Chapter 9
Marcie is a blonde haired, delicate featured, petite, beautiful, intelligent young woman. Sitting across from her in the quiet restaurant, slowly sipping a pink lady, it was hard for me to believe she was a prostitute.
"I make a lot better living in my line of business," she explained. "I came to South Carolina after my divorce, and immediately fell in love with this small resort town. It is wonderfully different than New York with all the hustle and bustle. And the people are friendly. However, it isn't easy to find work here. There are only two factories; and I can't stand the thought of working in a factory, anyway. Aside from that there's a small hospital and the hotel to provide employment.
"And you chose the hotel."
"Well, not exactly." She smiled and reached into her purse for a cigarette. "I had to wait a few weeks before they had an opening, and that was in the cocktail lounge."
"You didn't like that line of work?"
"No, it's not that. In fact, I still work there three nights a week, but it's hard work, harder than most people seem to realize, and I have to put up with more bullshit from my lounge customers than most of my other clients." She took a long drag from her cigarette. Her dark brown eyes laughed. "However, if it weren't for that lounge, I most likely wouldn't have acquired my sideline."
"I found Ponce. Or I guess I should say, he found me."
"Ponce?"
Marcie laughed, then continued. "Yes. That's his nickname. Everybody knows about his extra little business. He's worked at the hotel as a waiter for over ten years, and has about fifteen girls working for him on the side. It's easy for him to make contacts, especially when one of the conventions is going on. That's how I got started. It was during a political convention. Ponce lived in England for a long time. His nickname is the British way of saying 'pimp'.
"He approached me late one evening after I had been working in the lounge for around two months. Of course, by then I knew about his extra business activities. He told me he was short one girl to work the convention, and asked if I would be interested.
"At first I refused, but after he explained how much money I would make and that he would protect my identity from the hotel manager, which would keep me from getting fired, I changed my mind. After all, in the two months I'd worked there, I had screwed three of my customers, scared to death that they or someone else would fink on me. I screwed them for nothing. I figured I might as well make a little money if I was going to fuck anyway, and I knew I would, because I like it so much."
I smiled. "You mean you enjoy your business?"
"Of course. I wouldn't do it if I didn't. Some of the girls do it strictly for the money, though. They're very cold individuals, to my way of thinking. Or just kidding themselves.
"I've always liked to screw. I started when I was fourteen, and liked it the very first time. It was with a schoolmate. He was two years older than me, and very experienced for his age. He knew just exactly how-to play with my clit and kiss my titties until I'd be a wild, slobbering demon, begging for him. Then he'd stick his huge prick in me and in no time we'd both come. Boy, I hated it when he moved to California." She shook her head slowly back and forth, and took a small sip of her almost empty drink.
"Would you like another drink?" I asked, interrupting her reverie.
She smiled. "Yes, I think I would."
I waved for the waitress as Marcie continued her story.
"It wasn't hard to get started with the help of Ponce. The second night of the political convention he told me that he had a prospective customer for me. The man, Ponce went on to say, had seen me the night before and asked if I-you know. Ponce said I was available, though I was new at the job. That interested him even more, so Ponce made arrangements for me to meet him after work."
"Where did you meet?"
"Well, certainly not at the hotel!" Marcie laughed, her eyes twinkling teasingly. "I always meet my customers at Ponce's place. He has two apartments. One for his use and the other for any of his girls who need it. Most of the other girls take the guys to their places, but I eion't want to do that. The apartment is always clean, and it is extremely private.
"My first client's name was Dave. A good-looking man. I probably would have screwed him anyway if I had the chance! He was blond, very clean, about five feet eleven, but married. He explained to me that he used the services of prostitutes when away from home because he didn't want to get involved with anyone. He loved his wife, he said solemnly, but he also loved to ball. We were a good pair.
"After about two hours of fucking and sucking when we both were completely tired out and lay resting in each other's arms, he told me that I was the best piece of ass he had ever had, and he'd had plenty. He must have meant it, because since he was paying me, he didn't have to compliment my work.
"He paid me and left. I felt a little guilty about taking his money since I had enjoyed myself so much, but since I have been at it for two years now, I figure that the fun jobs make up for the not-so-fun ones, and I don't mind taking the money at all any more."
"What do you mean, not-so-fun jobs?" I asked.
"Oh, you'd be surprised at some of the weirdos a prostitute comes across sometimes."
"For instance?"
Marcie lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. Then she smiled. "Well, there was this guy with a foot fetish."
"I've heard of such things, but please go on."
"He was about fifty or so, I would guess, fat and ugly. I wouldn't have agreed to be with him at all, if I hadn't been up against it for some cash at the time. It had been a long time between conventions. Anyway, I did agree and met him at Ponce's as usual. He asked me to get undressed and he did the same, then he asked me to get on the bed, backwards, you know, with my feet on the pillow and my head at the foot. I did and he put his face close to my feet. After a second or two he started stroking them. It tickled and I started to squirm and giggle.
"He insisted that I "remain perfectly still and quiet. He said he would report me if I didn't. Boy, it was hard to do, but I managed.
"After he had stroked my feet for a while, he started to lick them. That was almost unbearable. It took all my willpower to lie still. He sucked on each toe and ran his tongue between them. I started thinking about some kind of torture I had read about that was similar to what he was doing to me. I could see how a person could lose his or her mind under the circumstances.
"He didn't allow me to move until after he had rubbed his stubby, hard dick all over both of my feet and shot his hot sticky come on them."
"God," I said, shaking my head. "That is weird."
"He's the strangest man I've ever known," Marcie continued. "But he did pay me well, and didn't report me.
"And then there was the lesbian. I'd never been to bed with a woman before, and was curious as to what it was like, although I had refused at first, but when Ponce told me she promised to pay me double what I usually make, I agreed.
"Her name was Beth, and she was in town with an astrologers' convention. She treated me very tenderly. I have read that women know how to make love to other women better than men, and I'll admit I enjoyed the rushes of pleasure she gave me, but I don't think I'll ever go to bed with a woman again. It just felt too unnatural, kind of creepy."
"I can understand that," I said. "I don't think I'd feel very comfortable either."
"I'll tell you, though," Marcie went on. "When she stuck one finger in my ass and one in my pussy, and then started licking my clit, I forgot for a minute that she was a woman. She made me come three times, and didn't ask me to do anything to her."
"That's rather unusual, isn't it?"
"Yes, from what I hear, but she knew I'd never been with a woman before, and she wasn't pushy. I know she came when she was rubbing her body against mine. I could tell. But she didn't ask me to eat her or anything."
"Do you or any of the other girls have trouble with the local authorities?" I inquired.
"Well, prostitution is against the law here, but as far as the local police go, they leave us alone. I imagine they get a kickback. Prostitution is big business in most resort towns. There are other pimps and hookers besides the group I belong to. There was one time, though, when I got kind of scared...."
"Why? What happened?"
"Well, about a year ago the county prosecutor decided he was going to put a stop to all the gambling and prostitution in the entire county. He was newly elected, and I suppose he was trying to impress the higher-ups. Anyway, he hired private detectives and planted some of them in the hotel. He really had a fine plan, and it was kept completely secret. No one knew about it until several of the girls were caught. Me, too, almost."
"I bet that was frightening," I said.
"Right ... I mean, what I do doesn't hurt anyone. When you get down to it, the girls are the ones who take a chance on being hurt. You never know for sure what the guy is going to be like.
"This particular night was busier than hell, a four-state group of Lions Club members were at the hotel. Ponce approached me in the usual manner to see if I would agree to meet someone later on, when I was through working the lounge. He pointed the man out to me, and I said I would. He was very attractive. Tall-at least six feet-and dressed stylishly. I was looking forward to my job that night.
"As usual, I met him at Ponce's. He was sitting outside in a big shiny car, and when he saw me he very politely stepped out of his car and opened the door to the apartment stairs for me.
"Once inside the bedroom, while I was sitting on the bed and had started to remove my dress, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his billfold. 'You don't have to pay me yet,' I told him. I was laughing a little, because I truly thought that was what he intended to do. Then he opened his billfold and showed me his credentials. 'You're under arrest for prostitution,' he stated flatly, and proceeded to tell me my rights.
"I'll tell you, I never was so frightened in my life. There I was, a twenty-five year old woman whom everybody back home thinks is an angel. I'd be put in jail. It would be in all the papers!"
"What did you do?" I asked, genuinely feeling the girl's fear.
"I begged and pleaded with him, and cried real tears. I told him I had only been to bed with someone for money once before, which was a lie, but he had no way of knowing. At least I hoped he didn't. I went on to say that I would never do such a thing again, if he would just let me go.
"He didn't say anything for a few seconds. Just looked at me, but I could tell by the way his eyes shone that he wanted me. He looked sympathetic, too. He was ... very ... a very good lover. I ended up enjoying the night after all.
"Two hours of sex with George left me deliriously happy and content, and I knew he felt the same way. We had made love tenderly, caressing each other's bodies with gentle strokes. He sucked my breasts as if he were a baby, taking every drop of pretended milk from each one. He had me panting for relief by the time he allowed his giant rock-hard cock to enter me. I had never been screwed in slow motion before, and enjoyed it more than I could tell him. It seemed like I could feel every inch of him throbbing throughout my entire body.
"We came together. I still see him now and then, and he knows I didn't quit balling for money, as I told him I would, but he causes me no trouble. As a matter-of-fact, I like him. He likes me, too. If I had met him before I started hustling, I think I really could have fallen for him."
"How long do you plan to continue with your present sideline?"
Marcie gave me one of her beautiful smiles. "Oh, I'm not sure. Probably for another couple of years. I'll be twenty-eight then, and will probably move on to another town. I should have plenty of cash by then. And I guess I ought to plan on settling down before too long. Maybe find some nice guy, get married and have a baby. I've always wanted a baby." .
"Just keep working and hoping you don't get caught, right?"
She laughed. "You bet. But I don't think there's much chance of it, as long as I don't steal from anyone, and I've never done that. The whole business had to slow down during the time I was just telling you about, when I thought I'd had it. But it all blew over. In about two months everything was going strong again."
"That quickly?" I was amazed.
"Sure. The new prosecutor made his headlines, and that's all he actually wanted. The girls who were arrested were just fined a small amount, which their pimps paid for them if they were short of cash. None of the pimps were arrested. I imagine they paid somebody off."
"What do you think about prostitution as a whole, Marcie?"
"To tell the truth, I think it's a needed service. After all, men are going to screw, and it's better that they come to a prostitute when they feel the urge than to rape some innocent, unsuspecting woman or young girl. Besides, most prostitutes keep themselves cleaner than the average woman. We have to be, and we have regular checkups to make sure we carry no diseases."
"Well, I guess that's one way of looking at it." I smiled, and she answered me with a smile of her own.
"Well," she said, extending her hand, "it has been nice meeting and talking to you, but I had best be on my way. There's another convention in town tonight, and I am sure I will be kept quite busy, even though I don't have to work in the lounge. Ponce has two new guys and one old customer lined up for me. I've got to go home and rest a bit so I can be in tip-top shape."
I shook her extended hand and thanked her for the conversation. "I am sure it will be an interesting addition to my book."
"Any time," she said and turned to leave.
I watched her walk out of the restaurant. Outside the glass door, she turned and waved. I acknowledged the wave, thinking how exceptionally pretty she was, and so fresh-looking. Not at all like the typical picture one gets in his head when he thinks of a prostitute. But these days, most all hookers have a new image. The blatant whore types have all but disappeared from the scene.
The following morning a note was delivered to my hotel room. It was from Marcie, but she didn't sign her name.
It's strange how things work out. I was talking with Ponce last night about the book you're doing and said you were particularly interested in politicians and their special interests. He told me about a girl who calls herself Astrid. Even secondhand the story is amazing, but Ponce said she would love to talk to you, and I'm sure she'll be far more informative than I was. She's been in the business for years.
The telephone number where I could reach As-trid followed.
Astrid appeared close to forty. Her hair was black and her eyes were blue. I suspected that she didn't come by the black hair without some help from a beauty shop, but her lush body was seductive, youthful, and graceful. She also had a marvelous sun tan. She winters in Florida, usually. Sometimes it's California or Arizona, though. She spends at least a month out of every year at a ski resort during the season. "That's when I take my vacation. I own the place, and that's where I'll go when I retire."
The rest of the year, Astrid follows the conventions. She likes to travel and maintains only a tiny efficiency apartment in an Atlantic seaboard state for a home base. She lives there because it's close to New York City and she can make excellent connections on airlines to everywhere. She said the conventions were lucrative and once she proved herself to those who counted, they were free of hassles. She became hooked on traveling during World War Two, when she was married to a career soldier. Maybe she noticed the surprised reaction I had to her statement about being married to a soldier during World War Two, which made her much older than I had thought. She smiled, tossed her head, and said she was fifty-six. "People don't have to look old. I'm active, which keeps my body in good condition. I don't abuse myself by drinking too much or eating too much, either. And I feel good about myself, which probably accounts for the lack of wrinkles on my face, though I'm beginning to sag a bit around the chinline. So in a few years I'll have a face-lift. Even then, I won't want to look like a girl any more. I prefer to look like a mature woman, because that's what I am."
She had a son by her husband, who was killed in action. The son manages the ski resort she owns. He's divorced from his wife and has custody of their child, but Astrid remains friendly with her former daughter-in-law. "She's an honest woman, which is a rare find. She didn't want the baby, but she was too far along to get an abortion when she found out she was pregnant. After my grandchild was born, she tried very hard to adjust, but she's never liked children, and was woman enough to admit it. My son is doing a marvelous job of bringing the darling up, and I simply adore my grandchild."
Astrid believes in giving her clients what they want, and believes she is fulfilling a need. A great number of her tricks are masochistic. She said she has a solid reputation for being trustworthy. "Wild horses couldn't make me name names, but over the years I've seen a definite increase in a need for punishment among my customers. So many men simply can't get it up unless they can find someone to hurt them a little. I've worked out a system that makes the dudes feel properly chastised without really going the sadistic route."
Politicians are Astrid's greatest source of income. "Of course, they're married men for the most part. That's part of the game. Voters like to think of their government representatives as decent family men, but I think the frankness of today is a healthy trend for everyone concerned. The homosexuals among us are beginning to come out of the closet. A few years ago divorce was unheard of among the top dogs in the political scene, but now it's pretty well accepted. But the American public still isn't ready to accept what they consider perverted sexual behavior in the people who run the country. I mean, who wants to think about a governor, for instance, who likes to have his clothes torn off, be handcuffed to a bed and worked over with a whip?"
Astrid used every precaution to protect the identity of the men she told me about, including the use of fictitious names.
Lou has been a regular of Astrid's for twenty years. "If I told you his name, and if you used it, he'd be ruined, and I would no doubt be dead. But even though his needs are a little strange, he's a great guy, and he's doing a marvelous job in his elected office."
Lou has to feel like he's being raped. In order to get him aroused, Astrid tells him a story. They're all similar, and this is an example.
Once upon a time there was a very handsome man who dreamed of becoming a United States Senator. Sometimes this man even allowed himself to contemplate visions of himself living in the White House.
One morning when this man-and we'll call him John-was in his hotel studying a government report on the mating habits of tree frogs, the maid knocked on the door. He called out for her to enter, and went back to reading his report.
The maid went about the business of cleaning the room. John kept on studying the report and paid little attention to her. He'd not even noticed what she looked like, because he was so interested in what he was doing.
Suddenly he felt something slip over his head and his head jerked back as he tried to struggle free of the rope that had lassoed him. But he was too late. The maid pulled the rope taut and he was unable to move his arms. But he could stand up, so he did so, and spoke quietly to the madwoman who had him tied, explaining that she must let him go. He took a step toward her, and she tripped him, which sent him sprawling on the floor.
He was helpless because she sat on his legs, and his arms were firmly secured to his body. Looking up at her from his supine position, he saw that she was an attractive woman, though much older than John. She was also a very big woman. Her breasts were mammoth. As he looked at her and begged her to release him, she tore her blouse off and shoved one of those great big nipples into his mouth.
With the hand that wasn't firmly holding the rope, the woman proceeded to claw all of poor John's clothes off. But she kept her tit in his mouth all the time so he could no longer speak to her, and beg her to stop doing the terrible, depraved things she was doing to him.
Then she started massaging John's cock, which she brought to throbbing erection. As soon as it was hard enough to stand up straight, she positioned her great big ass above him and slid right down his pole, gobbling every inch right up inside her.
Poor John. There he was, with his arms tied chose to his body and a big woman on top of him, grinding down against his pubic hair on the downbeat and screaming with pleasure on the back swing. She humped and humped and humped. Sometimes she pivoted her ass around in circles. Other times, she just kept pistoning her hips and riding him.
John was totally helpless and certainly as innocent as a newborn lamb. Yet he was made of flesh and blood. Before long, he realized that he was not going to be able to help himself. Try as hard as he could, he couldn't keep from liking what she was doing to him. He closed his eyes and prayed for deliverance, hoped somebody would come into the hotel room and find him and realize what was going on before it was too late ... but nobody came. Nobody, that is, except poor John.
After that, Astrid said, the elected official was sufficiently into the story to allow her to do the same thing to him that the big maid did to the story character. "But he always has to pretend that he participates against his will," she said, with an understanding shake of her head. "The poor bastard. It makes you wonder what happened to him early on. And his poor wife. He told me once that they have no sex life. It's my guess that if his wife had to go through all that business with him every time she wanted to ball, she probably got tired of it. They have teenage children. I just hope his wife has some enjoyment in her life!"
Another regular customer of Astrid's likes to have her bathe him the way a mother bathes a baby. She coos at him and talks baby-talk as she washes his body with a mild soap, rinses him, and powders him all over with baby powder. Then she takes him on her lap and lets him nurse for a long, long time. That's all he wants from her. He never gets an erection, never touches her anywhere but on the breasts and when he does that it's done in the same way a baby kneads his mother's breasts as it sucks.
Joe brings along a curry comb. Before he can get a hard-on, Astrid must use the sharp-toothed metal comb on Joe's back, inner thighs and around his genital area. His skin turns bright red and the blood almost seeps through. But it's the only way he's able to get it on, so maybe he's thankful to the person who invented the curry comb.
Mel is a big, healthy, deeply tanned man who appears very masculine. He is also a well known political figure and lives the good life. When Mel is with Astrid he does something he's compelled to do often, but can't because of his public image and position. Mel puts on Astrid's clothes. They aren't from her own personal wardrobe because, even though she's not a small woman, Mel is much taller and broader. Whenever she goes to a convention she takes along her "specia!" clothes, because if she doesn't encounter Mel, she's sure to need the sexy women's clothes for another man who likes that sort of thing.
She said she felt sorry for the Mels of this world and other men who need what the majority of people would think of as kinky, weird, or even crazy and perverted. "Mel isn't a homosexual. I suppose if I had to put a label on him, I'd say he's a trans-vestite, but only on occasion. I know another girl who takes care of Mel when he's at home. I don't know whether his wife can't or won't. Anyway, this girl who lives in the capital agrees with me, and I say he's a marvelous lay, and he comes to see her at least once a week. And I don't know why he doesn't want to wear this other girl's clothes. Maybe he doesn't trust her as much as he does me. Hell, I don't know. All I know is, he puts on pantyhose, a bra, and a pair of bikinis. Then he steps into a dress and I zip it up for him. After that comes the shoes and they're open at the toe with three-inch heels. He isn't interested in cosmetics and he doesn't want a wig. As soon as he's paraded around in the clothes for a while, he's ready to ball."
I asked if he had sex passively. "Does he prefer to be on the bottom?"
"Nope. Not usually. He loves it all ways and any way. He fucks like a man. A good man."
PART THREE Funeral Directors' Conventions