"Money won't make you happy, Angie."
"That's what they say. But I don't see too many people laughing when they're hungry, either."
"Yeah, I guess that's true."
"Sure it's true. How many people do we know that got divorced because they were broke? All that love and roses goes sour real quick when the bills pile up. Yet look at Susan Lovely and her husband over there by the pool having a gay old time. They hate each other's guts but they can still have fun together. If you have enough money you can buy a lot of smiles."
"You really gonna sell yourself, Angie?"
"Sure hope I can, Paula. I got the idea when that banker paid me. The one who's gonna fuck you tonight."
"Maybe he won't want to do it to me?"
"Sure he will. Older men love young stuff. They'll pay plenty. That's what I'm counting on, really. To get a nice bank account while I have something of value. Criminey, every housewife in the country thinks she could make a million bucks if she turned professional. But you know what, Paula?"
"What?"
"There ain't a housewife in the world could get more than about twenty bucks for it. So all that talk about purity and keeping yourself for one man is a lot of bull. When a woman ain't worth more than twenty bucks for everything she's got, no wonder they have to take all that crap from a husband."
"You sound cynical, Angie."
"Maybe so. But I'm saying the truth. How many men do you think are true to their wives? I mean, true for their whole lives?"
"None at all, I guess."
"Well, there must be a few of them around somewhere. But even those guys dream of strange pussy. And they get all worked up if they see a girl bend over, or catch a glimpse of a bare tit in the movies."
"That's just natural, Angie."
"Sure it is. And it's natural for people to want strange sex. Everybody needs a change. That's what I'm banking on."
"You really are gonna be a professional?"
"Maybe. I'd sure like to. You know how much I like to screw. But there's more to it than that. Lots of women would sell their pussy if they could get rich.
It ain't that easy. Lots of husbands would help their wives to sell it if it would give 'em a big bank account, too. Once you've lost your cherry, what's the difference? You can't wear it out."
"How you gonna do it, Angie? How you gonna make money with your body?"
"Damned if I know, Paula. Guess I'll just have to feel my way along. There's so much free stuff any more a guy has to be crazy to pay for it."
"Yeah, I know. Most of the girls in school would be eager to screw for that banker you told me about. And he wouldn't have to pay very much, either."
"That's him over there. Pouring another drink."
Alfred DeMarco wasn't such a bad-looking man after all, because he had a distinguished air about him as I watched the way he moved around. And when I imagined the huge cock he had in his pants I was sorry Paula came along. Maybe I wouldn't be able to take all that cock, yet it would sure be fun to try again! There was something fascinating, something terrifying, about a giant prick. Sex and death were so intertwined in my mind at that time, like pain and birth, that I wanted Alfred to make me scream with sexual agony. I didn't realize it then but now I understand that a woman needs pain. Even the soaring glory of an orgasm s the echo of female torment.
We didn't get Alfred DeMarco alone until almost eleven o'clock, and then he didn't want Paula.
"I offered to pay you, Angie," he said. "I could give the money to the girls at the bank if sex was that important. I really like you."
"Paula's the same age as me, Mr. DeMarco. You said you wanted somebody young."
"Yes, that's true. But you satisfied my curiosity. And there are any number of women, mature women, who have more beauty than an undeveloped teenager."
"Hey, I'm developed!" Paula was angry. "I got titties almost as big as Angie!"
"I wasn't referring to physical attributes, young lady. Certainly a young girl has a natural beauty that is quite incomparable. Still there are other qualities that tempt a man."
"You mean a grown woman is sexier than a young girl?" Paula frowned.
"In the long run that is certainly true," Alfred told her. "A woman develops charisma with years until she is able to satisfy a man on equal terms. There's a lot more to love than flesh and bones."
"We ain't talking about love," I reminded Alfred. "I just thought you might like to try my friend."
"Perhaps I would, Angie. Yet I would much prefer you. Any man would like to make love to you."
I was flattered but it still made me mad when Alfred wouldn't give any sex to Paula. Under different circumstances that old banker would get a hard-on just looking at her sweet beauty. The alcohol must have mellowed his glands enough to relax him just then, so I took advantage of visual aids.
"Don't you think this looks nice?" I said as I lifted Paula's skirt to expose her pink panties.
"Oh, don't do that, Angie!" Paula yanked her skirt down again, and she was embarrassed.
Alfred DeMarco set his drink on a table, while his face got flushed.
"Perhaps I was hasty." His voice was husky. "Paula is a very pretty girl."
He was hooked and I knew it. Once a man gets a bone-on he forgets about lots of things. Once his mind gets focused on pussy, he forgets the pale arguments of sanity.
"You can fuck her," I tempted as Alfred stared at her lush young' body. "We came here so you could fuck her, Alfred."
He didn't even know I was standing there and he didn't even hear my voice.
After visions of her tender thighs, the soft under things, were dancing in his brain until the effect was interpreted in his loins. I could see the massive prick swell in his trousers while his face got all blotchy with passion.
"I'll pay you good, honey," he panted. "I'll give you fifty bucks if you want."
"Two hundred," I reminded.
"Yes. Oh yes. That's fair. Whatever you want. Ooohh, you're such a pretty girl!
What'd you say your name is?"
Alfred could hardly walk as I took the two of them upstairs to one of the many bedrooms. His cock was so big it was like walking on three legs, and Paula kept giving me nervous little smiles.
"Please don't come in, Angie!" she begged when I started into the bedroom with them.
"But I wanted to watch, Paula! It was my idea after all, and I wanted to watch!"
"Please!"
She was frightened, like a girl with a boy's hand in her crotch for the first time, so I left them alone. It wasn't easy because I had visions of that beautiful abnormal cock. All swollen and deadly. Ready to penetrate her body.
It got me so hot and bothered I went back down to sneak a cocktail. Nobody paid much attention to me since there were so many guests at the house. I got the drink Alfred DeMarco left on the table, and it tasted good. Cool and tangy, with a taste of mint. It wasn't the first time I tasted alcohol and I expected there would be plenty of the good stuff in my future.
After I drank the cocktail I went upstairs to check the children and they were sleeping peacefully, then I tiptoed past the bedroom where Paula was getting done. Silence.
Alfred must be kissing her breasts, I figured, or toying with her juicy young cunt. He would do that now that he had a youngster alone in the bedroom, where he could take all the time he wanted to enjoy the sweet luxury of- her youthful body.
Lucky Paula!
I needed sex too.
But Susan Lovely told me not to fuck around with her guests. She was bitch enough to kick me out of the house if she caught me, so I had to be careful. I found another drink on a vase-stand, only this one was sour. Still it went down easy and I was feeling good, so I walked right out to the pool area. Maybe they thought I was a servant or something because even out here among the party nobody paid attention to me. I got another drink from a tray and sat down to watch the merrymakers. They were really having fun, laughing and dancing and carrying on like there wasn't a care in the world. I envied them for sure, and hoped my plans for the future really would include riches. It would be hell to get stuck in a crummy little house without cash enough to pay the bills. The mere thought terrified me. Life would be so much brighter, and filled with laughter, if a girl had money I paid close attention to a woman I recognized. Her photo was in the papers often and her name was told with a sort of awe around town. Cora Truffinger. A powerfully rich old dowager. Homely as a mud fence. Wrinkled. Worn out. Still the guests kowtowed to the old bag. They hung around her like maggots on a dead carcass, screeching with laughter every time she uttered a word.