Walk on the Wild Side - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,123

drawer before going out for the night. There was nothing wrong with him.

Los Angeles sprawls for miles and miles and miles. Maurice found another, more distant bar.

He was soon dancing with Lana, who wanted a career in movies. Maurice said that he did too, and that he had some connections, but nothing definite. They had a few drinks and went to Lana’s apartment, to talk over prospects.

It was the sort of cheap lodgings that see too many Hollywood hopefuls come and go. Lana apologized for the apartment, Maurice poured her a drink from his case, and Lana went quickly to sleep. Then the syringe. Barbs and Demerol. Then the razor and the shaving cream.

Maurice undressed her carefully She had a lovely body and probably really was nearly eighteen. He shaved her crotch carefully, not wanting to hurt her.

Then he stitched her labia together tightly, smeared it all with pancake make-up until it was a perfect air-brush. Maurice changed into his posing strap and then pulled down his fig leaf. He hadn’t thought he could come this hard so soon again, but after much pumping he spurted all over her airbrushed cunt.

Feeling a little guilty, he left her there on the bed. There were worse lessons to be learned in Los Angeles. At least he hadn’t raped her.

There was Ashley. Runaway from Ohio.

There was Jessica. Needle tracks all over.

There was Terri. Already shaved. A model.

There were others.

They were just hookers. Loose women cruising the singles bars. He always paid, and he didn’t hurt them much.

Maurice kept moving. Los Angeles is a big load of a town. Lots of loose women. His father had warned him. Cops don’t care much about what happens to hookers and wannabes and runaways. Yes, they had an MO and some descriptions that might fit a few thousand men. Whores and drifters, ER takes out the stitches, no permanent harm, probably asked for it. Who cares?

Better work to do. Teenage gangs. Pot dealers. Underage drinkers. Car wrecks. Racing on Mulholland. If you got paid for kinky sex, then don’t come crying to us. You got what you asked for. Go back to Ohio where you belong.

Maurice was doing very well under this climate of opinion. He considered moving to San Francisco. Perhaps there he could find the perfect air-brushed companion of the night.

It really was time to move on, but Maurice had changed his hair style, grown a mustache, changed apartments, changed his wardrobe to resemble a rising corporate executive, and was doing very well at climbing into middle management, although his fellow workers thought he’d let success go to his head prematurely. There was talk about how he gained his promotions. Fuck ’em. Maurice had already secured a position as senior supervisor in San Francisco.

Maurice met Kim—or she met him—at a rather posh singles bar (they were just coming into vogue) and had the usual brief come-on. Kim was a trim brunette, very much into the Jackie Kennedy look. She was a surgical nurse at one of the hospitals, trying to sound very professional, and very much on the make. As a rule, Maurice would have left her alone, preying on the usual hookers and bar-flies, but he was transferring to the San Francisco job shortly And she was on the make. Nurse Floozie.

Perhaps a little casual dalliance. Nothing that could create difficulties. She had a beautiful smile. Probably gave good blow jobs. Wine and dine, then slam bang, thank you ma’am. If she kept her panties on, so he didn’t have to see that horrible hairy slit, he could probably come right into her face. She looked like she might like that. He would.

He gave her a false name, said he was an intern at another hospital. Always a good ploy with nurses. So it went as planned. A few more drinks than planned, but they were eventually in Kim’s apartment. A bit seedy, but then, nurse’s salary. Kim made them both drinks from her bar, then said she was going to slip into something more comfortable. Perfect. He’d soon slip her out of it.

Maurice finished his drink as he listened to her changing. Pleasant rustlings of women’s clothes, shifting off and on, on and off. He could smell her perfume. Probably putting on a baby doll nigh tie. The drink was a strong one.

Maurice passed out very suddenly.

When Maurice awoke, he was gagged and tied spread-eagled to Kim’s bed. He was naked, lying across a rubber sheet. Kinky. He was still floating on drugs,