I've never met a whore I didn't like! Not that there aren't some bad ho's out there--all I'm saying is that I've never met those kind. And I'm not saying I've met a lot--only four if you want to know the truth! The first when I was about 13 or 14 years old. My parents had sent me to spend a school vacation with my aunt Russel Mae and her teenage son, Horace B., at their country home on the outskirts of Norfolk, Virginia. I doubt my parents would have sent me if they had known I would get my first, adult-like, sexual experience there. Her name was Helen and she was two or three years older than Horace B. or myself. "For fifty cents, she'll show you a good time," said my cousin. At the time, a "good time" for me with New York City girls meant a little light petting, Spin-the-Bottle games, and maybe, if lucky, some French kissing! I have a theory about country gals. They've seen so much of farm animals copulating, that sex comes more natural to them and at an earlier age. Horace B. had built a rough, wooden shed away from the house. There the three of us would meet--he to smoke cigarettes and me to let Helen introduce me to a mysterious new world of sex. Now Helen was the most beautiful girl I had seen up to that time--and I had seen some beauties back in New York! I wondered why my cousin would be so willing to share Helen with me. Many years later I learned the reason why. My cousin was bisexual--with a preference for the boys! So every time we could beg or borrow some change from his mother, he would spend his on cigarettes while I spent mine on beautiful Helen. (I learned later that she married a local doctor and produced a large family! I often wonder if the good doctor ever knew about his bride's 50-cent days!)
