by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 19
It was late in the day, almost six o’clock — two hours before it would get dark. I needed to get out of my office and off the hot summer asphalt and into Central Park to get some fresh air. My secretary buzzed me. Alexa was on the line; she was still out at the beach. I was in no mood to speak with her.
I took a cab home, showered and changed into a silk pink slip-skirt and a little hot lacy pink panty that hugged my bottom. I found a very thin maroon midriff halter at the bottom of my drawer and threw it on. It was too hot to wear a bra, so I had to put up with a little jiggling. I slipped on an elegant pair of Jimmy Choo sandals with a nice heel, checked myself out in the mirror — I looked splendid — and headed out the door.
I decided not to go to the Band Shell where all the skaters hung out. I just wanted to be by myself, maybe lay down in the grass and snooze like a cat. I needed time to think about what I had done at the beach. I even surprised myself, as well as that guy. It was too hot to carrying anything, not even a bag, so I folded a hundred dollar bill into the front of my panty just in case of an emergency. A little racy perhaps, but so it goes.
I headed to the knoll by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. At this time of day the city goes through a transformation. It is as if the whole place suddenly exhales and relaxes. I found a lovely spot, stretched out, and did the same.
After dozing off for fifteen minutes or so it got a bit crowded. I decided I’d try the Great Lawn, which is a grassy oval with baseball diamonds, surrounded by a walkway and benches. I headed over there and took the first empty bench, which faced the grassy oval, but no sooner had I sat down did I have company.
One guy endlessly tied his running shoes while he espied me, the other made believe I wasn’t there by making believe he had dropped something near me to pick up. The two jerks had no luck and soon left.
I spread out my arms to claim more of the bench, leaned back, shut my eyes, and drifted into the sounds of the scrambled chatter of children playing. I slight breeze found me and bathed me for an exquisite moment. I waited for it to return, instead the sound of a bouncing ball came my way.
I opened my eyes and found a toddler trundling toward me. The little girl, not more than sixteen months, seemed perplexed by the ball underneath the bench. She tried to bend down, but toppled over. I reached for the ball, handed it to her, and off she went.
No sooner had she taken off when a black guy on an expensive racing bicycle stopped within feet of me. He cheerfully smiled and laughed. I didn’t. He leaned on his handle bars and grinned as wide as he could and laughed as if he had just been tickled, “You’re Carrie.”
Surprised, I asked him, “How do you know my name?”
“I remember the D.J calling your name when we was dancing down off the Band Shell. You and that dude, Jamil.”
“You know Jamil?”
“I do and I don’t.”
“What do you mean you do and you don’t?
“I mean just that. You ain’t his girl, are you?”
I said, “We’re good friends.”
He laughed again. I was getting irritated, “What’s so funny?”
“I keep bumping into you in the park.”
“Really? I can’t remember bumping into you.”
“Well, I ain’t trying to pick you up like those others just tried to.” And finished the statement with another big sweet laugh. I imagined he only ate candy.
He went on, “But I had to stop, introduce myself. You just seem to be a bright kind of person, sort of intriguing in a nice way, not like a lot of people I see that are easy to forget. And Jamil didn’t have to tell me that; I knew it on my own.”
I reminded him, “You’re still trying to pick me up.”
“Then I guess I haven’t made myself clear.”
“Oh, yes you have.” I started to get up.
“Wait a second. All we’re doing is having a conversation. I don’t want your telephone number, I don’t want to go out with you. I got me several women, already. You don’t like me, fine. If it’s because of my color, I don’t even care.”
I said, “It’s not because of your color. I’ve had black boyfriends, okay?”
He said, “Really? Well, that’s interesting. Go ahead, sit down. I ain’t gonna bite.”
I didn’t feel like giving up my seat so I sat down again. “You said you have several women. That doesn’t impress a girl. If anything, the opposite. Only a fool would boast that.”
He said, “Only a fool would say that.”
“So you admit that you’re a fool?”
“I’m a happy fool,” and laughed fat again. It was hard not to believe him. He thoroughly enjoyed himself.
“You mind if I sit down?” He got off his bike and sat down, not too close, and parked his bike in full view so no one would mess with it.
“You didn’t let me answer.”
He stared at me with his fat smile and laughed again. It was contagious. Obviously he was a nut, but he didn’t do anything as dumb as tie his shoes and stare up at me..
He confessed, “I’ve known Jamil a long time.”
“And he’s told you about me. Is that it?”
“He has and he hasn’t.”
Curious, I asked him, “What does he tell you about me?”
He threw up his hands like he was under arrest, “The truth?”
“The truth.”
“You’re bright, intelligent, charming, lovely, and near perfect.”
I laughed this time, “You’re lying.”
“You’re right. He didn’t tell me a damn thing.”
“But you asked him.”
He raised his hands up again, “Didn’t have to. Saw you for myself. Realized I really didn’t have too many women, but had none at all.” And smiled at me fat and sweet. He was definitely a happy person, more than myself.
It was sort of contagious. I let out smile and said, “What makes you so happy?”
That only made him laugh sweeter. “I feel good.”
“Why?”
“I always feel good. People say, “Hey, there’s Little John, look at him. He’s feeling good.” Just my nature, that’s all.”
I tried to laugh fat, too. I suppose I wasn’t feeling as well.
He teased, “You must be a banker or something, too much financial weight on your mind. Is that it?”
“No. You’re not even close.”
“I didn’t think so. Just wanted to get it out of the way. Must be fashion, or something.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because you got style. A woman who’s got style, she needs a life of style twenty-four/seven.”
“You’re close. What do you do?”
He laughed, “I ain’t no banker.”
I tried not to be sarcastic, “I didn’t think so.”
It was the first time he got close to a frown, but he smiled out, “I guess neither of us is.”
“You’re unemployed?”
“Oh, I got me a job.”
“But you’re not telling.”
He said, “If you give me a second. Got a night club, after hours. That sort of thing.”
But when he mentioned the name of it I had never heard of it. It was located in Harlem somewhere, obviously a place I had never been.
He said, “You’re invited if you’d like, that is if you’re not scared, ’cause you look a little bit like you are.” And had another good laugh while I sat there like miss goody-two-shoes.
I said, “It’s just out of my world, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, we’re out of each other’s world. I guess that’s the attraction.”
I corrected him, “Your attraction.”
He laughed fat again, “Yeah, right, I forgot.” He looked me over. My nipples got plump and pushed through my thin halter. He wasn’t the only one looking. I distracted him by folding my arms over my chest.
He caught me and winked. I frowned and wasn’t impressed Then he complimented me, “You’re elegant and refined. I like that.” And laughed again.
“What’s so funny now?”
He said, “I’m elegant too, but in a different way.”
I wanted to laugh. I didn’t think he was elegant at all, but he did have charm, “You’re can’t be elegant, you’re too spontaneous.”
He liked that, “Yeah, I think you’re onto something. And you’re all tight, but that’s nice too.”
“Well I’m not as tight as you think.”
He said, “Can you holler across the street, yell down a manhole? No. You the type all tucked away in a limousine with a chauffeur. When you get sneaky it’s a whole different thing. And not all that bad either.”
I said, “I’m not sneaky.”
He patronized me, “I must have you all wrong.”
I insisted that he did. I got up to go to. He said, “Well it was nice meeting you.” I shook his hand, which was kind of silly. We both laughed. He asked, “Mind I walk you out the park?” He followed me.
“My name is Little John.”
I joked, “Like in Robin Hood?”
He laughed, “No like in my dad who was Big John. Yours?”
“Caroline. Some call me Carrie for short.”
He sung my name to himself and liked it, “I like the way you dress. They way you move in clothes. But then you’re so pretty you’d look sweet in anything. How many black boyfriends have you had?”
“None of your business. And don’t listen to Jamil.”
Little John laughed like he had me all figured out. Jamil must’ve said something like I liked black cock and that he fucked me, too – – and exaggerated it. I was getting angry. I thought Jamil would have more class than that. Then a guy on a bike suddenly crossed our paths. Little John reached out with his big hands and took me to the side. He was strong. I said, “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Just what did Jamil say?”
“I told you. Nothing.”
He sounded believable, so I dropped the subject, but I still had lingering doubts.
We walked on. “What kind of night club do you have?”
He said, “Folks get together to drink, socialize, listen to music, meet each other. That sort of thing.”
But I knew he wasn’t telling me something. I remembered seeing him down at the dance area with several white girls. I never really thought about it, other than that they dressed a certain way, but I was too busy dancing to make any more of it.
I asked him, “You like white girls, don’t you?”
“I like all kinds of girls. Color don’t make a difference. But I like white girls.”
“I remember seeing you with these three white girls down near the dance area…more than once. You hang out always together?”
“That makes me a bad person?”
I said, “I remember seeing you with them before.”
“Sure. We is friends. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”
“I didn’t say there was. In fact, all the power to you. I suppose you fuck them all.”
He didn’t let on except to smile fat and wide.
And then I remembered Jamil telling me about the pimp who finds nice white girls in the park. I thought it strange, weird, how he did it. I had a feeling I was walking with that pimp. So I put it to him, to let him know that I wasn’t a fool. “You are that guy, aren’t you?”
“What guy?”
I hesitated at first, afraid that I was going to insult him, but I risked it anyway. “That guy who finds white girls in the park and gets them to do what Jamil was telling me.”
He asked, “What’s that?”
I said, “You know what. You seduce them and then you, how do I say? Pimp them? That’s why you laughed when I mentioned Jamil’s name. So, you’re that pimp, aren’t you? That’s what you two talk about. Did you talk about me?”
“No. We didn’t talk about you, at least not that way. And so, if I am a pimp? I can still laugh and be a human being. Or are you be against that?”
“Well, no. Of course not. You have every right to be human, but I happen to know a girl who’s a madam, and I don’t like her. I don’t like the whole thing. It’s dirty.”
He laughed big and wide, “Well, what do you know?” Then his laughter ebbed into a curious smile, “You’re not one of her girls?”
“Of course not.” I looked away embarrassed that he should think such a thing. We walked on. It was still light out and the sun was like a burning flame over the city; yet, quickly fading as if someone had blown it not entirely out.
I told him, “I wouldn’t go near her. I hate her.”
“Something happened between you two? You the one who ain’t telling something now. How well do you know her?”
I said, “Well, we’re friends, sort of, or were.”
“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”
“She happens to be manipulative and tried to pull something…”
He finished the sentence for me, “On you?”
I kind of shook my head and said, “Yes. I don’t like when people do that.” I didn’t realize how angry I still was with Alexa; it showed more than I had wanted.
Little John said, “Sometimes it’s better to have a man than a woman, if you know what I mean.”
That surprised me, “Why?”
“Women understand with each other, but they can compete with each other, and that can cause trouble.”
I knew exactly what he meant. He said, “Look, I like you. I wouldn’t mind helping you out if I could, but you got to be honest with me. If she owes you money or has threatened you it can be dealt with, or, do you have this desire to do something or have you done something, but feel uncomfortable about it? You got to be forthcoming.”
I said, “No. Nothing like that at all.”
“Sometime a girl wants to do something, but she just can’t do it, but it doesn’t stop her from thinking about it. Something else does.”
“Well, she took something from me, and that’s all.”
“You want it back?”
“No.”
We crossed the grassy knoll by the museum. It was getting dark and everyone had gone. Little John said, “Let’s sit down and talk.”
“Why?”
“Because we got something to talk about.”
I was still angry over Alexa. I wanted to get back at her, but I didn’t know how. He was right that I needed somebody to talk to, so I sat down.
“Do you mind me asking? “
He said, “It depends.”
I felt sort of uneasy, but I just couldn’t believe that he was really a pimp, “You’re not really a, uh, pimp?”
He was very forthright. “Yes.”
“I see…do you have girls?”
“Several.”
And then my burning question, “Are they all white girls?”
“All of them.”
“So then it’s true — what I’ve heard?”
“What’s true?”
“You find nice respectable white girls in the park and turn them into, you know…”
He said, “It’s been known to happen. You see, I can tell when a girl wants to. There’s a lot of respectable pretty white girls want to get pimped. It’s a desire that haunts them, one that makes them burn hot all inside, whether they want to know it or not, but they don’t know how to make that step, ’cause they’re afraid. Afraid they’re doing something bad.”
I spread my hands out on the grass, leaned back and looked up at the sky. It was lovely. So empty. Evening had uncorked and it would make a romantic couple giddy. But I wasn’t in that mood or situation. I was sitting next to a pimp, and it made me nervous.
He guessed, “And you’re worried that it might happen to you?”
I looked away and said in a distant voice, “A little bit. I mean any respectable person would.” I had a feeling he knew all about pretty white girls and what to do with them. He was staring at my body. He liked me. He liked my tits. He liked all of me.
He asked “Have you thought about it at all?”
I was totally embarrassed, “About what?”
He said, “You know what.”
I looked away again, “I’ve thought about a lot of things, okay? I’m allowed to think what I want. It’s a free country.”
“But you’ve thought about it, nevertheless?”
I told him, “No. I mean that and other things have crossed my mind, that is, I’ve thought about it, like you think about a lot of things. I don’t see that as a big deal. I mean it doesn’t mean anything.”
He asked, “How are you money-wise?”
“I’m well off, why?”
He looked at my shoes and said, “Those are several hundred dollars.” I was surprised he even knew. Then he said, “You just had some thoughts about it and now it’s come to a point, wanting to get pimped, because you’re ready, and the desire is stronger than your inhibitions.”
“No, I mean…” I looked down at my sexy slip-skirt and followed the hem around my lovely thighs. I tugged it down to cover them, but it couldn’t reach, “…of course not. I’m not that kind of girl.”
He lowered his tone to meet mine, “What kind of girl are you?”
“A good girl.”
“Have you been with a lot of boys? “
I didn’t like that. “I’m not a slut if that’s what you mean. I’m a decent girl.”
“Still, some girls are easy. It’s just the way they are.”
My foot had slipped out of my sandal and was playing with the grass. My legs had been wide open and he’d been peeking at me. I immediately closed my legs.
“Well, I’m not easy. I’m very picky about who gets to fuck me.”
He said, “Then you ‘re not the girl I heard folks talk about.”
“Of course, not.”
“You’re not that pretty white girl you can get hot and take in the bushes, do what you want with?”
“I already told you that I’m not I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t get hot and I don’t get taken into the bushes.” I turned away. I wouldn’t even look at him. He had some nerve.
“Because they say once they get her hot she can’t stop.”
“They can say what they want. I wouldn’t know.”
“And she’s so very pretty. It’s not like she’s ugly and has to. That’s what makes her so fascinating.”
In defense of the poor girl I said, “Well, she may be fascinating for other reasons.”
“Maybe, but I been told you can put your hands on her when you dance. Sure dancers got to do that, I know, but with her if you happen to pass your hands on her nice breasts she don’t complain ’cause it’s just dancing. The boys have told me. Same if you grind and touch her bottom, she gets into it. And if she’s smiling and happy about it there’s a good chance you can take her into the bushes and fuck her. She just can’t say no. Want me to show you?”
I said, “No. I’m not interested.
“You sure?”
“I told you. I’m not interested.”
“Don’t you like to dance?”
“When I’m in the mood.”
He said, “I’m in the mood.”
“Well, I’m not.”
I pulled my hem down and looked the other way and enjoyed the skyline.
Little John said, “That Alexa, you know she’s the same thing as a pimp. Wouldn’t you agree? A pimp and a madam? I mean, what’s the difference? They provide the same function. Right?”
“I suppose so. In a way. Sort of. If you want to put it that way.”
He pressed on. “She wanted you to do it. Didn’t she?
“She’s very pushy. I cant tell you that.”
He said, “And now you’re angry at her.”
I said, “Of course I am. And she stole Taylor, this guy, who I never really liked anyway.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“What did you think?”
“That you’re a very pretty white girl that was mishandled.”
“That’s not true at all, but Alexa is deceptive and insidious if you must know. She fools you because she’s so smart and good looking. But she’s a snake. She likes to put her fangs into you.”
He concluded, “I can see that. You know, you and me, we get along pretty good.”
“Sort of. I suppose.”
He said, “Like we can just sit here and talk and be ourselves. That’s nice. That’s good. That’s the beginning of a good friendship.”
He didn’t know what he was talking about. It was almost dark, but it was still hot and humid. I tugged at my halter. It was sticking to me.
He went on, “I remember seeing you in the Victoria’s Secret catalogue. I admired your beauty. Like that of a real princess come true.”
“Thank you.”
He asked, “You like when they shoot photos of you, don’t you?”
“It pays very well.”
He said, “And you like that camera looking at you.”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
“But some more than others.” And then dropped his eyes to my chest. He was naughtily staring at my unabashedly firm and ripe nipples. I crossed my arms. I wished I were flat chested.
I said, “I have my own business and I’m very successful. I chair top society functions. I happen to be a very popular girl. I’m even famous.”
“Of course you are. I seen you in the gossip columns. You’re a real proper girl.
“I am.”
He said, “Not like those other pretty white girls.”
“Of course not.” I thought he had some nerve to even suppose such a thought, but I had one of my own, “Those others, why do they let themselves get pimped?”
He seemed amused at my question, “You’re not that type of girl. So you’d never understand.”
“Of course, I’m not that type of girl. I’ve already said that, but I could still understand. I told you I went to Princeton. I’m not dumb.”
“No, that you’re not. You’re just kind of curious; that’s all. Is that it?”
“Of course. I mean why would a nice girl want to get pimped?”
“Maybe you should just see what’s all about. Then you can judge for yourself. You do know how to make-believe?”
“Yes, I know how to make-believe. I take acting lessons. What are you getting at?”
He said, “Take off your slip.”
“My slip? No way. I’m not going to let you see me.”
“It’s just make-believe. You said you know how to make-believe.”
He was trying to pull something.
He asked, “Do you want to find out?” I did. “Then take off your slip.”
I said, “You’re not going to fuck me. So forget about it.”
He was insulted, “I ain’t doing nothing if the sort. You want to know about something and I’m trying to show you. Now I can get up and leave if that’s what you want.”
“No. Wait. Don’t. I just want you to know how I feel. If you can understand.”
He assured me, “Don’t worry. I won’t pull nothing. I promise you.”
I got up, but hesitated and wondered if I should really let him see me in my panty. Especially the hot little lacy one I was wearing. He said he promised he wouldn’t pull anything. He sounded sincere, that It was just make-believe. No different then wearing something flimsy at the beach. But I wasn’t at the beach. I didn’t want to be tricked. So I released my thumbs from the hem of my slip.
He got up, “I guess I’ll be going. See you around.” He walked away like that.
“No, wait a second. Don’t go.” That didn’t stop him. “Please stay….come back.”
He stopped and turned around and said, “Then take off your slip.”
I was reluctant and pouted. I didn’t want him to see me, but I didn’t want him to go, just yet. I was still oddly curious. I needed to understand these girls, their perverse ways. I put my thumbs in my slip-dress, gave a little tug, but no sooner got cold feet. He left me, again.
I said, “Hey, wait a second. Please…” He halted and waited. I stared at him long and hard. The thought of showing myself troubled me so. It went against what was right and the way I was brought up.
He said, “Drop your slip or I’ll go.” He turned and left. I said, “Wait.” He walked on. Again I called after him, “Wait. Please don’t go.” And then out of some pathetic pity he looked back in jest. His eyes were half open and his mouth drifted to one side of his face. He seemed to be saying: I’ve had enough of your b.s.. He looked at the last fading ember of light from the sun as a consolation, but I wanted him to look at me. I called his name as firmly as I could. A moment passed then that contagious smile of his hugged his dimples. I had dropped my slip.
I horribly blushed and covered my panty front. It was stupid and he laughed, but I was glad to see him smiling again. He approached me and said, “Good, girl. Now, if you don’t mind, ’cause it’s just make-believe, tug them panties down just a wee bit so the crack of your derriere is just slightly exposed.”
I lowered my panty just a bit. He told me, “That’s a girl. Now pose sexy like you done in them magazines.” I cocked my hips; I knew what to do. “Yeah. Like that. That’s the look I’d want for you ’cause you got the long good legs and body for it. Turn around. Good. You know you’ve got the sweetest derriere?”
Embarrassed, I said, “Yes. I’ve been told that before. About a zillion times.”
He laughed that fat laugh of his. The tough veneer was flush with his warm charm, which forced a smile out of me, too.
” Now let’s take a walk to the fountain.”
“Take a walk? You don’t mean like this?”
“Ain’t no one gonna tell it’s you less they look real hard. It’s dark It’s summer. Don’t be worried. Everybody dresses hot nowadays.”
“But why do you want me to go over there?”
“I want to you to get used to be dressed like that. So you know what it’s like. Then you can tell me how you feel about getting pimped.”
“But I don’t want to get pimped.”
He flatly said, “Get dressed.”
“Get dressed? I thought you were going to show me what it was like so I could understand why these girls did it. I never said that I wanted to get pimped.”
He reminded me, “It’s make-believe, remember? You’re an actress or take lessons. You know you got to get into another’s skin. Otherwise you gonna fake it. Now, you wanna fake it?”
I pouted some more. “Of course not,” but I felt so silly standing there in my hot little panty for the world to see. I gave in. I went with Little John through the park towards the Fountain. I wanted to hide.
Like a silly girl I put my hands over my panty front so people couldn’t see. What made it so difficult and tantalizing was that I couldn’t hide. All I could really do was turn my head to avoid the embarrassment. Then he straightened me out and told me to take my hands away. I reluctantly obeyed him.
We walked around the Fountain area, which is a broad piazza that is open and tiled, and there is nothing for a girl to hide behind. Luckily it was dark and my face could be barely made out, but my pink lacy panty shone in the moonlight and I got a lot of stares. I ignored them, hoping to neutralize my situation.
I certainly knew that Little John was showing me off, but that was part of the make-believe. Everyone thought that I was one of his girls and hopefully that deflected any thoughts about my own identity. For one thing, he was right. I began to really feel what it was like to be a pretty white girl with her pimp, and making believe was not that much of a buffer. Every once in a while a guy would walk by and say something about me. I was petrified that I might be recognized.
We walked toward the lake and turned near the path that led away from the boat yard. A guy walked over and said, “You got a new girl, Little John. ” That was a compliment for him. I felt differently.
Little John told me, “Show the man what you got.”
I looked at him like he was crazy.
He whispered, “Show him and he’ll go on.”
I didn’t want to show him my goods. I got a little stubborn and folded my arms in meek defiance. Little John said, “He ain’t gonna go unless you show him.” I stared at the guy. I felt so dumb and stupid.
Little John said, “You want me to go, too?”
“Okay, alright.” I lifted up my halter and let him see my large firm sloping tits. The guy got too close and Little John protected me. He put out his arm.
“She’s done working tonight. Sorry.”
I breathed a sigh and quickly dropped my halter. We went on through the path towards Central Park West.
Little John asked, “How do you feel?”
“Like a slut.”
He laughed, “Is that good or bad?”
I badly joked, “A little bit of both.”
“Yeah, I guess it is. You’re getting attention.”
“That’s no so bad. I like getting looked at.”
“Good.”
“Just not this way.”
“That’s because it’s new to you.” I didn’t want to argue, and left it at that.
He said, “Friend of mine makes movies. You’d be a star.”
“Do you really think so? You know people in the movies?”
“Are you kidding? They’d go for you in a second. You got presence.”
I said, “Well, I do take acting lessons. And my teacher says I’m getting pretty good. You really think I’d be good?”
“You kidding? I’ll set it up. You just leave it to me. But you’ll have to audition, first.”
I thought that was nice and said, “Thanks. I’d be glad to. I have a few monologues ready,” and then I said, “You better be talking about straight films, not that porno crap.”
He laughed, which didn’t resolve anything.
Then he took me out of the park. I asked him, “Where are we going now?” He made me put my slip back on as we reached C.P.W.. I said, “Hey, where are you taking me now? Aren’t we done?”
He said, “Almost. One more thing. Then we’re finished for the evening.”
We walked all the way over towards 12th Avenue where it was empty and quiet. There wasn’t a residential street for blocks.
He said, “Take off your slip again. Just like before.”
“Here? What for? Why?”
“We’re almost done. Now you been good so far. Let’s finish up. I got things I’m late to do already. You don’t want to hold me up, do you?”
I said, “Well. no. I don’t mean to, but, here? It’s sort of dingy here.”
“Ain’t no one here. You wanna go to the Village with all the tourists?”
I certainly didn’t. I looked around. There wasn’t a soul except cars going down 12th Avenue, but we were off on a side street, so in effect, I could do what he wanted without anyone seeing, and he had been good to me, a lot better than that Alexa, so I did what he wanted. I took off my slip and rolled my panty down a bit.
He said, “Good. Didn’t even have to tell you. Now walk and wiggle.”
I took out the folded 100 dollar bill that was tucked into my panty front and gave it to him to hold, and remembered I had completely forgotten to take it out in the park. Christ, everyone must have seen the folded bill in my panty. How stupid could I have been, but Little John laughed and said, “No, I like it in there in your panties.”
I numbly slipped it back in and asked, “How much more of this is there? I’m getting tired of it, already.”
“You’re almost done. I have no doubt you’ll understand my girls next time you see them. So we’ll just continue.”
I asked, “Continue what?”
“You being a whore, make-believe that is.”
I wasn’t too sure I liked him saying that even though it was make-believe. I nervously pulled up my panty. Little John said, “Roll’em down.” I did what he asked.
He said, “Now walk down the street…That’s it. Swivel your hips.”
I did a nice runway swivel, “Like this?”
“Yeah, strut them long lovely legs so your breasts bounce. That’s it. Nothing like a skinny girl with big ones.” I told him to shut up, but he laughed louder.
Half way down the street I nervously looked back to see if he hadn’t abandoned me. I was beginning to feel all alone in the dark. I was terrified I would be caught. I stopped this silly business and told him that I had had enough and wanted to get dressed.
He asked, “Okay.”
Finally. I was so relieved. It was all over.
He asked, “What do you think?”
I said, “It’s weird. Real weird.” I reached out for my lovely slip-skirt.
A car slowly turned down the street. I was scared. I stood there dumb as the car slowly cruised by. I felt like a deer frozen in headlights. I quickly walked over to Little John and said, “Hurry, give me my slip.” Little John said, “I think you better show him what you got.”
“Are you crazy?”
Again, he said, “Better show him what you got.”
“I’m scared to.”
“Of what?”
I shrugged. “I can’t do that.”
He said, “Do it and he’ll go away.”
“But I can’t.”
He said, “Just pretend, and the guy will go away, like back at the Fountain. Do it so we can get out of here.”
The car slowly prowled toward me. “Are you sure?”
He asked, “Have I been straight with you all evening?”
I nodded my head.
“Good. Show him your goods and he’ll go away.”
Reluctantly, I lifted up my halter and showed the man in the car my firm hot tits. He rolled the window down. Little John walked over. There was a little negotiation then he opened the door and looked straight at me, “Make-believe is over.” And then I felt a little push.
