DO YOU FEEL LIKE TALKING TO ME ABOUT IT, SANDY? Look. I'm no angel, okay?
Bobby knew he wasn't marrying a nun, but he married me, anyway. And I never once
fooled around on him, or even flirted very much with anyone else, after we got
married. I'm not proud of the way I was making a living when we met, but he has
no idea how hard it was, and there isn't anything I can do, now, to change any
of that, anyway. CHANGE WHAT? The way I lived. I was still in high
school when things got so bad at home I had to split. Mom was always pickled in
her cheap wine and dad -- dear old dad -- when he wasn't slapping me around, was
giving me goo-goo eyes and coming into my bedroom at night to grab some cheap
feels of my `new equipment.' After he fell asleep one night, I grabbed his
wallet and mom's `secret' booze money, hitchhiked to Bangor and hopped on a bus,
buying a one way ticket for as far away as I could get -- that happened to be
downtown Baltimore. I didn't expect the folks to come looking for me, and they
didn't. I was on my own. I was 16. I had about fifty dollars and a suitcase full
of fairly decent clothes. I had seen enough `Geraldo's' about street kids to
know I didn't want to start hanging out like that. Living in a filthy, rat- and
bug-infested dump was worse than what I left. SO, WHAT DID YOU DO? I
worked. I couldn't get a decent job, of course, because I didn't have my diploma
and I had no experience at anything. I worked for `Mom and Pop' type businesses
because they'd pay me under the table and I didn't have to fill out a lot of
forms. I lived in dumpy, but fairly clean, rooms and kept pretty much to myself.
Always having someplace safe to sleep at night was my goal. It wasn't like the
movies. I never worked for any really nice people. Never for a woman who was
like some `TV mom' who wanted to take me into their home and take care of me.
Just hard working people who wanted me to work hard, too. The problem was always
sex. SEX? WHAT DO YOU MEAN? Well, you see how I look, right?
YES. OF COURSE. Well, either the guy running the place (and one time it
was the woman) or a customer would get to the point where they couldn't keep
their hands off me. It never failed to happen. I'd get my boobs grabbed in the
back room or told I had to fuck him to get my pay and I'd split. See, I was
innocent, but not stupid. I knew what they wanted and being forced into
something like that would wreck this sense of security I had built up for
myself. And my security was all that I had. I wasn't a virgin -- I had had a
boyfriend in tenth grade -- but this wasn't the same. Does any of this make
sense to you? SURE. I UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU'RE SAYING, SANDY. YOU HAD SET UP
BOUNDARY LINES AROUND YOURSELF, AND THE SEXUAL HARASSMENT CROSSED THOSE
LINES. Exactly! Anyway, that's when I'd split. Sometimes getting my
last paycheck, sometimes not. So, by now, I just had my 17th birthday and I'm
out of work, again. And each time it seems to get harder and harder to find that
next job. Well, I'm in my favorite Dunkin' Donuts, crying in my coffee, when one
of the other regulars sits down next to me. This guy, Mr. Harper, hung there,
too, and was always polite but not quite friendly, keeping his distance. I could
deal with that. He wasn't like the sleaziods always coming over and drooling
down my neck. He asks what's wrong and I tell him. I didn't have any friends,
and after almost a year on my own, it felt nice to have somebody to talk to. We
talked and talked and he offered to buy me lunch down at Harbor Place. It was a
beautiful day and the food was great and Mr. Harper was so concerned about my
welfare. His timing couldn't have been better. FOR WHAT? His
proposition. HE PROPOSITIONED YOU? No, that's just it, HE didn't. At
least, not for what you think. Here's this older guy, who looks like he could be
a college professor or something, and he's being nice to me -- without any hint
of coming on to me, sexually. And I'm beginning to feel better. I still feel
safe and now I'm actually laughing at some of the funny things he's saying. We
spent the day at the harbor, and he even takes me on a boat ride. Over dinner,
in a `Little Italy' restaurant with candles on the tables, he asks me where I'm
staying. Immediately, my defenses come up. Why's he want to know? He tells me he
knows a place out in the county. He said it's clean and cheap and he knows the
owner who would keep an eye out for my safety. I ask him why I'd want to move
out of the city and he smiles and says that he might have a good-paying job for
me, if I want it. Here comes the proposition. He tells me a friend of his owns a
couple of clubs, two on "The Block" and two more in the county. He says if I
would dance (`AND ONLY DANCE, SANDY,' he says), I could soon make enough money
to really live on my own. I tell him no, but he's not done his sales pitch, yet.
He says with that kind of money, I could get a real apartment, like the young
singles have, get a car, maybe even get my diploma and go to college. He told me
I could get a real life -- something I wanted very much. I tell him I'm only 17
and he says `no problem.' He keeps talking and tells me a lot of the dancers are
college girls, earning their tuition, and leaving as soon as they graduate; and
how other girls make enough money to start their own business from dancing.
Talk, talk, talk. He talked my ear off. SO, WHAT HAPPENED? I got the
job. That night, we drove out to the club and met the manager. He didn't even
make me undress. He told me what hours I'd have to work and I'd have to stay out
of the booze and drugs (no problem for me, at that time). When he told me what
I'd be making a week, I couldn't believe it. It sounded like so much money to
me. Enough money to make me think I could do exactly what Mr. Harper said I
could do -- work there a short time and quit into the real world. The next day,
Mr. Harper helped me move into a decent studio-apartment-type room in a motel
about a hundred feet up the road from the club. He also took my picture and made
me a driver's license, social security card, and new birth certificate that said
I was `Sandra Beech' (sandy beach -- get it?) and that I was just under 20 years
old. I started dancing topless that night. YOU STARTED A CAREER.
Very funny. BECOMING A NUDE DANCER WAS THAT EASY FOR YOU, SANDY?
Well, it may seem that easy to you, but you weren't living the life I was, then.
I was alone and poor and scared and nervous and embarrassed, but I was also
young and had been convinced by a master salesman. I was so excited about making
money, how I made it was secondary in my mind. Besides, I knew what I looked
like and thought I might as well make some money out of showing them what they
all wanted to see, anyway. But, it didn't take me long to realize that it wasn't
all hearts and flowers the way it had been describe to me. AND YOU WERE
SURPRISED? Yes, I guess I was. Most of the other girls were on booze or
coke or speed and all their money went that way. As a matter of fact, they
couldn't make enough money dancing. But extra money was easy to make in that
club -- you just let the guys take you into the back room, or out to their
pickup, or up to the motel and buy whatever they could afford -- a hand-job, or
blow-job, or a fuck. You gave a little piece of the profit to the club, and the
rest was yours. HOOKING. DID YOU HOOK, SANDY? Not right away. Of
course, I told myself that I would never hook like that; that I didn't have any
addictions like the other girls. But I did. Here I am, this young, pretty girl,
down from the backwoods of Maine and all of a sudden, I have money. More money
than I ever had in my life. It wasn't long before I had a closet full of new
clothes. And then a car -- a hot, new Mustang convertible. Then I could afford a
new apartment, which meant I needed furniture and a TV and a stereo... I was
addicted to shopping, and within months I was borrowing against my next week's
paycheck. Nobody had ever taught me how to handle money and I was still a kid.
Finally, the manager refused to advance me any more money. He said if I didn't
stop spending, there was only one way of keeping up with my bills. I knew what
he meant. I also knew that I was the most popular girl in the place. I was
young, pretty, had a great body with big tits... THAT'S A FACT! Oh,
hush! I also wasn't a burn-out like most of the other girls. Anyway, being very
practical about the whole thing, I asked the other girls what they charged and
doubled it. From that first weekend on, I had no trouble filling my `dance card'
for the back room. My biggest surprise was that it wasn't sex for me -- it was
business. DID YOU GET OUT OF DEBT? Did I! I was determined never to
get in money problems again. I worked five nights a week, dancing for my salary
and earning my bonus in the back room. I didn't turn anyone away and I didn't
give discounts. I developed a right arm like Arnold Swartzenegger and I really
could suck a golf ball through a garden hose. Tying knots in cherry stems was
kid's stuff! It was true piecework... GROAN! Stop it! You know
what I mean. Now let me talk! Move'em in and move'em out. High volume, low
overhead. That's how I worked. Even my pussy developed very special talents.
DIDN'T YOU WORRY ABOUT CATCHING SOMETHING? No, not really. I was 17 -- 18,
and feeling immortal. I got the crabs a couple of times, but that was it. If
they looked scrungy, I just whipped a rubber on them. The important part for me
was that, soon, I paid everyone off, and had too much money to bank. I started
filling a safe deposit box with hundred dollar bills. Anyway, that's who I was.
I didn't make any secrets about it. One night, while I'm dancing, a bunch of
guys come in -- regulars. They stopped in about once every two weeks or so.
Definitely Prep school material -- all cotton and Docksides. Probably college
guys. They were always well behaved and I had been in the back room with all of
them, at one time or another. They were even good tippers. So... anyway... That
night, I'm dancing and they come in. Only they have a new guy with them. He's
shy and blushes a lot as I play up to him and jiggle my boobs and wiggle my ass
in his face. Everybody else is going crazy, but this guy keeps his hands to
himself, except when he slips a twenty into my garter. His friends are razzing
him and when my set ends, I sit with his crowd. They want the new kid, Bobby, to
take me in the back room, but he smiles at me and says, `I'd rather take you out
to dinner.' He's cute and nice and his friends are giving him such a hard time,
I feel sorry for him and want to cut him a break. I tell him to pick me up in
front of the club the next night and we'll go out to dinner.
AND THE REST IS HISTORY?
You laugh, but it was almost that simple. He was a really nice guy. He came from
a large, rich family that lives in `The Valley' and he was always the `Black
Sheep' because he didn't toe daddy's line. The final offense was when he
enlisted in the Navy instead of going to college. He was ready to get out when I
met him, and he was scared and lonely about what was to come. Cut out of the
family's business, he was looking for work and was determined to make it on his
own. He reminded me of me when I showed up in Baltimore. He got my sympathy. He
never came to the club, again, but we dated on my nights off. We didn't have sex
for months after we met, and when we did, it was quiet and sweet and tender. I
had been on my own for over three years, and dancing for over two, and was
tired. When he asked me to marry him, I accepted. HOW DID BOBBY'S FAMILY
TAKE IT? Well, there wasn't much to take. The day after I quit dancing, we
were married in the Court House and only Matt, Bobby's younger brother, came. We
had to borrow a secretary from down the hall to be our other witness. We were
pretty sure they knew all about me. Bobby's old high school friends knew, of
course, they had all bagged me in the backroom, and we just assumed the word got
back to Bobby's parents. He was probably embarrassed by that, but we didn't see
them very often, anyway. We got a new apartment and Bobby found a pretty good
job because of his Navy training. I studied and got my GED, took courses at
Essex community college, transferred to Towson State University and got my B.A.
-- all in just four years. I was 22 when I was hired as an administrative
assistant in the county planning office. PRETTY IMPRESSIVE, SANDY. DID
BOBBY EVER GET TO SEE HIS FAMILY? WERE YOU INVITED FOR HOLIDAYS AND
CELEBRATIONS? Invited? No. Matt sometimes stopped by, but for years,
we only saw his family at wakes and funerals. His dad is a very cold guy. No
hugs, just handshakes. Bobby said he was always like that -- always on this
super-macho power and control trip. And his mom! The biggest snob in the world.
She really looked down her nose at me. I think it really bothered her that I got
my education and didn't talk and act and dress like a hillbilly. And, other than
Matt, Bobby's brothers (and their wives) were all the same as his parents --
stuck-up snobs. It was a shame. I think Bobby was too nice a person for his
family and he made them uncomfortable. I was just the easy excuse why they
shunned him. It was sad to watch. All Bobby wanted was to be accepted. He would
have done anything for them. He was like a little puppy around his father. But
they could never forgive him. They were too proud. All Bobby's past sins were
forgotten when he married me. I was the focus of all of their hatred. I guess I
can understand, to some degree. I probably wouldn't be too happy if my son
married a whore. But, I wasn't a whore any more. I didn't do those kinds of
things any more -- I was respectable. But it didn't matter to them. They would
have rather Bobby married some little squeaky-clean little Yuppie girl -- some
girl who probably fucked the football team in college to get into her sorority!
See what just thinking about it does to me? I SEE. DOES ALL OF THIS HAVE
SOMETHING TO DO WITH WHY YOU'RE HERE, TONIGHT? Of course! It
has EVERYTHING to do with why I'm here. It was because of Matt. Matt, Bobby's
younger brother was getting married, and as a fence-mending idea, he asked Bobby
to be his best man. I'm sure it pissed everybody off, but there was no way they
could not invite us to all the wedding dinners and things. The rehearsal dinner
was bad enough -- talk about feeling a chill! -- but the next night was the
Bachelor Party and against my better judgment, but to please Bobby, I agreed to
spend the night at his parents' house while the guys went out for dinner and
then back to our place. After dinner with all the other wives and Bobby's mother
and sisters, we all got into the wine pretty good and Bobby's mom really got on
her high horse. I heard one too many comments about my
`less-than-reputable-past' and my `legendary availability to the opposite sex'
that I grabbed my overnight bag, my coat and my car keys. I wasn't spending one
more second with the nasty, old bitch. When I got to our house, it was obvious
the party had moved here. There were cars all over the place and I had to park a
block away. I rang the bell and knocked and a very drunk Bobby answered the
door, yelling, "Let the games begin!" Then, quieter, "Oh! Sandy. I thought it
was the stripper." As I walked into the living room, I heard Bobby's father
snicker, "Hmpf! It is, isn't it?" And a good chunk of the crowd joined him in a
loud laugh. I felt myself blush as I passed through the room. Bobby didn't come
to my defense and I had had enough of his family's cheap shots at me for one
night. Furious, I grabbed two wine coolers out of the fridge and locked myself
in our bedroom. Downing the two coolers in record time, I sat on the bed so
pissed off, I couldn't see straight. It didn't matter to Bobby's family at all
that the past was long behind me, that I had worked hard to be respectable and
get a good job, that I was a good wife for their son. And I saw red thinking of
Bobby not coming to my defense. How could he let me down like that, especially
in front of his father? I could tell from the noise that the stripper had
arrived. I was going to stay in the bedroom until she left, but thought, `fuck
it,' and walked into the kitchen for a few more coolers. Bobby was standing in
the doorway, watching the stripper. `Thanks for coming to my rescue, Sir
Galahad,' I sneered. He turned and looked at me, `Big deal. You fucked half the
guys here for money and you're offended my father called you a stripper?' Even
as buzzed as I was, I knew it wasn't the time or place to get into it with him.
I looked over his shoulder. The stripper was a short, cute redhead with great
legs, but no chest at all. She was naked and taking Matt's cock out of his fly.
As she straddled his legs, I couldn't believe he was getting married on Saturday
night and sticking his cock up a strange cunt on Friday night -- what a family!
I couldn't let the moment go, without a shot at Bobby, `She's absolutely
tit-less. I hope you didn't pay a lot for her, Bobby.' `Why don't you show us
yours, Sandra, dear? As a point of comparison.' Bobby's dad had been standing
next to the doorway and I hadn't seen him until he turned and gave me his
slimiest smile. Of course, if daddy said `jump,' Bobby was in the air asking
`how high?' He raised his glass and downed his Scotch and nodded, `Yeah, Sandy,
why don't you show us YOUR tits!' He said it loud enough that several people on
either side of him began to chant, `Show us your tits! Show us your tits!' They
followed me down the hall to the bedroom and banged on the locked door as they
chanted at me. The hurt, the booze, the put-downs, Bobby siding with his family,
Matt screwing a whore, guests in our house banging on my door... I screamed as I
opened the door. They were quiet as they let me pass through them into the
living room. I climbed up on to the coffee table. I found Bobby's face in the
drunken crowd. `Fuck all of you, and start the music!' I was wearing a white
crepe blouse and a black wool skirt. Under them, I had on a camisole and
half-slip, bra, panties and pantyhose. Not the typical stripper's costume. I
grabbed a mug of beer out of the hand of a nearby spectator and chugged it as I
started to pick up the beat of the music. It had been years, but I could feel it
inside me and all those thousands of hours dancing were not forgotten. Though
mostly dancing topless or naked, I had done a few strips in my day, and I knew
what the boys liked. I undid my blouse buttons and dropped the feathery material
off my shoulders and arms, leaving my long scarf tied around my neck. I lifted
the satin camisole up and over my head and threw it into the crowd. I danced a
little bit, showing them my tits in my bra before I began unzipping my skirt.
When it fell to my feet, I kicked it away and dropped my half-slip quickly.
Knowing nobody found pantyhose sexy, I made short work of them, rolling them
down off my hips and having a couple of boys pull them off my feet. I was in my
bra and panties, and no one had left the room. Bobby was still standing next to
his father, who was clapping to the beat like everyone else. The crowd was wild.
The stripper was sitting on the sofa, between two of Bobby's brothers, giving
both of them hand-jobs as she cheered me on. I reached behind me and undid my
clasp. The straps fell off my shoulders and down my arms, but I held the cups to
my breasts with my arms. With the boys yelling for more, I bent over in front of
Bobby's dad and let the bra fall to the floor. As the boys roared their
approval, I thrust my chest out until they almost touched his nose. He began to
raise his hand to touch me and I danced to the other side of the table. I owned
the crowd and knew it. This was MY power play. I was in control and I liked it.
My panties disappeared in a flash and they all saw that I was a natural blonde.
I untied the scarf from around my neck and let it drape over my sweating, naked
flesh like some demented snake. I twisted it tight and ran it between my tits
and then between my legs, pulling it up tight into my ass and cunt. I jumped off
the table in front of Billy's dad and tossed the scarf around the back of his
neck. I looked into Billy's eyes as I pulled his father's face down to mine. His
father's lips met mine and his tongue exploded into my mouth and his hands
grabbed my asscheeks. As his hands slid up my body to pinch my hard nipples I
confirmed what I had know all along about Billy's dad -- he was just as dirty as
I was. WHEW! WHAT HAPPENED NEXT, SANDY? DID HE FUCK YOU? Him
and everybody else. Well, not everybody. Some guys cleared out fast when Billy's
dad plopped me down on the coffee table and dropped his pants and shorts. His
intentions were clear, as they say. What happened next? It became a real family
affair. All four of Bobby's brothers fucked me, including Matt, who I had always
considered a friend, and then whoever else was there took their shot. There were
enough guys left to keep me and the stripper full of hard cock for the next two
hours or so. BOBBY'S FATHER AND THE SITUATION MANIPULATED YOU. HOW COULD
YOU LET THAT HAPPEN, SANDY? What can I say? I lowered myself to
their expectations. I let myself become what they thought I was all along. I was
wrong. I made a big mistake. Bobby just stood there and watched. Sometime later
in the evening, his father was sitting on the sofa with his hands buried in my
hair and his dick buried in my mouth and I heard him say, `Bobby, my boy, you
have great taste in whores, but lousy taste in wives!' and then he laughed, and
kept on laughing as I swallowed his cum. I woke up with a real banger of a
headache. I was on our bed with two guys I didn't recognize, and my ass slipped
in a small puddle of cold, but still-wet cum that had dripped out of my cunt. I
hadn't been in a gangbang like that since I entertained at a Knights of Columbus
party years ago. I peed and brushed my teeth and threw on a robe. I smelled
coffee. The sofa and chairs in the living room were filled with sleeping bodies.
The stripper was curled up on the floor with Bobby's naked 14 year old cousin,
both snoring. I winced as I remembered him cumming in my pussy and mouth the
night before. Bobby's father was in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee. He
looked like he was on his way out to the office -- clean shaven, hair combed,
dressed in his jacket and tie -- the perfect businessman. `Sandra,' he smiled,
`you look like shit.' `I feel like shit. Who are all these people?' My feeble
attempt at hangover humor. `But, my dear, you know all of them intimately.'
Again, the diamond-cutting smile. `Are you happy? Did you prove to Bobby that he
married a whore?' He handed me his empty cup and walked toward the front door,
`No, Sandra, YOU proved to Bobby he married a whore.' I threw the cup at him but
it shattered against the wall. WHAT A TERRIBLE SITUATION, SANDY! I FEEL SO
BAD FOR YOU. WHERE WAS BOBBY? DID YOU GO TO THE WEDDING?
Wedding? Ha! I found Bobby in the guest room. I woke him up and told him to get
everybody out of the house. I locked myself in the bathroom and stayed in the
shower until I couldn't cry anymore. Bobby and I argued all day about whether to
go to the wedding. Finally we decided that he had to go because he was the best
man, and I could go, but didn't have to sit with his family. I sat in the car
until it was almost time to start, and then I sat near the back of the church,
alone in a pew. None of the ushers, who were all at the party, looked me in the
eye, but the bride stared at me as she walked past. Her father looked familiar
and I was trying to remember if he was at the party, too. The ceremony began and
when the priest asked if anyone knew why the couple shouldn't be joined in `holy
matrimony,' the bride whispered something and the priest handed her the
microphone. She turned around and faced the congregation. I hadn't been to
enough formal weddings to know that this was unusual. She lifted her veil and
smiled at the crowd, `Good Evening, everyone. I'm very pleased to see all of you
here for this occasion. I have a short announcement to make. I'm not getting
married tonight.' Everyone in the church mumbled something and the bride
continued over the outburst `...You see, I found something out about my fiancée,
and I don't think I can go through with the wedding.' `Oh-oh,' I thought. I
grabbed my purse to make a fast getaway, but I wasn't fast enough. `Can everyone
see the pretty blonde in the back of the church?' The bride was pointing right
at me! And every eye in the place followed her pretty index finger. `Well, she
was my future sister-in-law. She's married to the best man, my fiancée's
brother. Well, last night, at the Bachelor Party, that pretty blonde screwed my
fiancée, his brothers, his father, all the ushers, and even my father!' Well,
that answered my question about the father of the bride! The bride's mother
passed out and her head hitting the pew front resounded throughout the silent
church. `That slut,' the bride continued, `used to be a cheap barroom whore, and
last night she sucked and fucked every man at the bachelor party!' HOLY
SHIT! You can say that, again! Fortunately, I drove, so I hopped into the
car and peeled rubber getting out of there. I went to the house, filled the car
up with my clothes and make-up and drove here. I've been here since. DO
YOU THINK BOBBY WILL FIND YOU, HERE? IT'S KIND OF AN OBVIOUS CHOICE.
You're assuming he's looking. I don't think he is. And I can't blame him if he's
not. You can't change a leopard's spots. So, did you come back here to talk or
to fuck? We better get it on. It looks like I was missed and my old fan club has
been lining up to get a piece of my ass since I came back. I've been on my back
so much, I barely have time to dance! No, don't worry about a condom -- let's
live dangerously and do it bareback!
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