are dreaming about, but
just because they don't know better.  They're jealous.  Don't hate me
because I'm beautiful," I swaved back my hair, "Hate me cause my
boyfriend's hotter then you."

   I'm not, beautiful.  I accept that, what I'm proud of is being smart
enough that I don't have to be.

   "They don't know what there missing." I hugged his arm.  "You're not
every girl's fantasy, you're Mine." I thought, "You smoke too much." Made a
face, and shook my head, "And you should drink pineapple juice."

   "Why?"

   "It makes it taste better?  The jims, now I don't mind, but.  It might
be nice if it tasted better.  You know, like not so bitter, and maybe a
little sweeter."

   "All right," he shrugged, "I like pineapple juice."

   Yeah, there right.  It is about control.

   ;

   {Again, sorry it's taking so long, to shuffle these together into less
confusing order.  I'm experiencing technical difficulties, please stand
bi...}

   ;

   Jina

   "Oh," he stopped in the door.  "Uh," turned to his fiance, "Who's this?"

   "Oh, that's my roomate."

   "Ji Na." He shook my hand.

   "You didn't tell me you had a roomate." He shook it, still looking at
her.  Back at me, "A Japanese roomate."

   "Uh!' I rolled my eyes, "Korean?"

   "Sorry," he shook his head, and dropped my hand, "I ment no offense." So
polite, though, "I thought that was a Japanese uniform."

   "Oh," I pulled at the skirt, "Yeah." Right?  "It is, so.  Apology
accepted." I guess he's right, I'm not Japanese, but I was playing a Kogal,
so.  I guess it was an honest mistake, I'm just a little sensitive about
racism.  And he's Texan, I just forgot what kinda guy he is, if you know
what I mean.

   "You want to go get dressed?" It's just hard to imagine, and hot.  I've
seen pictures, and while I am a bit toward the gay end of the Kinsey scale,
there's something about, a guy in a dress.  A cocktail dress, padded bra,
and panties, stockings, and a garter belt, posing, and slipping the strap
off his broad tanned shoulder like a fashion model.

   Only not, like that, at all, because he doesn't look like one.  A model,
at all, and he's hispanic.  Or half hispanic, but in Texas that's basically
Mexican, and even here it's hard to see the white under the brown.  Like
me, and my mixed relatives.  In my family, we're supposed to keep our
culture, but I'm not the only one who embraced American culture. 
Especially the girls, especially the gay.  Ish girls, I guess.

   Queer.  Gay ish, like a guy, bending over to kick off his boots, and
slip the tight fishnets out of his bluejeans.  Picking up a bra, his 44 A
cup bra, padded water bra, and inserts for his brad flat pale chest.  For a
Mexican, or half Mexican, his face, arms, even around his neck tanned dark,
but almost white where the sun don't shine, and the farmer's tan across his
bicep.  2 tone, something a model would ever do.  It showed in the
photographs, the glaring 2-tone, exactly why fashion models don't have
Tanlines: They live in a fantasy world, where everyone looks like that, and
always has that bright perfect toothy smile, even smoking cigarettes, and
laughing under [Alive with Pleasure!] Nobody has tanlines, those would
distract attention from the Product.
"Huh!" If anything, he'd have bikini lines, if he actually went out, and

tanned in a bikini.

   "It's okay," she walked him back to the bedroom.  The "Kids' room," even
though she doesn't have kids, but the one with twin beds.  So, it could be
a kids room, a boy's room, girl's room, co-ed, dorm room, or whatever.  In
a 1 bedroom apartment, we could push the beds together, to "Sleep"
together, but she sleeps alone.  And snores, but it's better than the
couch. "She knows."

   "You told her?"

   "Uh!" I been talked about, in the third person, more than enough to get
sick of it.  "I asked her, about you.  When I saw the pictures."

   "You showed her my pictures?" He held up his teeshirt, over his chest,
and I had to cover up a laugh.  It was just such a girlish, modest gesture,
for a guy standing there in a stuffed bra, matching panties, and white
fishnet stockings.

   "For the site." I nodded.

   "What site?"

   "She's a network administrator.  She runs BBSes."

   "Whatzat?"

   "Bulliten Board Service," I butted in, "I'll handle this." She's like
that, while she can aknowledge when someone else should do the talking. 
Like the Network Administrator explaining what a BBS is to a high school
kid.  "It's like the internet, but I have a computer.  Come on, I'll show
you."

   I walked back to the desk.  In the corner of the living room, and typed
in my Password.

   "Zip me up?" I looked back at him, stopping in the doorway.  While she
zipped up the dress behind him.  He's pretty, for a guy I guess, but it's
just so weird.  And sexy, I don't know why, but somehow it makes his tall
skinny boney body look even manlier, more muscular, with a coctail dress
draped over it, and his sexy underwear.  I can see it, and I even saw his.
Penis, hard in the panties, in pictures anyway.

   "Huh, see?  I set up the Emag.  Like a Magazine, only all the files your
dad edited into stories, or whatever?  Yeah." Okay, his father knows. 
Obviously, his mom?  I don't know much about his mom, but from the way she
said what little she said about her, and then avoided the subject.  I do
believe she's afraid of her, and can't admit it.

   "Huh!" shake my head, "So anyway.  It's just like the mgazines at the
porn store, only we don't have to print, and distribute it.  Instead, they
can call in to the BBS, and download a copy."

   "Call in?"

   "Yeah, it's got a dedicated phone line." I finally broke open the MoDem,
and pulled the speaker out, carefully with a soldering iron.  Otherwise, it
would be screeching, and hissing 24/7, with as much traffic as we've been
getting, especially every time we add a new story.  The problem is, it has
to be new.  New models, new stories, and new scenes, or they don't bother,
when they already have like 5 stories about Chastey, and her Oriental
roomate, playing lesbo in the college dorm.  Even if I put on the Kogal
uniform, and she the Cheerleader outfit.  "Huh!"

   My old one, so I was a cheerleader.  It doesn't even fit her, but you
know.  I always imagined, getting with the other girls on the squad?  The
white girls, younger and prettier then her, and it's getting harder for her
to look like a teenager, no matter how much makeup she puts on.  It's her
tits, I love them, but they're obviously mture, and there's nothing wrong
with that.  Unless we're sneaking into a locker room to put on another high
school scene, which is as good a reason to keep the uniform on as to
preserve the fantasy for the camera.

   "So anyways," I shook my head, "I asked who he was.  You were, so she
told me you're hir fiancee.  That's all, it's not like.  You know, the
other way?  She didn't just blurt out that her boyfriend's a crossdresser.
You're the star, so she told me you fell in love, instead."

   "Oh."

   I let you my breath.  "Huh!" Relized I was holding it, and relaxed. 
They kissed behind me, and while I wa at it, I went through the Messages,
Usage Details, and checked the account.  Looks like the direct deposits
match the downloads anyway, so I don't have to track down who downloaded
what o bill them, and send a form letter warning them they will be banned
if they don't pay up, or try to do it again...

   I know, "Huh," sexy, right?  Let it go back to idyl, and turn the chair
around.

   "Let's go out."

   "Ooh, me too!"

   "Yeah?"

   "Yeah, I can't wait." I got up, "Honestly, I've been waiting to meet
you, so long, and really looking forward to doing a scene with you."

   "Me?" He looked around, "Why?"

   "Because," he's a porn star, "Your so sexy?"

   "Yeah?"

   "Yeah."

   "You don't mind?"

   Chastity, is so not jealous.  In fact, she hates jealousy, and blames it
for like, all the failed marriages out there.  Not like she's all that big
a fan of marriage neither, but that's her rant.  If you want to hear it,
ask her some time.

   "Smooch!  Huh.  No, actually." She let her hands slip down from his
shoulders.  "I've been looking forward to it too."

   "Why?"

   "Well, for one thing, it takes 3.  To do a shoot, either it's solo, PoV,
or someone has to take the pictures."

   He nodded.  "You're really more comfortable behind the scenes."

   "Well, now I have 2 porn stars, so it's about time you did a scene
together."

   "Try to hold back your enthusiasm." I rolled my eyes, and headded back
for the bedroom.

   "I got you something."

   "What?"

   "A uniform."

   "Another one?" The followed me back, while I untied the scarf, and
slipped it out from under the collar.  Not much of a change, really, but
there's Oriental Catholics.  I'm sure, just like there's a whole Korean
Baptist Church, the Christians went every where.  Missionaries, why there's
so many kinds of Christians.

   "Yeah." I pulled out mine.  "Catholic Schoolgirls." 3 of them.

   "Let me help you." she zipped down the dress, "Get this off."

   "Well, we can't use my school no more."

   "You got caught?"

   "The coach recognized me." He nodded.  Football player, so yeah.  He
probably would.

   "So, we'll have to think of somewhere else..."

   ; {Call it a prequel, but she had to start somewhere?  Yeah, well when
she was fresh outta college, and missing the schoolgirl slut lifestyle to
which she became accustomed, she got desperate, and fantasized prostituting
men.  Well, boys as she'd think about it, and ethnic minorities she can
exploit as well as teenagers, while not thinking about it...  Because it's
all the same to her, she doesn't care.  "Oh, I don't see race" is white
girl for I don't want to think about my covert Racism, because then I'd
have to take responsibility for it, and where's the fun in that?

   So anyway, it cums full circle.  You can start over with A Matter of
Courses if you so desire, or read about the sexploits of Cassandra in
\ParentDirectory/Ages/The Lollipop Principal.  Or Europe, and the
Archepalgos in \Parent Directory/Fantasy/Morion.  Same Non-Player,
different Characters, and only superficially different games...}

   ;

   Jerve' (FM IR Pros)

   I was just on the corner, starting on my first cup of coffee, talking to
the guys.  Like any day, there is not much work, more guys than jobs, but
if you don't go there, and wait, you don't get any.  We need the money, I
have a family, at home too, and times are tough.  It is not enough, day
labor, I could get more at one of the offices, but I do not have all the
papers they want.

   I am American, Mexican, but American.  I have a green card, but that is
not all they want for me to prove it at Manpower, Kelly, or even Labor
Ready.  These things take money too, which is better spent on my family. 
So, we stand behind the gas station, where we are welcome, and we wait, for
work.

   "You speek English?"

   "Yes," I say first, and walk up to her car.  The rest of the guys lined
up behind me, "How many, do you need?"

   "Just one, you'll do." I had to lean down, to see her in her expensive
German sedan.  Leather seats, money, or married to money, very nice gold
watch, like a bracelet instead of a jewel, but set off by stones in the
chain around her wrist.  She checked it, and pulled on the shift lever. 
"Well, get in."

   I took off my belt, and left it under my legs, careful not to scratch,
or scrape her seat with my tools, and closed the door.

   "What sort of work?"

   "Oh, I'm moving.  Well, I moved, but there's still some heavy furniture
out of place I need a little help with."

   "How long?"

   "Shouldn't be but a couple hours, is $50.00 all right?"

   "Yes," more would be better, but for a couple hours, I could head back,
and wait for more work.

   "Have you been drinking?"

   "No." I held up my thermos, "Is coffee." We pulled up to a light, so she
held down the break.  "Let me smell your breath."

   "Huh?"

   She just nodded, turned back to the light.  "Good, I saw your amigos,
with a case of buds." Green, so she drove out.

   "They are drunks," but my friends, "But they have to work." With steady
hands, "They have to drink, o get the shakes."

   "I understand, but I prefer you are sobor, for this." She winked.

   "It is far?"

   "Not that far, but.  Yes, I have an apartment.  It isn't downtown." Best
corner, were there is the most work, is downtown.  "You are from Mejico?"

   "Yes, La Pesca."

   "Where is that?"

   "The gulf coast, between Tampico, and Brownsville Texas."

   "Is that where you crossed over?"

   "The border?  No, we wen through Monterrey, and Laredo."

   "How long have you been here, in the states."

   "6 year." Nearly seven.

   "Your English is very good."

   "Oh, we speak English.  At home, es Spanish too, but we have Touristas,
on the golf coast, so close to Texas, and south padre island."

   "Oh."

   That, conversation, ended.  We did not talk, after that, until we were
there.  At her apartment, but not like an apartment Complex.  A building,
like the high rizes downtown, but not downtown.  Almost the suburbs.  "This
is, a hotel?" By the lobby, it looks like a hotel.

   "It was a hospital building.  Then the hospital moved, you know
Presbyterian, over by the highways?"

   "Yes, my nieces and nephew were born there."

   "Are you married?"

   "Divorced." Money, it is always money, here.

   "I never married.  I don't have the time, normally, but." The elevator
came.  "Huh!  Sometimes, I need a man around the house."

   The door closed, and I turned around.  Brought my tool belt, but just
held it, but she grabbed me, and felt mi culo.

   "Uh," I step back, against the wall, and hold my tools up.  "What is?"
In front of my, but she just put my hands down, with hers, and I could not
back away, any further.

   "Hhuh!" I turned away, so she only kissed my cheek.  "I'm sorry, I must
be getting, mixed signals."

   I nodded, and stepped around to the corner, but it felt tight, and
confining in there.  Alone, with her.  "Is okay." But I came to work, and I
do not know her.  American women, I do not know them.  Very well, they are
different, and she is rich.  She has money, but "I am not a whore."

   "Okay?" Finally the door open, and I have my tools on, "It's right down
here." She has her keys out.  Does no say anything, at the door, until I
follow her in, and she close it.  "I'm sorry.  I don't know what came over
me, but." She bit her lip, "I'm sorry.  I don't want to make you
uncomfortable."

   I look around, but is mostly boxes.  Half empty, everywhere, and the
furniture she mention, but covered with things, pull out of boxes.  None of
it looks to heavy for her to move her self, and it will not be easy, with
all those things piled on top of it.  "Okay," don't mention it, "This?" I
patted the couch.

   "Well, we can start there." I pick up a lamp, which is safe where it is,
but can roll, when we move it.  "Just put that, over there on the side
table."

   In the corner, by it self, so not on the side of anything, but I have to
move things to make a place for it.  Without it falling, it is like a vase,
only with a lamp in top instead of water and flower.  I plug it in the
outlet, while she dig in a box and unwrap the top of it.  "There," she
screw it on, but it is glass, and metal, like the windows at church, and
very fragile.

   "Oh." She does not stop.  This time, she touch my back, with her chest,
but is no accident.  "I like you," she clear the couch.  "Mexican
Americans. Push it back.  To the walls in the corner, and step aside, where
I can see it.  Yes, that will do.  Now, help me with this couch."

   I have work, in places that are loud, and dirty.  So full of smoke, or
dust we have to wear masks.  Even for the sewage company, before my Visa
expire, and I lose that job.  It is, one of these things, you put up with
for work.

   "I have racist friends, or co-workers, actually.  I wouldn't associate
with them otherwise, but I respect you.  Especially, they call you lazy,
but every Mexican American I know, or have worked with, you are all so
loyal, hard working, and make white Americans look lazy in comparison."

   "Yes?" In Mexico, we no have Sex Harassment.  That is a Mericon thing,
there a man desire a woman, let her know, and she let him know she
appreciate it.  How I met my wife, or ex wife, but she want the American
Dream.  She have that, mi employer.  Today.

   "Nh!  Thanks." She sit on the arm, as she did over there, and "Bring me
that box." Pointed.  On the coffee table, "And go ahead and pull the table
over her to." Put the box down on the couch.

   But, "Uh!?" I bump inot her.  Did no know she was there, behind me, to
bump into.

   "Oh!  Hehuhah!" She push me, mi culo, and get out of the way, but was no
on accident.  I would not have, had she not stood there, got in the way to
bump my culo.  And touch it again, pushing me back, but.

   "Huh!" I just turn around, and sit down.  "$200.00."

   "What?  That's exorbident.  $50.00."

   "You offor mi fifty for helping you move, no for sex."

   I am no whore, but she treat me like one.

   "Aheuhuaha!  Who said anything about sex?"

   "You do.  You no say it, but I know whores.  I am no whore, but if you
want to treat me as one.  Then I need more money."

   "I ment $50 more."

   I have heard.  There are women, like these.  Here, and in Mexico, who
like man whore.  Why there is man whore, and Putos.

   "One honred, fifty."

   "Deal." I am not Puto.  Homosexual, either.  I know, have friends, and
cousin.  Who is, but she is no man.  Ahe is woman, with money, and I need
the money.  Is worth a hundred, the fifty is worth the time, but $100.00
can go to my family, in Mexico.  Is a lot of money there.  "I just, need a
little atention.  Come here, take your tools off."

   I think I even hear of her.  Stories, the men talk.  Make up story, I
never believe in this one.  But you hear of men find work, and this.  A
little extra money, on the side.  I am no whore, but.  Is good money, and
she is.  Good looking, for a blanca.  Anglo woman, I prefer a good Mexico
woman.  Like she say, loyal, hard working, like me.  She is lazy, but
honest.  Americon white Americans are lazy, and call us lazy.

   Just close my eyes.

   "Yumwmwmwn!  Smp!  Hah!" I no even, do anything.  She do, she make me
feel.  Like a woman, this bother me.  I am a man, and man do this.  Whore
work, is work, man do to.  I am a whore, now, but is no it.

   She do, the man part.  Like a dance, she lead, and now.  I understand,
better.  Before, is no work.  Sex for money, is no hard, yes?

   "What's wrong, don't you like it?"

   "Yes." No.  Is work.  I no like work, but I work.  I must.  Is no easy
as you think.

   Try to think of something.  Sexy for her, to stand up for her.  Give her
what she want, so I can go.  Yes, nice loyal hard working Mexico woman. 
Not a money loving whore with a ring.  Me exo.  The whore, she may be
working now, stand on the corner, and wait to get pick up by a man, the
mens, like the whore she is.

   The whore I am now.

   "Mhn spb!"

   I do no know, why that work.  It does, I do, have it stand up for her,
and her pants down now.

   "Come here, stud."

   On the couch, still cover with her things, but she push the box off.  So
there is a place, on the end.  She lay back, pull her legs out, and drop
her pants.  Her underwear, and her smell.

   She smell strong, of sex.  I need that, yes I can stay up now.  "Snh!"
She smell like woman, any woman, here or there.  Sex.

   "Huh!  Get me wet." Pulling my face, her fingers in my hair, then my
head.  Down.

   I do this, for money.  I am a whore.  I am a whore!

   "Myum!"

   I do this for my wife, she already wet.  I do no need, my tongue, my
spit to make her wet.  But I am the whore, and she is my boss.  I have to
earn my money.

   I have not felt, this young, in sex, for a long time.  Is like, when I
first start, seeing women, and thinking about them.  Naked, kissing them,
hugging their breast, and sex.  The first time, always the best.  This is
the best.  Better than, the first time I am a whore.

   She make me a whore.  Her whore.  It is hard, at first.  But then, it no
feel like work.

   "Huh!" She push me off.

   "Is okay?"

   "Yeah, get on the table.  And hand me my purse." She take off her shirt,
and bra.  and dig around in her purse.

   I pull it, a la verga, for the sex.  She is, sexy now.  Pale, under the
clothes, verry white, but so I see, every line, every shadow in her body
better.  Yes, she is sexy.  I can do this, is no like work.

   I am a Whore!

   "Put this on."

   A condom, I do not like them, but I am her whore, and.  She have sex,
with whores.  Manwhore, Putos.  So, is good idea, and she have my money.

   "You're the boss.  Miss."

   "No names."

   "Okay."

   "Shut up and let me think."

   Just nod, I no need to do, anything.  She suck my, more to get it wet,
but quick, and spit.  Wipe it around with her hand, but then she stand up.

   "Over here," She turn, my legs.  On the corner, where the box was, but
there is, cloth, and blankets.  Winter blanket on top, so I put my head up.

   "Ah!" She just sit down.  "Whohoohuhu!" Shakes, and giggles.  Attencion!
Stand up proud, salute, where he belong.  Mi soldier, me verga, "Huh, uh
huh!"

   She is no, skinny white woman.  She has, some.  Not like a good Mexico
woman, but mi boss.  She shook it, good.  Enough for what he has, no her
fault, but enough.  To watc, and feel, bouncing flat, and flexing tight. 
"Ngh!" Gripping, and relaxing, "Huh!" slipping down tight, then let go,
push up to grip, and sink back down on me verga.  Me puto verga.  Whore
penis.

   I am a whore.  I wonder, does she.  No, if she is, the woman I hear
about.  The rich one, with the silver mercedes, that pick up worker for
sex. May be why she, maybe she likes Carne Espana?

   "Uh!" No?  "I am sorry."

   "Uhuh!  No." she get up, then down.  "Huh!  Hihn!" Just pant on the
floor, "Just let me catch my breath.  That was great."

   "You no." Some, white American woman.  I date, some like latinos, she
does.  But some hold their breath, and I no always feel when they do, even
without this.  Disgusting plastic thing.  "Ugh!" I hate them.

   "Go get cleaned up." She got up, on her knees, but pulled up her sweat
pants.

   "Show me the bathroom?" I hold mine up, there is a toilet, to throw the
semenfish out.  Also, they call us dirty.  Dirty Mexican, because I am
brown.  It is not us that fill the gulf with garbage.  The rio, del norte,
they call Grand.  It is no Juarez, is Elpaso that fill it with shit, and
piss, garbage, and chemical.  I will no swim in it, but they blame it on
ES. Estados, not US.  United States.  They blame us, because they are
dirty, and lazy, and theives.  They steal from the whole world, and borrow
too.  Build a fence, then a wall, and demand we pay for it.

   We no want your stinking wall.  Your stinking river, we take your jobs,
your work, you give away, then blame us for taking your jobs.  See how that
work?

   Ameica is liars.  Everyone, because you all grow up, believe in that
lie. Well, this is the truth: You are everything you call us, and we are
everything you are not.

   So, yes.  I will fuck your woman, and take your money.  May be, some
day, the taxes in Mexico will pay for your stupid wall, but don't hold your
breath.  Take a swim in your shit river, and hold your breath for that.

   I am your whore, but you can blame you for that as well.

   I just need to make a living.

   ;

   "Ivana." (FM IR Work/Pros.)

   "Huh!" When will men learn it's not about the finish line?  He fucks
like a racehorce, short, thick.  Nice big fat uncircumcized burritto dick,
but always in a rush to get there first.

   So, I'm satisified, for now.  I got what I needed out of the way, so we
can get on with work.  Next time, I'll throw in another bill, but only if
he takes his time.

   That's what it's about, for me.  What I'm paying him for, his time.  The
more time fucking, the more I get to enjoy it.

   He'll learn, but this stuff isn't moving itself in.

   "What Is your name?"

   "No names." Deal breaker.  "Huh!  Miss will do, if you have to call me
something, but you don't.  Have to call me, anything.  It's just the two of
us, I don't have a room mate, boyfriend, husband, or kids, I find it
simplifies my life."

   "Yes," he nods, "It would."

   "Would you like a break?" All cleaned up, "Is that your lunch?" Brown
bag, rolled up, and stuffed in his tool pouch.

   "Yes, but I am not hongrey.  You have more work to do?"

   "Yes," how about the bedroom, "This way." Upstairs, or more of a loft,
but that's the price to pay for the vaulted ceiling, which really opens it
up, and makes it fl larger, or sound larger with the echos of our voices. I
can entertain, once I move in, and clean up the place, he is a good worker.

   "You like, Whores?  Man whores, what is the word?"

   "Maricon?"

   "In Englace, and that is homosexual.  You mean Puto."

   "Help me with the dresser."

   "Where is?" He looks around.

   I decided, "In the corner, sideways, nh.  Yeah, back it up."

   "Like this." He sets it down.

   So, "Yeah," put my hip into the side, and scoot it over.  "Now, go
around the bed, and help me slide it over." Not really room for it, and the
side table up here.  And actually open the drawers, and walk around, get
dressed.

   "Hhn!  Yeah." Set it down.

   "You are strong."

   "For a woman?"

   "Well, for a.  Woman of money."

   "I didn't come from money, I worked hard, and I earn it." I nodded, "I
know what you think, about us rich bitches, but that's in general.  And
you'd be right, for most of us.  I'm just not most women."

   "Why you like.  Whores?"

   "Oh.  Giggalos," kinda changed the subject.

   "Yes." that's the word, en Englace.  "Why them?"

   "Well, like I said, I work hard.  To compete with men, it ain't easy
because they run things, and have all the money."

   "No.  not all themoney."

   "Huh!" Wasn't expecting he'd finish that sentence like that.

   "Well, finance is complicated, and boring to talk about, but in
economics the vast majority is enough.  As far as Wealth, and Power are
concerned, that's enough to be all of it, for practical purposes."

   "Like democracy."

   "Yeah, if you count a dollar as a vote, then the 90% in the hands of the
top 10% of wealth just outvote the 90% of people, with only a tenth the
amassed wealth.  So, for marketing, for instance you have Car Commercials,
on your novellas?

   "Well, I don't watch the stories, I'm out looking for work, by my famly
does."

   "Right, but you've had days off, been sick or injured, and got pulled in
by the aunts and cousins."

   "Pretty much."

   "Yeah, well how many mexican Americans come here to buy a Lexus?"

   "Not any I know."

   "Then why do they have Lexus commercials, in Spanish every commercial
break on Univision?  I know I watched them."

   "Novellas?"

   "Yeah, I got bored, there was nothing on, except that.  I don't know the
name, but.  They're actually pretty good.  More opera, less soap, I would
say."

   "So you like Latin culture?"

   "I don't know latin culture."

   "Is this why you.  Pick up latinos for sex?"

   "Oh, that.  I don't make a habit of it, the first time, I ever thought
of it.  But, Uh?" He's not going to let it go, "Why, I did it?" Jes?  "Huh?
I don't know.  It's not like I planned to." Or thought about it for days,
"I'm not used to having, all this spare time.  I'm on vacation, and I don't
know what to do with myself, but I had to move, and I had some time off, so
I took them."

   "Oh, okay."

   "Does that answer your question?"

   "No, but your the boss.  I just wonder.  You have, coffee?" He drained
his thermos.

   "Yeah, I'll go start a pot."

   "Is okay, just show me where it is, and I will go make some."

   "Okay, it's not unpacked yet, but should be the box in the corner of the
kitchen." Just stuffed the bag in the caraffe, and taped it up."

   "You have been here, days?"

   "Yeah, oh the coffee?  I don't need it, on my days off." It's be nice,
not having to get up, put on pants.  "Yeah, there."

   He pulled it out, unwrapped the chord, and plugged it in, before working
on the tape.  Didn't put it on.

   "You don't have to serve me." I shook my head.

   "No, but this is, for me.  I am not a guest, and I will no make you make
me coffee."

   "No, I get it.  That's great.  Thanks." Seeing as I hate getting men
coffee, "I'm just.  I don't know, I just don't want you to feel like that."

   "Like what?  I come to help you move, unpack your." He looked down, "Mr.
Coffee.  Thanks for letting me have a pot, so I don't have to go to the
corner.  Huhuh!" His hands shook.

   "Are you all right?"

   "Fine."

   "No, you're white." I took his hands, "God, you're freezing!  Here." I
turned the water on hot, "Just put them under here, and calm down.  What's
wrong?"

   "You make me.  A whore." I got a chair, he sat down, but didn't cry. 
Held back, I knew he wanted to, but he toughed it out.

   "I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

   "Wha," not sure if that was a why, or what?  "That sex for money is a
whore?"

   "No, of course not that, but that it could hurt you.  Like this, I
didn't intend to hurt your feelings, I just didn't know you're so
sensitive, to that."

   "Well, for your informacion, in Latin culture it is, not.  Huh!" He put
his head down.  "No," shook it, "Huh!  You right, I no.  I did not know. 
You could not have." She speaks so formaly when he's struggling, in
English. Says something, quite a lot in Spanish.

   "Is that a prayer?"

   "Jes, I am, no I waz a good Catholic.  Now I am a whore!"

   Now, he's crying, but with his head down, so I can't see it.

   "I'm sorry," I can't take this.  "Huh!  Have some coffe, see if that
makes you feel better."

   It's true, I know plenty of women who like to shame, and humiliate you,
but that was not my intent.  I never intended to hurt anyone, and I hate
myself for doing it when I do, it's just unavoidable.  Especially across
cultures, with a language barrier, and anything like sex becomes an issue.

   I thought, women do sex work, because we have to.  Some times, I never
did, so I never did.  I assumed that men do because they can.  You know
they get payed better for that too?  The one industry that by all rights
should be dominated by women, so of course the best payed and most famous
porn stars are dicks.  Bad enough that we have to go under the knife, get
baloons stuffed in our chests, shave everything, and keep in perfect shape,
Ron Jeremy.  That fat freak is the face, and spokes model for the entire
industry.

   So, I never actually run into this problem before.  Chalk it up to the
cultural difference, I've been to Mexico, hell he mentioned Tampico?  I've
been there.  Maybe a little Texas in there, I'm a Dallas girl, and hating
Mexicans is a family tradition since the Alamo.  Not me, don't have a
problem with it, obviously.  I mean, when we first met, and he bent down
over my window.  I checked my watch, and he checked out my watch, but it's
a nice watch.  It's fucking bling, I hate it honestly, but it's the only
one I got, because I have to wear something to work, because that's what
"Dress professional" means.  Not business casual, we don't have casual
fridays, dress for success, or fail.

   Only what they don't tell you is at 90% the pay of your male
counterparts, at least double the cost of the wardrobe, why do you think I
drive a Benz?  Do I like it, yeah it's a nice car, but I wouldn't have
bought it if it wasn't a work expense.

   "I'm sorry."

   "No, I'm sorry.  Huh!  I know I use men for sex, I should've warned you,
but I didn't think, I should have.  Warned you?"

   "Is okay.  You want to get back to work?"

   "Yeah, okay." Would've liked to take another stab at him, but all right.
He earned his money, and I'm not going to rape him, or blackmale him for
it. I'm not like that, I just get too horny to think about it.  A little
lucky I stopped to put a rubber on it.  Disgusting things, but it's like
the watch, the car.  The things I put up with to get what I want.

   I'll not bore you with the play-by-play of my moving process.  We're in
the living room, so we continued in there.

   "I don't like Latin men.  In particular, white, black latin, asian,
whatever.  Huh!  Honestly, I don't like men.  All that much.  I just need
them, sexually.  So, I saw you.  Not you, dear, you and your friends. 
Hihihn!  Can you take this upstairs?" Let me think, "On the bed is fine, or
the dresser will do.  Um, you think it would be better at the top of the
stairs?"

   "The dressor?" He called down, but didn't walk back to the railing.

   "Yeah, for dressing.  I just thought there I wouldn't have to go around
the bed." By the wall, sideways it wider, but still like a dead-end hall,
and I still haven't.  "Grab the mirror and take it up there too."

   "Yes miss."

   "Thanks." Um, "So yeah, anyway, hihihn!  I saw you, right by the
convenience store, and I thought.  Well, isn't that convenient?"

   "Hahah, yes.  It pays to advertize?"

   "Hahah!  Yeah." He's funny.  Too, and as I get to know him.  "You know,
you'd be a good friend."

   "I am, I have many friends."

   "Yes, but." I was thinking I need a man, and "I don't.  Know, anyone
like you.  I mean, plenty of latin men, and some I've even been with, but
not like you.  You are a good man."

   "Oh, thank you.  Miss?"

   "Yes?"

   "Is nothing."

   "No, go ahead." He came out, not to the banister, but looked at me. 
Through it, but we saw eachother.

   "Forgive me for saying, but I do not think.  You are."

   "What?"

   "A very good person."

   "Oh." I hadn't even thought.  "I'm sorry."

   He just shook his head, and walked back to the stairs.

   "Is okay, you done'know." The way he said it.

   "No," but I suppose, with my privilege.  "But I can empathize."

   "What is.  This, how you mean."

   "Empathy?  Well, it's the ability to put yourself, mentally in somebody
else's place.  As much as possible, I know, I have no idea what it's like
to be an immigrant, but the parts we have in common.  Like being servant
class.  For instance.  Take a break, I'm not paying by the hour here
anyway, but I think this is important.  For both of us to understand, but
that sex really cleared my head, so thanks for that.  Anyway, that out of
the way, I guess what I'm trying to say is that you and I are different,
but I feel that your plight being a Mexican male has as much in common with
my plight as an independent professional woman that we can Empathize.  I
don't know exactly how it is for you, nor would you fully understand my
world, but it feels the same.  I know how you feel, having to work harder,
for less, and fight for the right to be here, every day.  I imagine it
doesn't feel much different being called dirty spic than rich bitch."

   "You hate that as well."

   "Yes, exactly.  So, even though I have no idea what you go through, I
can still feel for you."

   "I like this, empathy."

   "Good, me too." It tells me I'm not a total psycho.

   "But the main reason I chose you instead of a moving company, or $500.00
an hour Giggalo is because you need it more.  The work, and the money."

   "Did you say, $five, hondered?" I nodded, "A hour."

   "Yes?"

   He laughed, "I went in the wrong business." He shook his head, and got
up.  With that, the break was over.  "Yes, I would like to be your friend."

   "Niheha?  Thought you said I was not a good person."

   "No, but I like you.  And your money."

   "Oh yeah!?"

   "Yes, and your culo."

   "What's that?"

   "You prefer the English word, your ass.  You have a good ass."

   "Hey now, nobody said you could talk to me like a boyfriend!"

   "Your friends, do not say you have a nice ass?"

   "Hihinihn!  No."

   "Well, you do."

   "Thanks!"

   "There is this.  Other thing.  Here, in American culture.  Friends with
benefits?"

   "It's not typically a payed position." I nodded.

   "I do no wando," again, how he said it, "Be a whore.  But I would like
to be your.  How you say giggalo?"

   "Mhm!" I actually clapped.  Excited.

   "Yes, I would like that."

   "Well, the price is negotiable, but." I want to go, splurge, spend some
money right now.

   "No, is okay.  You maybe." He stops, at the landing, and looked up,
"Want a freebie?"

   "Yeah."

   "This time, I will fuck you.  Like a man."

   "Okay," he forgot the rubbers, so I grabbed them.

   ;

   "Herve'," (MF Top/bot.  No BDSM.)

   She just bent over, on the bed.  The end, I had to go around for her to
un wrap one, put it on, and suck it wet, but she was wet enough.

   Behind her, I never really looked.  At them before, she said Rich Bitch
herself, not like she was calling me a Dirty Spic, but after we.  She
fucked me, the first time.  So I looked, and while it's not like, she isn't
hispanic, but it has it's own beauty, and I just had to look.

   "Uhn, huh!  Go slow."

   "Like this." I remember her ryhtm.  Before, it was an hour, but not 2
yet.

   "Mmh, more." She nodded, "Slow, but, pull out more."

   So, I gave her all of it.  She only went halfway before, but on top. 
The view is the same, "Ohh, huh!" But going slow, I can pull back, all the
way, without popping up.  "Harder, nh, fuck into me, HUH!  Yeah, and pull
out slow.  HIHN!" A little squeek, "Hardrh!" She turned, and lay down her
head the other way, so I pulled back for another thrust.  "Huh!  Harder."

   "Okay," yes, this is.  I am an attractive man, I do well with the
ladies, I must say she picked me not just because of my speedy reaction,
and good English.  I have done this, like this, and if you don't know how
to pleasure your woman, ask her.  She probably knows.

   "Huh huh faster, HUH!  Yeah faster, faster yeah uh!  Fas'huh yeah
neyeahneahneyah morefasterahuhuhuhuhuh!"

   "HHuhH!" I just held it in.

   "Don't stop."

   "HM!  Give me.  Just a second."

   "You didn't."

   "No, but.  HHh," I pulled out, slowly.  Not all the way, "Close."

   "Neah, save it, just, hhHh!" she sivvered, inside too.  "Fuck me some
more.  Slow, not too fast."

   I won't.  Stop, until she is satified.  I made that mistake, but I will
satisfy her.  This time, for one I am curious what it will take.  But I am
here, for a job, and I will do it.  Completely, thoroughly, I will come
back when she needs me again, but when I leave her, she will be satisfied.

   "HHh, hHh, hHh!"

   "Oh, god.  Your dick, god I love your big fat cock in me, meah!"

   She's a talker, but the money's good.

   You think I like standing out there, from 4:00 in the morning, because
the work crews start at 5:30, and they don't want to delay picking up extra
labor?

   It's not just a job, it's a good job.  And an interview, I want to come
back, steady work, and she has the money.  Not a boyfriend, not a husband,
she needs sex.  Willing to pay good money for it, and I'm thinking $100.00
a bang.  Every other hour so far, and that will be the day, but that is a
good day of work, and a good week worth of money.  Today.  This morning, is
it even lunch time yet?

   I'm not out in the sun, I don't have lawn mower spary all over my arms,
or drywall dust to shoot over my nose, I work up a good sweat, the benefits
includes sex, twice in one day, with a beautiful, powerful rich blanca out
of her mind with sex.

   "NHM?" She pushes back, hard against me, so I stop.  Feel the clenching,
rippling, even through the plastic thing, and bend over to hold her.  Pull
out a little, but feel her back with my chest, up her arms, and under her
shoulders.  'hhhhhh!' She relaxes.

   Slip my fingers under, sideways.  Yes, I have done this.  My wife, she
love this, even in the culo.  Her nipples, brush through my fingers, and
between them, I just cup them.  As lightly as I can, with our weights both
pressing down on them, but pull them out.  To flatten, bulge out she sides,
and leave them.  Feel my fingers, then fingertips, up and down the round
tight curve of her most womanly flesh, and sit up.  To sink in.

   "NGH!" Press in, as deep as I can go, to splash my children up inside
her.  Or this, raincoat.  I don't think about that, sinful thing.

   Yes?  Well, I am a whore now.  I have to dress for the job.

   I can go to hell with her, I know her soul was already there.

   {Author's note: In case you're wondering, the sex is not graphic, much
less Ultrasex (MSI) because 1: it's just sex, and 2: it's not really about
that, but 3: the characters aren't aware of their own motivations.  And I
may be a little burned out on writing Ultrasex(Faggot!) Also, Privilege. 
If you haven't all ready picked up on it.}

   ;

   Janet (FM NS Talk.  Sorry?)

   "Well," ah!  "Huh!  We did just about all I need you for right now, but.
Smq.  You want a ride home?"

   "For right now."

   "I have some decisions to make, and a lot of stuff to put away before we
need to move any furniture, but would you like to come back tomorrow?"

   "Yes, very much."

   "Go get my purse." I went down, and back to the bathroom.  Took off my
top, and dropped my bra on the stairs.  "Ohhhn!" God, that was just what I
needed.  Just how I needed it, and then.  After.  "Huh!  We up to two
fifty?" I nodded, "You earned it." That's what I call at least a 1 week
fuck.  I don't need it all the time, but, "How's fridays for you?" I sat
down, put my leg up, and stuck the wallet back in my purse on my knee. 
"You want more work?"

   "Yes, fridays are.  I have nothing, on friday nights.  I could go out,
usually to the bar, but.  I don't have to." He looked down, finished
counting the $20.00s, and floded them up.  "It is, a hondred for sex."

   "Yes," and that is a bargain!  Yes, the also work cheap, but I had
mentioned $500.00 an hour giggalos, and he didn't try to overcharge me. 
That's an expense I can afford, $100.00 a week, and not even every week.  3
times a month, I can skip a week when I have to, for my period.  "Huh! 
Pleasure doing business with you."

   He picked up his tools, "Yes, I would like that ride."

   "To the corner?"

   "No, if you would not mind taking me home?"

   "Of course not, I'd love to, why would you think I wouldn't?"

   "I do not know, but.  Like you say, 'no names', and."

   "Herve'." He looked up, "Is that right?" He nodded, "I'm Janet.  Nice to
meet you.  Hihimn!  Now that we got all that out of the way, you got
everything?" I picked up his thermos in the kitchen, and pushed down the
top before I tossed it to him.

   "Yes, this is it."

   "You feel all right?" Put my arm around him, "Nheauha, you're not going
into shock again, like last time."

   "No, I am fine.  That was just, a crisis of faith."

   "Christian?" I unlocked it, dropped my keys in my purse, closed the
screen door.  Why these condos have screen-door out front, as if I had a
decent porch, "Bad neighbohood?" THNK!  Pushbutton start.

   "Not really."

   "I mean for me to be seen in.  In a Mercedes," already took off my
watch. Don't need it, didn't even do my hair.  Just grabbed some clothes,
went out like this.  Like a slob, like a walmart-slob, in my PJs, and that
might explain why he thought I'd mind taking him home?

   "You should be fine.  You might not want to go there, and stick around.
Too long, but not because of your wealth.  It is not a ghetto, or a slum,
there are just many men.  Latin men, and you do not like, to be hit on?"

   See what I mean?  He's smart, most white guys don't pick up on these
things.  "No, that's all right," but it's not like I want to be raped, and
I don't have anyone to go with.

   No, not him.  I don't want a friend, a boyfriend or a husband, I'm more
worried about him having unprofessional feelings, but this is a business
deal.  I need a man, he needs money, and the best part about it is I can
just kick him out instead of fighting over the bed all night.  "Huh!  I
have no problem telling them to go fuck themselves, I never did.  I just
have a libido.  I wouldn't think that would be that tough a thing for men
to understand.  And I don't want to spend any more time on it than I have
too, the hondred bucks is still a lot less than the time is worth to me."

   "I do not.  Understand.  Yes, the libido part, but no, not the.  You are
impatient, you say go slow, and then you just want to get it over.  You
just say you done want to spend too much time on it."

   "Not sex, men.  Huh!  I love sex, and you, god you're an incredibly good
lover, you know that?"

   "Yes?" Not sure if that's a yes yes, or.  He says yes a lot, it doesn't
always mean yes, but doesn't matter.

   "Um," Shake my head, "I want to spend time having sex.  As long as
you're able, not all that fucking around before and after."

   "For, play?"

   "No, that's sex, I mean wining, and dining, dating, and sleeping
together, I just want to fuck, and enjoy that, and why is this such a
problem for people?  Not just your people, anyone?  What the fuck is wrong
with sex?  It's not sinful, it feels good, it's natural, and if God didn't
like it then why did he give us this instead of hermaphrodites, or, storks,
and, cabbage patches, and shit?"

   "Hahaha!  Your blasphemy is funny, but it is not our place to question
God."

   "Don't preach," I shook my finger, "Just don't.  I hate that."

   "Religion?"

   "Yeah, my uncle's a fucking decon, and one of his daughters joined the
cloister, you believe that?"

   "Haha, yes."

   "Well good." cause, "It's true.  I mean, like anyway.  It's like
homosexuals.  If god hates homosexuality, then why's he make gays to hate?"

   "well, that would be the adversary."

   "Hahahah!  You mean Satan?  Okay, yeah.  I'm sorry, they're your
beliefs, and you're entitled to them, but even if you believe the story,
they comitted genocide and enslaved people In Mexico.  That's why it's
Mexico.  Are you Spanish Mexican, or do you have some.  I don't know,
Native, Mexican?"

   "Yes, I have family from the tribe."

   "Okay, then if they believe in this all powerful benevolent god that's
everywhere, then whats with all the killing, rape and torture in His name?
Don't have sex, that's sinful.  But if they don't pray in My name you can
kill them?  You ask me, that's a pretty fuck up god."

   "Well, if you don't want to insult my beliefs, then mebe you could try
Not to insult my beliefs?"

   "Oh, sorry.  You're right, yeah you're right, I'm sorry."

   "You talk a lot, after sex."

   "Yeah, it helps me think."

   {Psych Notes: Yeah, in case you don't pick up on the pattern, she's a
Power Assertive Malignant Narcissist.  Specifically a Privileged Exploiter,
would be a Entitlement Rapist, if she was a man.  This just isn't
psychological fiction, I've known so many of them, threw them in a blender,
and tipped it over a glass to see what dripped out first.  They fascinate
me, especially the subtle covert females, which is why I write about it so
much.

   He is her victim.  Forced prostitution, but not like physical force. 
Brute force, that's easy to write.  This is a magicians force, "Pick a
card, any card," as long as you end up having sex for money at the end. 
She degraded him, pushed him down in the metaphorical muck to stand taller
on his back.  In denial about it, which is what all that woMansplaining was
about.  "I don't want to sound racist, but the glass ceiling makes up for
being white, and it's okay if the guys do it to me.  Get away with it..."

   I've talked a lot about child molester's excuses, but they're not the
only ones that make them.  There is nothing, absolutely nothing to stop her
from abusing children, she just chose ethnic minorities (Yes, plural) to
prop up her feeling of superiority.  Instead, and besides, you know child
abuse is wrong.  Too many people are completely oblivious to casual
anti-social abuse.  Sexual harassment, covert incest, systemic racism, rape
culture, economic and religious privilege.  Intellectual Privilege? 
Totally not a thing.  I'm smarter and better educated than you, so you can
just sit back and listen while I talk over you, kay?
   Of course not.  It just doesn't go without saying.}