Holly Hope - Slut girl

Things were sure dull just lying around in my jail cell all day, wondering what was going to happen to me. No one would tell me anything. The deputy that brought me my food and checked the cell every hour to see that I was alive and well kept leering at me. They didn't have but one woman deputy matron, and I guess she worked all the time in the outer office – I never saw her except when they searched me before locking me up.

I asked the deputy once if he'd take a note to Larry for me, and he agreed to "if the price is right", but I thought that he'd probably just fuck me quick and then not deliver the note after all, or worse yet, tell Larry, or worse yet, spread the word around and get me into deeper trouble, so I thanked him sarcastically and said, "No, thanks". The deputy was kinda cute, and pretty well built, but romance wasn't exactly the prime thing on my mind – getting out was.

Well, I finally got out. There was a hearing, a long, drawn-out session of name-calling and threats because I refused to testify against Larry, and they eventually said what the hell, they had enough evidence to wrap him up for a good long time anyway, and it came out that he'd purchased his first wife, too, and it was an unholy mess. He did send word through his attorney that he loved me and thanked me for the happiest moments of his life and so on, and not to wait for him, as he knew that he'd be in for a hell of a long time.

So the upshot of it was that after it was determined that I wasn't pregnant, I was placed on probation and sent to a foster home. Even though Mom wasn't prosecuted, since she was the star witness to convict Larry, they all, the authorities, that is, had contempt and insults for her as a mother and as a citizen and welfare recipient, so I couldn't go back to her.

And it was a funny thing – it was probably the first time in our lives that Mom, and I could ever talk honestly and openly, after it came out that I was now a grown woman and was no longer a nuisance of a brat. We could understand some of each other's feelings and needs and wants and cravings. But it was too late. We parted with just a beginning dawn of liking, but not love, not really, and neither of us was too shook up over the fact that she was to stay away from me from now on. She shrugged and headed out of my life to another bar, I guess. I never saw her again.

My probation wasn't anything to get excited about – once a month my probation officer would stop by the house on a Saturday morning and talk to me for five minutes: Did I have any problems to discuss? Was I getting along O.K. with my foster family? Did I need any spending money? I was really a sucker on that last question. I always said "No" as I did not want anything to do with welfare handouts again, and then I found out later the probation officer would pocket the fifteen dollars a month I was allotted, and was doing that with nearly all of the eighty kids under his supervision. He was skimming off a thousand a month that way, in addition to his salary. And these were the hypocritical bastards that were calling us bad kids! Some justice.

I was beginning to learn about life in general and the seamy sides of it in particular. Or so I thought. Hell, the main events hadn't even begun yet, but I didn't know that then. But I'm getting ahead of my story.

Mr. Kuykendahl, the father of the foster family that I lived with, was pretty nice to me, gentle and patient, and they had two kids, ten and seven, and she was pregnant with another, big as a barn and due about any time. He never made any passes at me, nor any funny remarks about my past, and tried to treat me like one of his own kids, I'll say that for him. The county gave him a hundred and ten a month for my keep, and he got me a watch – just a cheap Timex, but it was pretty – because they had given both their kids watches the Christmas before. I thought that was darned nice of hint.

Mrs. Kuykendahl was a good cook, and about a week before she had to go to the hospital and have the baby, her brother George showed up. He was a traveling salesman from Denver, a real sharp dresser and a big spender. He took us three kids out to dinner a couple of times while Mrs. Kuykendahl was in the hospital, and once, when Mr. Kuykendahl had gone bowling for the evening, asked me if I'd like to go to a movie with him. It had been months and months since I'd seen a picture, so I said sure.

We went to a drive-in, and the main feature was just beginning when we got there. He gave me a five-dollar bill and said to get us each a hamburger and Coke, and when I came back to the car, he told me to keep the change and spend it on myself. We ate and drank and dropped the trash on the floor in back like he said to, and ten it started.

"Look, Sheri, can I slide ever just an inch toward you? The steering wheel's blacking the lower part of the screen," he said, and slid over without waiting for my answer.

We sat there for a few minutes and he smoked a cigarette, and when he flipped it out the window, he reached over, without looking away from the screen, and took my hand. His big hand was soft and smooth and warm, and I suddenly realized how long it had been since a man had touched me. I guess I had sublimated all desires or something, but I just hadn't wanted a man or a man's touch.

Till then. The nearness, the masculine smell of his after shave lotion, the knowledge that inches away was a hunk of male muscle – these thoughts reawakened in my brain and belly the itch, the urge, the desire, the insane melting craving I knew so well, liked so much, and wanted so hungrily. I gave his hand a squeeze, and he smiled and released my hand so he could drape his arm around my shoulder. As he did, I snuggled closer to him and looked up at him and smiled. As he gazed down at me, I raised just a teensy bit toward him, and he got the message and bent and kissed me.

I shut my eyes as I felt his mouth touch mine, and when my lips parted at his tongue's urging, a blinding flash of desire surged through me, and I pressed my body closer into his embrace and our tongues battled wetly as we probed each other's mouths. In a minute we sat back panting, and his hand crept down from my shoulder to my right breast, and I breathed in deeply and arched my back to fill his grasping paw tightly with my tit.

"Goddam, Sheri, you're a winner all right. Do you want to watch the rest of this silly movie? I sure don't. Let's go somewhere and get better acquainted. O.K.?"

"Oh, yes, George, let's. I like you… a lot," I told him, and I meant it.

George slid back under the wheel while I disconnected the speaker and put it in its stand, and then he was backing out and rapidly driving out of the drive-in. He headed out Highway 6 a couple of miles and swung in at the first motel with a "vacancy" sign lit up. I waited in the car while he registered, and then he returned with a key and drove to the last unit of the motel and we got out and went in. He flipped on the light, locked the door, and turned to me and clutched me fiercely, mashing my breasts up against his strong chest. George was about thirty-five, and in good, real good shape. He ground his pelvis against mine through our clothing for a few seconds, and I could feel his hard-on growing as he broke away and spoke.

"Race ya to see who gets undressed first, baby. And one thing, Sheri, and level with me on this – you haven't got a disease, have ya? Not takin' shots for anything, are ya? I don't care if ya are, I just wanta know, so I can wear a rubber. Hell, I'm gonna fuck you if you've got fourth-state syphilis and leprosy to boot. I just wanta know, baby."

I reassured him that I'd never had any kind of a disease, ever, and after he turned around and hung his pants over the back of a chair and faced me again, I was nude, standing there in all my naked glory under the overhead light. A whistle escaped his lips, and his face crinkled up all smiling and happy.