Chapter 9

I didn't really turn my first trick until right before my sixteenth birthday, and like everything else I was trying on my own those days, it turned out just short of disaster. It was the only trick I turned before that birthday, but it technically gives me the dubious honor of turning hooker at fifteen. Not that I consider myself to be a hooker. But I've turned my share of tricks.

Somehow, I'd managed to hold on during the summer, most of the thanks going to Gwen. My sweet Gwendoline. To take my mind off my troubles, I'd gotten a job as a waitress in this small coffee shop that wasn't far from my place. It was a family operation, and it didn't make a go of it, I'm sorry to say, as the folks that owned it were real nice, some people from the Netherlands who'd only been in this country for five or six years.

So anyway, I was taking all the stuff in from Gwen about turning tricks, not really giving it serious thoughts, but storing all the info away just in case. I wanted to learn to be tough with men, in a nice way of course, but how to get out of a tight situation. Didn't want one of those rape scenes. Her sage advice was the one that's been going on for years. Oh, there were the eyes you could scratch and all that, but the swift kick to the nuts was still the best way out of a jam that she knew of.

"You won't get into that kind of jam if you learn how to talk to men, how to let them know you can take care of yourself without being too brash."

But still, I didn't want to get into it as of yet, and Gwen didn't want to push me into it. I just got my vicarious thrills listening to her, and my real thrills from her gentle loving.

If I did turn a trick, I had resolved, I'd do it before she set me up. That way I could prove to her that I could take care of myself. I wanted her to be proud of me, especially after the way I'd mucked up the deal with Linda.

My parents, that means Mom, were really getting on me by now about what I was going to do with my life. That coming year would be my last in high school (remember, I'd skipped a grade) and they thought I should be making plans for a job, or college. We had some pretty vicious fights about it, only making me all the more determined to get out on my own at the first possible chance.

That chance provided itself one night at work, towards the end of the summer. We were on a busy street that was used by the trucks that went out to the Simi Valley. Just short runs from L. A. that took an hour. Anyway, there were several truckers who came in from time to time, and this one guy in particular, a swarthy, thick-chested man named Larry was always teasing me, saying how he'd like to go out with me.

"When you gonna marry me," he'd joke.

It was all good-natured fun. But one night, after I'd had a particularly bad fight with Mom, he came in and started the joking. Steeling myself, I waited until the boss was back in the kitchen and came up to his place at the counter. As there was only one other customer in the joint, I whispered to him provocatively.

"I don't know about marriage, but I do think you're cute," I teased.

"When do you show me how much you love me?" he smiled, not sure if I was joking.

"If you've got the money, I've got the time,"

I told him haughtily.

He raised his eyebrows and scanned me real good, not sure that I was serious.

"For real?" he asked.

"It'll cost you twenty," I whispered, looking around to make sure my boss was still in the kitchen.

I told him that if he wanted it, I'd meet him down at the corner gas station in an hour, closing time. I didn't want my boss to see me going out with a man twice my age.

"I don't believe it," Larry shook his head. "But I'll be there."

Mr. Schlievil offered me a ride home, as he often did when I worked late, but I told him somebody was picking me up. After he drove off, I walked down towards the corner. I really couldn't believe I was going through with this.

Sure enough, Larry was there in his truck.

"Man, I don't believe it," he said as I climbed into the cab. "I'd never take a bet on a sweet young thing like you turning tricks."

"Don't give me the morality bit," I said, "Do you want to screw or don't you?"

"Sure, you know it."

I told him that it would cost him twenty. "How about a blow job," he said. "I don't have time for motels and all-my wife's ex pecting me. We can go the full route later... some other time."

"Fine. But it'll still be twenty."

With that, he unzipped his trousers and whipped out his cock. It was dark in the service station and nobody was around at this hour. He couldn't get over the fact that I'd do it so casually, and he kept making comments to that effect as I took his thick prick into my hand and began jerking him off. I kissed his head, and began sucking, his tool growing hard. I had to stifle the desire to puke from his heavy crotch odors, but somehow I managed to bring him off, even swallowing his come.

"Okay, where's my money?" I demanded afterwards.

"Shit, sister," he smiled. "It's your word against mine now. You may be under-aged, but hooking's illegal. I don't think your boss would want to know you've been hustling in his joint."

"You bastard ... you wouldn't."

"Try me."

He thanked me for the freebie and drove off. The next day, I told the boss I'd be quitting a couple of weeks early. I didn't want to take the chance of running into Larry again. I'd blown it. For free.