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Once or twice that first year, Special Agent Green would call and insist that he needed me on a case. Taxpayers would be appalled at how much the government was willing to pay a prostitute.

A year later, he called again, "Beav, I'm going to send Nina Weegar out there. You'll work with her."

We'd always worked well together. She never looked down on me for the kind of work I did. On the other hand, neither did Special Agent Green or Agent Tyler. They were all very professional.

It didn't take me long to figure out why only Special Agent Weegar was working this case. "Violet, this is similar to the other cases involving studios. They advertise for girls with some acting experience like high school plays. "Have you had a role in Fiddler? Oklahoma? Music Man? Sound of Music?" Their ad read. "If you have, we'd be interested. Send us your portfolio with pictures."

"That seems harmless."

"So far," Nina said. "The studio reviewed the pictures. They were looking for fresh faced, clean cut, innocent girls from the Midwest. The girls they selected were invited to come to California at their own expense for a screen test."

"That's not unusual, right?"

"Nope. The playbook is the same. Once out here the studio head, Haley Foreman interviewed them privately. Like with the other sleaze balls we've busted, there is no film."

"Whoa, whoa, Nina back up a bit."

"What is it?"

"Haley, that's a girl's name, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You want me to do a girl or let a girl do me? No, you should know by now, and Special Agent Green should know by now, I like cocks. I do guys; I have no desire to do girls, women."

"But . . ."

I picked up my pocketbook and walked out. Like I said, Nina was nice. We never had a problem. On those other cases the four of us, often had dinner together to work out our strategy. I didn't even say good bye.

That night, a Friday, I was entertaining one of my best clients. To be specific, I was on my knees when the cops barged in. They broke down the door, and even had guns drawn.

I only had time to put on a skirt; no top and not even panties, and I was barefoot. I was kept in a holding cell with almost a dozen girls, who were being held on various charges. Everyone noticed that the cops and the guys in the male holding cell across the way were leering at me. I was still topless. I had my arms across my chest; a woman gave me a sweater. I was thankful.

I'd heard crude remarks from men before. It went with the territory. My pussy had been called a cunt. I'd been called a cunt. Not a day went by when I wasn't called a cocksucker. None of that bothered me.

But here, locked in a cage with men calling us all kinds of names, showing us their dicks, it got to me.

It got worse. Like I said, it was a Friday, we wouldn't be arraigned until Monday. I'd have to spend the whole weekend in here.

For almost a dozen women, there was one toilet. It didn't have a seat, and it sat right out in the open. Unless the other women blocked their view, those men could watch us pee or whatever. No one had any pads or tampons either. I was still barefoot, and by Sunday morning, the concrete floor of the cell was a mess.

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Profile for Thomas B, incl. 74 stories Email: hstdr7522@outlook.com Add this author to your favorite author list Add this story to your favorite story list Send this story to me through email Recommend stories for further reading

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