Today I sit here, in the place where whores go to die. I mean, let's be honest
here: this is the end of the line; I'm all used up and bloated. At 5'7"
I weigh in at 180 pounds- and rising. Oh, sure, it's nice to have larger tits,
but I have a much larger ass to go with them. And a pouch belly.
I look like a fat, old woman who tries the farce of putting on an evening gown.
"Hi. I'm Amanda and this is Trixie. Welcome to the Lovely Kettle. I
or the other girls would be more than happy to give you a free tour of the
place. Just pick your escort."
The insult added to the injury of time is that all the "girls"
look like me- cows sent out to pasture. The dresses we wear aren't even ours,
they belong to the "house." Stan, the house owner, never takes good
care of the dresses, either. Some of them, if you can believe it, carry cum
stains from a week ago that are round and brittle. This place is a shit hole,
pure and simple.
I'd leave, I really would, if I thought for a second that anyone else would
take me in. Whoring is a little like being homeless: you don't stay in one
place for very long and you never can go back to a place you're already been.
It's rare, but sometimes a girl can take her following of johns, tricks,
jakes or whatever she wants to call them, with her, but that only happens
with the "glam" whores. When I started this career I was a glam,
but staying that way just wasn't in the cards for me, I guess. When I was younger
I didn't look anything like I do now. I was pretty and slim and lively. At one
point I even had regulars who would pay well to have me in the sack more than
once-by name. But over the years I've fallen from grace. I'm just a dumping
grounds for cum. Lucky me, eh?
I won't actually die here, at Chez Lovely Kettle, but my spirit or what's
left of it will wither and disappear like that sick ivy plant in the corner.
Pretty soon I'll be little more than a human condom- used and ready to be
thrown out on the street, in a gutter somewhere. Then the real
whoring will begin. Handjobs for enough dough to eat at McDonald's, blow
jobs for a ride across town, outright sex to have a roof over my head for
another week. I'll lose weight, true, but the last bit of what makes me a human
being will go with it and all my remaining dignity.
For years I've known that I'd end up this way. Lord knows that I've seen
hundreds of other girls do the same thing. And when I saw them die slowly like
I am now I swore to myself, "Not me. Never me. I'll
Well, here I am, dying the way that only whores can. When I'm done, that's
exactly what's going to happen to me.
Welcome to the Lovely Kettle, where whores come to die.