Hot Child in the City

Hot child in the city Runnin’ wild and lookin’ pretty Hot child in the city

The clack-clack sounds of her stiletto heels striking the sidewalk echoed staccato-like off the nearby brick building. At 3 am, even New York City grew quiet in most neighborhoods. At 43rd street just east of 8th avenue, there was an alleyway next to the temporarily closed Starbucks. Keri hovered near it, walking to try and stay warm in her skimpy outfit, and to avoid a loitering charge. That was the new tactic deployed by the city to discourage streetwalkers. If you were standing around, aimlessly, you could get hauled in for loitering and spend the night in jail. Or, if it was a single cop, and he was frisky, a quick blowjob would get you let off curbside but blocks away.

At 17, Keri made her debut as a hooker and promptly got her ass beat by the old, 26-year old whose territory she had mistakenly invaded. Now, half a year later and 18, she was much wiser and more careful.

A car was slowly approaching from the east. She removed the gum she had been chewing and saved it in the wrapper, then slowly sauntered toward the street, keeping her eyes open for any cops, uniformed or not. The car slowed, then stopped near her. As she approached, the window descended. It was a nice car, she noted, a Lexus, newer model.

“Hey,” she said, leaning over to give the driver a nice shot of her breasts. She saw him looking her over, blonde, curly hair surrounding a pretty face which was devoid of most make-up, making her look younger. She did have a little eyeshadow, and just the hint of sparkles from her lips, which were full and inviting.

“Hey,” he replied, “nice nips. You excited?” He leered a bit.

She wanted to say “No, you idiot, it’s fucking cold out!” but she just smiled, pulled her top apart a bit to show him her tits including her hard nipples, and nodded.

“You’re hot. Get in.” She heard the click of the lock, opened the door, and got in. The guy waited for her to buckle up, then pulled away.”

“You a cop?” she asked, standard operating procedure.

“Me? Ha! Hell no,” he said with a laugh, “You?”

“No,” she smiled languidly, “I’m not a cop.” She looked him over. Seemed to be in his thirties, decent shape, and he didn’t smell bad, plus his clothing wasn’t cheap, so he might be an okay john, she thought.

“It’s $50 for a blowjob, $80 for a quick fuck, and $100 if you want both. If we go to a room, you pay for it, $100 for a half-hour, $200 for the hour, as many pops as you want.”

“Sounds reasonable,” he said, having turned onto 9th avenue, then onto 44th, heading east.

“You want me to start now?” she said, moving a little closer and preparing to move her head into his lap, but his right hand stopped her. She sat back up.

“Where are we going?”

“Not far.” A minute later she recognized Grand Central Terminal, and he pulled into it after pressing a remote on the dash.