Teenage Girl Prostitutes Herself - Sex Stories

Teenage Girl Prostitutes Herself

I learned the value of hard work from my parents, and it wasn’t until I was a teenager that I realized just how hard they struggled to support our family. My father is a machinist who works the night shift in a small factory in our little town, not too far from the city of Atlanta. He even takes extra shifts sometimes to help earn more overtime. He sleeps during the day and is at work at night, so I never get to see him much, except on weekends. My name is Wendi, and my mother is the resident manager of a small, low-price motel in town, and she works from early morning and late into the evening until all of the anticipated guests have arrived and are checked in. Then she’s on call most of the night. She even provides maid service in the rooms part of the time to save money. She also taught me how to change the beds and clean the rooms when I was only twelve years old, and that’s how I earn my spending money. The one major benefit we have with her working there is that we live rent-free in a small cottage behind the motel. I never paid much attention to the comings and goings of our motel guests, at least not until I took a civics class in the spring of my sophomore year in high school, just after I turned sixteen years old. We were encouraged to read the newspaper to keep up with current events, and that’s when I began to notice the almost daily articles in the Atlanta papers regarding teen prostitution and the pimps who sometimes abused those girls. Those stories ...

... sometimes described how they prostituted the girls in cheap motels and other places. I learned that Atlanta was one of the most active places for teen prostitution in the country. Our motel is two stories, with sixteen rooms on the front side facing the highway, and another sixteen in the back, facing our cottage. I had never thought of our motel as being sleazy or anything, but after reading those articles I started paying more attention to the guests. I began to notice what looked like teenage girls, my age or older, with grown men checking into some of the rooms on the back side. I had a good vantage point to watch from my bedroom window, and there seemed to be a lot of men coming and going from those rooms during the night. One day soon after that I showed my mother several of the articles, and explained what I had seen going on in the rooms on the back side. I asked her if she thought we had pimps using our rooms for prostitution. She sighed and looked at me like she had dreaded the day when I would ask her about our guests. Then she said, “Wendi, I try to mind my own business, and I don’t ask our guests why they are staying with us. We’re just barely making ends meet, and I welcome any guests who pay cash to stay here, so long as I don’t actually see or hear of anything amiss going on. The men usually request the rooms in the back, probably so their cars and movements won’t be seen from the street. I can’t see what’s going on back there from the office.” So there it was. Mom ...