top of page
  • tori5175

Being chased by a Pimp she said? WTF

Last night I was responding to emails and it came to light that being chased through the proverbial red light district, clad in skin tight clothing leaving very little to the imagination, in stilettos no less, wasn't the type of story your average Jane casually drops in conversation.

It’s good to know I’m as interesting and multifaceted as I like to think. Toot toot goes my own horn!

Suffice it to say I didn’t have the best of childhoods, and rather than planning some fairy princess wedding with a ballroom gown and glass slippers, I was waiting for the day I was legal and could find as many lovers, paid or otherwise, as I had been craving for years.

I grew up as a super skinny redhead, freckle faced kid.

I remained that way until the summer after I turned 14.

Seriously, the boys would call me 2 by 4 to denote my horrid flat chest.

I recall going back to school clothes shopping and standing in front of a mirror asking myself “where the hell did those breasts come from?”

They grew suddenly, fully and pleasantly in a span of 3 months. I couldn’t keep my hands off them.

The soft white skin, large nipples, sexy blue veins I would trace with my fingers, longing for my fingers to be replaced by the tongue of a lover.

I had a bit of curve to my hips as well but that simply didn’t matter! No one, and I mean no one got past my amazing full and ripe breasts.

The brighter orange hue to my hair changed to more of an auburn shade, and my freckles were still there, but lighter, lending an air of innocence to my pretty face.

My life changed, drastically, for better or worse (I suppose it depends who you ask), when I returned to school that fall.

My tits were platinum! Keep in mind this was a bit before the days of fake breasts, so seeing huge boobs was a rarity, and they were undoubtedly real anyway.

I turned heads everywhere I went! My natural DDs entered the room a second or two before I did, and what followed was a very pretty, even if not in the conventional way, auburn haired sex goddess.

Honestly what kind of an evil joke would it be if I kept them all to myself?

Luckily I showed them off as much as I could, rarely paying for my own drinks or dinner, and took advantage of the spell they cast on people at every chance.

I knew, with the right “career moves”, I could become a sexually satisfied woman with a healthy and pretty designer pocketbook!!

My bff from high school, who was raised in a good home, jumped right on board with me when I told her, while watching some “made for TV” movie about high class escorts, that I wanted to be just like those women in the show.

So with little planning and an eager appetite we set out for the mall.

Does anyone remember the store “Merry Go Round”? There was one in Springfield VA and so took all our savings from our high school waitress jobs and immersed ourselves in sexy, come fuck me clothing!

I recall holding on to those clothes, hidden away in my room with my angelic canopy bed and teen girls posters (Rocky was my fav) until the day I turned 18 and could satisfy my hunger.

I knew my dad would’ve killed me (or close to it) if I was busted as a minor when he still had a say over my life, hence the need to wait.

I remember exactly what I was wearing that day…. gold spandex pants, and a cropped white and gold top, with glimmering, sparkly ridiculously high heels.

We set off for DC, smoking a lot of weed along the way, and parked her nice car a few blocks away.

I swear we were practically running, anxious to see what it felt like to turn a trick, to have a total stranger dying to hand over his hard earned money for the slightest drop of the sweet nectar I had to offer!

We weren’t out there very long before the other girls started telling us we needed “representation”. We laughed it off, telling them there was no way we would hand our money over to any man. We were too smart for that.

One of the girls, who was obviously jealous of the sweet pieces of meat in front of her, wouldn’t stop harassing us.

We blew her off, basically telling her that we were above that shit, and she yelled a few threatening remarks as she headed off to the corner bar where the pimps hung out.

Come to think of it, that bar was on the same corner as the hotel Marion Barry got sold out in with a local hooker. That never occurred to me until this moment. Funny!

Within 10 minutes the nicer girls on the stroll started yelling to us that we needed to run, quickly, and never come back.

We turned around and saw the aforementioned, stereotypical pimp, fur coat f;ying behind him, fedora (purple I always picture) hollering threats at us.

We booked our hot little asses out of there.

We were laughing about it as we sped off, making our way towards DCs 14th Street bridge, and back to the suburbs of Northern Virginia.

We weren't freaked out, or terrified, or any other reaction remotely close to that, as I assume most folks would have.

I knew at the time, even in my young mind, that I had an adventure, a great story, that I could share for the rest of my life.

Anyway, traffic was bad on the bridge and we had the windows down, smoking more weed, when we came up beside a nice high end sports car with a fairly handsome gent behind the wheel.

With no shame, we started chatting with him, telling him exactly what we had been doing in DC when he asked.

It didn’t take him long to offer us what was then a lot of money, to follow him to his Old Town Alexandria row home to do a double with him!

Good stuff!

When one door closes, another opens!

Please like my posts so I can gauge what you guys like best! There are plenty of true sexual escapades I have and will continue to write about, but going by the email responses, the story of my manic life is one of the most requested subjects for me to write about.

Check me out at

161 views0 comments


bottom of page