Patty Visits From College

The old saying about strippers, hookers, sluts and other members of my tribe is that we have "daddy issues." There's a lot of truth to that. Our personal baggage overflows with oft times traumatic memories of Daddy.

But let's put the whole truth on the table here. In just about every case, Daddy is the one with the issues. Issues like alcohol abuse, sadistic personalities, manipulative/predatory behavior and poor impulse control. The end result is we end up underneath them. Sometimes by choice. Sometimes by force. Sometimes it's a combination of the two.

So we're fucked up because our Dads fucked us up and we have mental disorders because our Moms were enabling psycho bitches ignoring or even condoning what was going on. (Or - as in my case - actually blaming us and being jealous of us for taking their husbands attention and affections.)

I had a court appointed shrink for a while that helped me understand all this. How all of this shit altered my personality and put me on the trajectory I was on. Prostitution. Drug abuse. Warped personal values. It was all in the DNA Dad shared with me, some of it passed through Mom as part of my genes and part of it ejaculated on me or in me.

It was a kind of abuse you could perversely acquire a taste for and I had. It was why I was what I was and why other girls became what they became. When you yearn for a fucked up version of that love only a father can give, it put your life choices outside of what society considered mainstream.

My sister and I shared a bond that came from shared experiences with dad. I won't get any farther into the details, but my guess is you can fill a lot of them in on your own. If you understand this about us, the rest of our relationship tends to make a bit more sense and it probably helps explain why we were the way we were.

Though we had the same upbringing her "trajectory" or life path had gone a much different direction than mine.

After high school I went into private commerce - selling myself on the street and on camera to make my living. I enjoyed my work, but it was a vocation with many downsides. It was actually a career I fell into out of necessity. I'd been tossed out of my house by my parents for being a bad influence on my sister, and you gotta do what you gotta do to eat.

Patty had things better. She was smarter than me and more talented. Lettered in softball all four years of school and maintained that 4.0 GPA. She wound up at the University on a near full boat scholarship, and though she faltered as a freshman she built a niche for herself with the athletic staff and alumni as a school ambassador. Specifically, she had a demonstrated talent for getting the attention of visiting star athletes that were considering declaring their intent with the University.

To be blunt about it, the University pimped out Patty for prospects. She fucked visiting athletes and more, letting them believe that her freaky talents would be available to them if they would sign on the dotted line.

A lot of those athletes did sign, and she almost never fucked them again, but it didn't matter. College athletes usually attracted their own stable of sluts anyway, and if they didn't, well that's what cheerleaders were for.

Anyway, I hadn't seen Patty since I had been kicked out of the house over three years before, but we had stayed in touch constantly. We shared everything - no shame or modesty - and because we knew where we came from and who we were, we had a comfort level together that siblings don't often have. Our average phone conversation would have made the boys in the locker room blush with its bluntness, and the occasional letters we sent each other would have made for fine fodder for the adult fiction websites should I have saved any. (I'd say that I burned them, but they were so hot I think it was actually spontaneous combustion.)

Patty was turning 21 in a few weeks and she decided that she wanted to come north to where I was living to let her hair down. It was expected that I would show her a good time and I 100% understood what she meant by that.

She arrived very late on a Wednesday night, having decided that she could afford to skip a few days of class. Patty had changed during our time away from each other. She played softball at a college level with all the exercise and conditioning that implied. She was leaner with more muscle and had lost the layer of baby fat that she had carried right up through high school. There was a confidence in her that she certainly hadn't had growing up, and in general had developed a kind of strong aura. She was just a sexy hot young woman now.

Physically, we were still undeniably sisters. Both blonde and similar of facial features. She was perhaps a few inches taller and I a bit bigger at the bust line, but the resemblance was still strong. Given her athletic toning, she might well be the "After" photo to my "before" in an ad for a local gym.

She had gone a little bit "butch" in mannerisms. Nothing major - just little things about how she did her nails and wore her make-up - it was more about how she carried herself overall. Patty had shared that the women's softball team was a fury of lesbian activities during competition season and her own tastes ran towards being incredibly dominant with other women. She always had a bit of it in her but now it seemed to have grown along with her confidence.

I couldn't wait to experience this new aspect of her personality, but first drinks and party favors. I led her to the bedroom and showed her where I had cleared closet and drawer space for her. While she hung up her clothes I poured the shots and cut the lines.

Watching her hang her stuff, it was obvious that she had developed expensive tastes in clothing - again something that we hadn't had in our upbringing. When I admired her clothing she volunteered that one of the Hawks alumni ran a high end clothing store and was especially generous.

Four shots, four lines and several outfits unpacked later we were finally ready to relax. I had built a small fire in the little fireplace that the apartment had, and so we gravitated to its heat and glow. We lit a few candles and turned off the main lights to add to the atmosphere created by the crackling fire. It was well after midnight so we turned the stereo onto something low and mellow that wouldn't offend neighbors in other units.

We traded out the shots and lines for a joint and some beers and got comfortable together on my small sofa. She had been wearing the same clothes all day including the 5 hour trip north, so she stripped off her bra and put her tee shirt back on, and removed her tight jeans as no pants are always the best pants. I followed suit.

The panty party was on. We dug into our conversation with the enthusiasm of good friends that hadn't seen each other in ages. Catching up on people we knew, what we wanted from life and a thousand different subjects that people who haven't seen each other jump to - especially when they've been doing coke.

At some point she complimented me on my apartment - and I launched into a monologue about how I was seeing a much better class of client these days and it made a nicer place a necessity. (She knew I did escort work but did not know about my brief foray into porn - which I thought might concern her.)

Patty had always had an interest in my work and asked if my new clientele had different interests than the guys I had picked up in bars or at the travel plaza and of course they were.

The lower class guys tended to want a whore - a slut they could look down on so they felt better about their shitty little lives. They tended to like on your knees cock sucking, doggy style or anal in the sleeper cab of their trucks and liked to shoot it onto your face or into your hair so they could leave their mark. It was like watching a male dog pee on every plant and post on the street.

The higher end clients wanted an intelligent and engaging woman who just happened to fuck like a whore and seemed to enjoy the sex as much as they did. Occasionally they had some request regarding clothing or underwear choices but in general as long as you gave them the high priced spread and accommodated their whims, they left happy.

She asked about kinks and fetishes - something that I didn't really cater to too much in my business, though I did share about the guy who had a drawer in my bedroom where he kept his man sized lingerie and wigs and there was also the older man who enjoyed watching me smoke a cigarette slowly while completely naked and spread for him. (I was not a smoker but had choked down worse things than a cigarette for the money he was paying.)

There was a reason Patty was asking. I could tell by the way she asked she had a story to tell and just said "out with it." Patty volunteered that a young star forward from Ohio had recently asked her if he could pee on her - something that made us both laugh. I asked her if she enjoyed the experience and she said that it had actually been mostly pleasant - something about warm liquids on the skin just feels good - but she had trouble looking at herself in the mirror the next morning and her apartment had an odor that no amount of ammonia seemed to kill.

I shared with her that a girlfriend I did stag parties with on occasion had developed a whole act around drinking a shot glass of the "groom to be's" pee, and that the tips she got alone made it worth learning. It really wasn't that bad.

I asked her how often she was doing things with athletes - she was open about what she was doing - and she told me that it amounted to just a small handful every year now. As a freshman she had pretty much been asked to blow the second string on the basketball, baseball and football teams, but now she was only handling the big talent. Besides, she had her own team sports to tackle and probably spent more time having sex with her teammates than athletic prospects at this point.

I asked her the cost of college these days then worked out that number and divided by a few dozen fast cumming freshmen every year. She had much better compensation than I did for the same work. She shared that the service bartering economy was good - books and class for blowies and ass - but still found herself cash broke and so once in a while she'd treat an alumnist extra nice for a few bills.

I had been hoping that the conversation might go here - I had a client that was willing to pay through the roof for a sister act. I didn't want to sound like I was pimping her but asked if she wanted me to arrange a high paying gig while she was in town. She said she'd consider it - which meant yes and we both knew it - but by now it was like 3AM and we were both high as a fucking kite - she didn't want to talk business anymore, I could tell.

I asked her after everything she did for the school and how often she took one for the teams if she actually really had the chance to enjoy sex anymore.

She just smiled, stood up and took off her shirt and reached down for my hand.

"Sis, I've been waiting for you to bring that up for a long time. I'm so ready for bed." She reached down and slid off her panties and let them fall to the floor. "Are you?"

*

End of part one.