They always ask that same question after they've visited my crib a few times, have paid their dollar for a poke or a suck, and feel there's an intimate bond between us. "What's a nice, pretty gal like you doin' spreadin' your legs for cowboys in a filthy cow town like Abilene?"
Should I tell them the truth of my life? I don't think they'd really want to hear it. Would they want to know that my daddy was a lazy sharecropper in Alabama and when his pretty daughter sprouted her bosoms and the boys began to show an interest he set a bride price of a hundred dollars no boy in our war-ravaged community could pay? I ended up married to a hateful old man who just wanted a young girl in his bed to 'train up in the ways of pleasurin' a man'. Would they want to know how that man beat his young wife to excite himself enough to get his manhood to function?
Should I tell them about how when that old man died of an apoplexy while pumping his cock into my ass I was a happy widow? I was happy until his brother showed up at my door, that is, and demanded the farm as his own because women in Alabama couldn't own property in their names. Men, you see, don't think women have the brains for business and can't handle money properly.
I smile to myself when I think on that. Men would be shocked to know how many Gold and Silver Eagles this inept woman has stashed away in her bag at the bottom of her wardrobe.
Hyram Meacham demanded my farm and by law, he was entitled to it because he was a man and my husband's closest kin. I was told I could move into the room in the attic and stay on to mind his three snot-nosed children and act as his wife Shirley's live-in maid, doin' the cookin', cleanin', and other hard liftin' around the house that was supposed to be mine or I could pack the few clothes I had that I'd come to that house with and be on my way. I should likely have taken that option in order to have retained my respectability in society.
As I had no other options but crawl back to my daddy's and beg his grudging assistance, I moved my clothes up to the attic and shared the space with the daddy long legs and mice. I knew I'd made the wrong choice when a few nights later Hyram snuck up the stairs in the middle of the night and demanded what most would call marital rights though I wasn't his wife and he had no right takin' what he took'.
He clasped his hand over my mouth to quiet my screams and pressed his weight on my body to stop my struggles. "You belong to me now, bitch, just like this farm, and I'm takin' what's owed me from between your legs," he whispered into my ear. "Jasper always said he trained you up right, so show me what he taught to ya," he said as his hand found the spot between my thighs and probed. "You're wetter than Shirley ever gets, so this should be real nice for me." He chuckled as he shoved his manhood into me and began to pump. "Damn," he whispered a few minutes later," better not take no chances gettin' you with child, bitch," he said as he rolled me over onto my belly and parted my ass cheeks with a finger, "Shirley would be right displeased to lose her maid now that she has one."
He went on to finish his business in my ass and when he pulled out he demanded I lick him clean, giggling about how he hoped it would get him hard again so he could use my mouth the same way he'd just used the other orifices.
He left the attic that night and returned again most nights. I shuddered when I heard that third stair creak, knowing he was on his way with some new and more perverted design upon my body. It seemed my husband hadn't trained me up in the ways of perversion at all, but Hyram made certain I learned the rest.
Why would I have left this cozy arrangement for the whores' cribs of Abilene you ask? Well, one evening while Shirley was away visiting her mama and daddy in Birmingham with the snots, Hyram invited three of his friends over for a friendly game of poker. All they poked that night, of course, was me in every hole I possessed--some all at the same time and I'd had my fill.
I got up the next morning, packed my carpet bag, and walked away from the farm and Alabama. I traded my body for rides and meals until I came to Abilene and could honestly call myself an accomplished whore. That's how a nice, pretty gal like me ended up spreadin' my legs in the cribs of Abilene with a small fortune in coins stashed away in my wardrobe where the nicest clothes I've ever owned hang.
Next time, I'll begin tellin' y'all a few of the more interestin' encounters this whore has had and remember that it's customary to tip your whore if you've enjoyed her services!