The Confessions Of Ginger Peaches
Is your neighborhood cookie cutter perfect?
*** This hub is intended for adult readers only***
Fire and brimstone seem to follow the word prostitute. Some can roll the word off their tongue without blinking; others get stickiness in their throat of disgust. I have seen and heard it all on these unforgiving streets but the truth is not much further than your back yard…or it could be in your backyard. Prostitution may be happening just under your nose. One of my clients could be your neighbor down the street or that coworker who needs some action in between lunch. Hate to say it but some of best of clients are sleeping next to you right now. Maybe when you are ready to accept the truth you can open your eyes and see what really goes on around you. It may not be what you bargained for when you bought that last house in the suburbs or when you go shopping at night.
Sorry to disappoint the stereotypes folks but I broke the mold when the streets met me. I do not touch drugs or crutch on a flask. I am not affiliated with a pimp and my childhood did not include a molestation or rape nor was I a preacher’s daughter. The truth is I grew tired of working all the bottom feeder jobs and promised myself that one day I would make money doing what I loved.
Then one night a drunken dockworker and I fooled around a bit then he paid me. I was insulted at first and even punched the guy square in his jaw, but I was hooked, hence the word hooker.
A new breed of prostitute was born. I created a tight network of potential clients in a ten-block radius who will pay extra for a clean, lively girl that would make their fantasies a reality. The good paying ones are not attracted to the desperate addicts that blur the line with comatose to the point they expect the client to take on their lifeless bodies and create their own experience. If you want that kind of action, you mind as well scope the morgue for a good time.
So you may ask me, if you are not disgusted enough already, what is my going rate? It seems that is a popular topic among society.
All I can say is that a street-smart business minded girl never reveals her earnings but I can reveal some of the factors involved. How risky the location is bares weight of the benjamins, length of time and services of course.
Just for the record, some people choose very risky locations to do the deed. However, you may ask, if you are still around, why in earth would someone want to be caught with a cheap whore?
The answer is simple for the rush of it. It allows for a more intense experience, which is a small price to pay to kill the rut.
Some of my most memorable locations have been in a baseball stadium during a downpour, bathroom stall in a courthouse, on a rooftop in a tent, behind a dumpster during a blizzard and steps away from someone’s wife.
It goes to show time and place holds no bars when it comes to their fantasy. When getting their rocks off there are no rules. Uncomfortable yet? Squeamish goes with the territory.
Another misconception is that I get all perverts.
As I said before these are people you know. The sexual side of themselves is something they are not going to tell you about. When was the last time you asked your grandfather what his sexual fantasy is? Look at this class act:
A geezer who called himself Rodger skipped out early from his 45th wedding anniversary party to have a tumble with me in the backseat of his newly restored 1960’s Cadillac Coupe De Ville. The worst of it was when wanted me to have his wedding band.
Another one was an innocent pizza cook barely eighteen; I think his friends called him Boli. He was intellectually slow, but his “friends” wanted him to get lucky. When I tried to make advances towards him, he rejected me. Since his “friends” paid very well, I had to take care of them instead. The dirty men had such foul requests I still check underneath my fingernails for grit.
Last but not least was a poor excuse for a father who wanted us to getty up while watching a video of his daughter’s ballet recital. The price he had to pay was steep.
I am not bragging to say the least only painting this colorful picture of the characters out there that are willing to hire my services. I am just here to be paid for physical scraps.
Alright enough about the past…Now it is all about tonight.
I have hustled at least five well paying men, more than usual during a weekday. I guess my new look has them running.
I swapped out my tired blue fish eye shadow and red radar lipstick for something more “Cosmopolitan”.
My flirty frosty cream eye shadow melts into a smoky bold black to get their junk going. I now have pimped out eyelashes so long they hold men’s hands for ransom. Don’t underestimate my deep plump raisin stain adorning my talented mouth; it keeps them wet for more.
I also switched out sheer clothing for bare skin fit for a fool. I have to have more cash overflowing my garter. Tonight my breast are the first to say hello on my new menu, along with my baby oiled legs, a tantalizing gateway to my welcoming thighs that are for sale to straddle.
I have just heard through my sources that a wealthy and influential man has been spotted in the area looking for a good time. Several of my competition will be clawing to get to him first. I can only hope he will ignore the other crack whores and proposition me because he is a top dollar dog.
I anxiously pace the streets. I have heard one night may pay for a months rent. I must outlast the others to get a chance to take him on. I struggle to stay awake as dawn approaches. Just before I lose hope of the elusive man showing up, I spot a town car pull into the gutter next to me.
I adjust my chest ensuring the girls are winking perky. I allow my hair to fall where it may…somewhere between bed head styling and pageant pretty. The merchandise has to smell and look perfect for a man of his stature.
As the car window opens, I recognize the wealthy gentleman as Senator Felton Ellwood. He is known as a family man and an advocate for fair labor laws.
His influence moves me. His eyes cut through my clothes before I can gather my thoughts. Suddenly I am a lost for words. I cannot start out with the usual dialogue of “Are you looking for a date?” or “Are you looking for a good time?” With his class, one false move and I could lose him. Lucky for me he solicits first.
“Well hello there pretty darling…how much to keep this old man honest?” Senator Felton asks.
“How much are you willing to pay?” I ask him feeling like this is not his first rodeo.
“Don’t be afraid sweet thing…name your price” Senator Felton counters back with a creepy smile.
“Seven hundred dollars”, I carefully state fearing he will reject me.
“Alright get in. I take us somewhere real quiet like before my meeting. Nothing goes better with a speech than a piece of as*”, Felton smiles while opening up the door.
“Sounds like you know what you want”, I speak.
“I always get what I want”, he speaks back.
“So do I”, I smile while pulling out my “calling card” from my lacy satin bra.
I guess your wondering what the best part of my job is. The excitement? Being my own boss? Making the big bucks by sleeping with the respected?
The truth is the best part of my job is seeing their faces when I tell them they are under arrest.
Signing off…..Sergeant Ramona Dillon AKA: Ginger Peaches.
*** This short story is completely fiction, it is not meant to offend anyone…no matter who you are ***
Thank you so much for reading. Please tell me what you think.