Sadie Whyte: The Lust of my Life (3 page)

Chapter 5

Goldie Kaan

Charlotte, NC

1989

Beatrice, going by the name of Goldie, stepped off the bus in Charlotte, North Carolina.  She’d stepped into a world where club Effects, commonly pronounced “F/X”, was hot on the ghetto scene.  Movers and shakers of the time zipped up and down the streets in 280 Z’s, Jettas, and RX 7’s.  It wasn’t uncommon to hear the term “Fa Reeea!”, slang for “For Real!”, numerous times in the course of a day.  Men sported Starter hats and jerseys.  When it got a bit cool, the Starter bomber jackets came out of the wood work.  Pumas, Filas, Diadoras, British Knights, Adidas, Troops, and Kangol hats were top of the line urban apparel.  The Ghetto Boys, Slick Rick, Big Daddy Cane, Danna Dane, LL Cool J, Eric B. and Rakim, Cool G Rap, and Luke dominated the music scene.  NWA would officially have every ghetto, including those in Charlotte, in America yelling “Fuck the Police!” and disrespecting fast, money hungry women.  Goldie, close to $5,000 dollars in her possession, stepped onto the scene ready for the world.  She’d listened to many of her tricks when they’d spoken.  She soaked up knowledge like a sponge.  Men seemed to be drawn to her like bees to honey.  She was skilled, quick witted, bold, and far too experienced for her 17 years of age.  Her eyes knew too much.  And she also had a free, wandering, spirit.  She wasn’t afraid to meet new people, experience new things, or test new waters.  She was confident in her abilities.  She’d seen and heard it all.

“You can’t afford me.  I charge $500 for head.”

“I’ll slap the shit out of you.  You done lost your mind!”

“I charge $2,500 to slap the shit out of me,” she’d replied immediately, a devilish grin spreading her pretty face.

Lying was a natural trait for Goldie.  She was graceful and charming.  And her beauty was an addition to the equation which tipped the scale, often in her favor.

*****

  Goldie stepped into club Effects as if she’d been surgically implanted into her micro mini skirt.  She and Yalonda, an exotic dancer/prostitute, had hooked up five minutes from the station after Goldie had rented some storage space.  Yalonda, a ‘Red bone,’ ‘soft butch’ lesbian, had clung to Goldie like glue.

“Hey bitch, you dance?” she’d asked.

“It’s not much I can’t do,” Goldie had replied.

In her mind, if it could be done to get some cash, she could do it.  And her outfit intentionally screamed, “I’m a slut!”

“You sellin that hot body of yours too?” Yalonda had asked, lust invading her facial expression.

Goldie had never been involved with another woman, but the lust in Yalonda’s eyes turned her on.  Goldie gave Yalonda her twice-over and concluded that she wasn’t bad herself.  One thing had turned to another and as a result, Yalonda and Goldie formed a convenient relationship.

Yalonda and Goldie strolled up to the bar and took their seats.

“Fifteen seconds,” Yalonda said.

“Ten seconds.  You’re with me baby,” Goldie responded, gyrating to the bass resonating through the club.

“Whatever,” Yalonda said.

“What are you two drinking on?” an intoxicated gentleman asked 8 seconds later, looking and smelling to Goldie like money.

He was accompanied by an associate, who also ate both ladies with his eyes.  Goldie gave Yalonda a knowing glance and responded. “I’m tryin to get fucked… up,” she said.  “Something stiff.”

After guzzling a couple of shots, Goldie glanced at Yalonda, snatched Joseph’s hand, and took him onto the dance floor.  Yalonda grabbed Ramos’ hand and followed Goldie’s lead. Goldie pressed her tight backside into Joseph’s midsection.  She ground against him, allowing her hand to brush against his hand tool a few times.  He was very obviously enjoying himself.  Yalonda attempted to out-do Goldie to the point of getting a small crowd of people watching the four of them.

“A man who comes to a club with less than a thousand dollars in his pocket can’t afford to be freakin on me like this,” Goldie said, wrapping her arms around Joseph’s neck, her lips brushing against his ear.

“If that’s true, I can afford to freak you and your friend,” he said.

“It’s too loud in here for me.  $1,500 will get you and your friend a double take.  We’ll call it a private party,” Goldie said into his ear, turning around and plastering her backside to Joseph’s midsection.

***

Goldie pulled her leased Jetta up to the club.  As usual, her outfit appeared to be painted on to her toned body.  Her heels were 3 inches high, taking her 5'9" inch height to an even 6 feet.

“So, what can I do for you?” the partial owner of the club, Samuel, asked.

“My husband divorced me because he couldn’t handle being married to a whore.  His dick married me and his brain couldn’t handle it later on.  Anyway, he’s only worth about $300,000 dollars all together.  I settled out to $110,000 dollars with monthly payments added on.  But I don’t start getting shit for another month or so. I need $20,000 dollars until I get my settlement.  And I’ll do whatever for you to repay you for lookin out for me until I get mine.  My personal funds are runnin out,” Goldie said.

She’d given Samuel the copies of the divorce case of another woman.  She’d given him the copy of the bogus check she was supposedly waiting to receive.  She looked like money.  She was driving a very nice vehicle.  And she was a walking dick magnet.  This, she knew.

Samuel looked at the paperwork and then glanced at his watch.  He got up and locked the door and took his seat again. “Let me see your tits,” he said bluntly.

Goldie stared into Samuel’s eyes without budging.  After a moment, she began unbuttoning her skin tight blouse.  She wore no bra.  She maintained eye contact.  Sam began fondling himself through his pants.

“Make me cum in less than a minute and I’ll loan you $8,000 dollars for no more than 60 days.  Make me cum in less than 30 seconds and I’ll loan you $12,000 dollars for the same time period.  And if my dick stays hard enough to fuck you after you’ve made me cum with that pretty little mouth of yours, I’ll loan you $15,000 dollars.  But no more,” Sam said, pulling his dick out.  “And if I don’t get paid, you work for me until the day you die.”

Goldie, tits exposed, sashayed over to Samuel, shamelessly dropped to her knees and went to work.  In less than 30 seconds, Sam was staring at Goldie as if she’d just violently raped him, breathing like an old man with bronchitis.

Goldie peeled out of her jeans, removed her heels, and slid down onto his thick, still rock solid, shaft.  Leaving him sitting there, she rode him like a strictly dirt bike on a dune buggy race course, draining him of more precious fluids.

“I’m about to cum,” he barked.

Goldie jumped up and swallowed him whole. She left the empty club with $15,000 dollars and a promise to fuck Sam twice a week until the money was repaid.

*****

“…just need $15,000 dollars until I get my money. You can look over these court records in New Jersey.  Everybody knows about our divorce.  And believe me, I’m good for it,” Goldie sobbed.  “I’ll do whatever it takes to…”

Retro, 52 years old, owner of a few tow truck companies and renowned pervert, looked at Goldie with tired eyes.

“How old are you?”

“I’ll be 25 in October.”

“That’s a damned lie.  I like them younger than that anyways,” he said, eyes coming alive with the smile that now spread his face.

*****

Goldie and Yalonda, the private party dance queens, strutted up into Club Effects with three other private dancers.  Each of them were dressed like street walkers, drawing envious looks from many women in attendance.  However, they were getting lustful looks from most of the men. The women turned the club out, accepting drinks from all those good Samaritans willing to purchase them. 

“You lookin for a good time,” Goldie whispered into a young gentleman’s ear.

“I’ve hear about you, Goldie.  I can’t afford you girl,” he said.

“Bring your friends.  It’s on me,” she said.

The young man’s face lit up. “You serious?”

“You got 3 minutes to get to the parking lot.”

*****

Goldie rode one man’s rod while two more were aimed at her face on both sides. She took turns slurping while bouncing up and down on the gentleman beneath her.

“Ahhh.  Ahhh.  Ummh,” she moaned.

What better way to treat herself to her last night in North Carolina.  She’d left an “I’m not gay” note and a couple thousand dollars beneath Yalonda’s pillow. She’d fucked LOTS of men in Charlotte.  She’d swindled many as well.  Only, they didn’t realize it yet.  She’d wrecked a few homes by having sex with men claimed by others.  She’d smoothly maneuvered through Charlotte partying, lying, suckin, and fuckin.

Later, on the bus to her next destination, Goldie pulled a book from her travel bag and began the painful task of reading on a higher level.  This was a practice she’d kept from most of her associates.  Goldie wanted better for herself.  And she’d grown accustomed to putting in the work to get what she wanted.

Chapter 6

“Oktapussy”

Atlanta, Georgia

1995

Beatrice had become a greedy kid in a free candy store. She took what she wanted.  Her ability to manipulate others with ease led her anywhere her heart desired.  She drove new cars, dressed like a store-front mannequin, attended numerous concerts, professional ball games, boxing main events, hair shows, and exclusive after parties. The world was her sex haven, a playground of enticing and profitable potential experiences.

Her life had become a tremendous game of persuasion with a touch of sexual pleasure, never quite hidden in the background.  A strong dose of nymphomania always in the mix.

Beatrice, as Goldie Kaan, had milked Charlotte as a teenager.  She’d ventured into California as Ms. Evelyn Foster, meeting lots of connected people.  Her antennae always up, she’d stumbled upon a racket of “basketball” wives almost two decades before the reality show came out.  She’d been paired up with a loaded “bench warmer” beneath a three-year marriage contract.  Her money would be managed by the orchestrators of the racket, and when the “irreconcilable differences” were finally cited as the causes of the staged “divorce”, Evelyn would walk away with an agreed upon amount of funds.

However, Evelyn, always hell bent on playing by her own rules, got close to her new husband to the point of actually getting him to reveal the access codes to his bank accounts.  Evelyn had run him through the mill, stinging him for more than $500,000 dollars and fleeing Cali, a happily “married” girl.

She’d relocated to a small, quiet town in Delaware, studying and reading hours while living off of her accumulated wealth.  After acquiring her GED, she’d taken a few correspondence college courses and a few etiquette classes. 

One day, she’d felt pretty bold.  She wanted a degree right away.  She wound up in the Dean’s office of a local college campus.

“It doesn’t have to be an affair.  It can be on your terms, discreet, ongoing if you like.  Or we could make it into one SERIOUS night stand,” she’d said to the Dean, her eyes glued to his, her hands making contact with his chest and sliding downward toward his less intelligent head.

“I’ll make you a very happy man, satisfied over and over again, Mr. O’neil,” she’d persisted, a free college degree in her sights.

He’d been frozen, petrified, as if the scarecrow jacked up on a wooden stake.  She’d seen it in his eyes.  He’d almost given in.  But…

Mr. O’neil had called security and had “Ms. Leona Lane” arrested for trespassing and other minor offenses.

Upon her release from jail, she’d hooked up with International Escorts, LLC.  She’d purchased $8,000 dollars’ worth of clothing and dived into her new role.  She took lessons, learned the ins and outs, and soon grew to be one of the top requested escorts of the company.  African-American escorts, that is.  However, Beatrice, still masquerading as Leona Lane, began stealing the company’s tricks.  The company was charging them as much as $6,500 dollars per date.  Leona would only receive $900-$2,500 dollars of said amount.  Leona began charging them $4,000 dollars even and keeping all the spoils of her labor.  She was also unbridled, lewd, depraved, in as much as she was willing to do for a horny man… or woman.

She’d been exposed in her treachery by other escorts of the company.  She was threatened with violence and soon fled Delaware driving her new 95 SS Impala with the LT-1 Corvette engine and rear wheel drive.  It wasn’t the typical vehicle of choice for a young, dainty, high class escort.  But, it said something about Leona’s personality.  For, underneath it all, Beatrice Miller, AKA Goldie Kaan, Leona Lane, Bee Bee, Evelyn Foster, etc., had a powerful engine with LOTS of horses under the hood.  She was trained and ready to go. 

“I’m self-taught and I can’t be bought baby,” she’d often say to a trick who was either unwilling to pay her price, unable to afford her, or simply asking for too much.

If men, the players and pimps, considered themselves dogs by nature, Beatrice considered herself to be a female dog to the fullest.  She was
THAT BITCH!

At the moment, Beatrice, AKA Charise Gables, was in Atlanta, Georgia in the doggy style position with nine and one half inches of dick thickness in her rectum.  She mouth-fucked another well endowed gentleman while also riding another larger member.

“Mmmmmh, Mmmmmh,” she moaned, getting into her performance to the fullest.  She stared into the camera, a large rod in “every hole,” seductive, whorish, craving, and loving it.

“This bitch is nasty,” Byron Blount, the producer/director of the movie, whispered into Dave Winthorp’s ear.

“I’ve got to be honest with you, Byron.  When you get ‘em like that one, you’ve got to keep ‘em.  She’s a fuckin animal.  A pretty fuckin animal,” Dave said.

Charise made every man spit all over her sweat slicked body before slowing down, even for a second.  Once she’d completed the final scene, she left the room wearing a thin robe, staring at Byron with an “I-told-you-so” expression in her eyes.

*****

  “Look Byron, I want my own movies and an exclusive contract, complete with a pay increase per movie.  Let’s be honest; I look better and I fuck harder than any bitch you’ve got out there.  My fans love “Ms. Oktapussy.”  Put together an official contract for me Daddy,” Charise said.

“Do you know what the three hottest commodities in this country are, Charise?” Byron asked, lighting a thick cigar, a bored expression on his face.

“Of course I do.  My mouth, my pussy, and my ass.  I’m hot shit Byron and I wanna be treated like it,” Charise responded with a slow, articulate, authoritative tone.

“Not quite little lady.  It’s more like drugs, main stream religion, and my favorite, pornography.  And you, Charise, have jumped into my world of porn.” 

“Yeah, you’re fine.  You can take lots of dick.  And you do make the rest of my bitches look a little… less qualified, I admit.  You can make a lot of money in this industry.  There’s plenty to be made.  But if you get too greedy, I won’t lose any sleep when you’re gone.  I’ll sell an elephant fuck fest to a blind mouse.

Plenty of bitches can fuck and look pretty, Charise.  They come and go.  The porn industry is like a machine.  A tire blows, we replace it,” Byron said, blowing thick smoke into Charise’s face.  “But you might be worth what you’re asking for, depending on what you’re asking for.

Most of my actresses who come in here demanding the same shit believe they’re worth it too.  But they’re not.  Come see me Wednesday.”                                                                       

*****

Charise sat in the attorney’s office with a fresh contract from Byron Blount straight off the presses.  She’d been granted the exclusive rights to her own ‘Oktapussy’ XXX movies.  She’d be paid a lot better than most of her coworkers. 
And why not
, she thought.  The few movies she’d made under Blount Object Productions were flying off the shelves.  She’d created an enormous fan base.  And she’d really jumped into the industry simply to stroke her own ego and to feed her insatiable sex habits.

“So, what is it exactly that you’re asking for?”  Maurice Reynolds, Esq, asked.

“I’m about to make a few movies.  I’ve got an exclusive contract and my sales are guaranteed.  By the time this contract is due to be renewed, I should be about $100,000 dollars richer, Mr. Reynolds.  I’m an adult movie star with a very large fan base.  I’m one of the few adult actresses who can leave men unconscious after having sex with them,” she said, rubbing her left hand up her exposed thigh.

“What I need is a $75,000 dollar loan against the future earnings of my contract.  Could you hook that up for me?  I’ll pay you in cash and in quality time, if you’re up for that,” Charise said. 

Mr. Reynolds gazed at Charise with blank eyes.  He tapped his fingers on his desk for a few seconds before speaking.

“Ms. Gables, you have no identification.  You have no proof that you are who you say you are.  But you do have an authenticated, verifiable contract.  I could get you a loan against your contract, but you’ll have to give me something stable to ensure that you won’t simply disappear once I pull a few strings.  Get me a commitment from Mr. Blount for at least 80% of this contract and I’ll cut through all the red tape.  My fee will be $15,000 dollars, due to the unorthodox nature of this transaction, which will come off the top of your loan amount,” he said.

“I don’t think that will be a problem, Mr. Reynolds.  But agree to allowing me to get Mr. Blount to guarantee 80% of the loan amount, not the contract amount, and we’ve got a deal,” ‘Charise’ said.                                                                      

*****

There was something about the game Beatrice had chosen to play as a way of life.  Anticipating a trick’s next move.  Playing on people’s sexual desires.  Allowing others to build trust in her so as to smash through their guards.  Lots of sex and cashing out.  Beatrice enjoyed what she did with a passion.  She burned bridges quicker than a crack addict with a full blown case of ‘get-high-or-die-tryin’!

She leaned back in the first class seat of the passenger plane, opened a Vogue magazine, and smiled to herself.

I’m so selfish
, she thought with a smirk.

“You’re so smart.  Won’t you settle down.  Have a baby,” she’d been told by an associate.

“I’d NEVER get pregnant, unless I was in love.  And I’ve NEVER been in love,” she’d replied.

Beatrice wasn’t about being locked down, broke, or dominated.  She was a free spirit.  A female renegade who enjoyed reveling in the fruits of her ill-gotten labor.  But deep down inside, she actually entertained the thought of settling down, being in love, and having a beautiful little baby.  But such thoughts were VERY deep down inside of Ms. Beatrice Miller.

Mr. Reynolds had been the third of five lawyers ‘Charise’ had gotten to acquire a loan, backed by the same contract.  She’d only had to sleep with three of them.  Mr. Blount had placed his name on the line for her.  But she didn’t think twice about it.  This is what she did.  And she was damned good at it.

Long before anyone had heard of an ‘Adele’, at 23 years of age, Beatrice Miller had begun setting ‘Fire to the Rain.’                                                    

“They’re all tricks…”