There were no innocent bystanders. I knew what she was when I pulled the car over. And she was on the street for one purpose.
I was in Denver on business and the weather was unusually hot, even for July. With my morning meetings out of the way, I figured I had about four hours before I had to be back to the hotel for the usual boring cocktail hour, before the mandatory boring group meal. But four hours was okay. This wasn't my first trip to Denver and I knew where to go to get what I wanted. While I am sure there are many places to go in a city like Denver, East Colfax seems to be where the majority of strip clubs and hookers are. In the city the laws are strange.
Strippers can't go totally nude if the establishment serves alcohol. So if you want total nudity, you can't have a beer to go along with it, just an expensive soft drink. But strippers weren't what I was looking for. I had cruised up and down the five or so miles of Colfax that seem to host the ladies for more than an hour, with no success. Oh, there were hookers, but I didn't want just any stinky old pussy. And believe me, there are some women walking Colfax that smell worse than the Denver stockyards. You can almost see the disease ooze from their pores. None of that bad meat for me. Usually if you just have some patience you will happen upon a younger woman, sometimes even teens, who work the streets for drug money. That's the kind of treat I was looking for that hot July afternoon.
It's strange, but of all the whores I have picked up in my life, I have only fucked two of them and they were both black women. The first called herself Eve and frequented a State Street hangout in Salt Lake City. The other was a very young woman who hung around outside the Gold Club in New Orleans. I don't know why I was prompted to fuck just these two. Maybe it was because they were the only sincere ones, I don't know. Nonetheless, I rarely had intercourse with hookers. I would usually make them pose and touch themselves or I would touch them. Usually I ended up jacking off or having them do it for me. And I always wore a rubber in any case. I didn't want my dick in even a second hand contact with those sluts. I was deathly afraid of contracting some weird shit that would make my dick explode or worse. It seemed to me to be easy money for them, but most of them protested and would rather just fuck and get it over with.
My patience was finally rewarded when I saw a cute, although a little pudgy, girl emerge from a car just across the intersection I was stopped at. She was either just finishing with a trick or starting for the day, it didn't matter to me. She wore a mid-thigh skirt that was too tight, and the buttons on sleeveless blouse strained as her youthful flesh pushed from the inside. Like I said, there were no innocents there, but the game still had to be played to protect everyone from the possibility of undercover cops. I pulled to the curb just in front of her and she came to the window.
"Wanna get out of that heat?" She smiled and got in. She really was kind of pretty, but the lifestyle had made her look older than her years. I guessed her at 18, maybe 19 years old. "Hi, where you headed," she asked, sitting very properly, knees forward. "Let's get this over with," I said. "I am not affiliated with any law enforcement agencies and I expect you to show me proof that you are not either." Glancing around like someone might care what she was doing in my car, she reached for my hand, slid toward me and spread her legs all in one fluid motion.
She pushed my hand under her skirt until it bumped against her naked hairy pussy, then, quickly repositioned herself. Even in the brief moment that the back of my hand made contact with her cunt, I felt the wetness and knew I wasn't the first today. Probably the remnants of her last trick's cum. "Okay, here's the plan. I pay you $50 and you get naked for me and get in any position I ask for. If it looks good, I might pay you a bonus to jack us both off. If that's not good enough, get out now, I'm short on time." "How am I going to get naked in the car without someone seeing? Get us a room," she said. "No room. We'll make do in the car," I said as I drove away.
Obviously, working the street was not a spur-of-the-moment decision for me. I had been picking up whores for nearly 20 years and I was always prepared. Aside from the obvious condoms, I kept cheap wine, vodka, Everclear, and my specialty, chocolate covered cherries laced with blue nitro. Sometimes the whores refused the booze, but most succumbed to the chocolates sooner or later, and just one was enough for my purposes. I rented a cheap room in a local flea bag motel, and for two nights payment plus an extra $20, I didn't even have to register, no questions asked.
From the way she fidgeted in the seat, I figured she must be in need of a fix, and I had caught her too soon after her last trick. She was quick to take a long hit off the vodka when I offered. But I didn't offer the chocolates right away. Instead I took one out of the box and popped it in my mouth, the only one on the top layer that wasn't laced with the date-rape drug. "Sorry, I have a passion for these things. Help yourself, if you want, but don't eat all of them." This pudgy little girl didn't need a second invitation. She popped the first one in her mouth and slobbered a little of the rich liquid from the candy. She wiped her mouth and grabbed for another, which she washed down with another healthy gulp of vodka.
I turned off of Colfax and headed in the direction of the nearby park, a recognized hangout for pushers and whores. I took my time and feigned being lost, as time was what I needed to waste right now. Two gulps of vodka and three chocolates later, my "date" was numb. I headed back to the Motor Lodge. The room was filthy and small but afforded easy access from the curbside parking. Leaving my lovely in the car, I opened the door and flicked on the window air conditioner.
Ironically, a worn out broom was propped in the corner behind the door and stained, yellowish towels hung in the bathroom. I half walked, half carried her into the room. Sometimes this was the best part, trying to figure out what to do with them. I laid her on the bed, feet together and arms to her sides. She just seemed to watch, expressionless. I unbuttoned her blouse and lay it open to reveal a dingy white bra. Unsnapping that in the front, her large boobs drooped to her sides. While she was not what I would call obese, there were the beginnings of what would eventually become rolls of flab on her sides. I pulled the tight skirt up and bunched it at her waste. The tender parts of her pussy were obliterated by the massive amounts of black hair. It rose up beneath the waste band of her skirt and spread like bindweed from her crotch to her upper thighs. Spreading her legs, I could see the matt extending deep into her ass crack. I am not a hair aficionado and I got an idea. It may take a Weed Whacker, but I was going to clean this pussy up!
There was a small grocery/convenience store down the street and I didn't think twice about leaving her alone in the room. She wouldn't be going anywhere on her own for several hours. Once at the store I was uncertain what to buy. I picked up a cheap comb and a pair of scissors, a three-pack of disposable razors, a small aerosol can of shaving gel, three bottles of Nair, and a small bottle of aloe lotion. At the counter I ignored the Iranian cashier when he asked if I was remodeling a bear. On the way back to the palace, I stopped at a vegetable/fruit stand and bought a small variety of goodies.
