Feature Writer: TeresaJ / [email protected]

Feature Title: CHURCH WHORE 3

Published: 13.11.2009 / EuropEscort Guide

Story Codes: Religious Themes, Demonic

About the author: TeresaJ is the pen name for a 48-year-old woman living in south San Antonio. She grew up on Presa Street and saw the whores ply their trade in the open through all her upbringing. TeresaJ is a recovering substance abuser who knew personally many of the prostitutes in her neighborhood. Her sister and three of her female cousins are prostitutes. The characters in this story are fictional, but they are loosely based on the lives of people TeresaJ knew.

Church Whore 3

Alberto Cazares:

“Listen boy, when you are making a whore, for the best result, you need to have patience and you must keep the little pussy believing that needs you. Spend a little money and time up front, understand this is an investment.

“If you do it right, la puta, she will make herself a puta almost with no effort from you. Look it, you are like the sheepdog herding sheep. Only in these case, you are the wolf herding putitas away from their families. Align yourself with men of the same hungers. We are many! It is best to surround the horny bitches with horny men who have the experience to give the bitches what they need, (and he squeezed on his cock), and who tell the bitches what they want to hear.

“I’m telling you, it is easy when you know how. A puta wannabe is a POO-TAH! before she even knows she needs to be a puta. I just give the mamacita a little shove here and there to keep her slipping. You know the slippery slope? One little act of sin, it take the bitch down the muddy slope. You just keep giving the bitch a little push. Not too hard, but never let her climb back up! Eh? Never!

“The putas, they are like the frog in the hot water. If you raise the temperature slowly, they never realize how total is the danger. And then, before she know it, hah! She is cooked. She is so fucked up that la puteria, la vida loca, it is the only life for her! Ha! … The best putas, they are always lying.

“They lie to everybody about what they are up to. But they lie the most to themselves. They do not want to admit, when they are sliding down the slope for the selfish sake of satisfying their temptations, they do not want to admit to themselves of their true character.

“La puta, in the beginning she will say, I deserve to have a little fun. My life, it is so dull! She sins a little and lies a lot. Then she is push a little to do something worse, and she say, Oh, I misbehaved. But I will repent tomorrow. I will be ok. Then she sin even worse and she say, Oh my god, this is bad, but it is not so bad. I am not that bad like that puta over there.

“Then she do even a worse sin, and she will say, It was his fault. She blames the wolf for seducing her. It is that bitch’s fault. She blames the peer pressure that come to her from other putas in her circle. And keep that in mind, surround the putita with other putas … They will dare her and provoke her to acts she might not do on her own.

“Then one day, she commits a sin so wicked that she must say, This is very bad. Oh my god, I am the worst! But now, she looks back at all of her accumulation of sins, and she say, I deserve to get away with this. Why not? I just need to be more careful.

“Ah! Her heart is now in full rebellion. She wants to live in two worlds. She wants to sin to her delight, but she does not want to lose the privileges of respectable society. So, the lies grow into a mountain of lies that everybody can see, and she is the last to know that she is not fooling anyone. This is because her heart becomes cold to all decency. She neglects even more her responsibilities in respectable society and does not want to look at anything that is not convenient to her and her need to fill the hole in her wicked soul … Then one day, she is exposed. She is judged for all her sins. She is rejected from the life she had. And she may cry. Poor little puta. She may try very hard to reform herself, to salvage a marriage, her relations with children and parents. That is when you must intervene. It is time for the wolf to bare his teeth. Cut the bitch off for good.”

And with that advice, Mr. Cazares showed his son the bag of cocaine; and smiled the smile of a devil man.

xxxxx

Associated Press:

SCHENECTADY, N.Y. —A woman had her 5-year-old daughter and 2-month-old son with her as she took drugs and performed sex for money, New York police said. Wendy Cook, 37, of Saratoga was arrested along with four other women during a prostitution sweep early Monday, according to Schenectady Police Lt. Brian Kilcullen. Cook was arrested when she offered to perform a sex act on an undercover officer for money, Kilcullen said. While Cook’s children were in the car with her, she performed sex acts on at least two men for money, smoked crack cocaine in the car and even snorted cocaine off the infant’s stomach while she was breastfeeding, Kilcullen said. Cook is in Schenectady County Jail without bail on charges of prostitution and child endangerment, pending a court appearance Tuesday. Her children were turned over to family members.

xxxxx

Drug Addiction Weblog:

Unfortunately, many women face the realization that the only way they can support their crack cocaine habit is by prostituting themselves. Some do it openly and often and others do it only as a straight trade for their crack cocaine. It is common in crack houses for women to trade sex for cocaine. Crack cocaine lowers a woman’s self esteem. Many times, her appearance, hygiene and grooming begins to be neglected. It isn’t long before using her body to pay for her drugs is not a big deal. That is not to say that some don’t regret that they have to do it, but they do.

Street prostitutes are becoming crack cocaine addicts at alarming rates as well. Crack is a very addictive drug and it does damage to everyone who uses, but women in particular seem to feel the ill effects. After a while on crack cocaine, demeaning sex becomes almost the norm. Especially in crack houses where the woman has no control over what kind of sexual activity will take place, or for how long, or for how much of the drug.

xxxxx

Maureen McCormick (formerly little Marcia on the Brady Bunch, became a cocaine addict and whore):

DAILY NEWS — Monday, October 13th 2008, 4:04 PM
Maureen McCormick says there weren’t many sunshine days when she was swapping sex for cocaine. Marcia, Marcia, Marcia – naughty, naughty, naughty! The “Brady Bunch” actress who starred as Marcia Brady admits in a new memoir she was a cocaine fiend who swapped sex for drugs, partied at the Playboy Mansion and bedded screen sibling Greg Brady.

Q: Do you remember the first time you took a hit?

A: Yes. It burnt my nose. I didn’t feel anything for the first snort.

After a couple more, I had this feeling that everything was perfect and great. I was on top of the world and I could do anything. I had an extremely addictive personality, and drugs just took over my life — 24 hours a day I was thinking about where I was going to get the next bit of cocaine. I had been addicted to coke since I was 20 years old. It was part of my everyday life; it was all-encompassing. It helped me hide a lot of my problems, numbed me out, and was a way of not dealing with things.

xxxxx

Isabel Manchada (31 when she started prostituting, and now 35):

The night that Mr. Cazares lured me to copulate, with him with the purpose of inviting into me evil spirits, after I got home from my sexual attack — what else may I call it? At a church! — I was sinking into depression. I had been left alone by Alberto and his son in the parking lot. He made me walk almost to the street before he threw at me my clothes. I was near to tears from his cruel taunting.  Why did he have to shame me in that way? Had I already not submitted enough to his perverse sexual appetites?

I ran again behind the church, clutching my clothes to my breasts, running naked with the darkness of night hiding my shame. I dressed myself with jittery hands. How I shook! I drove home, and trying hard all through the drive to think of home and my daughters and husband — they must never, never know of this, I said to myself as I pounded the steering wheel out of my exploding emotions.

But my thoughts were like pieces of sharp glass. I felt confusion and a sadness deep as a pit into Hell. I felt dirty beyond any experience comparable in my life. My husband was still up, watching television in the living room. I walked past him and took a shower, hoping he would not ask me anything. He was absorbed in a basketball  game, thanks be to God.

That night in the bed we had slept in together for so many years, he touched my pussy and tried to have sex with me. I told him I did not feel well. I turned away. For the first time in my life, I felt myself to be not worthy of his affections. I was feeling so anxious. I could not sleep.

In the morning, I was so fatigued. And I had no appetite for breakfast. I tried to focus on getting my girls and husband off to school and work. I dropped a glass and it shattered in the kitchen and I screamed. I was so mad at myself! My husband came and tried to hug me. He said, It is just a glass, my sweetheart. And that only made worse my anxieties. He did not understand. It was not just a glass; it was my life shattering. I felt in danger.

The night before, I left the fifty dollars in the legging of my stockings. After my husband left, I went to the bedroom and took it out and held it in my hands and thought to myself, I am a puta! Oh my God. This is very bad. I put the green bills to my nose and I could smell my pussy and the semen of those two cocks. I had opened my legs to a whore monger, and then to his underage son! Oh my God. This is very bad, I kept thinking. I was crazy with a new drug. I was crazy!

I put the bills separate from my other money in my purse, in a rubber band. I thought, I will go to that boy and throw at him his money and tell him that I am not a whore! But then I thought, I worked too hard for this money. In fact, he owes me more. He got me too cheap! The little bastard. To be fucking with a nasty underage boy, I should be paid five hundred dollars! Not fifty! Now he will always laugh at me behind my back and tell all his friends that he fucked me behind the church for just fifty dollars. Oh my God, all his young friends will ask me for the same deal! This is so very bad!

I tried to compose myself. I worked and worked at my makeup, but I kept putting on too much. My image of myself had changed. I could only see a painted Latina whore. I went to work grieving for my loss of innocence and decency. I was thinking all through the morning how could I fix this. I thought, I must stop seeing Alberto. But then I thought, No, no. I love him so! I can control this. I just need to be more careful. I need to be more assertive. I have rights, too! … He cannot keep abusing me in these ways.

And that morning, I did not call him. And that afternoon, instead of going to him for sex in the lunch hour, I went to the mall and I bought a pair of red high heels with the whore money.

I looked at the positives in my life. I am thirty-one years old, almost thirty-two. And I have managed to hold my life together this far, even though I have been a cheating wife. I am respected by my family, by my church and co-workers. My husband, he loves me. Maybe I do not love him or appreciate him, but I can try. Yes. I will be a better wife.

But Mr. Cazares, my Alberto, he did not call me either that day. And this worried me. The next day, I called him in the morning and he was mad at me.

He tells me, “I don’t have time for bitches who forget their place. You did not call me yesterday. Okay, then. Do not bother me. I have other bitches that I can fuck!”

I was so upset. All the day long, I am calling him back and leaving messages and trying to explain myself. And he does not return my calls. I went home still upset, and I picked a fight with my daughters for not picking up their things. It was Friday evening, and I would not have an opportunity to see Alberto again until Sunday morning at church. Sunday came, and his place was vacant! His wife came with their putita daughter and that baby boy. But no Alberto. My heart was aching so much that I went to the restroom and cried as I sat on the toilet pretending to piss. Monday morning, I was again calling my Alberto, begging him to speak to me. I begged him to tell me anything, even his nastiest desires. I even told him that I would prostitute myself for him.

“I promise you, papi. I will fuck anyone that you want me to fuck. I promise you papi. Please, please pick up the phone!”

But he did not pick up. And the day passed and I was in such emotional distress. I would think — Why am I doing this? I must stop! I must stop! He is evil! When has he shown me kindness? How many times have I tried to kiss his sweet lips and he turns his head because he tells me I am not his wife, I am just a nasty puta. It hurts my heart that he lies so much about his feelings for me. I know he wants me!

Tuesday morning came and again I am calling his office. This time he answer the phone and I am telling him I am so happy to hear from him and I am so in need of his attention for me. But all he would say was for me to be at a certain motel, at a certain motel room number at noon of this day.

I did not ask why. I hoped only that it would just be him and me. I promised to be there on time. I promised to dress sexy. But in my heart, I suspected that he had waiting for me a client. I left early to lunch. I went to a restroom at a gas station. I changed from my office pant suit into a red mini dress. I left my panties in my purse, and I left also there my brassier. I had on only the mini dress, stockings and my new red high heels that I bought with my whore money. I wanted to tell my beloved Alberto how it was that I spent the whore money and that I was grateful for how he treated me.

At the motel, I pulled up and walked up the stairs to where Alberto had directed me. There was a long outdoor walkway with steel rail. And I saw at the door as I approached, three men. I felt a nausea in my stomach and a golf ball in my throat. Alberto was with two men that I did not know. I did not even recognize them from the construction site. They were complete strangers. One was tall and white with blond hair. The other was average size, stocky and black — un negrito. Both appeared to be in their thirties.

I hugged Alberto with both hands tight around his neck and cried, “Papi, please don’t make me do this. Please. What am I? What have I done to deserve this? Please, papi, I beg you. I love you!”

He pulled away my arms and said, If you love me, you will obey. You know what excites me. You know what makes me happy. I had tears in my eyes to the point they were filling up and tears ran down my brown cheeks. I gulped down my fear. I said I was sorry for neglecting him. I told him about the shoes. He told me to get in the room. I refused and he dragged me inside by the force of his strong grip around my wrists. He was hurting me! I was pushed to the bed and I sat up and folded my arms and shook my head, no! I said that no proper woman would do this. He reminded me that I was not a proper woman, that I was a cheating slut and happy to be one.

I admitted, “Yes, but I am not, not …”

“Not what? Eh?” he said it shouting so loud that it hurt my ears.

The men asked him if I was going to cooperate. He said that I would. I cried even louder and I stood up. He pushed me down so hard that my legs flew up and my bare pussy was for a moment exposed. I covered myself. Alberto pulled out a bag of cocaine.

“You need some of this?” he asked.

I shook my head no.

“No papi, don’t do that again to me. Please no!”

But his mind was made up. He sat on my stomach and the men with him helped to hold me down. He made a solution and again injected the cocaine, this time into my arm. I felt the rush, so incredible. I had a vision of the demon pendant on the pig cord that I had thrown in the trunk of my car. It flashed before my eyes and I felt the demon take control. It was the demon’s fault. It was Alberto’s fault! They pulled off my dress and I was made to sit on the bed sucking black and white cocks while Alberto rubbed my pussy with his fingers and agitated into a hot fire my body’s passions.

I was suddenly so hungry for those cocks! I felt transformed. All my cares and worries disappeared like black magic. I was in a trance of wonder and the milking of these magnificent penises filled my human being with happiness and lust. I loved these strangers and their cocks. I was in an instant only to eager to please and make them happy. The cock sucking only lasted several minutes, but it was better for me than it was for them I think.

The black man said, “I want to Dee Pee this ho now, Albert.”

I understood. I was led by their hands into an accommodating position. I sat on the black man who was lying on his back on the bed. I rode on his cock. It was nice and fat.

“Uyyy, papis!”

I rode alone on him for a few minutes. Then the white man got behind us on the bed and penetrated into my ass. I had never been involved in a double penetration. I can barely describe it. Their cocks were so tight, so demanding of my abilities to endure. I was screaming through it all.

“Ooooooo! Oooooo! Ayyyyy-Ayyyy-Ayyyyyy!”

In the time that they were double fucking me, the rush of the cocaine went away and I collapsed into depression. I was craving more. I was so happy to fuck in one moment and then I crying for them to stop. Alberto recognized my condition and he pulled on my arm while they fucked me and he put again the needle into me skin. I begged him not to, but at the same time I wanted him to. I went up into a second rush and I was in whoring heaven. I praised my fuckers. I yelled to the ceiling that I was being fucked by Gods.

Alberto laughed and told me I was being fucked by devils, “Gods do not give it that hot, puta!”

They pumped me like iron pistons fucking the inside of a bitch’s hot engine. I was on fire and begging for more cock, more movements of fucking. I was again in a place that felt like the best moments of my life. I was living la vida loca. Ayyy, I was such a loca mamacita.

These stranger man devils fucked inside of me with all their lust, they told me how crazy they were for a hot Latina puta, and I wanted them to be crazy for me. My body shook to my core. I felt myself like a marathon runner of fucking.

“:Ayyy si! Ayy si papis! Chingame, chingame, chingame hasta el Infierno!” (Oh yes. Oh yes daddies. Fuck me up. Fuck me up! Fuck up all the way to Hell!)

I threw about my head and my eyes they was rolling up in my skull and I was cumming, cumming, cumming! I was delirious in the extremest way. I wanted them to come back for more. I wanted them to know how good their cocks felt for me. They fucked me beyond the duration of my second cocaine rush. And when my soul was sinking into the low, they expelled their semen inside my pussy and inside the canal of my asshole. Squirts of the man’s sex juices squished inside and I felt their cocks race faster and harder and their curses and grunts come louder and meaner.

“Fuck this whore!” yelled the white man.

“Load up that cunt on nigger cum, bitch,” cursed the negrito.

I was in a deep, stinking, nasty low place in my heart and soul. I felt only the resignation that it was necessary to accept their judgment along with their semen. The strangers lifted their bodies from me. Our fleshes separated and with the separation came deeper my profound sadness. I did not want them to leave me alone. They dressed themselves. And as they dressed, I cried into the stinking mattress. I cried so hard.

I heard the white man ask Alberto, “What’s her problem?”

Alberto said, “She is new to this. Give her time. She will get better.”

I felt so trapped … I felt my heart and body in bondage to this man. I could not explain to myself the grip he had on me. It was his fault that I was whoring. His fault! How could he be without mercy? How could he not see that my love for him was pure? After they left, he came back inside and I was still on the bed crying. He slapped my ass with his hand and I turned to look at him.

‘They paid two hundred dollars — one hundred dollars each — Half is mine, and the motel room comes out of your half.”

He handed me forty-three dollars! I was in complete shock. What an insult. I had fucked bare the cocks of two strangers. I had done my first double penetration. I had prostituted myself like a common street whore on a cocaine addiction for forty-three dollars. Alberto left me alone, without even giving me a kiss or a hug. I sat dazed and furious with my situation. I began to throw objects around the room in a childish tantrum. What had become of me? What!?

My depression was so deep that I curled into a ball of naked stink on the bed and my mind went loopy thinking of all the wickedness I had done, going back to the first time I cheated on my husband with my supervisor more than ten years before. I resolved to myself that I would never see Alberto again.

I left the motel. I left alone and feeling like the most alone person in the world. Who was worse than me? But I got back to work very late. I was so late in fact that my boss called me to his office. He complained that I had been missing too much work. I apologized and said that I would do better. But he said it was too late for me. He had had enough of my absences.

“You are fired, Isabel. Gather your things from your desk now and leave.”

I was in shock. I begged him to reconsider. I was so desperate to hold on to my job that I even went to my knees and told him I would suck his cock if I could stay. But he was an honorable man, not a whore monger. It was foolish, I know. My actions in his office only repulsed him. He called security and I was escorted from the building. I was again in tears in my car. What had I done? What could I do? How could I explain to my husband my dismissal. I could not tell him the truth, of the absences. How would I explain them?

There was nothing to do now, I believed, but to go to Alberto and beg for clients. I needed the money. I would have to hide from my husband that I had lost my job for being a lying, cheating slut.

The next morning, after my husband and my girls had left the house, I dressed myself like a puta. I put on brown bikini shorts so tight they showed the camel toe of my pussy. I did not wear panties. The brown fabric, it almost matched the color of my skin, so my bottom would look almost nude in public.

For a top, I put on a brown denim vest and no bra, so that I could open the vest easily and flash to horny men my nice brown globes. I put on red stockings and the elastic stopped three inches below the bottom of my tiny shorts on my upper thigh. I put on red high heels with the ankle strap — my preference in heels. I put on a silver bangle on my left wrist and I put on silver hoop earrings — big, two-inch hoops. I looked at myself in the full body mirror. Ay! I looked so hot and nasty for a mommy.

I got in my car in the garage and used the remote to open the garage door. I drove out and I drove around. I felt myself to be a condemned woman. I had sealed my fate. I could not imagine leaving Alberto. If this was the way he wanted me, this was the way – the only way for me. I parked in the parking lot of a city park. I got out and walked around. I opened the trunk of my car and I found the demon pendant on the pig cord.

I put it on. I felt the demon head with the tips of my fingers. I shut my eyes and slowly felt the warmth of lust — yes, yes, let it come, I said. And soon, I felt the relief that comes when the pussy aches for hard cock.

I kissed the demon with my eyes closed and I reminded myself as much as my memory to produce of every detail of my night with Alberto in the church, of my afternoon with the two men who purchased my body for that incredible double-fucking. How they made me cum! Oh my god.

I said to myself, “I need cock. I just need cock. I will be okay. Alberto will find me cock.”

I got on my cell phone. He answered. I did not want him to know that I had been fired from my job. I knew he would delight in the news of my misfortune. That only left more of my time to be devoted him and his evil plans for me … I tried to bargain with the devil.

“Alberto, papi,” I said.

“Yes, Isabel. How is my puta today. You feel better?”

“Oh papi, it is sweet of you to ask. Thank you for your concern. You love me, yes?”

“Yes, baby. I love my puta.”

This was the first time — the first time that he said to me that he loved me! — I began to tear up. How I had waited, how I had worked to prove myself, how I had sacrificed to hear those words from this man!

“Papi,” I said, my voice shaking.

“Que pasa, mi putita?” he asked (What is happening my little whore?)

“I want to whore for you papi,” I said with my voice shaking.

I knew he could hear my tears for I sniffed at the end of the sentence.

“I like it!” I told him with complete sincerity, “I like it what you do to me.”

And hear I cried loud into the phone. It was a horrible confession to make and not what I expected to come out of my mouth. I wanted to be more reserved, not so foolish as to bear to this devil my heart. But he had the talent to see my heart all along.

“I like how it feels to be the whore, papi,” I said with my sobbing, “I need it. I want to fuck all the time now. Oh, you have made me so crazy!”

He was so conceited and sure of himself in his answer.

“Mmmm! Yes, baby. Yes, my love. I made you crazy. But now you know what you are, eh? You know what you need?”

I sniffed and nodded my head up and down violently, as if he was right in front of me to see my body language.

“Yes, papi. I know! I know what I am. Soy puta en mi entero (I am a whore with my entire being). Guess what, mi Alberto. I quit my job yesterday!” I lied to my devil man.

“You did? Wow, mami. You didn’t have to do that.”

“No, no no. I did. I could not stand being there anymore, papi. All I was thinking of all the day long that I was in that boring office was going to motels so that you could hook me up with men and make me work my pussy! Oh, papi, I love the fucking so much! I never knew it could feel so good!”

And it felt good then in that moment to confess, to surrender. I was no longer truly divided in my loyalties and in my distress over deciding between good and evil, between my family responsibilities and my sexual obsessions.

“Ha, ha haaaa!’ he laughed at me. ‘That’s what I said, baby. You need the cock, eh?”

“Yes papi. I need it. I need it now. Right now! Please, I am ready. I am dressed very nasty for you papi. Can you hook me up? I want to whore myself in this very moment. Just promise me one little thing papi?”

“What, baby?” he asked me.

“No mas con la cocaina (no more cocaine). I will be a good girl, papi. I promise. I won’t give you no more trouble. I know I am pura puta (pure whore). I will do the double fucking. I will do the orgies that you speak of. I will do it all. But, please promise me no more cocaina? Please?”

He laughed and I feared he would not agree, or lie to me then break a promise.

But he said, “Baby, I just do that to help you be honest with yourself. But now you are being honest, right?”

“Yes, papi. I’m being honest. No more lies. No more! I will be a good puta. Anytime, anywhere, with any man that you give me to.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” he said, and I felt a tight hot anger flash like a match in the pit of my stomach.

He had defeated my will and now he was gloating. But I was his. I belonged to him. He was my pimp. I knew this now. I had accepted it. And I knew there then, in that parking lot, that in time he would strip away from me everything of my past. And that is what came to be. Alberto secretly passed evidence of my whoring to my husband. The bastard, he videotaped me doing a gang bang at a motel with six men! It was without my knowledge! By that time, I had been prostituting my body for Alberto for only three months after the day I lost my job. Alberto, he emailed the video to my husband.

My husband opened it at his office. And there was his wife, his precious bride, full of cocks and cum, and laughing like a whore and begging for more fucking — thirty minutes ofme acting without one shred of decency. He forwarded to me the email and made me watch it in our bedroom that night while he was holding my arms behind my back so hard I thought they would break. He was so mad that he never spoke to me again. He just took the girls. He left me. He won custody of my girls.

I was so mad at Alberto. I tried to leave, but he beat me up and injected me every thirty minutes with cocaine for all of a day. And all of that day and night, he had men coming to me, fucking me one after the other. He said he was teaching me a lesson. Fuck that! He just wanted me all to himself. He did not want to share me anymore with my family. And now I have no family.

That is all. Here I am today. On the streets. Look at me in a clingy rayon miniskirt and a tube top, with my flat belly and my red stockings and red high heels. Eh? Do you like? You like to see a mature woman dressing like a whore. Yes, I snort the cocaine. I like the cocaine! Okay? It helps me forget. It helps me fuck. It removes my appetite and keeps me thin and sexy. I am thinner than I have ever been! Uyyy! (and she twisted her hips, jutted her ass out and slapped it).

It helps with everything — Sniff!

Alberto, he paired me up — after my husband took the girls and threw me to the street — Alberto paired me with two experienced whores. They both used the flake all the time. They would share with me. Eh! I needed it so bad! And you know what? It is not so terrible, to be hooked. I can not imagine life without La Coca-een-ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, haaa! Mmmm!

We were talking on South Presa Street, a working class Hispanic district on the southeast side of San Antonio, and about eighteen miles from Isabel’s old neighborhood and her lost life as a respectable woman. South Presa is congested with old bars, cheap motels and auto repair shops, and warehouses. It has for generations been used by Latina whores as a place to walk and meet customers.

A beat-up car in need of a paint job passed slowly with a lone male driver. Isabel stuck out her tongue, wagging it at him as if she were tickling his balls. She pulled up her skirt to flash at him her pussy. She did not have on panties and the pussy was shaved.

“Hi papi! Hey! You want a date?” she yelled at him.

The car stopped. She walked over. Put her head through the driver’s side window and they talked briefly. At one point, I saw her pull down her top to show him a nipple and he reached up and pinched it. She squealed and laughed and looked around, then returned her attention to him. He would give her ten dollars for a fuck in his car — enough money to split five dollars for a line of coke and five dollars for Alberto. Then she walked around and waved goodbye to me. She opened the door and crawled inside the front seat. The driver gunned the gas and they disappeared into traffic.

THE END OF CHAPTER THREE