The Greatest Lie Part 3

Daylene’s eyes goggled when I wobbled into our greasy spoon on my unsteady and pinched feet. "Wo, bitch, ya look hot!" she complimented me. I replied, "you too. So what’s your secret, Daylene? I want both of us to break your record from last night." "Jus act happy, y’no" she responded. "How do you avoid the weirdoes?" Daylene responded, "there’s a kunvenchun, farm kwipent r somthin. Weirdest thang bout dem is dere axents. Jus look happy an tell’em 50 bucks fer head, hunnerd fer a fuck. Dey all take head." We giggled. I liked her. We walked out into the muggy evening, found a dark corner and smoked a hit of ice together. It was 9:30 when we took our places on Hennepin, still giggling in the giddy excitement of a speed buzz. At about 9:31, the first car pulled up and rolled down its window.

I must have looked about 13 years old, with my slim legs and arms, wasp waist, my small breasts bouncing subtly as I staggered slightly in my ridiculously high heels. "Get in, little girl, let me take you for a ride" said the middle aged, slightly paunchy Viking sitting high in his Suburban. I improvised from Daylene’s pitch, in view of my special circumstances. "Fifty for head, twenty-five for a hand job." "How much for a fuck?" "Can’t, m hav’n my period." "OK, hop in." "Where’s my donation?" He handed me a fifty, and I put it in my handbag. My heart was racing, but I concentrated on being happy.

I complimented him on his car, his driving, his sound system, his choice of music (country, yuck!) his leather seats, what good shape he was in. He ate up the flattery. He found a deserted location and pulled over. He reached over the massive center console and slid his hands between my thighs. His rough fingers probed inside my panties and pressed against the tampon that guarded the secret between my legs. He grunted "OK, then give me head.