Roger Hornsby

The sex procurer

CHAPTER ONE

If I am different from other men, it is only a matter of degree. I like sex. Show me the man who doesn't. But how I get my sex is another thing; and what I do with it is also something else. I won't con you that I'm an innocent guy when it comes to getting fucked. I'm willing to do anything to get a lay. Sometimes I can be damned devious. The main thing is the lay.

Oh, I don't stop at the lay, either. I want something more than that. It's not just enough to know I've succeeded in lining up a fuck. I want to go further. I want to make sure that my mark is hooked on the stuff for good. There's nothing that pleases me better, for instance, than to know that a girl I've fucked ends up craving cock the rest of her life. That really turns me on. It makes everything I do worthwhile.

How did I get this way? Who knows? I only know I just happen to be this way. Oh, I suppose if I really looked into myself, I could see where it began. All I know is that I started out like most guys, just wanting to know all I could about cunt. After awhile though, I developed like I am now. It takes time – for all things.

I remember when I first got the idea of preying on somebody. That's right: preying. I even thought of it that way. I was only sixteen at the time, but I already knew what I wanted to do. There was this pissy cunt, fifteen, and her name was Wanda, and she lived next door to us, and she thought her shit didn't stink. She was new in the neighborhood and she thought she was better than everybody else. Well, I decided to make her, just to put her in her place.

I wasn't a big guy, even then; just average in size and not too good-looking. Oh, I wore my hair slick, and all that. But I didn't have much to travel on. Except I had a mean cock, even then. All my life I've had the kind of cock that stands up and does its own talking. And I counted on my cock to do a lot of talking with that cunt.

And she was a beautiful doll, too, let me tell you. A big-boned blonde, she had real sexy lips and the kind of eyes you call "smoky" or "bedroom". And knockers? Like nobody's business. Knockers and hips and ass and legs to stop Mack trucks. She was a solid big bitch of the first order.

But she didn't screw. That's the truth. The bitch was cherry at fifteen, and I wanted to smash that cherry like you smash the atom. Well, I wasn't alone. A lot of other guys wanted to make out, too. Her front step was like a bitch dog had peed on it. All the males in the neighborhood were lined up and hanging around.

Which didn't make her the most popular girl with the other broads, believe me. They were jealous as hell of her. They said she was a cock-teaser of the worst sort, and every one of those girls wanted to see Wanda lose her cherry. It played right into my hands when I came up with my scheme.

A cunt named Lily was my lead-in. She was a skinny little thing that fucked like a mink. But she put on a real clean front and you wouldn't think butter melted in her twat. Everybody who didn't know her thought she was a goody-goody girl. So did Wanda. Ha.

"Wanda really thinks you're the shits," I said to Lily one night when we met down by the drugstore, me standing alone like I liked to do even then. I've always been a loner; I like being a loner. It pays off. "She doesn't know you fuck, does she?"