Holly Hope - Slut girl

They showed me a gold-plated coin about the size of a quarter, with my name on it. Any man that showed up with one of those was to be given whatever he wanted, and I was to collect the coin. They sold them to men they could trust and would pay me twenty-five dollars for each one I collected when I tricked, a john. We'd get together one night a week for a party and a payoff. Starting tomorrow night. I said I was ready, because now that I was in the saddle again, I wanted all the fucking I could get, and variety I really loved. We parted with smiles and high hopes.

Things went on like this for just over a year.

During that time I guess that I fucked and sucked nearly every doctor, lawyer, businessman, out-of-town buyer, traveling salesman, and judge in Arizona. Harold and Doc had built up a clientele of professional men that was extensive and exclusive, and I soon found an awful lot of repeat business. This was flattering to me, because it indicated I was one of the test, and a girl likes to know that her efforts are appreciated, and that her talent isn't going to waste.

Several of the men asked to become my "sugar daddy", in other words, I would be their exclusive property. They promised me mink coats and Cadillacs and diamonds – all the usual. But I turned them all down – I was making too much money, had my independence, and besides, there were so many rice men that I wanted to keep on seeing and bedding, that I wouldn't settle for just any one.

It had gotten to where I was handling an average of four a day. There was always someone who had told his wife that he was on the golf course, and then would come to my place for an afternoon matinee. Then I'd get an early night job, sevenish, and another about nine, and a late trick. Sometimes, if a man showed up with two coins, that meant he had paid double and would stay all night, but they were not to show up at my place fill ten p.m. or later, and phone first so that there'd be no overlapping. The first time Doc told me that, I thought overlapping was getting too much lapping, and I naively told him there was no such thing! Remember, I had only gone to eighth grade, and there was a lot that remained for my education to be complete.

That was one thing I did do – keep on with my schooling. Doc and Harold insisted that I do that, as I'd need to know more mathematics, business terms, improve my vocabulary, and so on. You see, a lot of the businessmen, bachelors mostly, liked to take me out to a good restaurant or night club, and I enjoyed it. But I had to learn to discuss things intelligently and not be half-witted, so I kept studying.

I remember on the first anniversary of my turning professional, I counted up what I had saved. It came to over twenty thousand, and I had spent a lot on my sports car and my clothing in that year. I resolved to fuck away at least thirty grand during the coming year. If I could do that steadily, I'd have almost two hundred grand saved by the time I was twenty-one. A couple of young stock brokers I served had assured me that I could live the rest of my life just off the interest from that sum if it were properly invested. So now I had a goal to work toward.

I had been cautioned about putting large sums of money in a savings account, as tax snoopers came around and also the vice squad investigated any girls who accumulated too much money without working, so Doc got me a safe deposit box, a rather large one, and I was stuffing my cash in it for the time being.

Then one night came the revolution. I had finished one seven o'clock trick, and a cultured Southern voice phoned and said he'd like an all-night deal, he had his double coins. I didn't recognize the voice, and asked if he was a new "friend". He said he was and that he was just in from L.A. for a week on business. I told him ten o'clock sharp and I'd show him a good time. I was ready and waiting for him.

I answered the door chime and there standing at my door was a huge Negro. He smiled and held up two coins. "I'm the gentleman that phoned earlier," he said softy.

I had never balled a black man before. Had never even known one to speak to, and the subject had never come up with Harold and Doc. I guess that I was somewhat prejudiced and thought that whites fucked whites and blacks fucked blacks. I had just never given it any thought. He must have seen or felt or sensed my hesitation.

"May I come in?"

"Oh, uh, yes. Yes, come in," I said, aware now that we had been staring at each other for about forty long silent seconds. "There," I waved. "Sit down. A drink? What'll it be?" I walked to the wet bar.

"A weak Scotch and water would be fine." I felt his eyes following my hips as I walked, and I knew his gaze was fixed on me as I poured his drink and brought, it to him. "Ah, fine. Thank you." He paused, then looked up at me as I sat nearby sipping my own drink. "I'll bet I'm the first black man… right?"

I felt like a fool blushing as I tried to smile when I nodded agreement.

"If it bothers you terribly, I can leave. Although I have heard so much about you," he said softly, and named a couple of my white customers who were nice men. "And you are as beautiful as they said, or even more so. But you did surprise me a bit, Sheri. It is Sheri, isn't it? Yes, well, they said you were a lot of woman, and on and on, and frankly I expected a tall, statuesque Amazon, I guess. Instead, I find a dainty, petite little princess type. Very luscious, I might add. Cheers!" We lifted our glasses in a toast.

His soft, cultured voice and gentle approach and his offer to retreat if I so desired, all combined to disarm me and forced me to reappraise the situation and my feelings.

"I think we'll have a fine time," I smiled at him, and saw him relax a bit at my acceptance of him.

"In that case, I think I'll have a good strong belt of Scotch and water this time!" he laughed. "I honestly feel like a schoolboy on his first date tonight. Silly, I know, but the instant I saw you in the doorway, I wanted you to like me. Nutty, huh, for a man forty years old?"

"Well, to be honest," I said, and I looked him in the eye as I told him, "I wasn't sure whether I'd ball you or not. I'd never known a colored… er, a Negro…"

"I think we're 'black' this season," he grinned.

"O.K., I'd never known any black people before, and I suppose I had the usual idiot brainwashing about prejudice that everyone gets in a small Midwestern town. Of course, I got over a lot of other silly early concepts, too – like virginity and prostitution and drinking and fellatio," I laughed. "So you are the final adaptation to uninhibited sophisticated adult, modern living. Welcome aboard, sir."

"I'll drink to that," he said, and set down his drink after sipping it. "May I use your phone a moment and then we can settle down to pleasure. The phone call's business."

He dialed a number and when it answered, he spoke very happily. "Hi! Carl here. Just wanted you to know everything's perfect. Go ahead and spend it. Goodnight." And then he hung up and turned to me. "The bedroom?" he said, then followed. He noted with approval, the king-size bed and other beautiful furnishings.

"Business must be very good, Sheri, from the looks of this layout."

"Yeah – I average about eighteen or twenty tricks a week, and I get half the fifty they pay Doc and Harold, and all my expenses are paid, so it's not too bad," I replied.

"Half the fifty? You're kiddin', baby!" he exploded.

"What do you mean?" I didn't understand.

"You mean to say you don't know that they're charging from a hundred to a hundred fifty per trick? And only givin' you twenty-five? Holy Christ, child, you've been workin' for peanuts! You made what – about thirty grand the past years?" As I nodded mutely he went on: "While they were sockin' away over a hundred grand offa your work, honey! I'll be Goddamned! You are kidding, aren't you?"