This is the story of an older man's quick encounter with a young prostitute.
Millie Dynamite
Copyright© 2013/22 by Millie Dynamite
This is a work of fiction and not intended to be historically accurate, but merely a representation of the times. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental and unintentional. Historical characters used are strictly for dramatic purposes.
The driver slowed the car, eyeballing the women walking down the dark street. With his nerves on end, he had trouble finding this part of town, and worried he might mistake an undercover cop for a whore. Four or five women strolled casually on each block. These fallen doves gazed back at him, inviting him to pull around the corner. Most were less than attractive.
Several had bloated bellies, not pregnant but fat. Several were older ladies and appeared worn. Others were somewhat attractive, and their bodies were at least fit with pleasing shapes. Their faces, while cute, painted with thick layers of makeup. They would stare at him and mouthed words with their ruby-red lips. Some pointed for him to turn on the side streets.
This didn't influence him; he just drove on searching for someone who'd catch his eye sufficiently to make him want to pick them up. There were several women he would not mind fucking, but none he saw he believed he needed to fuck. Then he saw her and wanted her, but he did not know if she was a hooker, not for sure anyway. She was young, 18 to 20, well-proportioned, cute face, and dressed like an ordinary young woman, not a whore. However, she bordered the verge of stunning with an athletic body.
Oh, yes, he yearned to fuck her hot body.
She wore a peach-colored top with some anima character which seemed contorted by her medium-sized breasts, and she sported shorts matching her top. Painted on pink form-fitting shorts, which showed a camel's toe in front and a round, perfect hand full of matching ass cheeks behind. Athletic shoes with knee-high socks completed her outfit. A pack of cigarettes was stuffed in the left sock.
Shoulder-length blonde hair, which this woman wore in a ponytail. She appeared younger than her twenty-three years and played the dumb blonde bimbo to perfection. Then she glanced at him, lifting a cigarette to her mouth. The girl took a long, deep drag from the smoke. Coughing and hacking like she had never smoked added to her youthful game.
"She's trying to look tough," he said.
At this point, her eyes locked on his. The girl turned to the side street, pointing. Without hesitation, she walked down the side road, stopped a short distance past the first building, moving to the curb. Her head turned back toward the street he was driving down, and he spun the car down the side street, tires squealing. Pulling up to the curb where the girl stood, he pushed the button, and the passenger side window slid down. The girl rocked on her toes with her hands behind her back.
"What you doing?" The girl leaned into the car, standing on her tiptoes on the curb. Sticking her head inside the window, resting her arms on the opening, "Hi ya, I'm Sandy," she said. And repeated, "What you doing tonight, Mister Cadillac?"
"Oh," he said, "looking around, Sandy. My name is Thomas. Do you need a ride?"
"No, sir, Mr. Cadillac, sir, I need a date. Um, do you need a date?" She asked in her breathy voice, imitating to perfection an actress she'd seen in a movie. She was chewing some gum. After she asked him about the date, she blew a giant bubble, it popped, and the gum spread over her face. She giggled as she cleaned it off her face and put all the gum back in her mouth.
"Well, yes, actually, I need a date." Thomas said, smiling at her.
"Coolioso to the maximums. Cause I need to make money to get a new formal dress to wear to the prom. Do you want to help me out with that Mr. Thomas Cadillac?" The breathy, silken she spoke and her tight outfit combined to rev him up. His cock throbbed from the ache for her.
"Just Thomas, Sandy, no need for you to say, Mister, and my name isn't Cadillac. I can help with your dress. Can you help me with my problem?" He asked, not sure exactly how to phrase it.
"Um, I think I can." Sandy said as she opened the door. She hopped into the passenger seat and shut the door. "Pull down the street a couple of blocks, and there are these two old buildings with a parking lot between them." He drove down the street until he saw the two abandoned buildings. "Turn in," she instructed him, and he did.
"Drive down further," she said, and he kept going further back in the lot. He saw a small opening in the building to the right. "Pull in the space, and your car will be hidden." The waif told him, and he pulled in and inched forward till the car was well inside the opening.
"COOL! We can be alone here!" she told him as she turned to him. "Put some music on." The hooker said, and then she added, "Thomas, Daddy." His head jerked to her. "You look like a daddy to me. You're about my dad's age and more handsome than him."
Of course, Sandy lied through her teeth. She'd never known her father.
The young woman slid over the seat toward him.
It was strange when she called him, "Daddy," the word turned him on more. However, the young woman reminded him of his daughter, which should've freaked him out. The effect was quite the reverse. She moved up next to him.
"You are so big and strong, Daddy," the woman purred as she moved her hands over his shoulders and biceps. He flexed, so his muscle hardened for her. "Wow, Daddy-O, you are strong." With practiced skill, she jacked his ego as her hands roamed his chest, unbuttoning his shirt. With her tiny hands, she caressed the bare flesh of his chest while his tool stiffened inside his pants.
