---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: 28 Oct 1996 02:14:19 GMT
From: "Ray N. Velez" <ii361@cleveland.Freenet.Edu>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Spare Change By Dafney Dewitt
"Love is not a potato. You can't throw it out the window."
-old Russian proverb
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Author's Note: This is a story about control. It shows
how men try to control women through their
fantasies, and how these fantasies can
distort men's view of the world. The intent
of this story is not erotic, but it does
have a strong sexual focus. Hopefully, it
will be thought provoking about the way men
view women.
_____________________________________________________________
Spare Change
by Dafney Cecil Dewitt - A Nasty Girl Story
Copyright [Copyright] (C) 1996
"Hi, spare change?"
"No, sorry. Not today," says Fuller not even looking down
in her direction.
"Wait, please wait" she begs.
Fuller hesitates and stops.
The other pedestrians flow around them.
"You can spit on me for a dollar," she offers.
Fuller stares at her speechless.
"I know you despise me."
For a minute, Fuller stops breathing. He is dressed in a
business suit standing at a busy downtown street corner
across from a park. He looks down at the panhandler. She is
dressed in old blue jeans and a man's faded, plaid, wool shirt.
She's thin with long brown hair. Her hair is parted in the
middle. Her face has a pale, innocent, almost angelic look.
In other circumstances, she could be a young college student,
an artist, or the daughter of a business associate. There is
nothing exceptional about her. Countless beggars like her
loiter around the downtown streets asking for spare change.
She is probably a drug addict, a homeless teenager, or a
prostitute. Maybe, she's one of those cocaine whores that
Fuller has read about in the X-Rated Men's magazines. The
other pedestrians flow around Fuller and the beggar girl,
as if they were rocks in the middle of a stream, oblivious
to their existence.
"You'll let me spit on you?"
"Only if you give me a dollar."
"Do you want me to spit on you?"
"You despise me, and for a dollar you can spit on me."
The girl says these last words with a conviction that
defies rebuttal. It is this last comment that causes
Fuller to stop breathing. It isn't the words. The words
are innocent. Spoken out loud on a street corner where
vulgar sexual profanities are frequently shouted. No, it
isn't the words. It is the implication.
For Fuller, the implication briefly suspends time while
his imagination runs wild with the possibilities.
He is repulsed by her offer, but attracted to the options.
If he can spit on her, what other bodily fluid exchanges
will she consider?
"Well mister, make up your mind."
Fuller considers carefully before responding.
"No thank you, but we might think of something else."
"Like what?" she quickly throws the problem back to him.
"Well, like a kiss."
"No, sorry, I don't kiss strangers."
Confused, Fuller shifts strategies.
"You're a tease," he counters.
"Maybe. Are you man enough to find out?"
"Are you old enough?"
"I'm old enough to know how."
"I'll bet you are," answers Fuller.
He looks at her more closely. She doesn't appear to
be wearing any bra beneath the plaid shirt.
"Take a picture, it lasts longer," the girl taunts him.
"I'll give you a dollar."
"OK, but no drooling. Just spitting once."
"No," says Fuller.
"You really do despise me, don't you?"
"No."
"OK, for $1.50 you can drool all over my face."
Fuller imagines doing something similar to drooling all over
her face, picturing the thick viscous fluid flow around her
mouth and drip off her chin. He imagines it dripping inside
her shirt onto her breasts.
"No," he answers.
"Forget it, cheapskate, if $1.50 is too high."
"It's not too high."
"Well, bite me!"
With an exaggerated shrug of exasperation the beggar girl
flips her long hair off to one side and looks him directly
in the eyes. Fuller responds.
"Two dollars, but you'll have to bend over to pick it up."
"That's all?"
"No, you need to undo the top two buttons on your shirt
first."
For the first time, the girl smiles.
"Now I get your game."
"But not here."
"Where?"
"Over by that park bench across the street."
As if they know each other, the girl and Fuller walk across
the street to the park. An old wino with a scruffy beard
sits on one end of the park bench. He's drinking out of a
wine bottle, poorly concealed in a paper bag.
On the benches across from Fuller are some young secretaries
eating brown bag lunches and enjoying the sun.
Fuller stops about ten feet from the park bench and starts
laying quarters down on the bricks, dropping eight of them
at intervals of one foot. He drops the last quarter
just two feet from the end of the bench. He sits down.
Fuller watches as the girl standing in front of him casts
her eyes down and unfastens the top two buttons of her plaid
shirt. She lifts her eyes to his before removing a third
button.
She flashes him a smile.
Fuller waits, feeling himself growing hard.
She gets down on her hands and knees, tosses her hair back
out of her face, and picks up the first two quarters.
The angle is wrong. Fuller can't quite see.
She crawls forward picking up the third and fourth coins.
Fuller smiles. Now he can see her. She's much fuller
then he guessed.
As she crawls closer, the view gets better.
Finally, Fuller has a full, unobstructed view of her
hanging breasts.
He is so engrossed in his fantasy that he blocks out the
wino sitting on the other end of the bench and even the
young secretaries eating lunch just 20 feet in front of
him. His whole world is focused on the girl, concentrated
on one part of her anatomy. He's getting his peep show
in broad daylight. He has no need to go to a porno store,
and put quarters into a slot. He's enjoying his peeping
in the fresh air, at noon time, with pedestrians walking
all around him.
The ripe jiggling breasts are crawling across the park
directly toward him.
As the girl reaches out to pick up the second to the
last of the coins, Fuller feels a familiar tingling in
his loins. He is fully excited, fully hard. He's so
hard, it would be impossible for him to stand up and
walk away from the park without it being obvious to
everyone that he is fully aroused. The bulge in his
pants would not go unnoticed. It would be painful to
walk.
Suddenly, the wino lurches off the park bench. He has
spotted the girl crawling toward the last quarter in
slow motion. Thinking the quarter belongs to whoever
grabs it, the wino lunges forward. The abrupt exertion
upsets his stomach, and vomit explodes out of his mouth
covering the coin.
Ashamed at his sudden illness, the wino staggers away
leaving the vomit covered quarter for the girl.
The girl remains frozen.
Fuller is repulsed, but unable to remove his eyes from
the scene unfolding in front of him. Gradually, the girl
raises her eyes from the pool of vile-smelling vomit to
look at Fuller. As their eyes meet, her face blossoms
into a mischievous smile. Lowering her eyes, she carefully
pushes aside the vomit, and extracts the last coin with
her left hand.
Raising her head, she looks directly into Fuller's eyes.
"My tongue is going to clean the vomit off this quarter."
"No," says Fuller with a look of sick disbelief.
"Yes," answers the girl on her knees.
"Don't do it," Fuller begs.
Without taking his eyes off her face, repulsed but engrossed,
Fuller watches as her right hand places the quarter in her
mouth.
"Yummy," she mumbles fishing the quarter around in her mouth
and pushing it out so Fuller can see it lying on her tongue.
Fuller wanted to debase the girl, and manipulate her, but
this is out-of-bounds. This is hard-core. This is beyond
X-Rated. Fuller has lost control.
His hardness shrivels away.
His fantasy is lost.
Fuller feels nauseated. Hot bile rises in his throat. With
a sour mouth, he turns toward the girl.
"Why did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Put the vomit-covered quarter in your mouth."
"I didn't," the girl said, spitting the quarter out into her
right hand.
"Don't lie. I saw you do it."
"No, you didn't."
"What do you mean?"
"You only saw what you wanted to see."
Smiling, the girl stands up and dumps the seven clean quarters
from her right hand into her front jeans pocket. She turns
her back on Fuller, flipping her long hair around, and walks
out of the park. Fuller watches until she disappears into the
other pedestrians.
As she walks away, the vomit-covered quarter is still tightly
clenched in her left hand
________________________________________________
This is another Nasty Girl Story.
_________________________________________________
If you liked this story look for other Nasty Girl Stories by
Dafney posted to Alt.Sex.Stories or Alt.Sex.Stories.Hetero:
Donna's Humiliation
Bad Touching
Ginsu Memories
Morning Kisses
Jazzercise
Bosnian Babes In Rapeland
Disrobing Mother - A Trilogy
A Long Walk
Just A Bad Day
Insurance Exam
A Call For Help
The Cobbler's Bench
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