She has never forgotten what she has always known, that she is nothing more than a failure in a hairnet who has and will spread her legs to the slightest hint of affection. names hold no meaning or value in her mind anymore. She has sucked, licked, and swallowed some of the most lethal incurable diseases to spread amongst man. "Juicy" across her ass below her applebottom jeans accompanied by a 1920's flapper dressed in a candle-apple red stripper heels with a matching brassiere untied just enough to expose her voluptuous beautiful plump breast. They called her that for as long as she could remember every since her mother had gone and left her to a pedophile father, after running off with some strange man she'd met on the subway. Where was her mother now???? God only knew. For as long as she could remember she'd never known a real relationship with a man. She'd always been a hostage never a girlfriend. The most love she'd know had come soon after her mother had gone. Blessed with beauty her father had began molesting her early on crushing her petite 10 yr. old frame huffing and puffing sweat beading down his 6'2" 250 pound hairy unkempt body. She'd shrieked in pain the first couple of times but became used to it as time went on So many gifts' so many promises given to keep her quiet though she knew that she would never tell a soul. Oddly enough she began to question herself in the manner a wife would, wondering if she would one day lose the love of her life to another woman. At age 43 her father had been diagnosed with lung cancer which had been killing him for some time. At age 46 he died a very painful slow death leaving her on a path of spiraling depression and lonelier than ever. Something was wrong and she'd known it from the beginning. No daughter was supposed to make love to her father. That wasn't right, that wasn't sane. She made a silent vowel to never speak of the past to anyone while also surrendering to the fact that she would never find another man as good as her father. At thirteen she still possessed the mindset of a small child rendering her clueless to the world. She clutched at the small golden cross necklace she'd worn since removing it from her fathers neck on his death bed. He’d left her nothing else. She was alone on her own on her way to an all girls home where she'd once again be molested by someone considered a father figure. Only weeks had gone by after my fathers death before blood and mucus-like gunk spewed from my body, soaking the fabric of my sundress and flooding the floor beneath me. My water had broken. I was about to give birth to my fathers child and my own sibling. I had long ago abandoned middle school. Not that it mattered. My attendance had become so spiratic that i had probably already been taken off the roster long ago. Social services came and went, leaving sticky notes riddled with phone numbers and threats, but this was L.A., nothing ever lasted. One week they were here by the next they were completely forgotten. Time went by and my stomach grew and grew. Never once did my father mention a thing aobut it. He would just sit in his recliner and grunt every now and then without ever leting his eyes leave the television. Now he was gone and I was all alone, bleeding in some dark alley wit noone to turn to. An explosion erupted in my stomach, sending sharp pains all through my vagina. The blood kept flowing and flowing, almost gushing. The pain had become unbearrable, stabbing and slicing at my insides. I clutched wildly at my dress, cupping the fabric between my legs to stop the blood flow. It wasn't working. Another thunderous blow of pain shot through my womb. I cupped harder but it was too late. Through a small tear in my dress i could feel it escasping me and then the world went black....
Three days later i awoke to a faint beeping sound and shuffling feet only to find myself in a hospital bed strapped and laced with so many wires and IV's that i lost patience trying to figure out which wire was hooked to what machine. I skimmed the quiet room spotting my dress cleaned and folded on a nearby chair."What was i wearing"? I had never been to a hospital for as long as i could remeber. I beleive that my father feared the doctors catching my lack of innocence. I lifted the blankets and spotted the the white robe against my naked body. "SHIT, THE BABY". Where was it??? "DO THEY KNOW WHO I AM?" "SHIT"! I had to get out of here. Surely somebody would come asking questioons:"Who are you? Who's child is that? Where are your parents?" The list would be endless. I had only one option: RUN! And so i did, I hopped from the bed ripping and snatching neeldes from my body. The machines started to go nuts, flooding the room with siren sounds. "SHIT". I had no time. I had to get out. I snatched my dress from the chair and bolted out into the hallway, blood starting to trickle down my arm and pok-o-dot the shinnering white floors before me as my arms pumped back and forth like pistons. To my left i could see the beginnings of a nurses station, and further ahead a big gray door reading: "Stairs", and just above that: "EXIT". Still no nurses or doctors in sight, only a young couple who seemed to walking the halls to dialate or... "The Nursery". The sign hung from the ceiling like a sign from god. My stomach lurched and my heart ached as the you couple disappeared through the door. Tears filled my eyes blurring my vision, begging me to stop and go in. "JUST STOP AND GO IN, EVERYTHING WILL BE OK. PLEASE JUST STOPPPP". My heart was begging me, pleading with me to just stop, but my legs were no longer in my control. No one stationed the small nursing area, nor had anyone stationed my soul any longer. I had become a stranger to myself, never to return to the person i thought i was. Today was the day that i died. I hit the door at full throttle, the rest is a blur. I cried for days after that, sleeping in vacant alleys, eating from dumpsters and sharing meals with rats. Two weeks later as i lay limp in my own urine, weak from hunger, blue and red lights flooded the dark alley. Too weak to move, i closed me eyes and tried to believe it was all a dream but as fate would have it, the torture was just beginning. I was taken to a nearby detention center where i was then left for the night. Conversation was nearly nonexistent. I tried to speak once or twice: "my name is...", the officer held up a single finer as to hush me. "I know your kind", he said, "Now sit back and shut up". I was given a fresh pair of clothes, directed to take a shower, and locked into a small brick room with nothing more than a cement slab dressed with a thin mucus green rubber mattress and small desktop mounted to the tan brick wall. Oddly enough, I knew that tonight would be the best night of sleep i'd had in a long time.
12 girls all slave to the abusive high strung sexist who though of himself as god. "No time was enough time" was his motto which had become more of a chant than anything. By my 14th birthday he'd taught me everything that I would ever need to know about how to be a successful prostitute. I was wrong to call it an all girls home, this was nothing short of modern day whore house, smelling of old fat sunbathed men, funky pussy and vomit. 8 rooms to be filled at all times. A small dagger tucked just beneath the stain sheets in case we had to fight one of the drunken bastards off of us. Rarely did the sheets leave the bed. From the moment the door closed until finally reaching the bed was usually enough time to make some fat fuck blow his load. Simply put, "No time was enough time".From swallowing cum to licking ass it could all be done in 60 seconds if you had the right technique. Deep pussy was irrelevant if you had a deep throat. From the thickest dicks to the pencil thins, from the largest to the smallest every dick wanted the same thing... to cum. I have been raped, stabbed, shot, beaten bloody and left for dead. I have been tricked, conned, laced, betrayed, and down right lied to. I have been had Chlamydia, honoree, crabs, head lice and the clap... and the list goes on. Rick ran this firkin business like the world owed him a day to day fee to exist or something. No-one benefits from the business but him. Everything from Mercedes bend’s to Chrysler 300's littered the entire Southside of L.A. where he'd bought a new piece of property at least once a month. Most of the Southside belonged to him. Throughout the entire city he was one of the most sought out business men. He handed out business cards like trick-or-treat candy. On the side he also owned a small fed-ex company which doubled as a drug trafficking corporation where he could ship pure Columbian cocaine throughout the entire city without worry. From paid off police officers to the fucking mayor everyone was a client; getting fucked and sucked by underage girls. From getting my pussy ate by my fourth period teacher to sucking off a priest, it could all be done here. There was no-one to tell because everyone already knew. If they weren't being fucked then they were being paid off. There was no escaping. Two years ago a girl decided to escape. She was gone for two days before she was brought back by her own uncle where she was beaten beyond recognition and submitted into a 6 month coma. Two days after being released she was back to selling her body... Her first customer was her uncle. There is no such thing as escape. Every girl in the kitty house went to St. Augustine’s not because Rick wanted the best education for us but because he like the little school girl uniforms. The knee highs the plaid skirt and the white button down shirt. He believed that we should live the innocent role as well as play it so that when customers come in they don’t that were just getting into character. "Why show them a dream when the worlds wants reality?". Another one of Ricks mottos. But most of the time we never wore clothes, only stripper heels or pumps. The doorbell rings and we all line up shoulder to shoulder, youngest to oldest. Right now 15 was the oldest and 11 the youngest. Most people woke up from nightmares, Me?? I wake up to one everyday of my life. I sweat fear and cry rain while waiting for the troops to bust down the door and rescue me from my torture. I just want to run away to anywhere far away from here. I want to become as free as the people who walk the New York streets listening to their I-Pods and singing as loudly and as horribly as they please as they make their way through the crowded walkways. I just want to be free. I stare around crowded rooms and notice that their are only two types of straight women: house wives and dick chasers there is no in between. Now most women would disagree with me on this so let me explain why. Most dick chasers end their careers as hoes wanting to be housewives, spreading their legs to any hint of affection. Most of the time this fails them miserably because by the time all is done no-one wants sloppy mangled mangy old pussy. But if this does work then they usually end up with someone who misuses and abuses them while they think that their experiencing love in its purest form, so they put their all into it while dealing with constant bull shit and calling it love. Bottom line is all women need to feel loved. As for the housewives, most of them either spend their lives looking for love or waiting for love. Along the way they may run into a little turbulence and have a few ho-ish episodes but the never forget that needy feeling in their hearts; the longing to be loved, held and caressed. That feeling where she wants to have sex not for the pleasure but because of the cuddling that follows. That need for love. So in conclusion your either a housewife or a dick chaser. There is no in between.
Only weeks had gone by after my fathers death before blood and mucus-like gunk spewed from my body, soaking the fabric of my sundress and flooding the floor beneath me. My water had broken. I was about to give birth to my fathers child and my own sibling.
