The Dirty Girl
I would often see a particular girl wander by during the day outside our offices. She was typical of many of the urchins that were searching for their next meal or panhandling along the sidewalk. I felt bad, honestly, but what was a person to do?
I always considered myself a philanthropist, donating to one cause or another, and I would generously give to those in need. The situation, unfortunately, has grown to the point that it’s almost unmanageable.
I’m not sure where this girl came from, but she seemed particularly sad and downtrodden. Her long hair was tied back into a ponytail, and I could tell it was once blonde. Weeks or months of being unwashed had turned it a dingy grey, and it hung in strings down her back.
This particular day, I would run into her as I was leaving my office. Face to face, I imagined her as being much younger than she was. In actuality, she was probably in her mid-twenties.
I decided to strike up a conversation, not with any ulterior motives, but only because she had captured my interest before. We talked about where she was from, and why she was on the street.
Natalie, as I learned, hailed from Kansas City, and had been living on the streets of New York for over six months, having been drawn there by the possibility of a job. She was a freelance photographer, although she had long ago pawned any equipment she once had.
I asked her how long it had been since she had eaten a decent meal. Her answer shocked me into action. However she may be perceived, I was not going to stand by and let someone starve. There was a small diner down the street from my offices and I offered to buy her supper.
As we walked into the place, I noticed several employees move toward her. “We got nothing for you.” The one server said, directly to Natalie, who had obviously been there before.
“She’s with me.” I offered, my professional appearance at least staving off the vultures. As we sat, I could help but notice that Natalie had gone far too long without bathing, and her dank clothing only magnified that fact. In spite of the looks we got from both patrons and staff, we finished our meal and left.
As we were about to part company, I couldn’t help but intervene. “Natalie, please allow me to help you.”
“You’ve been so kind. I couldn’t possibly trespass on your good nature any further.” She said, eloquently.
That was it. This delicate, intelligent person did not belong on the street. “I insist, Natalie. I’m taking you home, and I won’t take no for an answer.” She looked at me for a moment, trying to figure out why I was going so far. Relenting, finally, Natalie followed me to my car.
I felt badly for my upholstery, but it couldn’t be helped. I’d just have to have it cleaned. I certainly didn’t want to offend her by putting newspaper down or something. Amazingly, she pulled a large sheet of plastic from her bag, and set it on my seat before getting in the car.
“You know, you don’t have to do that.” I sighed, looking over at her.
“I’m not naïve, Bridget. I know I’m filthy and unwashed. It’s the least I can do.” She smiled. “Thank you for caring about me.”
On the ride home, which was just over thirty minutes, I tried to imagine what it must be like to be so well-mannered and intelligent and still stuck in such a situation. It wasn’t a long fall, to imagine myself on the streets, with no money and no way to escape.
“First things first,” I suggested. “Why don’t you head into the bathroom and wash up, while I find you some things to wear.” I figured we were almost the same height, and being of slight build myself, I thought I would simply give her a few of my things.
While she was in the shower, I gathered all her clothes, including the ones she had been wearing, and threw them in the trash. Laying out several outfits, I hoped that she wouldn’t be upset by my actions.
When she emerged from the bathroom, it was like seeing a different person. Gone was the waifish girl that I had rescued, replaced by a beautiful woman, and I am not exaggerating. Her long hair was a lustrous blonde, even though it seemed somewhat damaged. Natalie’s skin was mostly clear except for some small blemishes that were obviously from being unwashed for so long.
For the time being she was wearing a terrycloth robe that I had hung on the back of the bathroom door. “Thank you so much. I feel like a different person.” She sighed, coming to sit next to me in the living room. “I saw all the clothes you laid out for me. You are far too generous. Can I ask what you did with my old ones?”
“I’m afraid I had to throw them away, Natalie. I thought about washing them but…”
“That’s okay. I don’t mind. Are you giving me the clothes that are on the bed?” She asked, reticently.
“Yes, they are yours. And you may stay in my guest bedroom for as long as you need, Natalie.” I offered.
“Bridget. I just couldn’t. I’m not a freeloader, you know. I have prospects, but things just began slipping away after the one offer fell through.” She sighed.
“Why don’t you sleep on it, and in the morning, we’ll talk about what you need to get you back on your feet.” I directed her back to the bedroom, telling her that if she got hungry during the night, to simply help herself to whatever was in the fridge or the cupboards. Natalie smiled, obviously overwhelmed by my generosity.
I took the next few days off, hoping to learn more about my new ward, and what exactly she needed to succeed. She insisted that the clothes I had given her were more than adequate, but that she needed a good camera and some lenses to practice her trade.
Not hesitating for a minute, I purchased a top-of-the-line Canon DSLR and some lenses she recommended. It wasn’t cheap by any means, but I wanted to do this. Next was a compatible notebook that she could use to process her work. All set up, I took my new protégé out for something to eat.
“You really have gone much too far, Bridget.” Natalie insisted, enjoying her meal and remembering just where she had been less than forty-eight hours before. I couldn’t help but ask.
“What was it like, being out there like that, so unprotected and vulnerable?’ I tried not to be too probing, but I genuinely wanted to know.
“It was an experience, I think.” Natalie started. “At first it was a bit daunting, but once you get used to yourself that way, it becomes second nature to scrounge and beg for what you need.” She continued. “The hardest part was the way people treated you, and looked at you, you know. It was difficult to think of myself as a human being sometimes.”
I thought long and hard about the next question but had to ask. “What do you think would happen to me if I just put myself in that position, where you were, I mean?”
She looked at me long and hard, not quite understanding what I was asking. “Why would anyone want to be desperate and homeless?” She seemed puzzled that I would even ask such a thing.
“I think just for the experience,” I explained. “…to gain some insight into what it’s really like to be in that position.”
“You’ve got everything, Bridget; a beautiful home, a great career; why would you ever want that?” Natalie seemed almost annoyed. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed, wanting to change the subject. “I need to do something with this. It’s so damaged, I just want to have it cut off.”
“Well, I can certainly help with that, Natalie.” I smiled. “I can set up an appointment with my hairstylist for you.”
“No, I mean I want it cut off, you know. I’ve had long hair all my life. It’s time for a change. Can you just take me to a barbershop?” She asked, seriously.
“You have lovely hair, Natalie. Why would you want something so drastic?” I asked.
“It’s been a bit of a security blanket. On the street, it was enough to hide behind, you know. I don’t want to be that person anymore.” Natalie ran her fingers through the length of her blonde curls, which fell nearly to her waist.
“I can certainly take you. I think there’s a barbershop not too far from here. Why don’t we go there after lunch.” I suggested.
“Thank you. That will be fine.” She seemed solemn, almost remote as she contemplated what she was about to do.
Watching and Yearning for Less
We drove to the small plaza at the end of town, where I knew a small barbershop was still in business. I’d never been in there myself, but I supposed one was just the same as the next.
Accompanying her inside, I watched as Natalie took a seat in the large leather swivel chair, there being no one else in the shop. “I need a haircut.” Natalie spouted, as the barber emerged from the back.
“I don’t do girl’s haircuts.” The older man explained, leaning against the counter beside the chair.
“I don’t want a girl’s haircut.” Natalie insisted, pointing to a few photos on the wall.
“Are you sure? Which one do you want?” The barber asked. He moved to the photos and pointed at each one in turn, until Natalie nodded her approval. “That’s called a Princeton. It’s a pretty short cut. Are you absolutely sure, young lady?”
I looked closely at the image on the wall, surprised that this was how Natalie wanted to look. It was a very masculine-looking cut, unforgiving and stark. I saw Natalie push herself up in the chair, determined. “Yes, that’s what I want.”
Natalie lifted her hair for the man as he struggled to get a small strip of paper wrapped about her neck. That done, he wrapped his red and white striped cape around her shoulders, her long hair cascading down the back and sides of it.
“What do you want to do with it?” The barber asked, gathering the mass of curls into a ponytail at the top of her nape.
“It’s far too damaged to donate. It’ll be fine on the floor.” Natalie suggested, as the barber reached into his pocket for a pair of scissors. Unceremoniously, he began to hack away at the gathered locks, allowing them to fall from his hand occasionally. By the time he had finished, the floor around the chair was covered in a sea of blonde strands.
“That’s the bulk of it. Now I can get started.” The barber said, exchanging the scissors for a menacing set of clippers. Watching all this hair being chopped away had an effect on me, and I am almost embarrassed to admit what that effect was. I was dreadfully aroused, and even though my hair was nowhere near the length that Natalie’s had been, I imagined myself in her place.
I watched, intently, as the clippers crept up the back of Natalie’s head, causing more blonde curls to tumble to the floor, and leaving a swathe of stubbled scalp in their wake. Pressing my thighs together, I tried to stifle the feelings I was having, but it was hopeless.
Slowly, and deliberately, the barber severed Natalie’s hair, until all that remained was an abbreviated tuft of blonde on her crown. The barber switched blades on his machine and began paring down the crown of her head, longer than the sides but still too short to be called anything but bristles.
Now, the only hair of any length at all was at the front. Using scissors and a comb the man began to take even this away. He created a short part which only made it part of the way along her head until the hair simply ran out.
I was struggling now, actually wishing the shop had a ladies’ room somewhere. I was quite certain I would have been disappointed if I’d asked, so I didn’t. Poor Natalie, but at the same time I was secretly envious of her new look.
Using lather and a razor, the barber cleaned up her hairline, not only in the back but around her ears as well, her jet-white scalp shining luminously as it was cleaned away.
“There you go, young lady, one Princeton. I hope you like it.” He held the small mirror for her so she could see just how short the back and the sides were. She smiled, but the smile was not as bright as I imagined it might have been. Perhaps, having seen the result of her impulsive decision, she was having regrets.
I quickly paid the barber, worried that whatever excitement I had been experiencing would be evident in the crotch of my slacks. Natalie was quiet as we made our way back to my townhouse, but unable to keep her fingertips away from her freshly shorn head. It was very short, indeed, and I wondered secretly if I could pull off a look like that in the office.
“You hate it, don’t you?” Natalie supposed, again running her hand along the sandpaper stubble at the back of her neck. I so wanted to touch it, to feel what she was feeling, but I didn’t dare.
“Of course not. It’s what you wanted, and that’s good enough for me.” She fell into my embrace, and I was ashamed to have used that as an excuse to cradle her head in my hand, feeling the tonsured nape for the first time. A sudden rush of excitement coursed through me, centering right in my sex, and I had to release her for fear of doing something I would most certainly regret.
The following day, she went out on her own, camera in hand, looking for subjects and hopeful that she could build another portfolio to show when she finally did feel confident enough to begin searching for a position. I had made it clear that she was more than welcome to stay as long as she needed.
In the meantime, my curiosity over her previous condition and what it might be like to be thrust into that world was getting the better of me. Even though I knew it was for selfish reasons that I desired the experience, I couldn’t help but feel it would be an invaluable education. I say selfish, because deep down, the very same emotions which caused me to be aroused by her haircut, also drove my curiosity over what it might be like to be so desperate and humiliated.
Checking my work schedule for the next month, I decided that I was due some time off, and called my office to arrange it. I’d never taken a leave of absence before, and I knew that this is what I was doing, in essence. Although I would continue to receive a paycheck, I would be free from any obligations. This was the beginning of my journey, I decided.
Knowing that Natalie’s old clothes were still in the garbage, I retrieved them, still shocked by the repugnant odor; a combination of sweat and urine. I secretly stashed them in the garage in a small box, knowing that I would need them soon.
I looked at myself in the mirror, my makeup flawless and my clothing clean and pressed. Could I do this? I asked myself. What of Natalie? Would she be alright here by herself? I let down my hair, examining the strawberry blonde mane as it fell over my shoulders. “Well, that’s something I can deal with right now.”
I left a note for Natalie, saying that I should return soon if she arrived there before me. I had, of course, given her a key realizing that I would need to grant her far more than that if I expected her to stay in my house during my strange sabbatical.
Speeding down the street, I was feeling almost giddy. I knew where I was going, and there was nothing to stop me. As I pulled into the small plaza once again, I suddenly had second thoughts. What if it hasn’t grown back sufficiently by the time I returned to work? What if someone saw me from my office? The city was big, although it was not out of the question. Would they even recognize me?Doubtful.
Exiting my car, I made my way to the barbershop and opened the door boldly, determined to get this done. I think I surprised the old guy, who was reading a newspaper in the very chair where he had stolen Natalie’s glorious mane from her.
“You’re back.” He smirked. “I saw the way you were watching the young woman yesterday. I suppose you want the same?” He turned the chair towards me, and without thinking, I climbed in.
Just as Natalie had done, I held my hair up so the man so he could wrap my neck with the itchy paper and eventually the cape. “I was hoping you might take mine a bit shorter.”
He chuckled. “I know exactly what you want, lady. You want to feel my clippers on your scalp, all over, don’t you.” He turned the chair, so he was facing me. “I left the girl a little to play with in the front, but you, I don’t think so.”
“That’ll be fine.” I managed, my breath catching in my throat as I prepared for the cut. It would be brutal and that was exactly what I wanted.
“With you, I think straight down the middle is best.” The barber mused as he brought the humming clippers to the top of my forehead. Without any warning at all he pushed the whirring blades into my hair, stripping away the covering my scalp had known for so long.
Looking up, the path the clippers had left was indeed short, shorter than I had imagined. So as the second pass widened that swathe, the damage was irrefutable and irreversible.
“No goin’ back now, lady. You’re gonna be bald as a billiard ball.” The barber chuckled as he continued to shave my hair to within a millimeter of the skin. There would be nothing left.
Of course, all this time, my cunt was on fire, screaming for attention. I wanted more than anything to slip my hand under my waistband and feel the sopping mess my sex had become.
Instead, I had to be content with watching, and feeling as every scrap of hair was peeled away from my emerging skull. Just as Natalie’s had been, my scalp too, was almost white as snow beneath the waves of hair that once covered it so eloquently.
The barber finished up with a flourish, flicking the last of my hair to the floor with a twist of his wrist. “There you go, baldy. Hope that tickles you pink.” He swept the cape from around my neck and laughed heartily as I ran my fingers up the back of my exposed scalp. “No need to pay me. It was reward enough just to do this to you.”
He shooed me out the door, shaking his head as a young couple walked by, examining my unusual appearance. It was then that felt the humiliation that I knew was coming. As I hurried to my car, I saw my reflection in the side window and realized just how freakish I looked. My ears, once covered by my hair, now stuck out prominently from the sides of my head, like two radar antennae.
As if suddenly realizing what I had done, I quickly sped away, all thoughts of my future plans suddenly forgotten. All I wanted was to get home and take care of my pressing needs.
Flying through the door to my townhouse, I realized that the door was unlocked. Natalie must be there. As I rounded the corner, I saw her at the counter in the kitchen making herself a sandwich. When she looked up and grinned, I knew she was amused by my actions. “Bridget?”
“Natalie. Hi.” Doing my best to ignore the elephant in the room.
“What have you done? Your hair was lovely. What possessed you to go do something like that?” Natalie asked, almost scolding me.
“Let’s just say I was inspired.” I suddenly felt foolish, and even more reticent to bring up my plans. What would she think of me if I told her? She’d think I was off my rocker, that’s what.”
“What about your job? What are they going to say about you showing up like that?” Natalie asked.
“Actually, I’ve taken a leave of absence,” I admitted, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Being as intelligent as she was, it didn’t take but a second for Natalie to put two and two together. “You’re planning on acting out your little fantasy, aren’t you?” She smirked, taking a bite out of the sandwich she’d prepared.
The cat out of the bag, there was nowhere to go, but the truth. “Honestly, yes.”
“You’re crazy, but I admire your willingness to subject yourself. Are you ready, I mean…, this isn’t a joke, Bridget. You could actually die out there.” Natalie warned.
Jumping right to my plan, I went over with her what I hoped she would agree to do. “I’m going to want you to live here, drive my car, and do everything that I would do in my absence.” I laid out all my information, credit cards, bank cards, and checkbook, explaining that for the time being, she was me.
She laughed at the absurdity of it, considering how I was trusting her so implicitly. “You know, you hardly know me, Bridget.” She warned. “You’re trusting me with your life, here.”
“I like to think I’m a good judge of character.” I pulled out the pile of old smelly clothes from the box in the garage, holding them up and raising my eyebrows.
“God, you really are serious, aren’t you.” She grinned. “Well, put them on then.”
I stripped, giddy with the notion of my utter degradation and humiliation once I was out there, in the world, like that. Naked, and under Natalie’s watchful eye, I slipped on her old clothes, still dank with her odor, and almost stiff from being unworn for a few days. Stuffing the balance into the backpack, I hoisted the thing over my shoulder and looked at myself in the mirror.
Between my shaven head, my clamshell ears, and the homeless attire, I was truly a disgusting sight. Natalie held up a finger, disappearing out the front door and returning with a handful of dirt from the garden. She dutifully rubbed the soil into my skin, my face, and my scalp, finishing off the look.
“Now, go to the sink and get your hands wet and rub everything in, nice and deep. You have to get it into your pores and everything.” She giggled, seeing how excited I was by the process. “I’m going to drive you across the river. Can’t very well have you wandering around here, now, can we.” Natalie suggested.
Slightly nervous over her sudden enthusiasm over my strange plans, I went along, riding in the car until we were many miles from my home. There would be no getting back easily, of that I was convinced.
“Are you sure about this?” Natalie asked, as I opened the door in a very seedy part of Newark.
“I really am,” I said, my voice shaking with both nervousness and anticipation. I closed the door and she rolled down the window.
“Two weeks, right? That’s what you said.” Natalie raised an eyebrow, her neat boyish cut playing with the expression.
“Pick me up right here. I suppose I’ll be ready by then.” I mused.
It was more than a bit daunting to see her drive away in my car leaving me standing on the corner of South Broad and Gillette. How ironic, I thought with my shaven head.
Not certain what to do, I wandered toward what appeared to be a group of people huddled along a wall, joining them and resting my pack beside me. No one seemed too interested in me, and I was wondering if they assumed I was male, I supposed that may not have been a bad thing.
The Freedom of Nothingness
The two weeks I spent on the streets of Newark were beyond anything I could have imagined. The incredible kindness of strangers and utter cruelty of indifference struck me as the two takeaways from the experience.
I was both nurtured and spat upon for my condition. My voice was the only thing that betrayed me, so I tried never to speak. The fact that I was female was an enemy that always lurked in the undercurrents of my psyche. The few times it was learned by those around me, were the times when I felt most vulnerable, and even used at times.
Was I raped? I suppose I was. I expected it, to be fair. More than a few times, and as much as I tried to think of it as part of the experience, it was a harsh lesson in powerlessness. Then again, I never lodged any protest to the advances, so I figured it was at least somewhat consensual.
As the end of the two weeks approached, I found myself sleeping in a shipping container at night, with more people than was comfortable for me. At least it was warm and dry.
Even though portable showers were offered at one shelter, I chose not to take advantage, my stay there being of limited duration. Besides, it would mean revealing my soft feminine body, which was hidden from view beneath the putrid rags that hung from my shrinking frame.
As I stood on the corner of South Broad and Gillette, I realized for the first time that my mind was utterly blank. Was this freedom, or torture? All my life I had strived for excellence, been paid the best salaries, and offered the most prestigious jobs. Mine had been a life of privilege, but with that came the burden of cluttered thoughts and stressful days.
Without those thoughts, without that burden, my mind was free to simply shut down. I found myself making the same rounds each day, handouts on one corner, digging through freshly discarded food at the rear of a restaurant, and the occasional spare change from passersby that took pity on my wretched condition.
The time for Natalie to pick me up had come and gone, and I wondered if she may have forgotten about me. Had she secured a position and was simply unable to come? I pulled up under the shelter of a bus stop and worried for the first time in a while.
What if she never came? What would I do? For the first time, a real sense of helplessness swept over me. Did Natalie do this on purpose? Maybe it was all part of the plan, in her mind at least. Giving up, I walked back to the shelter, finally succumbing to my desire for something normal.
I shed my clothes in the makeshift surround, and stepped under the tepid water, allowing it to course over my filthy body. It was a shame to have to put on the same clothing, but without any recourse, I did.
Stepping away from the row of enclosures, I saw a guy administering haircuts to men that had emerged from the showers. Only a few were taking advantage of his services, but those that did were skinned right down. I overheard the man speaking of lice and how pervasive they were as he shaved one man’s head.
I was walking by and had no intention of submitting to his services, but he pointed me out. “You see. That man knows how to stave off the vermin.”
Even though my hair had begun to grow in, the stubble was no more than a quarter of an inch in length. I was nearly past when a hand reached out and pulled me back. “Let me freshen that up for you.” The man said, pulling me back into his chair.
I tried to speak, but the fact that I had used my voice so little made for a raspy tone that was barely heard. “That’s alright, I’m good.”
“Nonsense. Now, this will just take a second.” He assured me, and before I could resist the blades were sliding over my head, reducing anything that had grown, back to nothingness. I fought off the arousal that coursed through me, an unwanted complication, and enough to allow the man to finish what he had begun.
He sent me on my way with a pat on the back. “You see! That man is prepared. Now, who’s next.”
Shorn to the bone once again, I felt violated, but at the same time exhilarated too. It was an odd combination of emotions. I had almost made it back to the shipping container when a hand fell on my shoulder. “Bridget!”
I turned, seeing the fresh face of youth, Natalie, wearing one of the suits I had given her. “I thought you’d forgotten me,” I said, knowing how I must look to her.
“I got a job!” She bubbled, followed by an apology. “I’m so sorry, but I had no way of getting ahold of you.”
“Are you here to take me back?” I asked, running a hand over my freshly peeled skull.
“If that’s what you want.” She offered, separating herself from me and giving me a long look. “You shaved your head again?”
“A minute ago. A case of mistaken identity.” I pointed back to the shower stalls and the man administering another of his cleansing head shaves.
“Ah, the lice police,” Natalie said, knowingly. “They almost got me a few times.” She put her arm out. “Come on. Let me take you back.”
I looked down at myself, and then back at her, knowing that I had to go back. I didn’t dare tell her that there was a part of me, however small, that wanted to stay. It would be difficult going back, and I might never be able to really go back at all, mentally.
Epilogue: Reintegration, Without Assimilation
I adjusted the wig, knowing that it held up to the closest scrutiny. It had been nearly three months since I had returned to work. Many of my colleagues were surprised by my new outlook, and how much the time off had changed me. If they only knew.
Natalie had moved in permanently and had pretty much taken over. I had no problem with her managing my affairs, as well as her own. Her job paid well, and she did her part in contributing to the finances.
Having outgrown the need for change, Natalie’s hair now curled slightly over her ears and forehead in an attractive sort of way. Her gaunt appearance now tempered with a good diet and the countenance a successful life can bestow, was more strikingly beautiful than ever.
In sharp contrast, I had moved out of the fancy master bedroom with the luxurious ensuite, preferring the small simple room that had been an afterthought in the basement. Natalie was more than pleased to move into the suite, insisting that it was too good for a dirty girl like me.
Each night when I came home, I would remove the wig and my clothing, and begin my second job of serving Natalie. She wasn’t demanding by any means but did enjoy my subservience. I cooked and cleaned, and to my delight, expected to service her sexually.
I had never considered myself gay but learned quickly to develop the skills required to please her. Natalie never curtailed my incessant masturbation but insisted that I do it in front of her. At first, it was a bit intimidating, but I eventually found that I couldn’t come without her watching.
The weekend was upon us, and I had to prepare. Still naked, I retreated to my little room and pulled out the clothes that had become as much a part of me as my shaven skull. Pulling them on and finding my way to the garage, I found Natalie waiting in her car.
“Ready?” She asked. I heard the trunk pop, and knowing I must, I dutifully crawled inside, pulling the handle and sealing myself inside. I slid my fingers down the front of my sticky jeans, finding my freshly shaven folds and allowing myself an orgasm as we drove.
The cold of the night slipped in around the trunk lid as it popped open, and I slithered out. She looked at me and shook her head, her window down.
“You really are a crazy fool.” She mused, “…but you’re my crazy fool.” She put the car in gear and looked me up and down. “Sunday at four, then?”
I nodded, not waiting for the car to disappear down Broad Street. Making my way down to the containers, I felt an easy emptiness sweep over my mind. I knew that I would pass the ‘lice police’ on the way there, the anticipation growing in my loins.
Sure enough, he was there, luring whoever he could into his chair. He saw me coming, knowing I was an easy target; a sure thing.
“Here’s a man who knows how to keep himself.” He said, loud enough for those around us to hear. Without being asked, I slipped into the chair, the week of stubble that had accumulated during my week of false security quickly reduced to nothingness once again. “New clippers, guy. Takes it right to the skin.” He chuckled as he rid me of the last of it.
Sure enough, the skin was bare and very nearly glass smooth, my fingers finding the new sensation even more enticing than before. As I entered the container, I was met by some familiar faces, some of whom knew I was a girl.
Needless to say, I was easily persuaded to accompany them to the adjacent park, where my need for cock was assuaged. Some of them called me the bald whore, but that may have been too high a compliment. I did it for free.
Maybe this time I wouldn’t be there when Natalie came; the tenuous thread holding me to my false reality, finally snapping. She knew, and I knew that it was only a matter of time.
A note from the author:
This story is not a portrait of homelessness, nor an attempt to portray those that are caught in its web. This is a fictitious story of a woman who feels guilty over having lived a privileged lifestyle for so long. By elevating someone to achieve success and submersing herself into the homeless lifestyle, albeit briefly, she assuages some of that guilt, and experiences a healthy dose of humiliation along the way. Please don’t take this for anything more than a fanciful dalliance into one woman’s desire for degradation and humiliation.
One response to “The Dirty Girl”
This is the best story I have read in recent times