I vaguely remember, not her words but her excitement when we were alone. I have tried through the years to remember her face but all I can remember is the funky ritual. Strangely, she had a reputation in Indianapolis, Indiana as a devout Holy Roller. Mama worked long hours in a hand laundry and Maude had been hired as a babysitter at fifty cents a day. Mama told me about it, and always when she did her rage and indignation would be as strong and as emotional perhaps as at the time when she had surprised her, panting and moaning at the point of orgasm with my tiny head wedged between her ebony thighs, her massive hands viselike around my head. Her name was Maude and she Georgied me around 1921. Most of all I wish to become a decent example for my children and for that wonderful woman in the grave, my mother. ![]() Perhaps one day I can win respect as a constructive human being. Perhaps my remorse for my ghastly life will diminish to the degree that within this one book I have been allowed to purge myself. Unfortunately, it would require the combined pages of a half-dozen books. I regret that it is impossible to recount to you all of my experiences as a pimp. The account of my brutality and cunning as a pimp will fill many of you with revulsion, however, if one intelligent, valuable young man or woman can be saved from the destructive slime then the displeasure I have given will have been outweighed by that individual’s use of his potential in a socially constructive manner. I will lay bare my life and thoughts as a pimp. In this book I will take you, the reader, with me into the secret inner world of the pimp.
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