Chapter 2
YACHT OR GHETTO-SEX!
Teen-aged sex is present in every socio-economic group. Neither economic condition, education, I.Q., or social background, is an inducement or a deterrent for teen sex action once a girl has money as her goal.
The following two case histories are examples of young girls from opposite stations of life who followed the same path to youthful prostitution and some of the sexual deviations it included.
CASE HISTORY
When Carla was ten years old her family relocated from the slum neighborhood where she was born to another section of the large city. This was not progress. It was more of the same. Poverty had been Carla's lot from the day of her birth. Poverty continued to imprison her. So did her father; a drunk, a molester of children, a wife-beater, a non-worker who saw fit to lounge in his home while his wife worked to support Carla, her three sisters and two brothers.
Carla was eleven when she first discovered that her father had a sexual reaction to her youthful, still not fully developed body.
She and her father were alone in the family flat that was their home. It was winter and the weather was cold outside. But this had not stopped Carla from collecting empty pop bottles which she intended to return to the corner liquor store for their deposit value. She had worked hard, wandering the streets and alleys of her neighborhood from the time school had been dismissed. She had collected a lot of bottles, enough so that she would be able to collect enough money to go to a movie.
Her father, dressed only in shorts and shirt, was in a bad mood when Carla entered the flat. He was without beer and without money to buy any.
Carla left the big bag filled with bottles in front of the flat, then went inside to seek her father's help in carrying them back to the store.
"Where the hell you been?" he growled at her when she entered the living room.
"Collecting bottles," Carla answered. She took a step closer to the big man, then asked, "Dad - will you take the bottles back to the store for me?"
"How many you got?" he asked.
"About twenty-five - maybe more."
"Where are they?"
"In front, in the bag." She moved still closer, then said, "Please take them back for me."
He paused, then said, "Okay, Wait until I get ready."
Carla thanked him then went to the bathroom where she undressed and got ready to take a bath. Once in the tub with the water hot and covering her to the waist, she noticed that her breasts seemed nearly fully developed, that they were round and the nipples perfectly shaped. And, to her amazement, the nipples were hard. As she looked at them, then touched them with her fingers in order to test their firmness, Carla felt a stirring at her thighs.
She has stated to the psychiatrist with whom she pursued two years of psychotherapy that she felt there was something special about this moment in her life, that some combination of circumstances, her father, the bottles and their return, her anticipation of attending the movie, her bath and the opportunity if offered for a new evaluation of her approaching maturity, and the conditions that found her alone in the house with her father, all contributed to some sexual awareness that she had not previously experienced.
When she left the bathroom, Carla went into the bedroom she shared with her sisters. She wore only a towel wrapped around her body as she moved from the one room to the other. Inside her bedroom, she toweled herself while standing in front of the full length mirror on the closet door. And again she became sensually aware of her body, of her hips that flared, the good lines of her legs, her breasts and their nipples, and the total rosy pinkness of her body. She dried her back with the towel, holding each end of it and shifting it from side to side, at the same time thrusting her breasts outward at her reflection in the mirror. Then she dried the front of her body. When she reached her thighs, she moved the towel more slowly, enjoying the new sensation of thrill that she felt. She felt heat move through her body and she sensed that it came from more than the temperature of the water she had just left.
Finished with her toweling, she donned a shortie nightie, her favorite article of clothing. The nightie was of a very transparent material, allowing a view of much of her body.
She returned to the living room at the same moment that her father entered the front door. He carried a grocery store bag. Instinctively, Carla knew that it contained beer - purchased by her father with the money collected from her hard after-school search. She burned with anger.
"Where's my money?" she asked, looking at the man from across the room.
"In my pocket," her father replied.
"What's in the bag?"
"Beer."
"What did you use for money?"
"Oh - I had some."
She walked across the room and stopped directly in front of him. "You used mine, that's what you did. Give me the rest of my money - give it to me now - right now - it's mine, I earned it - give it to me!"
He laughed, then said, "You're a snotty kid."
He pushed past her and walked into the kitchen.
Carla, fuming, waited until he returned. When he did, he was again in his underwear and he carried an open bottle of beer.
Carla began where she left off. "Give me the money that's left, give it to me right now or I'll tell Mom when she gets home."
"Tell her," he snorted as he moved toward a big chair.
When he turned, ready to seat himself, she dashed for the kitchen. She entered the room and saw her father's trousers draped over a chair. She dove at them, then jammed her hand first in one pocket, then the other until finally she clutched a collection of coins. She gathered them in her hand, turned and hurried to the door, then stopped still as her father barred her passage down the hall.
"I'll teach you to steal," he said, turning red with anger.
"It's mine," she protested. "You've got your beer - this is mine. Leave me alone, you don't need it now."
"I might. Later," he replied.
She attempted to dash past him and down the hall so that she could reach her room which had a lock on the door. She was unsuccessful. He swooped down upon her like a vulture. He grabbed at her clenched hand but missed as she pressured forward. But he did manage to grip her hard around the waist.
She kicked hard as her father lifted her off her feet, but she was unable to keep him from half-carrying, half-dragging her back into the living room. When they arrived there, he made another grab for the money, and succeeded. He pinched his thumb hard into the underside of her wrist, then when her fingers loosened, he snatched the money from her hand. She started to curse and cry.
Above these sounds she heard her father's gruff laughter. Then it stopped. Then she noticed something else. Although he had gotten the money that he wanted, he did not release his hold about Carla's waist. He increased the pressure of it and his hands moved upward until they cupped at her breasts. Still pretending that it was a part of the struggle between them, he worked his hands upon her young breasts, kneading at them, even fingering at the hard, thrusting tips. Then, as Carla increased the fury of her struggle, he cupped one breast hard as his other hand moved downward and jammed between her thighs. Carla kicked a few more times, then slackened her efforts. Her thighs, moving against her father's hand, had experienced the most exquisite sensation she had ever known. It frightened her, even as it gave her a thrill.
"You're a regular little witch, ain't you?" he said. "I like witches - like you, who don't give a damn about anything."
His words moved her to a greater effort to free herself from his hold. And again, as she kicked and struggled she felt a growing feeling of passion course throughout her body; at her thighs, especially there, and at her breasts, particularly the one that was still held tightly by his big hand.
Finally, her right hand shot free. She thrashed to the side and behind her, attempting to strike her father. And she did. But in a most erotic way. He had shifted his position a bit and stood partially to the side of Carla. Most of the front of his body was free for hitting. And she struck hard. The first contact told her that she greatly excited her father for his penis had come erect and thrust sharply outward, pushing the light material of his shorts ahead of him like a tent.
She struck again, the full flatness of her palm striking against his penis this time. She felt its hardness. It was like nothing she had ever imagined, although, at eleven, Carla considered herself a sexual sophisticate. And then as she continued to reach to the side and swat her hand at the immense stretch that had become her target, she noticed something else. Her father was breathing hard. The tone was different, lower, thicker, more intense as if it represented the verge of some crisis. And now, his hands began to move. But they moved in a way that was not meant for punishment, but for sex.
His hand that had held firmly to her breast had crept inside her nightie and now held the full roundness of her young-girl flesh and the thumb and forefinger bitterly molested the nipple. And his other hand which had been jammed at her thighs had turned delicate and was gently massaging the undersides with long, loving strokes, strokes that carried downward to her knee, then rose to where her thighs were joined and even beyond this area and into the sprouting hair at her young crotch.
Recalling the incident for her therapist, Carla has expressed how she felt at that moment of her incestuously oriented sexual awakening.
"I thought I was going to faint," she related to her therapist. "I felt all hot and kind of woozey, like I was going to pass out, go limp in my father's arms. And this feeling just seemed to swamp me, go all over me like a million ants. I thought I knew all about boys and sex and everything. You can't help hear about things like that when you're a kid - especially living in the neighborhoods where I lived. But I'll tell you, I had no idea that I'd get such a feeling out of it - I thought sex was always for the man, but of course I don't think I really knew that I was involved in sex at this moment of my fight with my father."
But, Carla did not faint. Nor did she reach any true sexual climax as a result of the sexual fondling her father imposed upon her body.
The fight ended suddenly, and not at all as she had anticipated. With all the signs of considerable effort, he finally withdrew himself from the path of her swatting hand. And he removed his hands from her breasts and released her.
"All right, kid," he said. "You've earned your dough, I guess."
He stooped and picked up the coins he had dropped to the floor. Then he handed them to her.
She stared at him, hardly believing that he was actually giving her the money. And she could hardly believe the great length of flesh that pushed against his undershorts. It seemed truly unbelievable to Carla, yet she felt a glow of satisfaction for she knew that she had caused this to happen to him, that it had been her body that had shaken him with such excitement.
"If there ain't enough money there for whatever it is you want," he said. "I'll scrape up some bottles myself tomorrow and give you what I used of your dough."
She felt stricken. These were the first words of kindness her father had ever spoken to her. And she knew that she had earned them, that he spoke them as a reward to her for the touch of her nearly naked body, for the touch she herself had given to his body.
He left the room. When he returned, he was fully clothed. He slumped in a chair, as he gulped from his beer bottle.
A week passed before she again had a sexual encounter with her father. It was a week that found her grown wise in the way of men and the potential of her own body. She knew that the use of her body could provide her with things from her father. She intended to exploit it to its fullest advantages.
"Do you have a dollar?" she asked her father at a time that found them both alone in the house again.
"Yeah, I just happen to have. Why?"
"Can I have it?"
"Huh - you out of your mind or something?"
"No, I want to buy a purse that's up at the store," she said. "It's only a dollar."
"A dollar buys me a six-pack of beer," he said.
"I know."
"But you still want my only dollar, eh?"
"Yeah."
He laughed and sat forward in the big chair where he had been resting as he finished off a can of beer. He had been drinking heavily all during the day, celebrating the circumstance of a better-than-ordinary pay check his wife had earned.
"You're a real one," he laughed. He finished the beer, placed the empty can on the table next to him, then hunched even more forward in the chair.
Carla stepped closer and very deliberately looked in the direction of her father's crotch, trying to ascertain if her presence alone was enough to induce him to a state of sexual readiness.
"What you looking at?" he asked, looking straight into her eyes.
"Nothing," she said.
"The hell you're looking at nothing," he said. "You're a wise one, you don't fool me. You know what in the hell's going on in the world; I can tell."
"Can you?" she said. She walked to a position directly in front of him.
"Yeah. You and that little innocent expression on your puss. Hell - it's a phony act - you know what's going on, all right."
She smiled. Again she looked into her father's lap. This time her inquisitiveness was rewarded by the sight of a huge bulge at the crotch at her father's trousers. She felt a rage of heat and considered herself as very, very competent in the business of raising the excitement of a male. She decided to pursue her advantage.
He recoiled for an instant when Carla boosted herself upon his lap. But he recovered quickly and even put one arm around her waist. He achieved a position that allowed the upper part of his hand to nudge gently at the bottom of one breast.
She dropped one hand in his lap, then, boldly, coupling her father's drunkenness with the knowledge of her ability to arouse him, she spoke of that which she had thought of nearly constantly for a week.
"Do I make that happen to you?" she asked, moving her hand across his lap to rest atop the bulge that protruded there.
For a moment, he did not answer. His breath jerked to a short stop, then wheezed long and longingly from his massive chest.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I guess you could say that you do it to me."
"Is it nice?"
"How do you mean?" he asked.
"Does it feel good? You know, does it make you feel good to be like that?"
He laughed and raised his hand to cover her breast, then he said, "Well, it all depends. It feels all right, but - well, hell, it only feels real good if I know it's not going to last."
"Not going to last?" she asked, cocking her head questioningly.
"Yeah."
"How do you keep it from lasting?"
"Damn it, there you go, acting all innocent and everything," he said, raising his voice and pinching at the hard nipple of her breast.
"But I really don't know," she insisted.
"The hell you don't."
"I don't."
She gripped the bunched material of his trousers fully in her hand. Then she relaxed her grip and raised two fingers to the zipper tab. She lowered it.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" he hissed.
"I want to see," she said. "You won't tell me anything so I have to see for myself."
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes as she lifted his cock to exposure. Then he gasped, then gasped again.
But when she began a light caress and manipulation of him, he jerked forward, grasped her hard and forced her to his side in the big chair. Instinctively, her legs parted to receive him, but as he rose, a stricken look crossed his face and he paused.
After a second, he said, "Oh, no, you little bitch, you're not going to hang something like this on your old man. Oh, no, you're not that smart."
Carla raised her head. Then she felt her body being moved away from her father, out of the chair and before him, then forced to her knees at his feet as he moved closer to the edge of the chair.
She has stated that she did not know exactly what it was that her father expected of her. She has stated, too, that she did not know fear, or even any special desire at this point, that her only concern was obtaining from her father the dollar that she knew he had in his pocket. But she found out quickly what it was that he desired when he locked his fingers into her hair and directed her head toward his cock.
She learned quickly. While her father thrust and arched and churned beneath her bobbing head, she grew inventive, twisted and shook her head like a wildcat - like the hell-cat she was, as claimed by her father.
At the very end, while Carla gurgled and muffled sounds of her father's eruption, she heard him cry out, screech, really, and it was a sound that told Carla of her power over an excited male.
When she finally raised her head and accepted the handkerchief offered by him, her future was decided, she has claimed. It was at this point, she has related, that the future patterns of her life were set. It was at this moment that her future as a whore was established.
She brought order to her appearance, then faced her father, smiled, and asked, "Can I have that dollar now?"
Wordlessly, but with a certain expression of fear upon his face, he reached into his pocket and extracted a dollar. He handed it to her. Carla snapped it from his fingers, then turned and left the room. Five minutes later, the front door slammed behind her as she left the house to make her purchase of the black purse she wanted.
Fellatio became her means of getting the things she wanted during the next year. She serviced her father regularly, usually receiving some small amount of money for her effort.
Sometimes she received nothing - only his threat of disclosure to her mother or the police. But, riding the wave of an opportunity she had never known, she gainfully practiced fellatio on the milkman, the mailman, the local newspaper boy, several neighborhood boys, and even one male teacher in her elementary school.
Carla was fourteen before she experienced the loss of her virginity. She received five dollars for it. It was done by a neighborhood boy with a reputation as an underling gangster in a large syndicate. When they finished the experience, the boy suggested that Carla had all the attributes of a prostitute. He suggested that he become her manager. She agreed.
She prospered. Until she was arrested for solicitation at the age of fifteen, she experienced sexual relations with hundreds of men. She submitted to their every desire. She became even more proficient at the art of fellatio, and added cunnilingus to her bag of sexual tricks. She also learned that flagellation brought a special fee from some very special clients. She also accepted anal intercourse and other deviations.
Within thirty-six hours of her release from a girls' reformatory when she was seventeen, Carla returned to a longer term at a women's prison, then was once more released to the streets under a probation that provided for psychotherapy, from which this case history has been compiled.
Carla gained insight to her problems. And the police files and psychiatric records have gained this case which takes its place in the files of thousands of other teen-aged prostitutes.
CASE HISTORY
"Why are you staring at me like that?" asked Francine of her father's business partner.
"Because you're a very pretty girl," the man replied. Francine, at fourteen, was a ready blusher. She blushed, then stammered, "I'm just a kid."
"Yes, a mere child," the fifty-year-old man said, as if to himself. "A very delectable child."
Francine blushed again, then turned from him to look over the rail of the mall boat into the deep, blue-green water of Lake Michigan.
The man looked at all of her body as it was revealed to him by the thin bikini she wore. She felt his eyes upon her and knew that he was staring at the very things her mirror had so recently shown her, that she was growing into a lovely young woman, one of rich breasts, a flat, tight stomach, long, shapely legs, hips that both curved and flowed and buttocks that jutted boldly outward.
The man sighed longingly, then took his leave of the fourteen-year-old to rejoin the other guests.
Francine waited until he had gone, then she turned and hurried to her small cabin.
She undressed at once, then posed before the full length mirror. She looked at her body with a kind of wonder. And she felt excitement for it, too. Great excitement, most of it pulsating at her loins.
After a very thorough inspection of herself, she turned and flopped her naked body upon the small, built-in bunk. She sighed, then breathed deeply, watching how her breasts with their hard pointed tips raised into view, then fell from sight as she exhaled. Then after she tired of this game, she made herself go very quiet. Then she lowered her hand to the place of her young, still growing womanhood.
Masturbation and the fantasies that accompanied it were a part of a game frequently played by Francine. Sometimes it absorbed her total preoccupation. She had learned to masturbate when she was twelve. She pursued the habit until now, at fourteen, she began to think of greater satisfactions. She began to wonder how it would feel to have a man's hand there, rather than her own.
She moved her hand slightly. She felt a shiver of response and instantly directed her mind to the man who had just flattered her, the man upon whom she had had a crush for a full year.
His name was Don. He was tall, dark, dynamic, handsome, and very, very attentive. Always, despite the number of guests or the circumstances of his presence in her parents' home, he would take the time to seek her out, talk to her, and listen attentively to anything she had to say. She was charmed by his interest in her. And she knew that he was charmed by her.
Francine closed her eyes, then brought her fingers higher and more delicately upon herself. Then she moved a single finger even higher and began a light circling motion that made her murmur sounds of mounting passion. As she worked upon her own body, she envisioned images of Don, his tall good looks, his obvious infatuation with her. He had been her favorite subject during masturbation fantasies and the very thought of him made her sensations zoom higher and higher while she arched her body in a mad up-and-down tattoo of action. Soon, her hips snapped involuntarily, moving fast as if they sought to join the fast motion of her circling fingers. And then, when response and ultimate release was only a few seconds away from accomplishment, she raised her other hand and grasped one large breast. She imagined Don bending and kissing that breast. And then she erupted, fighting her body against her hand as if it were an enemy.
Her play over, Francine rolled to her side. Her hands clutched the bed covers and knotted them into a ball. Although she had experienced a climax, it was something less than satisfactory. She was left wanting, steaming for some greater explosion of her body. She remembered that this was the way it had been lately, that she almost always was left unsatisfied after an episode of self-love. She twisted to her stomach and ground her naked body into the bed, simulating the actions of an aggressive woman in an act of love. And as she moved, she continued to think of Don. She knew he was her only hope, knew, too, that she would continue to be frustrated until she experienced an act of sexual intercourse with her dream lover. She remained on the bed a long time, quieting her body and thinking about Don.
Later the same night Francine forced an interlude that permitted her an opportunity to taste of mature love. The guests on her father's cruiser, including his partner, Don, had been drinking heavily all through the day. By the time the moon had risen high and glistened over the dark water of the giant lake, everyone aboard the ship was very, very drunk. Most of them eventually fell asleep or paired off into couples and found dark corners of the boat as their place for sex.
Francine waited until she sensed that the partying had reached a peak. Then she dressed in her most revealing swimsuit - a bikini whose upper portion revealed half her breasts while the lower dipped beneath her navel. Then she went to the deck of the cruiser.
For a few moments she stood in a dark corner, surveying the deck, hoping to sight her secret love. Don was no place to be seen. Others, however, were very much in view, particularly two couples involved in off-beat love-making. In one corner Francine observed the activities of a middle-aged woman performing fellatio upon a man Francine recognized as the woman's best friend's husband. A dozen paces away, another couple was similarly involved. But here it was the man who was performing upon the woman.
Francine turned her eyes from the sight. She thought how crude it was and considered that she and Don would never do such things, that their love would be pure and fine and passionately exciting.
When she could not find Don, she went to the bow of the boat. She looked up at the deck covering the bow. Here she saw a man, alone, looking out over the lake. Her heart thumped heavily. She could tell by the dark profile that the man was Don. She decided upon aggressiveness, immediately directed toward Don.
Francine climbed the small ladder and pulled herself up on the smooth wooden bow. The man turned quickly, then seemed to withdraw a bit when he saw that the intruder was Francine.
"Hi," she said. "What are you doing up here all alone?"
"Thinking," Don replied. "Thinking, and trying to sober up a bit."
Francine laughed, then hurried to seat herself next to Don.
"And what are you doing up here?" he asked, smiling as he repeated her own words.
"Looking for you," she boldly told him.
"How nice. I'm flattered." He turned and looked at her and she could see that his eyes traveled over her nearly naked body. They told her that he was still quite drunk. They told her, too, that he lusted for her.
Francine braced her back against the framework, looked over the lake, and breathed deeply. Then she pretended to shiver and said, "It's chilly. I wish I had brought a sweater."
"Why didn't you?" Don asked.
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do," he said, laughing a bit.
She turned and looked into his face, then said, "Now what does that mean?"
"It means that I know that you know very well why you came dressed like that, without a sweater," he said quickly, meanwhile staring at her with an unwavering directness.
"All right," she said. "What was my reason?"
"This," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders.
Francine could not speak for a moment. This first touch of Don's arm around her was more exciting than anything she had anticipated, more thrilling even than the final efforts of her own episodes of masturbation.
"Well, am I right?" asked Don, gently tightening his hold upon her.
"Yes," she admitted, cuddling a little deeper into his arm which circled her protectively.
They remained very quiet for a long time, then Don sighed deeply much as if it marked the end of some inner combat that had been raging with himself. Then he lowered his hand and immediately slipped it inside her bra top.
She grasped it with both her hands and pressured it tightly against her flesh. Her body shook violently from the contact and heat swamped her. She felt it rise and rise, much as if heat itself was the bubble of her passion. Francine felt his fingers moving upon her, kneading her flesh, then going light to fingertip play at her small nipple. And again she thought that she would explode, split wide open, scream, scratch, give in completely to the raging heat that was consuming her.
But she did not. Instead, she turned her face to the side and raised it to receive his kiss.
When his lips crushed upon hers she again thought she might faint. His lips were so hard and desperate. He shot his tongue into her mouth in such a wild, yearning search. She nipped his tongue with her teeth, then drew deeply upon it, making it lengthen as she took it to herself. And at the same time she locked one arm around his neck and moved her other hand to clutch at his thigh. Don wore bermudas and a sport shirt. He was barefoot. The feel of his bare thigh beneath her fingers was cause for new trembling to come to her body. And then she moved her hand upward until she touched at the bulge of his penis. Her hand darted away as if it had been burned. But she returned it, first tentatively, then more positively, to his aroused flesh.
Now, his body trembled with passion. He brought his mouth away from hers, twisted her and ripped her bra away from her breasts. They loomed at him, golden brown and heaving from excitement.
Francine arched her naked body at Don at the same moment that he uttered a cry and buried his face in her breasts. She leaned backwards. He rose and hunched above her body.
When Don mouthed her flesh and rolled the nipples of her breasts in turn, between his lips, it was the realization of all her fantasies. Again she thought that she would lose consciousness. And in a way, she did. Bright spots of color flashed before her eyes in a rainbow mixture of multi-shades, making her feel far away and from another world.
Don was a good lover, Francine has stated. He spent a long time with her body that night upon the boat. He kissed all of her rapturously, kissed her from throat to knees after removing the bottom of her bikini from her body. He applied his lips so exquisitely to the hot, humped clitoris of Francine that she did truly experience a minor orgasm, one that she knew was exciting but was still a long way from what she would feel once they were joined and moving together.
Finally, Don could not endure the intensity of the love-play any longer. He raised to his knees, fumbled at his clothing, then assisted Francine into position as she raised her knees and braced her bare feet solidly upon the cruiser deck.
He went into her slowly and delicately. She arched high, her young anxious thighs quivering from this first strain of love. And then as Don continued his descent and achieved total entry, she uttered the cry of her first true orgasm.
The case of Francine has been questioned by medical authorities. Could this child, fourteen years old and a heavy masturbator, experience an orgasm upon man's very first entry into her body? Sexual response, some experts claim, is a "learned" reaction.
Her psychiatrist, however, believes that it is true, that Francine did not elaborate upon the intensity - and frequency - of her orgasms with her first lover. The psychiatrist has stated that in his practice he had known many women with a hyper-sensitivity of the vaginal tract; that this alone, when meeting man's initial penetration, can produce an immediate orgasm. He has reported too that her clitoris was already highly developed as a result of her masturbation and that undoubtedly Don's penis, touching at this highly sensitive area at the same time that he was providing thrill by entry, doubly provided the child with the elements necessary for a violent orgasm.
From the moment of her first orgasm, her body reacted involuntarily. It thumped and arched and spun and churned beneath the ever quickening movements of Don. Three times more she experienced an orgasm during her first act of sexual intercourse. And even when Don was finished, had erupted and fallen atop the girl's naked body, her body still twisted and arched and churned, leaping to achieve even more of the thrill she had already so adequately received. And it was this -her drive for more and more sexual excitement - that, psychiatric authorities claim, led Francine eventually into the world of promiscuous sexuality.
Francine and Don became lovers. They met at regular intervals during the following year. But always, after their adventures during which she reacted with multiple-orgasms, she still thirsted for more, still sought even greater reaction in her young body.
During the year, too, Francine learned about infidelity among lovers. She sought and found dozens of lovers to fill those periods between Don's visits. When one of her stranger-lovers offered her money, she laughed. But then she took the ten-dollar bill he had extended to her. It made her feel a little better about her promiscuity. Although she did not need money - she was the child of wealthy parents - it served to help her rationalize this part of herself she sensed was morally unsound.
When she was sixteen, she left home. Without money, shunning her parents and the temptation to contact them for help, she found a natural outlet for her violent and constant sexual desires. She met a man who was a top figure in a vice ring. He offered her work. She gladly accepted the offer. Teen-prostitution seemed the ideal solution to satisfy the demands of her body sexually, as well as to provide her with a means of livelihood.
Her wealthy family background, and her pampered luxury of her childhood, did not prevent her from indulging in the most sordid of activities during her period of prostitution. Any sexual practice or perversion demanded by her clients was readily agreed to by her.
During this period her family tried to trace her, but she shrewdly evaded their efforts. Don too tried to locate her, but Francine had already decided that the sexual attentions of Don were not enough for her. She needed indiscriminate and unlimited sex, to keep her even moderately happy.
She worked as a prostitute for well over a year. When she was arrested for prostitution, her arrest accomplished what her parents had not been able to. The police returned her to the custody of her family, and she was ordered to undergo psychiatric treatment.