Eugene Edwards - The naughty babysitter

"The highway's full of broads," the driver told me as we ate. "Hell, I save a thousand a year in taxes that way. I show on my forms I paid for motels, when I stay with somebody's wife. Fun, eh!"

I had to agree, and I was beginning to wonder if the World's Oldest Profession was a thing of the past it's hard to sell bread when doughnuts are free.

Anyway my birthday was coming up and I was going to be sixteen, the time of life when dreams are real and you have a fire in your blood that turns the universe bright. There was still time to learn the tricks of the trade. If other women could get screwed and make money then I felt sure my future was secure. After all I was bright enough to keep a B average in school, so how much harder would it be to learn what comes naturally?

And how many people are lucky enough to get fucked and have a ball while they're learning their chosen profession!

When a butterfly finds a special bush that has delightful sweets, it keeps going back to that precious pasture.

The same with me, at that truck stop. I figured that when things got real bad, when I needed a fuck so much it made me have cramps, I could always slip into that shower and let one of those bully drivers have a go. The problem was the guy who owned the place. It seemed I wasn't the only teenager who found this land of milk and honey.

"Take your fucking someplace else," the guy told me when he saw me near the gas pumps. "You want I should get closed down?"

It was the same at malt shops, drug stores, or the parking lots where us school kids sometimes hung around. Nobody wanted young hotshots on the premises because it gave the place a bad name, and besides we didn't have the cash to help any businessman. I suppose they had a point all right because shoppers didn't like to go into a place where a gang of restless kids were goofing around. We didn't have much finesse then anyway, because some of the kids went to feeling each other up right there on the car hoods, proving to the world they were very adult when it comes to sex. Some of the girls, even flashed their titties at married people. The men liked that okay but the wives got skittery.

Actually I didn't get a big bang out of hanging with the other kids because they seethed so immature, still I had to have friends so I went along with the scene. I even let a couple of the boys fuck me once in a while and it wasn't too bad, except they always got on a love kick. Young boys are too romantic for my blood. They get serious over a little thing like a healthy screw, and they always want you to be a steady. Keep true blue. While they go ahead and fuck around with other girls.

So even if I tried it was impossible for me to be very serious about my school chums and their limited outlook on life. The only time I found they showed a bit of vision was when they smoked grass, or popped a pill, but of course their futuristic extensions were twisted by their "high" and didn't have any real foundation.

"You're too fuckin' serious, Angie," Carlos Zapeda told me one day. "The world's gonna get blown to hell anyway, so we might as well have a ball."

"People said the same thing a thousand years ago, Carlos."

"Maybe so. Maybe so. But none of us got a future and you know it. They're gonna turn us all into robots for the politicians. Might as well enjoy things while we can."

Carlos echoed the fears of every kid in school and we were frightened. Looking down the road to faraway years there wasn't much hope. Perhaps that's why we lost our morals and found it difficult to be serious about anything.

Still I didn't want to face any years without a little cash in hand. So many times my chums couldn't even afford gas for their cars, new spark plugs when they were needed, and they were so penniless they sometimes had to sneak into the drive-in movie because they couldn't afford a ticket. Bombs were bad, politicians were sneaky, earthquakes made me tremble, but the most horrible concept I could summon had to do with poverty. If I got killed in the holocaust or was sucked into the ground by natural disasters then nothing could help and it didn't matter anyway. Yet the prospect of getting up one day, and being hungry, without a dime to my name, was the most terrifying fear I could imagine.

Above all else I wanted money.

And there is only one way a young girl can make a lot of dough.

"Let's go fuck somebody," I told Paula one day just after my sixteenth birthday.

"Who you got in mind, Angie?"

"Somebody with money. Before school's out for the year I wanta have a thousand dollars saved up."

"Gee, I'd like that too. Only who's gonna pay us that much for a little sex?"

"Nobody. But maybe we can think up something?"

I went to see Alfred DeMarco, and he hadn't bought tickets for Switzerland yet.

"Maybe I'll do it one of these days," he said.

He refused to have anything to do with Paula and me. Said that Susan Lovely put out the word to keep away from jail bait. None of her friends would pay a dime for pussy.

"And if you girls cause trouble we're prepared to fight you in court. You can't afford a lawyer, and we have lots of power. Some of the judges are our friends, you know."

"Aw, fuck you, Albert. And Susan Lovely, too! We wasn't gonna make any trouble."

"Just thought I'd remind you, Angie."

"You rich people stick together, don't you?"

"We have to, girls. There's more of you than us, and we don't want to lose what we have."

Alfred was right and I didn't blame him a bit. When I got rich nobody was gonna take it away from me either!

I did some babysitting but couldn't get screwed, even when I was willing, to do it for free. Everything I tried went sour. I guess I was trying too hard. And the few pennies I earned from babysitting hardly paid for a Dutch date with my school chums. I was getting despondent, even desperate, so I went back to the Vespers.

"Goddamnit, kid, I told you to get lost!" The Madam was furious.

"I'm gonna lay on your porch until you show me how to do it!" I was adamant. "I gotta earn some money."

She slammed the door on me and when I stood there for an hour she came out and threw a bucket of water on me. But I was determined. Finally she let me in the door.

"You fuckin' kids are gonna be the death of me." She was ready to cry. "Can't you just leave us alone? We ain't hurtin' nobody. We just wanta make a living."

"Me too," I assured her. "I ain't gonna work for no company the rest of my life filing papers or something for a lousy few bucks a week. The government takes most of it anyway."

"We have to pay taxes too, honey."

"Oh, you're kidding!"

"Fucking is a business, sweetie. Uncle Sam wants his cut out of the pussy profits too."

"You still make plenty, don't you?"

"Some girls do. It depends. Some of them can't even earn enough to pay for douche water."

"So teach me how to be a good one. Please?"

It was a ridiculous situation when you think about it. Here I was a sexual infant, untrained in the fine arts of pleasing a man, and I couldn't make ten cents with my healthy young body. While some of the women in the Vespers were hags. Beat-up floozies with too much makeup, sagging breasts, and meat on their bones that was disfigured and bruised with countless years of sexual torment.

Still these women were doing what they liked, fucking the males of the city and making money at it.

"I want in," I told the Madam as I looked around the beautiful interior of the place. "I mean to make money with my screwing and I don't care what I have to do to get it."

"You ready to get the shit beat out of you, honey?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"Some men like to whip their ladies. They use belts, and their fists, and they kick the skit out of you."