"A magician earns an honest living by tricking people." - anonymous quote
* * * * *
"Hi, spare change?"
"No, sorry. Not today," says Fuller not even looking down in her direction.
"Wait, please wait," she begs.
Fuller hesitates and stops. The other pedestrians flow around them. He looks down at the beggar girl sitting on the corner.
"I can do things for you," she offers.
Never make eye contact with street people. It is the first rule for anyone living in New York City. Fuller violates the rule. His eyes lock onto her eyes.
"What things?" he asks.
Fuller looks down at the panhandler. She is dressed in old blue jeans and a faded plaid shirt. She is thin with long brown hair. Her hair is parted in the middle. Her face is pale, angelic- looking. She could be a young college student, an artist, or the daughter of a business associate. She has that fresh-scrubbed look. She is too clean looking to be a beggar. Fuller's guess is that she is, fresh meat, a runaway trying to make it on her own in the Big Apple.
"I can give you want you want," the girl teases.
The other pedestrians flow around Fuller and the beggar girl, as if they were rocks in the middle of a stream, oblivious to their existence.
"How do you know what I want?" Fuller asks.
"I know you despise me," she answers.
"So?"
"So, you can spit on me for a dollar," she offers.
Fuller stares at her speechless.
He is dressed in a business suit standing on West 61st Street across from Central Park. The girl's offer sparks his imagination. Not even whores let their customers spit on them.
"You'll let me spit on you?"
"Only if you give me a dollar."
"Do you want me to spit on you?"
"You despise me, and for a dollar you can spit on me," says the girl with conviction.
Her words inflame Fuller's imagination. The idea of spitting on her attracts and repulses him. It bothers him that she is willing to allow strangers to spit on her as an acceptableway to earn money. He wants to test her limits.
"Well mister, make up your mind."
Fuller considers carefully before responding.
"No, I won't spit on you, but we might try something else," he answers.
"Like what?" she throws the problem back to him.
"Well, like a kiss."
"No, sorry. I don't kiss strangers."
Confused, Fuller shifts strategies. "You're a tease," he counters.
"Maybe. Are you man enough to find out?"
"Are you old enough?"
"I'm old enough to know how."
"I'll bet you are," agrees Fuller.
He looks at her more closely. She doesn't appear to be wearing any bra beneath the plaid shirt.
"Take a picture, it lasts longer," the girl taunts him.
"I'll give you a dollar."
"OK, but no drooling. Just spitting once."
"No," says Fuller.
"You really do despise me, don't you?"
"No."
"OK, for $5.00 you can drool all over my face."
Fuller imagines doing something similar to drooling all over her face, seeing the white stringy spurts shoot over her her face and drip off her chin. He imagines the goo running inside her shirt onto her breasts.
"No," he answers.
"Forget it, cheapskate, if $5.00 is too high."
"It's not too high."
"Well, bite me!"
With an exaggerated shrug of exasperation the beggar girl flips her long hair off to one side and looks him right in the eyes.
Fuller makes a deal. "I'll pay you Five dollars, but you'll have to bend over to pick it up."
"That's all?"
"No, you need to undo the top two buttons on your shirt first."
For the first time, the girl smiles.
"Now I get your game."
"But not here."
"Where?"
"Over by that park bench across the street."
The girl grabs Fuller's hand and they walk side by side to the park. An old wino with a scruffy beard sits on one end of the park bench. He's drinking out of a wine bottle, poorly concealed in a brown paper bag.
On the benches across from Fuller are some young secretaries eating brown bag lunches and enjoying the sun.
Fuller stops about ten feet from the park bench and starts laying quarters down on the bricks, dropping eight of them at intervals of one foot. He drops the last quarter just three feet from the end of the bench. He sits down.
The girl stands next to Fuller and demands more.
"That's 8 quarters on the ground. Give me three dollars if you want me to unbutton," the girl holds her hand out.
Fuller stands up, fishes in his pocket, and hands her three dollars. She walks away. For a moment, Fuller thinks he's been played for a sucker. She will just keep the cash and walk. But the girl turns, casts her eyes down, and unfastens the top two buttons on her shirt. He controls her. She lifts her eyes to his before removing a third button.
She flashes him a smile.
Fuller waits, feeling himself growing hard.
She gets down on her hands and knees, tosses her hair back out of her face, and picks up the first two quarters.
The angle is wrong. Fuller can't quite see.
She crawls forward picking up the third and fourth coins.
Fuller smiles. Now he can see her. Her boobs are bigger than he guessed.
As she crawls closer, the view gets better.
Finally, Fuller has a full, unobstructed view of her hanging breasts.
He is so engrossed in his fantasy that he blocks out the wino sitting on the other end of the bench and even the young secretaries eating lunch just 20 feet in front of him. His whole world is focused on the girl, concentrated on one part of her anatomy. He's getting his peep show in broad daylight. He has no need to go to a porn store, and put quarters into a slot. He's enjoying his peeping in the fresh air, at noon time, with pedestrians walking all around him.
The ripe jiggling breasts are crawling across the park right toward him.
As the girl reaches out to pick up the second to the last of the coins, Fuller feels a familiar tingling in his loins. He is fully excited, fully hard. He's so hard, it would be impossible for him to stand up and walk away from the park without it being obvious to everyone that he had a hard cock pushing down the side of his pants. The bulge in his pants would be noticed. It would be painful to walk.
Suddenly, the wino lurches off the park bench. He spots the girl crawling toward the last coin. She is dragging it out. Crawling toward the quarter in a slow motion. She is giving Fuller his money's worth. But the wino mistakes her slowness for opportunity. Thinking the money belongs to whoever gets it first, the wino lunges toward the coin. But the abrupt exertion upsets his stomach, and vomit explodes out of his mouth covering the quarter.
Ashamed at his sudden illness, the wino staggers away leaving the vomit covered quarter for the girl.
The girl remains frozen.
Fuller is repulsed, but unable to remove his eyes from the scene unfolding in front of him. The girl raises her eyes from the pool of vile-smelling vomit to look at Fuller. As their eyes meet, her face blossoms into a mischievous smile.
"For $20 I'll put the last quarter in my mouth."
"I don't believe you," says Fuller with a look of sick disbelief.
"You despise me. Make me do it," she dares him.
Fuller can not turn down the challenge. She is taunting him. He will call her bluff. Everything will be OK. He is still in control. She wants the money, but Fuller knows there are limits. Pushing women to their limits is what gets Fuller hard. He takes $20 out his wallet.
"OK, pick up the quarter," Fuller dares her.
Lowering her eyes, she carefully pushes aside the vomit with two fingers, and extracts the last coin with her left hand.
"It smells bad," she tells him. Raising her head, she looks into Fuller's eyes.
"Don't do it," Fuller begs.
"It's what you want," says the girl on her knees.
Without taking his eyes off her face, repulsed but engrossed, Fuller watches as her right hand places the quarter in her mouth.
"Yummy," she mumbles fishing the quarter around in her mouth and pushing it out so Fuller can see it, bright and shiny, lying on her tongue.
Fuller wanted to debase the girl. He wanted to humiliate, and manipulate her, but this is too much. This is out-of-bounds. He never wanted it to go to this extreme. He looses control.
His hardness shrivels away.
His fantasy is lost.
Fuller feels nauseated. Hot bile rises in his throat. With a sour mouth, he turns toward the girl.
"Why did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Put the vomit-covered quarter in your mouth."
"I didn't," the girl said, spitting the quarter out into her right hand, and grabbing the $20 bill from Fuller.
"Don't lie. I saw you do it."
"No, you didn't."
"What do you mean?"
"You only saw what you wanted to see."
Smiling, the girl stands up and dumps the seven clean quarters and the $20 bill from her right hand into her front jeans pocket. She rebuttons her shirt with her right hand, and turns her back on Fuller. Flipping her long hair around, she stands up tall, and walks out of the park. Fuller watches her until she disappears into the other pedestrians.
As she walks away, the vomit-covered quarter is still tightly clenched in her left hand.
* * * * *
"Hi, spare change?"
"No, sorry. Not today," says Fuller not even looking down in her direction.
"Wait, please wait," she begs.
Fuller hesitates and stops. The other pedestrians flow around them. He looks down at the beggar girl sitting on the corner.
"I can do things for you," she offers.
Never make eye contact with street people. It is the first rule for anyone living in New York City. Fuller violates the rule. His eyes lock onto her eyes.
"What things?" he asks.
Fuller looks down at the panhandler. She is dressed in old blue jeans and a faded plaid shirt. She is thin with long brown hair. Her hair is parted in the middle. Her face is pale, angelic- looking. She could be a young college student, an artist, or the daughter of a business associate. She has that fresh-scrubbed look. She is too clean looking to be a beggar. Fuller's guess is that she is, fresh meat, a runaway trying to make it on her own in the Big Apple.
"I can give you want you want," the girl teases.
The other pedestrians flow around Fuller and the beggar girl, as if they were rocks in the middle of a stream, oblivious to their existence.
"How do you know what I want?" Fuller asks.
"I know you despise me," she answers.
"So?"
"So, you can spit on me for a dollar," she offers.
Fuller stares at her speechless.
He is dressed in a business suit standing on West 61st Street across from Central Park. The girl's offer sparks his imagination. Not even whores let their customers spit on them.
"You'll let me spit on you?"
"Only if you give me a dollar."
"Do you want me to spit on you?"
"You despise me, and for a dollar you can spit on me," says the girl with conviction.
Her words inflame Fuller's imagination. The idea of spitting on her attracts and repulses him. It bothers him that she is willing to allow strangers to spit on her as an acceptableway to earn money. He wants to test her limits.
"Well mister, make up your mind."
Fuller considers carefully before responding.
"No, I won't spit on you, but we might try something else," he answers.
"Like what?" she throws the problem back to him.
"Well, like a kiss."
"No, sorry. I don't kiss strangers."
Confused, Fuller shifts strategies. "You're a tease," he counters.
"Maybe. Are you man enough to find out?"
"Are you old enough?"
"I'm old enough to know how."
"I'll bet you are," agrees Fuller.
He looks at her more closely. She doesn't appear to be wearing any bra beneath the plaid shirt.
"Take a picture, it lasts longer," the girl taunts him.
"I'll give you a dollar."
"OK, but no drooling. Just spitting once."
"No," says Fuller.
"You really do despise me, don't you?"
"No."
"OK, for $5.00 you can drool all over my face."
Fuller imagines doing something similar to drooling all over her face, seeing the white stringy spurts shoot over her her face and drip off her chin. He imagines the goo running inside her shirt onto her breasts.
"No," he answers.
"Forget it, cheapskate, if $5.00 is too high."
"It's not too high."
"Well, bite me!"
With an exaggerated shrug of exasperation the beggar girl flips her long hair off to one side and looks him right in the eyes.
Fuller makes a deal. "I'll pay you Five dollars, but you'll have to bend over to pick it up."
"That's all?"
"No, you need to undo the top two buttons on your shirt first."
For the first time, the girl smiles.
"Now I get your game."
"But not here."
"Where?"
"Over by that park bench across the street."
The girl grabs Fuller's hand and they walk side by side to the park. An old wino with a scruffy beard sits on one end of the park bench. He's drinking out of a wine bottle, poorly concealed in a brown paper bag.
On the benches across from Fuller are some young secretaries eating brown bag lunches and enjoying the sun.
Fuller stops about ten feet from the park bench and starts laying quarters down on the bricks, dropping eight of them at intervals of one foot. He drops the last quarter just three feet from the end of the bench. He sits down.
The girl stands next to Fuller and demands more.
"That's 8 quarters on the ground. Give me three dollars if you want me to unbutton," the girl holds her hand out.
Fuller stands up, fishes in his pocket, and hands her three dollars. She walks away. For a moment, Fuller thinks he's been played for a sucker. She will just keep the cash and walk. But the girl turns, casts her eyes down, and unfastens the top two buttons on her shirt. He controls her. She lifts her eyes to his before removing a third button.
She flashes him a smile.
Fuller waits, feeling himself growing hard.
She gets down on her hands and knees, tosses her hair back out of her face, and picks up the first two quarters.
The angle is wrong. Fuller can't quite see.
She crawls forward picking up the third and fourth coins.
Fuller smiles. Now he can see her. Her boobs are bigger than he guessed.
As she crawls closer, the view gets better.
Finally, Fuller has a full, unobstructed view of her hanging breasts.
He is so engrossed in his fantasy that he blocks out the wino sitting on the other end of the bench and even the young secretaries eating lunch just 20 feet in front of him. His whole world is focused on the girl, concentrated on one part of her anatomy. He's getting his peep show in broad daylight. He has no need to go to a porn store, and put quarters into a slot. He's enjoying his peeping in the fresh air, at noon time, with pedestrians walking all around him.
The ripe jiggling breasts are crawling across the park right toward him.
As the girl reaches out to pick up the second to the last of the coins, Fuller feels a familiar tingling in his loins. He is fully excited, fully hard. He's so hard, it would be impossible for him to stand up and walk away from the park without it being obvious to everyone that he had a hard cock pushing down the side of his pants. The bulge in his pants would be noticed. It would be painful to walk.
Suddenly, the wino lurches off the park bench. He spots the girl crawling toward the last coin. She is dragging it out. Crawling toward the quarter in a slow motion. She is giving Fuller his money's worth. But the wino mistakes her slowness for opportunity. Thinking the money belongs to whoever gets it first, the wino lunges toward the coin. But the abrupt exertion upsets his stomach, and vomit explodes out of his mouth covering the quarter.
Ashamed at his sudden illness, the wino staggers away leaving the vomit covered quarter for the girl.
The girl remains frozen.
Fuller is repulsed, but unable to remove his eyes from the scene unfolding in front of him. The girl raises her eyes from the pool of vile-smelling vomit to look at Fuller. As their eyes meet, her face blossoms into a mischievous smile.
"For $20 I'll put the last quarter in my mouth."
"I don't believe you," says Fuller with a look of sick disbelief.
"You despise me. Make me do it," she dares him.
Fuller can not turn down the challenge. She is taunting him. He will call her bluff. Everything will be OK. He is still in control. She wants the money, but Fuller knows there are limits. Pushing women to their limits is what gets Fuller hard. He takes $20 out his wallet.
"OK, pick up the quarter," Fuller dares her.
Lowering her eyes, she carefully pushes aside the vomit with two fingers, and extracts the last coin with her left hand.
"It smells bad," she tells him. Raising her head, she looks into Fuller's eyes.
"Don't do it," Fuller begs.
"It's what you want," says the girl on her knees.
Without taking his eyes off her face, repulsed but engrossed, Fuller watches as her right hand places the quarter in her mouth.
"Yummy," she mumbles fishing the quarter around in her mouth and pushing it out so Fuller can see it, bright and shiny, lying on her tongue.
Fuller wanted to debase the girl. He wanted to humiliate, and manipulate her, but this is too much. This is out-of-bounds. He never wanted it to go to this extreme. He looses control.
His hardness shrivels away.
His fantasy is lost.
Fuller feels nauseated. Hot bile rises in his throat. With a sour mouth, he turns toward the girl.
"Why did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Put the vomit-covered quarter in your mouth."
"I didn't," the girl said, spitting the quarter out into her right hand, and grabbing the $20 bill from Fuller.
"Don't lie. I saw you do it."
"No, you didn't."
"What do you mean?"
"You only saw what you wanted to see."
Smiling, the girl stands up and dumps the seven clean quarters and the $20 bill from her right hand into her front jeans pocket. She rebuttons her shirt with her right hand, and turns her back on Fuller. Flipping her long hair around, she stands up tall, and walks out of the park. Fuller watches her until she disappears into the other pedestrians.
As she walks away, the vomit-covered quarter is still tightly clenched in her left hand.