by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 47
My husband’s client had his fun and left. I showered, slipped on a black lacy thong and found a cute straw hat with a rising brim that had a multi-colored bandana wrapped around the crown. I wore nothing else except the collar Little John gave me and which Lesley approved my wearing, letting those in the know, know that I am owned, though Marge says the only one who owns me is me. I headed out the waterfront side of my beach house.
No sooner had I swiveled my hips and toes into the sand a familiar voice came my way. It was that South American busboy. Seems he decided to return for another season, and he was coming right at me, feasting his eyes on my ripeness. He did look good in his odd way, though I was sure, after what happened last year, he’d be gone for good.
His English hadn’t improved either, “You no have gun?” It was funny coming from a guy who ran like hell the last time he faced it. I said, “That all depends how you behave.” Then I saw his cute little white girlfriend Cynthia, another well brought up Wasp girl who was turning into a tramp. If only her mother, a few houses down, knew. Cynthia, of course avoided me. She twirled her toes in the surf, as if I would never make the connection between her and Romeo.
The busboy pointed to the collar around my neck, and then, in that Latin way of his, let me know he was horny for me. I reminded him, “Your underage girlfriend is getting lonely.” Never completely understanding my English. he said, “You my girlfriend? Okay, me.” It wasn’t, but I let it go.
Cynthia was getting impatient, but the busboy was too busy feasting on my ripeness. “Maybe we see later, you, me,” and in ignorant bliss he took off. I went on my way and headed over to Marge who had been observing the whole thing. She said, “That girl is only fifteen?” I said, “Whatever she is, that guy is a creep.”
Marge noticed my red bottom, but my attention shifted as I caught the busboy slipping his hand into Cynthia’s beach panty as they walked off. She did get smart and push it away, but just for a second. I felt like running up to her and letting her know what a slut she is. My rage showed and got rewarded by a giggle from Marge.
She said, “You hate it that he fucked you and is now fucking her.” I wanted to tell Marge her reasoning was too simplistic, but when someone is in the mood to rub it into you, it’s just a waste of time. She moved on, “You look great. I never looked great when I was pregnant.” Of course that was a total lie. Marge, as usual, just had to complain a bit, so I would tell her, “If I were a guy I’d fuck you right now, pregnant or not.” That seemed to give her ego a temporary boost.
Then I noticed the client and his wife walking on the beach. He almost waved, but Little John had taught me how to be professional. He’s the one who introduced me into pimping — that evening in the park. Speaking of that, Lesley had sat me down for a little talk after he had first turned me over to one of his clients and told me that since I didn’t mind doing favors for him, he felt at least I should get a little token appreciation. Not that I need the money, but it was sweet of him, so I accepted the offer.
Marge said, “You know him?” Meaning the client — I said that I didn’t. “Carrie, I know what you’ve been doing.” I said, “Obviously, you don’t.” She hit back with, “What ever makes you happy.” We left it at that.
My cell rang and I flipped it open. Lesley said that he a client coming in town and would be staying at the Carlyle, and that the client had seen me and thought that I was devastatingly beautiful. He was dying to meet me the following weekend. Leslie wanted to know how I felt about it and I just casually said, “Great.” He mentioned that the client liked to fuck. He also mentioned that he wanted me to show the client around that Saturday while he worked on the contracts. I told Leslie that I knew just how a wonderful day in the city should be spent with an out-of-towner.
