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Bobbi's Story 6 One, Two, Three, Kick!
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
supposed to be girls." With that, she took off the robe, and tossed
it over the chair.
Wendy was as pretty in the nude as she was in her street clothes.
Her breasts were round and globular, her hips were narrow and se-
ductive, and the hair at her crotch was trimmed to just a vertical
bar, so it would not show in a bikini panty. She stood still to let
me look her over, and said, "Well, what do you think? I wanted to
return the favor you did me before by showing me your cock. Ray
wants to do a series of nudes of you and a real-girl, and I got him to
let me do the real-girl part. I'm no stranger to porno. I don't look
as good as you in front of a lens, so I don't get to do fashion. I like
what I did today, but I like to model too. The only way I get to do
any modeling is naked." There was just the merest hit of a tear in
her eye as she spoke.
"I'd be honored to pose with you," I said. I knew that my words
could do little to relieve the pain she was feeling. Wendy wanted to
be a fashion model very badly, but she was not quite fashion model
caliber. Almost anyone could be a model of some sort, but a fashion
model is the elite. It is not just beauty. The qualifications go far
beyond that. There is also a certain style in the way a fashion model
moves and carries herself. Some of it can be learned, but most of it
seems almost inborn or instinctive.
Wendy lacked these qualities. She did the cheesecake and pornog-
raphy because that was what she could get offers to do. Most of what
she did was with Ray behind the lens. They were also lovers off the
set, but did not live together. Ray was too into "doing his own thing"
for that.
"That's all right, Bobbi," Wendy said as we went back to our
dressing. "I'm content with what I do. Oh, I would rather be doing
other things, but I'm happy here. Look, why don't you come over
to my place on Thursday night, and I'll do that henna rinse for you.
We girlfriends should see each other off the set too." I readily agreed,
and Wendy offered to do my make-up before we left. "When you get
to be a big star," she said as she worked, "maybe you'll hire me as
your personal cosmetician." It was a joke, but it was also a pretty
good idea. Now all I had to do was figure out how I was going to go
about becoming a big star.
It did not take long before Wendy and I were ready to leave. She
looked different in a dress somehow. All day she had been working
in jeans and an old blouse, but I guess those were her work clothes.
The dress she wore was nothing fancy, but she wore it well. There
was still a lot of "model" in her even if she did not do fashion work.
"Got anything special planned for tonight?," she asked as we left the
dressing room. "No," I replied. "I might stop by the local bar for
a drink, but I'll probably just go home." Wendy took my hands in
her's, and moved her face close to mine in the sort of mock kiss that
women do as a greeting. "Well," she said, "if you've got nothing else
to do, call me, and we'll chat some more. You're fun as a friend. If
I don't hear from you, have a good time!"
I returned her pleasantries, and she went up the stairs to Ray's
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office. I left the studio, and started for home. All of what I wanted
in life was starting to fall into place. I was taking dance lessons, I
had a part-time job as a model, I had some good friends, I had a nice
boyfriend in Peter, I had a mother to lean on in Edith, and I had
found a doctor to help me become all the woman I could be. What
was it then, that felt like something holding me back? I needed one
more thing to happen to push me over that obstacle. I was soon to
be pushed.
By the time I got home it was almost six o'clock. I had walked
home, so that I could think about what was going on in my life.
Margo was getting dressed when I got in. She was going to "The
Gilded Grape" as usual, and asked if I was going along. That night I
really felt like going for two very important reasons. Firstly, I wanted
the normally festive atmosphere of the bar around me. I had just
become a model of a sort, so I think I was entitled to celebrate a
little. Secondly, I needed some money. I had to pay for my hormone
shot on Wednesday, and get through the rest of the week, but I did
not have enough money to do it. Two tricks should resolve that
problem. I did not like turning tricks for cash, but prostitution was
always a quick and easy way of making ends meet if you knew how
to do it, and Margo had taught me well.
"Would you mind if Carol spent a couple of days here?," asked
Margo as we dressed. "You mean a couple of nights in your bed,
don't you?," I said with a giggle. "Whatever," replied Margo with
some annoyance in her voice. "She'll sleep in my room with me," she
continued, "and you won't know we're here. We want to spend some
time together, and she's getting a lot of hassles from her Landlord."
I had suspected that Margo and Carol were lovers for a while.
The fact did not bother me, but Carol did. I did not like her at
all. It was, however, really Margo's apartment, so she could do what
she liked here. At least she had told me by way of "asking" me if
I minded rather than just "telling" me Carol was coming. "No," I
said. "I don't mind at all. Are you ready to leave yet?"
"The Gilded Grape" was never a hotbed of activity on a Monday
night, but there were a few people around when we got there. This
was Emma's night off, so Margo went to the front bar to talk to Edie.
I did not see anyone I knew very well, so I just went to the bar at the
back of the place. Margo did not complain that I did not sit with
her. She knew why I was here, and the back bar was a better place
for hustling tricks. I ordered a drink, and waited.
It did not take long for someone to notice me. He was dressed very
casually, but was good looking enough. He started by just staring
at me until I turned to him, and said, "Hello." We talked about
nothing in particular, and finally I got the subject around to sex.
That started slowly until he bluntly whispered, "I'll give you twenty
dollars for a hand-job in the toilet." This was not what I normally
did, but the price was better that normal for a hand-job. I leaned
over to him, and whispered, "If you can get into the last stall in the
Ladies Room, I'll do you there." He agreed, and made his way to the
appointed spot.
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I waited a few minutes so as not to arouse suspicion, and went in
after him. The room was deserted when I got there, so I went to the
last stall, and tapped on the door. It opened, and there he sat on
top of the toilet tank with his feet on the rim of the bowl. He had
taken off his pants, and was naked from the waist down. I stepped
into the stall with him, and latched the door behind me. "I've never
gotten jerked off in a Ladies Room before," he said with a slightly
insane sounding giggle.
I was not enjoying this already, so I said, "Let's do business first."
He looked puzzled, and said, "Huh?" This was going to be neither
fun nor easy. "Pay me now, and then I'll do your dick!," I said with
some exasperation in my voice. "Oh!," he said, and handed me a
crumpled wad of paper that turned out to be a ten and two fives.
"Fine," I said. "Now let me get to work."
The Ladies Room at "The Gilded Grape" never smelled like a
flower garden, but there was a new odor now. It did not take long to
realize that the source of the smell was my trick! I do not think he
bathed at all. These were the "Hippie Years", and that was part of
being hip to some people. When I gripped his cock, it felt all sweaty
and slimy. I pumped my hand up and down it, and was very pleased
that I did not have to put it in my mouth to give him a blow-job.
His cock was hard, but not straight. It sort of twisted to the left,
and bent upwards in the middle. I pumped it for all I was worth to
get this over with, and get away from the ugly and smelly thing.
It only took me a few minutes to make him cum, but he seemed
to delight in watching himself shoot. He also liked the way the cum
that did not drop into the toilet ran over my hand. When he was
finished cumming, he took my hand, and licked it clean. I told him to
stay in the stall for ten minutes while I left. I got out quick, washed
my hands, and went back to the bar. He did not come out for half
an hour. I do not want to know what else he might have been doing
in there!
Soon, another man sat on the stool next to mine at the bar. He
was casually dressed, but not a Hippie type like the other one. His
build ran to the heavy side, almost fat. He wore glasses, and although
he was not exactly handsome, he was not bad looking. I looked over
at him. He looked back, so I said, "Care to buy a woman a drink?"
He smiled nicely, and answered, "Sure. I've seen you here before,
but I've never had the chance to talk to you. You're very pretty."
I sipped my drink. "Oh?," I said. "Then you like pretty girls like
me?" "Very much," he answered. "Would you like to go somewhere,
and get to know me better?," I asked. "How much?," he replied. He
knew the procedure.
We got up from the bar, and he followed me outside. I took him
to The Alva Hotel where most of the girls went with their tricks.
He checked us in as just another of the vast list of "Mr & Mrs John
Smiths" that filled their register, and we went to our room. As soon
as we were inside, he produced his wallet, and handed me two tens
and a five. "What do you want to do?," I asked. "Whatever you
like to do most," he replied. I thought for a moment. I liked to get
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fucked, but a blow-job would be quicker. "I'd like to suck you off," I
said. "Okay," he answered, and started taking off his pants. When
he was naked from the waist down, I tool him into the bathroom,
and washed his cock. I am not fond of the taste of sweat.
He left the bathroom, and went straight for the bed. He lay on his
back, and waited for me to get to work. I never really liked turning
tricks, but I do like giving a man a good time. This goes for either
lovers or tricks. This trick would be no exception, and besides, if he
liked what he got tonight, he might be back again. Even a prostitute
has to think of he marketing.
I slowly slipped out of my clothes until I wore only my bra,
panties, garter-belt, stockings, and heels. I posed for him that way for
a few minutes in all the sexy ways I could think of, and he responded
with a broad smile, and lots of words of compliment and encourage-
ment. Then I got onto the bed between his legs, and kissed his cock
right on the tip. It jumped and twitched at this, and I started licking
it all over. After a moment of me licking his cock, he lifted his thigh
to nudge me up, and asked, "Could we fuck instead?"
He was just so sweet about everything, that I agreed. I liked
getting fucked better anyway. I got up, got a tube of Vaseline from
my purse, and gave it to him, saying, "Get yourself lubricated while
I get ready for you." While he squeezed some jelly on the head of his
cock, I unhooked my garters, and removed my panties. Then I put
some lubricant on my ass, and got beck into bed with him. He pulled
me onto my right side with him behind me. His right arm was under
me, and pulled me back against him. His left arm reached down,
and positioned his hard cock against my anal opening. He thrust his
loins forward, and I pushed my ass back burying his meat in me. I
let out a little gasp when he entered me. He felt bigger back there
than I had expected him to be.
His left arm now came over the top of me, and both arms gripped
tightly in a bear-hug. His right hand found its way under my bra
to pinch and tickle one of my nipples while his left hand groped for
my little penis, and having found it, gripped it to sort of jerk me off
while we fucked. The thrusting of his cock was not hard and violent,
but slow and pulsing. In his arms as I was, I felt as if I was wrapped
in some sort of a machine of total sexual stimulation. I might not like
turning tricks in general, but I was enjoying this one. Every nerve
center of sexual energy that I had was being given attention in some
way. I could have rocked like that in his arms for hours. I hoped he
certainly would be a repeat customer.
We rocked back and forth in that embrace for some time. Nor-
mally, I would work to get things finished quickly, but his cock felt
just so good in my ass the way it was, and the stimulation my own
little penis was getting from his left hand was so exciting that I just
let him ride me for as long as he liked. Then, at last, the climax
started, and I felt his cock throb in my ass as he shot his sperm up
into my bowels. His hand pumped harder now on my little penis,
and was rewarded when my own cum spilled out onto the bedsheets.
I was panting hard, gasping for breath, and I felt his hot breath
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against the back of my neck as he did the same. We lay there for
a little while with his cock still oozing semen into my ass, and my
little penis dripping on the bed until it was time to go.
We both got up, and I invited him back into the bathroom where I
cleaned us both up. He might have paid for the trick, but I had gotten
something out of it too. It was one way I could repay him. "What's
your name?," he asked as we got dressed. "Bobbi," I replied pulling
my dress over my head. "That's a nice name," he said. "Mine's Bob.
I hope I'll see you again." I smiled thinking of how good his cock had
felt in my ass. "Oh, I'm sure you will," I said. "Are you going back
to the bar?" "No," he said, "I'm going home." "Well," I said, "then
maybe I'll see you next week," and kissed him. He kissed back, but
did not take me in his arms. I do not think he realized he could have
if he wanted to.
We left the hotel together, and parted company at the corner. I
watched him walk away before I headed back to "The Gilded Grape"
again. I did not have any regular tricks of my own, but I hoped Bob
would be one. I just liked the way he fucked.
Patty was sitting at the back bar of "The Gilded Grape" when I
got there. She gave me an evil smile, and said, "My, but aren't we
the proper little whore tonight, girlfriend. Two tricks already, and
it's not even nine o'clock yet." I was shocked! "How did you know?!,"
I asked. "You know there are no secrets in here," Patty said with
the same evil grin. "Margo told Edie that you went to the back to
turn tricks, and Edie's been watching what you've been up to. She
told me you went to the hotel with some fat guy, so I came back here
to wait for you." Patty lit a cigarette, and added, "You can take all
the johns you want to the hotel, but don't do anymore tricks in the
Ladies Room, or you'll get yourself eighty-sixed from here. Gerry,
the owner, could lose his licence for letting that sort of thing go on.
It's okay this time, but don't do it again! Emma will eighty-six you
for sure if she finds out."
I composed myself. It was just not worth getting angry over.
Drag queens are notorious gossips, so the story would be all over the
place soon enough. There was nothing I could do about it no matter
how much I disliked it, but this was not how a real woman should
have to live. I was growing to hate this bar, and the life that went
on around it. I had to find a way to start living as a real woman.
"What brings you here tonight?," I asked. "Oh," said Patty, "the
same as you. I've been working the street outside, and I just came
in for a drink." "Outside on the street?," I said quizzically. "You
mean with all the real-girl hookers?" Patty laughed, and said, "Not
exactly. The real-girls work all of 8th Avenue. We work the west
side of 8th Avenue from 46th to 45th Street, and the north side of
45th Street between 8th and 9th Avenues. The johns all know it, so
just make sure he gives some sign that he knows you've got a dick,
and watch out for cops. The law's the same now for both boys and
girls. If you get arrested, you go to jail at least overnight, and there's
a hundred dollar fine."
"What'd you mean about the law being the same for boys and
126____Bobbi's_Story__________________________________________________________
girls now?," I asked. "It used to be different," Patty replied. "The
law on prostitution used to be used to be specific to women, so
technically a man could not be a prostitute, and the worst they could
bust you on was loitering, but they changed that now. You can be
as much a prostitute in the eyes of the law as a real-girl now. Ain't
equality grand?" We both laughed. This was one step on my way
to becoming all the woman I could be that at least did not require
surgery.
"I'm going to try one on the street," I said to Patty. I had always
been fascinated by the hookers, and fantasized about joining them.
Now was the time. "Easy now," Patty said. "I've been doing this
for a while, and you've only done it in this bar. Gerry, the owner,
pays off the cops to leave us alone in here. Outside of this bar you're
on your own. You have to be careful out there." I was determined.
"I still want to try it," I said. "Okay," said Patty, "I can't stop you.
Stick to where I told you to, and watch out for cops. Their out in
both uniforms and plain clothes tonight!" "I will," I said, and got up
to leave.
In a moment, I was out on the street. There were a couple of other
"girls" that I knew from the bar out there too, so I felt reasonably
safe. I started off by walking slowly and seductively up 8th Avenue
to 46th street, then back down to 45th Street, and around the corner
to where the back door to "The Gilded Grape" was. A number of
potential johns looked me over, but none stopped. Then I heard on
of the other girls say, "D'ya wan'a date?," to a john, and he stopped
to talk to her. That must be the code phrase. I guessed I should try
it too.
I also noticed that the girls only walked the street enough so
as not to be picked up for loitering. The johns were left to come to
them. The doorway in front of the beauty supplies store next to "The
Gilded Grape" was vacant, so I settled in there to wait for someone
to notice me. I soon knew why most of the street girls smoked. It
was boring just standing there, and I wished I had a cigarette just
for something to do.
Then I saw a guy looking at me. He was tall, and well built with
curly black hair that made him look very Italian. His face was rugged
and handsome. He walked by the doorway very close to me, and gave
me a look as he passed. A few steps later, he stopped, turned, and
came back again. As he passed me this time, I said, "Do you want a
date?"
He stopped, and looked me over. "What?," he asked. I said, "Do
you want a date?" "What sort of date?," he asked. I was not sure
what was going on, so I said, "Would you like to go to the hotel with
me? It'll only cost you twenty-five for me, and ten for the room."
He looked very seriously at me, and said, "You are asking me to pay
you twenty-five dollars, so that we can go to the hotel where you
will have sex with me. Is that correct?" I did not understand why
he was asking me that way, but I replied, "Yes," and waited for his
response. His response was to reach into his pocket, and pull out his
wallet. This flipped open, so that he could hold up his policeman's
_Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________127__
badge!
I wanted to run, but my feet were riveted to the pavement. "You
have solicited me for the purpose of prostitution," he said in a cop's
monotone voice. "I therefore place you under arrest in the name
of the City of New York." He took one of my wrists, and pulled
it behind me. I heard the click of his handcuffs as they snapped
around that wrist, and then the same on my other wrist. With my
arms handcuffed behind me, he walked me to the north side of 46th
Street where a police van waited. I soon joined four other prostitutes
inside. The shove my life had needed had come. I was arrested!
I could not believe what had just happened. The van was dark
inside, but I could make out the faces of my companions enough to
know that I had never seen them in "The Gilded Grape" before.
They must all have been real-girls.
The van smelled like a urinal that someone had been trying to
disinfect, and the seats were just plain wooden boards. Two of the
girls were talking about how they were going to be out of jail as
soon as they called their pimp, and swapping stories about the johns
that had fucked them that night. A tall blonde with huge breasts
sat in silence in one corner, and seemed almost to be napping. The
fourth girl was bent over, and sobbing piteously. I just sat in disbelief
staring at them. We all had our hands handcuffed behind us.
Twenty minutes later the door of the van swung open, and an-
other blonde girl joined us. She bumped against me as she sat down,
but said nothing. The glazed expression on her face said that she was
not quite in contact with the world around her. She looked drugged.
"Take this load down to The Tombs," came the sharp voice of a
police sergeant through the open door, "and come right back! We
should make a good haul tonight." Then the door slammed shut, and
we were left in the dark with only the sobbing to break the silence.
The motor of the van started with a roar, and we began to move.
The seats and suspension were not made for comfort, so we bounced
back and forth as the van weaved through the Manhattan traffic.
Each time we hit a bump, my little tush was bounced on the hard
wooden seat. The handcuffs had been put on tightly, and were chaf-
ing my wrists. The smell in the van was nauseating.
Then the glassy eyed girl next to me leaned forward, and started
to vomit! I jumped away from her, and slammed into one of the girls
who had been talking. "Watch what you doin', bitch!," she shouted,
and shoved me back. The van hit a bump, and the vomiting girl
fell to the floor. She just lay there in the mess she had made. All
we were left with was the gurgling sounds of her retching, and the
sobbing of the other girl. There was vomit on my skirt and leg that I
could not do anything about with my wrists handcuffed behind me.
I felt like crying too.
The van halted at last, and we sat for a moment in the dark. The
door opened, and a policeman in the doorway said, "All right, ladies,
last stop! All out for The Tombs!" Then he saw the girl lying in the
pool of vomit on the floor. "Fer chrissakes!," he said. "Hey, Harry!
128____Bobbi's_Story__________________________________________________________
Get a stretcher and a mop! We got a puker, and she's passed out.
Call Bellevue, and get an ambulance over here."
They made the rest of us stay in the stench of the van while they
pulled her out on the stretcher. Then we got out. One cop stood
in the doorway to hold out arms, so we would not slip on the vomit
covered floor on the way out. He grabbed a feel of my ass as I passed
him.
We were taken inside, and a policewoman took our names and
addresses. I gave my name as "Bobbi" like I always did, but she did
not ask what sex I was. She typed it all onto a form, and then took
an inventory of my purse for the record. "You'll get this back when
you're released," she said putting a tag on the property bag that now
held my purse. "Come with me!" She led me into a room that had a
series of cubicles with telephones in them. "You get one phone call,"
she said. "Make it a good one."
I went to an open cubicle. Who should I call? Margo would be
too drunk by now if she was home at all. Edith would be home, but
I did not remember her number. There was only one person I could
call. Peter was all but a lawyer too. He would know what to do.
Nervously, I dialed his number, and prayed he would be home.
"Hello?," said Peter's voice at the other end of the line. "Peter,
this is Bobbi," I said. "I need..." "Hi, doll!," Peter interrupted. "I
had a really good time last night. Can we get together agai..." "Peter!
I'm in jail!," I broke in. "What... what do you mean you're in jail?,"
he said. "I got arrested, and I need help!," I replied. "Okay, doll,"
Peter said. "Calm down. What was the charge?" The next word I
said was not what I wanted to say to him. I swallowed hard, and
said, "Prostitution!"
There was a long pause on the other end of the telephone line.
Then Peter spoke in cold, measured tones. "Did you do it?," he said.
I thought carefully, and said, "I didn't go to bed with him. I was on
the street, and this guy was looking me over. I propositioned him
on a lark. I didn't know he was a cop." "Did you ask for money?,"
Peter asked quickly. "Yes," I answered quietly, and with shame in
my voice.
Peter had lost the happy tone in his voice when he spoke to
me. It would never really come back again. "Where are you?," he
asked. "The Tombs," I replied. "I'll get you a lawyer," Peter said.
"Do whatever they tell you to, don't answer any questions until the
lawyer gets there, and don't make any more trouble. I'll see you in
the court."
Then Peter hung up. I was shaking all over, but managed to
make it back to where the policewoman was waiting for me. "Here,"
she said holding out a packet of tissues for me. "You look like you
need these more than I do." It was only then I noticed I was crying.
She led me out of the room, and into another where she did a
quick pat down body search. Then we went down a long hall, and
through a bared gate. There were dozens of cage-like cells inside.
She opened one, and put me inside with five other women. There
_Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________129__
were six bunks in the cell in two tiers of three. "Have a good night,
ladies," she said. "We'll see you in the morning. Got too many in
Night Court to do you now."
The clang of the cell door closing went through me like a lightning
bolt. Stone walls do not a prison make, but cold steel now held me
fast. I was now imprisoned physically as well as biologically.
10 At Mother's Knee
I stared out into the middle distance through the bars of the cell.
My whole life seemed to have fallen in on me. From the way he had
sounded on the phone, I had just lost Peter. I now had a police record
as a common street prostitute. He would not want me anymore.
How could I tell Edith what had happened? Would she still want
me as a daughter now? Would Dr. Benjamin find out? What would
he say about it? Margo would probably laugh, and give me a lecture
about letting myself be suckered by that cop. The "G.G.Girls" would
gossip about it all over the bar. Patty would have a cynical remark
to make. A thousand questions and scenes ran through my mind.
What would become of me?
"First time you've been busted, honey?," said a voice behind me.
I turned to see a woman in her late twenties looking at me. She was
about my height with long honey-blonde hair, and was dressed very
fashionably in an understated sexy way. "It's all right," she said. "It
happens to all of us from time to time. What name do you go by?"
I dried my eyes with a tissue. At least she was someone to talk to.
"Bobbi," I said.
"That's a pretty name," she said. "My name is Helen. You ought
to get some sleep. You look like you could use it. They'll have us up
at six for breakfast, and you won't get much rest with all the noise
in here all night as it is." I shook my head. "I don't think I could
sleep here," I said.
Helen shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said, "but I'm going to
get some sleep. How about at least unzipping my dress for me?" I
looked at her quizzically, and asked, "You're going to get undressed?"
"Well," she replied, "I don't want to get this dress wrinkled, so we
just sleep in our underwear. That is... as long as you're wearing
some underwear." She laughed at that, and I even laughed a little
too. She did not seem to be bothered much that she was in jail for
prostitution, but then, she did not look like a prostitute. The ones
I knew were either the street hookers with their flashy clothes and
slutty ways, or the girls of "The Gilded Grape" who only differed in
the plumbing of their biological gender. Helen did not look like either
of those types. She looked very sexy, but with class. She looked like
an executive's wife on her way to a party at the company president's
house.
"Well?," Helen said turning her back to me, and holding up her
hair to give me access to the zipper at the back of her dress. "I'm
130____Bobbi's_Story__________________________________________________________
wearing underwear. Could you do my zipper?" I tugged down the
tab to open the back of her dress, and said, "You don't dress or act
like the others here. Are we all in for the same thing?" Helen looked
pleased as she removed her dress exposing her satin and lace, white
lingerie, and the voluptuous body that it encased. "Thank you," she
said. "No... we're all just whores in here. I just don't work the
street. I'm a call-girl."
Helen hung her dress on a hook near the bunk she had picked
for herself. "Need any help?," she asked. "With what?," I replied.
"Well," Helen said, "you were nice enough to help me with my dress,
so I thought I'd return the favor. You might also need some help
into that top bunk. You wouldn't want to fall."
I resigned myself to the fact that, like it or not, I was going to
have to sleep here tonight. I turned my back to allow Helen to unzip
my dress. As she did it, she ran her hand down my back in a caress
that sent shivers down my spine. Her hands then spread the back of
my dress, and in so doing, caressed my shoulders continuing down
my arms. "What are you doing?," I asked. "You have lovely skin,"
replied Helen. "I'd very much like to touch more of it."
Helen looked me in the eyes with a look that I had up to then
only seen in the eyes of men intent upon seducing me. Before I could
speak, she said, "You don't belong out on the street. You could make
a lot more money, and live a lot easier working with me. I have two
other girls, and I act as a sort of 'agent' for them. I take the calls, set
up the dates, and you get ninety percent of the fee plus any extras
the client might give you. Think about it. I'll give you my card in
the morning when I get my purse back. You can call me, and we'll
have lunch to talk it over. That way maybe we can get to know each
other a lot better too."
Helen was a Lesbian! She had all but just flat out propositioned
me. I had to say something. "I think you've got the wrong idea
about me," I said. "Oh?," Helen replied. "Can I trust you with a
secret?," I asked. Helen nodded. "I think I'm in the wrong cell,"
I said. "I was arrested for prostitution, but despite the dress and
lingerie... I'm really a boy!"
Helen looked at me in surprised disbelief. She stood close in front
of me, pulled my dress to the floor, and reached back into my crotch
gripping my little penis gently between her fingers. Her eyes grew
even wider in surprise as she did. "I don't believe it," she said calmly.
"You even had me fooled. It's no wonder the cops didn't catch on."
"Do you still want me working for you?," I asked picking up my
dress, and hanging it on the hook next to Helen's. She gave me a sly
smile, and said, "Yes! Yes I do. I know a few clients who just might
appreciate your special talents. We'll talk over lunch." Helen helped
me into the top bunk, and gave my ass a playful squeeze in doing
so. "I prefer women as lovers," she said, "but I might just make an
exception with you!" Then she kissed me quickly on the lips, and slid
into her bunk. I lay back to think. Was I now to be a call-girl too?
It took me only a minute to fall asleep. It had been a long day.
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