My mother was a whore and I never came to know my father. When I turned eighteen, my mother said she had done her bit for me, and that I needed to find my own way about the world. I had not fared too well in school. My features were plain like my mother's, and even at eighteen my body was turning doughy, into flab and fat. I knew I would have to earn my keep like my mother had - not through the harvest of natural-born gifts, but through hard work and learned service.
At first I waited tables and stocked shelves. But the economy was weak, as it always was for those like me. From time to time I fell into what was easy, and I sucked a cock in a parking lot for money, and let two men fuck me in a motel. Somewhere in between a strip club agreed to give me a few shifts until three years later when the manager decided to replace me with a newer model. By then I had become inured to the comments that came at me from the club floor - not just the cat calls from the customers, but also the laughs by which I had been put down by the other girls. The club had kept me around as a kind of fool, as a creature to be humored by the patrons, or pitied, or - mostly - to be pawed at by those who were too drunk or scared to approach the pretty ones. Yes there was a certain niche I catered to, who assumed the fat-assed white girl would always "do more" and this niche did keep me going for a while. But three years later my manager told me I wasn't making enough money to fill even this role, and there were many like me around to take my place, and do my job better.
I went to see my mother on my twenty-first birthday. She told me, "Look you must accept what you are, and what life has allotted to you. You're not much to look at, but some men, they like us fat and plain. Also you are young so you still have that. Let me find you a man and when I do, be grateful to him. Worship him so he never leaves... and then you wont end up like... like me."
Later that night she had a customer, so I sat inside the bathroom and waited for the man to finish with her and leave. Instead, about an hour later, my mother came in and said she had a request, the first time she had ever asked for such a thing. This client of hers, he had come to know that I was right there, and he was now intrigued. "He's one of the good ones," she told me, "Never pushes me around, except when he has my permission." She said this man had a proposition. "A full thousand dollars," she said, "And you can have half the money even though I'll be doing most of the work. All you have to do is watch, and then a little bit at the end. Think of it as a birthday present."
A part of me had known that this day would eventually come, when the whore's daughter would be propositioned to join in with the whore. I had tried to make my own way through the world for three years, but there was little point in staying off fate any further. I understood that my mother was right, that I should accept what the world had allotted me. My mother explained to me what I had to do, and it seemed worth the money. She told me to get on my hands and knees, then she held me by my hair and had me crawl out into the bedroom. The man sat on the edge of the bed. He was about forty, about as old as my mother, and he was naked from the waist down. His crotch was hairy and his soft brown cock was still covered in a thin film of cum. My mother led him to me, then had me sit right by his left foot. "Look up at his face," she told me, "Keep your eyes open, and keep looking at him."
