I knew what I had to do but I made myself this solemn vow that I was going to be a lady someday, though I didn't know when or how. I couldn't see spending the rest of my life with my head hung down in shame. You know I might have been born just plain white trash, but "Fancy" was my name.

From the song "Fancy" by Bobbie Gentry (1969) & Reba Mcintire (1991)

Time: 1930s depression era Louisiana
Place: One room shack on the outskirts of New Orleans

Miss Fancy Mae Devereux sat in an oversized galvanized washtub trying her best to scrape and scour the humiliating filth of poverty from her flawless, alabaster flesh. From the corner of her eye she could see her sickly, coughing mother slaving away ironing every wrinkled crease from a satin dancing dress. In a basket under the ironing board an infant fussed and cried.

Now in her 15th year of living, Fancy had carefully shaved her long, slim legs. Sunlight gleaming through a window glistened off the shorn, porcelain-pretty naked skin. Following her mother's instructions, the girl had also tried her best to use scissors and a straight razor to neatly trim the edges of her thin, reddish-blonde bush of pubic curls.

Through no efforts of her own making, Fancy had a 'date' this evening. One of the wealthiest merchants in New Orleans, Mr. Jonas Ward, had stopped by earlier and had a secretive talk with the girl's mother.

After the man left, the mother looked around at the pitiful shack then pulled her daughter aside, took a ragged breath, and said, "Fancy, we don't have money for food or rent. To say the least we're hard pressed. Your Pa's run off and I'm real sick and the baby's going to starve to death. Honey, Mr. Ward is coming back to pick you up later and he will take care of everything for us if you'll just treat him 'nice'."

Fancy had a good-boy boyfriend, but like most males who knew her, he was at times a little bit too grabby-handed with her. While innocent and pure, chastity-wise, this was a young lady you knew men admired the shapely form of her quickly maturing young feminine body.

"Honey, get out of the tub and let me comb and curl your hair," the girl's mama said. "Not that your hair needs much curling. Why, I've never seen such a luxuriously beautiful head full of naturally curly tresses as you have on your head!"

Despite the awkward circumstances, Fancy smiled and her face beamed proudly. "Mama, the bible says a woman's hair is her crowning glory," the girl said. Without a hint of intended conceit, she added, "I guess, in that respect, I've been blessed with glory aplenty!"

Mrs. Maggie Mae Devereux, abandoned wife of a French-Creole riverboat gambler, started crying. The tears brought on a coughing fit. A bit of blood was expelled into the last lace handkerchief she owned.

"Don't worry Mama," Fancy said with uncertainty. "I'll get through this and tomorrow we'll get you to the doctor, we'll buy some food, and everything in this world will be alright."

Fancy stepped from the washtub, dried the shimmering locks of her long, red hair, and allowed her mother to slip the scarlet dress over her head. The satiny cloth slithered snakelike over the young woman's silky skin and fell to cover the ripening curves of an undeniably feminine body. A long, revealing slit running up the side seductively hinted at the womanhood concealed within the sheer cloth.

Stepping to the mirror, Fancy gazed at the stranger staring back at her. Standing back from the looking glass, her eyes beheld the image of a woman reflected out where the figure of a half-grown kid had once stood.

"God forgive me for what I do," her mother said. "If you want out girl it's up to you. But, if you want a better life you'd better start sleeping uptown."

A blaring car horn stifled any further discussion. A hulking Cadillac limousine with a chauffeured driver awaited just outside the yard gate.

Fancy's mother dabbed a little bit of perfume on her daughter's neck and she kissed her cheek. Then, with the tears welling up in her troubled eyes, she handed the girl a heart-shaped locket that said, "To thine own self be true."

From a far off distance, it sounded like somebody else was talking but Fancy heard her own childlike woman's voice quizzically asking a last-minute question, "Mama what do I do?"

Through tear-stained eyes a brokenhearted mother's reply simply said, "Just be nice to gentlemen, Fancy, and they'll be nice to you."

As she opened the door and walked down the path, the chauffeur opened the car door. With her trim-limbed legs tucked safely inside, the door was shut and Fancy's world was changed forever. Twisting her head, she caught a glimpse of her mother's bloodstained handkerchief waving goodbye.

The Ward house was one of several stately mansions aligned along a tree-lined street. After pulling under the secluded canopy of a roofed portico, the chauffeur opened Fancy's door and escorted her through the home's backdoor and into a sweet-smelling, well-stocked kitchen.

The overpowering aroma of food made Fancy's belly grumble from hunger. A dour-faced woman dressed in the nondescript uniform of a housekeeper took the young lady's hand and led her down a long, wood-paneled hallway.

Stopping at the heavy library door, the housekeeper knocked, entered, and pulled Fancy in after her. "Mr. Ward," she announced. "Sir, Miss Devereux to see you."

"Come in, come in, Miss Devereux," a hearty gentleman's voice said. "How are you Fancy? How is the family, your mother and the baby? All well, I hope. Have a seat on the settee over here."

The housekeeper retreated and closed the door. Following the elderly gentleman's instructions, Fancy took a seat beside the gray-haired man. Her eyes watched intently as he withdrew an overstuffed wallet from his breast coat pocket and took out three pieces of paper currency.

Fancy's dilating eyes fixated on the treasury notes as they were laid out side by side on the coffee table. The denominations of each bank note jumped into her mind. She gazed in fascinated wonder at the $5, $10, and $20 bills.

"Fancy, my dear," the man said. "I believe we have no need of 'small talk' at this time. We both know why you are here. Young lady, I'd like for you to choose which bill you would like to accept for your services. Pick the $5 and we will have no more than some simple 'petting' and kisses. Take the $10 and we will go upstairs for a more intimate encounter. Choose the $20 and I'm afraid I can't make promises as to what will happen."

Fancy's mind spun dizzily. The $5 would pay for the doctor her mother needed so desperately with enough left over for a week's groceries. The $10 would pay two month's rent on their one room home. The $20, why that single bill would relieve all her family's burdens for the foreseeable future!

Through her dizzily spinning fog of fascination, Fancy recalled an old saying she had once heard which went something like this; "In for a penny, in for a pound."

"Mr Ward, may I choose all three bills?" Fancy abruptly blurted out. Having 'made her bed', she added, "Sir, I'll accept whatever consequences this decision might lead to!"

As she was speaking, Fancy's hands were tightly clutching the alligator purse she held. The handbag was the only material reminder she had of her gambler father who had won it in a poker game with a riverboat gambling lady.

The alligator bag was removed from Fancy's trembling fingers and a man was stuffing three crisp bills inside. One was a $5, one was a $10, and one was a $20. The man had taken her hand and was escorting her to an upstairs room.

"Fancy, you need not have worn such a pretty dress for me" Jonas Ward said. "Why don't we get you into something more comfortable? This is my daughter's bedroom and I bet she has something to fit you. Rachel and her mother have gone up to Baton Rouge for the weekend. My daughter and you share classes at school, don't you?"

Without awaiting an answer, Jonas Ward held a garment up to his nose and inhaled its scent. He spoke triumphantly, "Here girl try this on! This is something Rachel sleeps in. How about just leaving all of your undergarments off? And girl, jump into Rachel's bed when you're dressed."

Surprisingly, the man turned away as Fancy stripped her own clothing off and slipped on another girl's silky, satin white pajamas. Following instructions, she slid under the covers of her schoolmate's bed.

With his back still turned to her, Jonas Ward whispered, "Fancy, you must play my game if you are to fulfill your obligations to me. When I turn around, I want you to pretend you are Rachel and I wish for you to call me 'Daddy'. Okay, Honey?"

While not understanding this game at all, Fancy nonetheless new how to play 'make believe'. No child raised in poverty could survive childhood without a vivid imagination. "Of course it's okay Daddy! I'm in bed now Daddy if you want to turn around."

"Why there's my little girl all snuggled up in her girlie girl bed!" Jonas said when he turned. Taking a step forward he sat on the edge of the covers and added, "It's not yet dinner time Honey, is my baby feeling alright?"

Reaching out a hand, he touched Fancy's forehead. "Just as I thought," he said. "I believe you may have a fever. I've heard that several kids at your school have the measles so I'd better check you over for red spots. Would you mind if I did, Baby?"

"Oh Daddy I wouldn't mind at all," Fancy answered. "I do feel 'itchy', so Daddy, if you find spots, will you rub and scratch them with your hands and fingers?"

As an answer, the man unbuttoned every button on the silky pajama top. Spreading it open, he exhaled a loud whoosh of breath at the sight of a young woman's heaving nude bosom.

Exploring hands, searching for red spots, squeezed the mounded feminine flesh. Testing fingers teased nubile nipples until they stiffened into erect buds. The hands and fingers massaged the itchy child's shoulders, neck, face, and hair. Moving down to the girl's abdomen, the hands and fingers found an abundance of red-spotted flesh to scratch.

Despite her initial reservations and hesitancy, Fancy was beginning to feel warmth spreading through her loins. She began thinking that perhaps this might not be as dreadful an experience as she first feared it might be.

Feminine intuition informed this young woman that she had quite a bit more influence over what would happen to her than she had first imagined. By playing her cards right, she might even be able to control a man.

"Daddy, my back itches" Fancy said. "If I turn over on my belly will you pull my pajama top off and scratch my shoulders and back? I swear I'm even itching clear down under my bottoms! I can't reach back there. Can you do it for me, Daddy?"

Wordlessly, Jonas Ward quickly pulled the satiny top off the girl and massaged the silky skin on her shoulders and back. The horny devil inside his pants was fully awakened now.

When Fancy arched her hips and slipped her pajama bottoms down, the man let out an animalistic moan. The moan became a wild, wanton groan when the girl begged, "Oh Daddy, please scratch my itchy ass!"

Jonas Ward's flying fingers flew to manually massage the protruding mound of naked female ass skin. Never, in his wildest dreams, did he ever imagine his hands would touch such a beautifully erotic feminine treasure. While he rubbed and played with this prized girlie-girl possession, his lips begged to touch the tantalizing flesh.

As if reading his mind, Fancy announced, "Oh god Daddy, my ass itches so much! I've heard tell that saliva is a good anti-itch remedy. Daddy, will you please kiss my ass and try to lick it with your tongue? If it works, then I hope you can try it on my really itchy tittie nipples!"

Half out of his mind with lust Jonas Ward kissed the girl's pretty, lily-white ass flesh with dozens of kissy-licky strokes of his mouth and tongue. So near the edge of insanity was he that he wasn't even aware that his teeth were biting into solid meat until he heard a pained squeal.

When the girl turned over on her back, this kiss-hungered man transferred his mouth massaging mauling to the protruding nipples of her tits. The taste of the nectarine nubs was unbelievable sweet. Not one inch of mammary flesh escaped the uncontrollable oral assault.

Fancy's female mind was beginning to realize the extent of power a woman could exert over a sex-hungry man. Embolden with this newfound knowledge, she decided to brazenly exploit it. The $35 she held in her purse was an ungodly fortune to her. But, she began reasoning that if she used her mind as well as her feminine wiles, perhaps she could earn an even greater monetary reward.

"Oh Daddy it's really working!" Fancy declared. "My boobies and my ass are not itching nearly as much as they were. But Daddy, my 'middle part' between my legs is about to drive me crazy with an aggravating itch! Oh please take off my pajama bottoms and lick me 'down there'!"

Babbling unintelligibly, Jonas Ward jerked off the pajamas and dove headfirst into the bushy patch of curly red pubic hairs between the young girl's legs. The neatly-trimmed fur flew as his mouth savagely ravaged the swollen mound he found there.

No man had ever touched Fancy in this way. Surely this was a sinfully wicked thing for a young woman to let a man do? And certainly, she shouldn't be saying the words which were now coming from her mouth, "Oh Daddy, yes please do that! Kiss and lick the sticking out, meaty part in between my crack. Here, let me hold it open for you."

By spreading her outer vaginal folds, Fancy exposed her untouched clitoris for a full visual inspection. The man positioned between her legs seemed to be more interested in playing with the clitoral flesh with his mouth than he was in looking at it with his eyes. His kissing lips and his licking tongue feverously attacked the tender skin.

Unfamiliar warmth began growing inside Fancy's virginal vagina as the man continued his voracious vaginal assault. She was a 'nice girl' who had never even played with herself before. No boyfriend had ever touched her 'there' either. So, she was curiously wondering about this strangely pleasing sensation.