Chapter 7
By now Elsie was running out of second-rate commercial hotels. She was frightened that she might be recognized if she worked the bars in any of them one more time. When the cab driver asked her where she wanted to go, she suddenly remembered the name of a cheap hotel on the waterfront, near where she had been raised. It was frequented by merchant seamen from the many foreign freighters that put into Boston. She reasoned that most of these men must have been at sea for a month or more and would have full balls. Beyond this obvious advantage, they would not be likely to encounter her socially at a later date and cause her embarrassment. The driver looked a little surprised when she gave him the name of the place to which she wanted to be transported.
The long bar was crowded and noisy when she shoved her way in through the swinging doors with the frosted-glass panels. Her entrance was greeted with a few wolf whistles and cat calls and she went into the act of looking for someone who was expecting her.
When she had worked her way halfway back the bar, a tall blond Scandinavian seaman in a clean blue pea jacket approached her. "You're late. I've been waiting for you for hours," he said, for the benefit of the bartender.
"What can I get you to drink, now that you've finally arrived?" His accent was heavy but his intention was clear. Elsie wondered if the hair around his cock was as blond as that on his head.
"I'll have a Walker's Deluxe and soda," she purred as she nuzzled in close to him at the bar. He was a big Nordic type. His name was Nils. She could almost picture him at the helm of a Viking ship, wearing the horned helmet. They had three drinks together. With the third drink, she let her hand stray to his fly and patted his cock. It was tremendous. She felt her pussy quiver for want of that big stiff ramrod in her quim. Instead of ordering a fourth drink, he suggested that they go to his place.
"I thought you'd never ask," Elsie whispered to him.
"It's nothing fancy," he apologized, "but I call it home when I'm in this port."
"As long as you're there and I'm there, what do we care about the rest of it?" she remarked reassuringly as he paid off the bar keep.
On the way to his pad they stopped by a liquor store and he bought a pint of bourbon. He was considerate enough to ask if she wanted cigarettes or anything. She told him that she didn't.
The third floor walk-up room to which he led her was small and illuminated by a bare bulb that hung from a cord in the middle of the high ceiling. The room reeked of ant spray and bedbug killer. A big iron bed with gray-looking sheets dominated the room. He produced two dirty water glasses and poured them each a drink. Elsie thought that she wasn't here to drink, but he kept urging her on. The bourbon tasted strange but she managed to down it and then he forced another onto her.
"I'm here to get laid, not drunk," she told him.
"Don't worry baby. I promise you that tonight you're going to get screwed, glued, and tattooed." He smiled and settled in the one straight chair until she had downed the second peculiar-tasting drink.
Now he muttered something in a foreign language and started to peel off his clothes. The hair on his chest and his pubic area was as blond as his head. He had a superb physique and was heavily endowed in the sex department. Elsie was pleased with what he had for her. She needed that big meat in her quim and so she started to remove her own second-hand clothes. Once she was completely naked, she lay back and spread her thighs on the horrid-looking bed. At the moment, her mind was on nothing but that big Nordic prick.
He was on her in a flash and she thought that huge organ would surely rip her apart as he forced it viciously into the moist lips of her gaping vagina. He seemed impatient to make his penetration complete. Elsie felt like a raped virgin as he tore into her hungry cunt so ferociously that she let out a little scream of pain. When she did, he hit her across the side of the face so forcefully that she almost lost consciousness. Her whole body seemed numb with the same feeling as though her foot was asleep. The one thing that was not numb was her pussy and she delighted as he rammed his big meat into her with ever-deepening thrusts.
His weight crushed down on her semi-conscious body and she was assailed with his breath that reeked of garlic and liquor and the odor of his armpits that smelled like dirty socks. In spite of these nasal diversions, that huge tool of his was doing a beautiful job of delivering the relief she had come here to seek. She felt herself climax three or four times. She tried to lift up her cunt to the powerful cock but it was as thought she were paralyzed. She had never heard of the chloralhydrate he had put into her drinks here: the Mickey Finns of the waterfront that were used to shanghai sailors in days of old. The weird drug left you fully conscious yet unable to physically combat or resist whatever was being done to you. Finally, while she lay motionless beneath him, like a living corpse, he gave one final driving plunge into her depths and she felt his sperm flood forth deep inside her quim.
As he withdrew, she felt a little trickle of blood leave her split vagina and trickle down her thighs. He muttered something in a strange tongue and went to the door. She assumed that he had gone to the bathroom down the hall. She tried to get up, but was unable to move. She had to pee, but that could wait. She closed her eyes, concentrating on that wonderful big cock that had brought her to orgasm after orgasm. She hoped that when he returned from the toilet she could get it hard enough to give her more of the wonderful frigging that she needed to badly. The room began to spin around wildly now and she felt dizzy and nauseated. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to fight it. At this point, she either fell asleep or passed out.
When she came to, her eyes opened to a living nightmare. The small room was filled with horrible-looking men. There must have been twenty of them. Some were already stripped naked, while others had their pants open and their genitals exposed. The blond man who had brought her here was passing among them, collecting money. She tried to scream but her throat was dry. She tried to get off the bed and run, but her muscles and reflexes refused to respond to her mental commands. It was as though her body had been paralyzed into putty while her brain was fully awake. She swallowed desperately and managed to emit a weak cry for help.
A huge black fist, the size of a ham, caught her on the side of the head and set her senses swimming. By the time the dizziness subsided, she became aware that a fat and malodorous man with a pot belly was crushing her against the dirty mattress and forcing a limp, worn prick into her bleeding vagina. The sea of faces around the bed were laughing and jeering and urging him to hurry and shoot his wad and make way for them. Her mind tried to blot out the image of what was happening to her. Five or six others hopped aboard and fucked her in rapid succession, while other hands squeezed and mouths bit at her lovely huge tits.
A huge Greek sailor with a flowing mustachio mounted her next. Her cunt was overflowing with the sperm of his predecessors and he found the going at it too slippery and sloppy for his tastes. "Turn her over!" he growled in a heavy accent.
Four or five pairs of rough hands grabbed her body like they were loading cargo and forced her over onto her stomach. Two of them held her legs widespread and there was much laughter and comment as the big Greek mounted her pretty ass and forced his way into her rectum.
Elsie lay on the foul-smelling bed, sobbing and moaning like a dying calf in a thunderstorm. A big black African seaman thought that the Greek had a good idea and rammed into her sore asshole as soon as the Greek had blown his load. Another black sailor became so excited that he could not wait his turn. He grabbed Elsie brusquely by the hair and tugged her head over to the side of the bed. She opened her eyes just in time to see that huge black penis shoving its way into her mouth. She tried to clamp her jaws tight but he choked her throat until she was forced to open her mouth and then he shoved his swollen cock into it. It nearly broke her jaws as he forced the mammoth member deeper and deeper down her throat. Her only thought now was to get it over with and so she began to use her tongue on the orally implanted cock to make it come as soon as possible. Minutes that seemed like hours later, he flooded her mouth with the heavy taste of seaweed. She felt the stiff curly hairs grazing her lips as the choking load of foul-tasting come gushed into her helpless mouth. She gagged, sputtered, and dry-heaved as the flood almost drowned her. She tried to spit it out or throw it up, but his huge hands forced her head to stay on it while it spurted until his balls were drained. In spite of herself, she had to keep swallowing in order to keep from choking to death.
"Hey, men, this little white cunt is a hell of a cocksucker. Give her a try."
One after another, they now forced their cocks into her mouth and rammed them down her throat until they blew their loads. One giant of a Mexican, who was hung like a bull, nearly broke her jaws as he rammed his meat into her mouth. She sputtered and tried to fight, but he kept shoving that cock down her throat. When he came she could not control herself. She vomited violently all over him and the mattress, much to the amusement of the others. Even this did not stop the next in line from shoving his cock into her puke-filled mouth. Meanwhile, others were fucking her cunt and sore asshole.
Somewhere along the line Elsie lost all conception of time. Later on, she figured that there must have been twenty men in the room and each of them had had her all three ways. Some gluttons had come back for seconds and thirds at their favorite method.
The constant pressures on her bladder and bowels caused her to lose all control. She peed on several of her frontal assailants and shit all over two of the rectal invaders. She had no conception of time now and did not know how long the tortuous degradation continued. To her, it seemed an eternity. At long last, she slipped into the blessed black oblivion of unconsciousness. Even then they kept using her body as though it were a three-hole toilet at a drunken convention.
When she came to, she knew not how many hours later, most of the men had left. The few who remained were either dressed or getting dressed. The big blond sailor who had brought her to this torture chamber was counting a huge bundle of bills which he then stuffed into the pocket of his pea jacket. She tried to speak, but only an incoherent sound emerged from her lips. It attracted his attention. Walking over to the side of the bed, he looked down on her tortured body and spat onto her left breast. "Let's get out of here," he said to the others.
"What about the cunt?" one of them asked. "Piss on her," he growled.
"Good idea," came a drunken voice from the other side of the bed.
Elsie turned toward the voice just in time to see the filthy little man unzip his fly and drag out his dong. The stream of hot, yellow urine struck her square in the face, while the room was filled with uproarious laughter. She managed to turn her head to avoid the awful insult, only to be assailed by a new stream from the other side of the bed. The others got into the act now and she was almost drowned in a sea of male urine. She prayed that she would die right here and now.
"I gotta better idea," said a new voice. "When I was fucking her up the ass, she shit all over my balls. I don't take that from no cunt. I think I'm gonna shit right on her tits."
Oh, dear God, no! She thought. How low can humanity sink?
Seconds later, the man had removed his pants and shorts and was squatting over her chest. His ass was toward her face and she saw his rectum dilate as he tried desperately to have a bowel movement on her. By the grace of God, he was unable to, although he did let several big, juicy farts right into her nostrils.
"Here, let me show ya how to do it," said one of the others. Soon he was squatted over her midsection. Unfortunately, he was more successful than the first guy had been and he defecated right into her proud cunthair. The horrid odor filled the small room. She was very close to losing consciousness again when her head was jerked off the bed violently by the hair.
A slimy-looking little man stood over her with an open jacknife. The big blade was just inches from her face. Perhaps he intended to cut her throat. She couldn't have cared less at this moment.
Instead, he yanked at her hair and began sawing away at it, close to her scalp, with the knife.
"What the hell are you doin'?" the blond sailor demanded. "Scalps are for Indians. If you want a scalp for a souvenir, peel it from her cunt."
"Fuck you, man. You cleaned out her purse and got all our money for the gang-bang. I gotta get something out of this too. I know a wigmaker in Portugal that'll pay fifty bucks for this long blonde hair."
He sawed and hacked away until Elsie was shorn like a sheep. Now, she finally passed out for real.
When she regained consciousness, she was in a charity ward at County Hospital... a fine place for the wife of a millionaire. Slowly, she put the pieces together. A maid at the hotel had found her and taken her for dead. She was covered with pee, come, and shit. When she moaned, the maid had tried to clean her body as best she could and the manager had phoned for an ambulance. Because it was that kind of a neighborhood, there was no publicity. She was on the police blotter as just another whore who had been beat up. When the nurse brought her a mirror, she didn't even recognize herself. The platinum blonde bouffant was gone and instead there were only stubbles of hair on an otherwise bald head. Her eyes were blackened and her face was swollen. She had been unconscious for several days, hovering between life and death. The doctors had been pumping her full of antibiotics, hoping to ward off venereal diseases, or worse.
Elsie wanted to sob her heart out, but the tears wouldn't come. Calling Harold and asking him to come for her was unthinkable. Even if he could ever understand and forgive her, there was bound to be a scandal and it would ruin his career. Her mind raced to find answers, even if they were wrong, to her immediate problem.
The woman from the admitting office came to her bedside that afternoon to get the needed statistics. Elsie reported that she had been mugged on the street and had no knowledge of what had happened to her afterward. The austere gray-haired woman had no idea how desperately Elsie wished that were the truth. She would never be able to erase the image of those awful men in that horrid room. When asked for her name, she gave it as Elsie Borden. She smiled inwardly at the deception. Actually that was the nickname the other girls had given her in high school when her tits got so big. They said she looked like Elsie, the Borden cow in the ads. She further reported that she had just gotten off a bus from Chicago when attacked. She had no local or permanent address.
After the woman left, Elsie figured that she had gone all the way down the drainpipe now. Really flushed out of her warm, comfortable life. One giant step had taken her from being a rich somebody to being a destitute nobody. She wondered if Harold was worried about her disappearance or why she had left her furs, jewels, and good clothes in the apartment. Their marriage had been strained, to say the least, the past few years. Perhaps he would think she had merely deserted him. Knowing Harold, she was sure that he was far more worried over the prospects of hearing from the lawyer about a big divorce settlement than he was over her health or well-being. Oh well, it had been fun while the going was good. She knew that phase of her life was over and done with now.
During her recovery, Elsie made friends with a gum-chewing young woman in the ward who was known as Flossie Smith. The name was obviously as phony as Borden. Flossie was a young whore, long on pulchritude and short on gray matter, but they got along well. She was a likeable kid and seemed honest. Since Elsie had to talk to someone, she leveled with Flossie.
"Where ya gonna go when they spring us outta this sanitary sewer?" Flossie asked one afternoon, between loud smackings of her ever-present wad of gum.
"I really don't know. Surely I can't go back to my husband. I don't have any money. I honestly don't know which way to turn."
"Ain'tcha got any family or close friends?" The girl pressed on to some oblique conclusion which eluded Elsie at the moment.
"Not hardly so's you'd notice them," Elsie admitted with a crooked smile.
"Well look, honey. Mebbe you oughta meet Dolly. She's the madam where I work mosta the time. She's a good old broad and runs a good house. She don't put up with no shit where her girls are concerned and you can pick up a coupla bills a week without even gettin' outta bed." She laughed at her own little funny.
"You mean you want me to become a prostitute?" Elsie gasped.
"Now don't get all up-tight over the idea. Let's face it, honey, all women are whores in one way or another. How many married women you know that hate their old man but spread their legs for him just because he's a good provider and gives 'em a nice home? Shit, girls like you and I have been taking those cocks in our crotches ever since hair grew on 'em. Let the pricks pay for their pussy. Whether it's the same one every night or a different one every coupla hours, what's the difference? All any of 'em wanna do is use your body for a toilet, so make 'em pay. Shit, you even have to put a dime in the crapper at the bus station, don'tcha?"
"You make it all sound so simple," Elsie mused.
"Look, sweetie, life is simple if you don't fight it. Only jerks complicate their lives with a lot of stupid rules and morals. You think it over. It beats the shit outta goin' back behind a counter at the dime store. I hear that they'll probably release us both next Monday."
For the next few days and nights, Elsie wrestled with what she liked to think of as her conscience. At first the very thought of her becoming an out and out whore was unthinkable. Then she got to thinking about what Flossie had said. "All women are whores in one way or another." She thought back over her own sex life. She had given her cherry to Joe Friedman for a cheap fur coat. What was the difference between that and money, really? She had spread her legs for scores of men for rings, watches, and trinkets. She had moved in with Harold and become his mistress because he offered her comparative comfort and luxury and the promise of a future. She had engaged in every type of sex with Gates Myers so that Harold could get a contract to make money and spend lots of it on her. In the rough early days, she had actually taken cash from strange men for the use of her pussy to keep up the household expenses.
It really was true... one way or another, all women are whores and who was she to think that her shit didn't stink? Everything that life had ever given her had come through her cunt. Despite the fact that she had been a rich and socially prominent woman for some years, she was totally incapable of earning a living. She was a moderately good cook and housekeeper, but there was little call for that. She could type but not well enough to compete with professional stenographers.
Late Saturday night she went down the hospital corridor to the bathroom. She studied herself in the mirror carefully. Her hair had grown to resemble a crewcut, but time would take care of that. Her figure and skin were like those of a girl in her early twenties. She stared into the eyes of the woman in the mirror and declared, "Where do you get off thinking that you're too high and mighty to be a whore? You and I both know that you're nothing but the daughter of an immigrant German bartender, raised in a stinking walk-up tenement. You have no advanced education nor technical training. The only two things you can really do well is fuck and suck cock. So you had some good years, but you fucked them away too. How the hell else are you going to feed and clothe that sexy frame of yours for the rest of your years? You're nothing but a dumb cunt. You are a natural-born whore, so c'mon, Portia, face life."
Monday morning she and Flossie were discharged from the hospital. They went down to the lobby together. Flossie had not broached the subject again after her first suggestion.
As they walked out onto the street, Flossie turned to her and asked, "Where ya goin', honey?"
Elsie linked her arm in that of her gum-chewing friend and smiled as she replied, "With you."
"Wonderful! Welcome to the world's oldest profession!" She grinned happily as she hailed a cab. Once the two girls were inside, Flossie gave the driver the address of the house that was to be Elsie's new home.
In the days ahead Elsie learned, too late, that while prostitution might be the oldest profession it was a field of endeavor in which all progress was in a downward direction.