Chapter 9

I wanted something different, anyway. After awhile you get tired of all the goodie-goodie girls. You've prostituted the bitches to that point where you know the score on every one of them. You know their bullshit backward and forward. You know they lie, and that they're not worth a good damn in hell. You want something else to work on. Something to spice life a bit.

So I started prowling again. I drove here and there, eyeing the quail, figuring what they were worth, making a bet with myself how much it would take to make them; that is, money and time. How little would I have to spend before I got into their boxes and how soon could I make it? It was strictly a diversion while I worked up my big plan.

Let me tell you right now, and I know you know this already: it doesn't take long to make a cunt. It strictly depends on the situation. And as far as money is concerned, the same thing holds true. If the situation is right, you can be penniless; they'll fuck.

Situation; that's the all-important thing, and I was always trying to work out the right one. First, of course, it usually helps if you've known them awhile. Dig that. Awhile! Five minutes? Sometimes it doesn't take longer. But first, anyway, you bullshit about some stupid thing that's supposed to be of mutual interest. You talk about the weather or a movie or something in the news. And then you take it from there with a variety of ploys. It doesn't matter what you talk about; the road ahead is already clear once you've made that initial conversational breakthrough.

And you'd be surprised how many broads are dying to be talked to. You sit beside them in the bus, and they pretend to be busy with a book they're reading; and yet the minute you say something to them, they're more than happy to forget all about that book and concentrate on you. The same thing is true in libraries or in parks or wherever the chance exists to line them up. They're all willing and eager.

After that, it's situation again, pure and simple. Get them in a close spot, alone, nobody knowing what's happening, and they'll put out every time. It never fails. Oh, some of them hesitate, and they all make like they're cherries who've never seen a dick in their lives. But if you have a big yang waiting for them, they'll take it, trust me, if the situation is right.

I've taken them in every possible place, I guess; on beds, on floors, on chairs, against walls, in closets, in bathtubs, on roofs, in garages; you name it, I've knocked it off there. And it's the simplest thing in the world; and they never ask for anything.

That's another thing that people don't sometimes realize. A broad wants to be fucked first. Remember that. She leads you on as long as she can lead you on. If you're sucker enough to invest a small fortune just in order to get into her twat, she'll probably let you spend that fortune. But if you lay down terms early, she'll abide by them-providing that you come across with a steel yang. She wants to be fucked. That's the final answer to it all. And if you convince her early that you won't take shit off her and that you want into her snatch right then, she'll flop for you every time.

I met a chick in a real short dress one day. We were standing in a drugstore, looking at a book rack. I said, "What do girls wear such short dresses for?"

She looked at me. It threw her off-balance. I pursued her fast, saying, "It makes a guy excited. Did you know that?"

She started away from me. I followed her. "I'm excited about your legs right now," I said, "Did you know that?"

Now, you can see, that I was pressing my luck just about as far as it can go. People are picked up for molesting broads on less than that a lot of times. But I had something to show her that proved I could do what she wanted. And I followed her into an elevator that was in the same building, right outside the drugstore in the lobby.

Luckily we were alone. "Please get away from me," she said, making like she wanted to avoid me. Many a guy would quit at that point, and that would be the end of it. But I pushed my luck: all the way.

"Feel this," I said, the minute those doors closed. And I had my dick out before she could say a word. She just stared at it. "Feel it," I repeated. "Go ahead." And I knew I was taking the biggest chance in the world.

But it paid off. She did feel it. Believe it or not, she actually reached out and touched my dick. Oh she pretended that she was afraid, and if anybody ever had caught us in the act, she would have lied that I made her do it. But the point is, she felt my dick. And I moved in on her, then.

Within seconds, while that automatic elevator climbed to the highest floor, the button of which I had punched to insure a long ride, I had her skirt up, her pants down, and had my rod into a wet hot hole. Got that? She was wet and waiting already; Miss Sweet-Smelling Shit was right there, ready for the act. Bitch.

Well, of course I didn't finish the fuck by the time we had neared the top floor, so I threw on the Stop button, and we hung on the cable between floors, and I went at her thoroughly. It was a nice fuck, standing up, and I creamed her vag but good. Afterwards she wanted to see me again, but I told her to go to hell. "You're a cunt," I said, "and there are plenty of cunts around. I never let myself get hung up on any one of them." And I shoved a thumb up her vag and pained hell out of her.

That was one. There were others. One method I use is the pick-up. Oh, I mentioned earlier that you don't get the goodie- goodie types on a pick-up with a car. They have to be smoothed on the street first, face-to-face; before they'll ride with you anywhere. But there's a whole slew of broads who stand on corners in crowded cities and thumb rides. Go after them, brother. They'll fuck or suck you just about every time.

Oh, sometimes they'll refuse; I don't deny that. But figure it this way: what have you got to lose for a few minutes of your time. If you wanted to pursue them, eventually-and not long, either-you could put the complete make on them. But when you're driving somewhere, a quick fuck is all you're interested in: if it doesn't show up with one, another will offer it to you. They're all over the place.

So I always say to them, "Baby, you've got a nice mouth." Or: "Sweetheart, your legs are beautiful." And before she has much time to answer it, I push the situation further, saying, "I'd like to do something with your mouth." Or: "legs." They get the message early.

Then it's a simple matter of saying, "Are you willing to suck?" Or: "fuck?" And we pull off the street somewhere and do the same.

Sometimes they want money for it. In fact, you'd be surprised how many cunts want money for it, especially among the hitch-hikers. They've been spoiled by guys who are willing to pay for it. I say this because, you see, the hitch-hiking broad is of a certain breed. She's been shown all the dirty pictures that guys carry with them in their cars to get broads like them hot. She's been told all the dirty stories to juice them. And she's been offered money for it. Above all, she's been offered money for it.

So she becomes a professional hitch-hiker, figuring she'll pick up a few bucks along the way, laying some guy who pays the freight. And she figures every guy that picks her up will do the same. But I always have news for them; we go somewhere, and I promise to pay, afterwards-then give them a thumb up their holes and tell them to scram. Can they bitch? To whom? They know what they've done, know also what they've asked for doing what they've done; so they keep their fucking mouths shut.

That's a laugh: fucking mouths. Many a time, trust me, they do just that: fuck with their mouths -or let you fuck their mouths. Those bitches will do anything. But what bitch won't? And every cunt is a bitch.

That's why I got myself ready for a big new show. Oh, I'm not talking about stag nights. I grew tired of them, and wanted a new diversion. And I also had some idea about what I wanted. So as I've said, I prowled the streets. And then one day I found my mark.

Oh, she was a pissy thing. You could see that in the minute you looked at her. I passed this swank apartment house, and there she was, all dolled up with a real short skirt and a big mink stole and she glared at me with that insolent look that rich broads have. I knew she wasn't worth shit, but her money made her think she was.

So you know what I did? I staked that place out. I checked the address, then decided to find out about Miss Big Shit. I went back the minute she was gone, and I asked the house manager who she was. I said I thought she was a movie star living there and was she So-and-So? He laughed, shook his head, thinking I was a real dope, but went ahead and told me who she was. It was perfect. I just had to go back and check the mailboxes in the patio outside and I knew exactly what her apartment number was. The next step was simple.

I appeared two days later, and rang her bell at the same time as on the day that I saw her leaving again; she went somewhere at the same time every morning, going away in a cab. I had an idea she was seeing somebody. So I went in with different clothes, a fake mustache and long sideburns, carried a toolbox and said I was supposed to fix her TV; and could I have the key to her apartment.

The house manager was suspicious, maybe, and he thought about the idea, but finally he gave me what I wanted. Then I took my tools to her pad, waited awhile and returned to "get more tools at my truck." No truck; no more tools. The house manager bit, went on with his other work, and I went for a duplicate key to be made at the nearest key-maker's. When I came back, I quit the job, took my tools, and left, giving the house manager back his key and thanking him cordially.

The next time I appeared, a few days later, I had a different get-up, one with a false nose and a wig, and I just walked past that nutty house manager as if I was a visitor to one of the pads in that building. And I went right to her apartment, knowing she wouldn't be home but wanting to accustom the house manager to my sight. Always I left before she returned until the day I decided to stick around when she came back.

I was in the closet in her bedroom, had myself tucked behind some boxes and clothes she had in there, and heard her return to the pad. Naturally she came into the bedroom, and I spotted her from a narrow opening I had set up for that purpose, eyed her undressing and liked everything I saw.

She was a haughty bitch even in the disrobing act, and she pissed me with her arrogance. Yet she was a beautiful thing, a bitch somewhere in her late twenties and with plenty of sex written all over her. She was the willowy blonde kind, the long- legged kind with a pair of big boobs, and everything about her spelled class. I wanted to take that twat and twist it and say, "You bitch, I've got you where the hair is short. Now, fuck!"

But I waited. I waited all the time, watching her peel away her clothes; first her blouse, a yellow thing with plenty of expensive frills; then her skirt, a mini piece that was expensive- looking, too; then a frilly yellow see-through bra that revealed big nipples; and finally yellow see-through nylon drawers which showed her terrific big blonde bush. That's all she wore, that bitch; and then she was out of a pair of gold heels, and was naked in front of me.