Occupy Erotica!!
I worry about those OWS participants on the New York streets with winter on its way, but I sure do admire them too. I’m not an especially political person, but anyone who really looks at the distribution of wealth in the United States can see there is a terrible, widening gap between the haves and the have-nots. I’m sure I would have some points of disagreement with some of the occupiers, but I appreciate them speaking out for economic balance.
So, when Alessia Brio of the Coming Together philanthropic anthologies opened her call for stories for her collection Occupy Coming Together, I had to find a story to contribute to the cause. The Coming Together books are a wonderful way to raise some bucks for good causes. Among the causes that they have supported are Conservation International and Autism Speaks among other causes. I recently contributed a story “Lawman” to the collection Coming Together: In Flux, in support of the Woodhull Foundation, and am delighted now to have “Playing the Market” as a stand-alone to help the Occupy movement feed the occupiers during their days and weeks in the streets and parks of our cities.
I wrote “Playing the Market” back in 2008, not long after the financial meltdown in the mortgage and banking industry. It’s the story of Jessie, a bond trader, who loses her job in the backwash of impending recession. Left with nothing, she decides to leverage the assets remaining to her – good looks and an adventurous nature – and pursue a new type of investment.
Here’s how she starts her career:
How the fuck am I going to pay the rent? She thought again and smiled, turning at the bar to scan the big, smoky room, full of tables and people. Funny thing. Ever since the world went to shit, nobody paid much attention to the smoking ordinance. Jessie had never been in Waxy’s before and she wondered if the crowd was typical, a little older than the places she usually went, better dressed, like the downturn hadn’t hit them as hard yet.
She crossed her legs, smoothing her stocking, shoulders back, chin up, looking for the right guy. A gray-haired, fat man in a Lauren sweater tried to catch her eye but she pretended she didn’t see him.
God, she felt like she was back in high school as she looked over the boys, knowing exactly what she wanted from them. She had standards even then, and she prided herself on being picky until she found the right one. Tonight was no different. She knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted five hundred dollars to make her rent.
She knew Waxy’s management would frown upon her new profession but Jessie knew if her plan was to succeed, she needed to be in a place where men had money. She remembered the punchline of an old joke. Which one of the cheap bastards gave you a quarter? All of them.
No. One time. One good fuck with a guy she might have slept with anyway and she would never do this again. She just needed a stop gap.
She shifted on her stool, letting her skirt ride up just a little, not slutty but casual, and she looked down the bar to a man three stools away to her right. Not bad. Mid-thirties, thick, dark hair, serious around his eyes, but his lips looked scrumptious.
He looked at her, as if he sensed her appraisal. He moved with fluid ease to sit beside her, his smile confident and warm. “I’m Derrick,” he said. “Derrick Johns.”
“Jessie,” she nearly purred as she broke his gaze and looked down, a little shy but not sure why. His eyes were deep blue and very direct.
He tapped the bar to attract the bartender. “You work in the district?” He asked, his voice like cognac.
“No.” she lied. “I’m a stewardess.”
He grinned. “No offense, but you look smart enough I figured you’re a trader, and I thought you might have lost your job.”
She swiveled to face him, a little shaken.
He smiled. “Drink’s on me.”
They fell into easy conversation, funny, quick and intelligent. She liked talking to him. When he touched her hand as they worked on their third drink, she liked that too.
As she finished the drink, he leaned close and thrilled her. “I have a room at the Alpine. Will you go back there with me?”
She found exhaling hard all of a sudden. “Sure,” she said, trying for a gaze that left no mistaking her intentions, hoping for a hard and mercenary shine. “For five hundred dollars.”
He laughed but she held her expression, the faintest twitch of a smile, exactly as she had rehearsed.
“You mean it?” Derrick remarked, his voice a little breathless. “I’ll be damned. All right. Why not? But let’s make this interesting, shall we? Five hundred cash, but you have to do whatever I say. Fair?”
She wavered and hoped her weakness didn’t show. “I don’t like pain,” she stated flatly.
“What kind of sicko do you think I am? No, no pain. Nothing bad at all. First thing is, we go someplace else. Come on.”
**
Please buy a copy of “Playing the Market” and support the voice of the 99% as it’s being expressed on Wall Street and Main Street! And isn't it fitting that it’s only 99 cents?
So, when Alessia Brio of the Coming Together philanthropic anthologies opened her call for stories for her collection Occupy Coming Together, I had to find a story to contribute to the cause. The Coming Together books are a wonderful way to raise some bucks for good causes. Among the causes that they have supported are Conservation International and Autism Speaks among other causes. I recently contributed a story “Lawman” to the collection Coming Together: In Flux, in support of the Woodhull Foundation, and am delighted now to have “Playing the Market” as a stand-alone to help the Occupy movement feed the occupiers during their days and weeks in the streets and parks of our cities.
I wrote “Playing the Market” back in 2008, not long after the financial meltdown in the mortgage and banking industry. It’s the story of Jessie, a bond trader, who loses her job in the backwash of impending recession. Left with nothing, she decides to leverage the assets remaining to her – good looks and an adventurous nature – and pursue a new type of investment.
Here’s how she starts her career:
Excerpt of
"Playing the Market"
by Angela Caperton
"Playing the Market"
by Angela Caperton
How the fuck am I going to pay the rent? She thought again and smiled, turning at the bar to scan the big, smoky room, full of tables and people. Funny thing. Ever since the world went to shit, nobody paid much attention to the smoking ordinance. Jessie had never been in Waxy’s before and she wondered if the crowd was typical, a little older than the places she usually went, better dressed, like the downturn hadn’t hit them as hard yet.She crossed her legs, smoothing her stocking, shoulders back, chin up, looking for the right guy. A gray-haired, fat man in a Lauren sweater tried to catch her eye but she pretended she didn’t see him.
God, she felt like she was back in high school as she looked over the boys, knowing exactly what she wanted from them. She had standards even then, and she prided herself on being picky until she found the right one. Tonight was no different. She knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted five hundred dollars to make her rent.
She knew Waxy’s management would frown upon her new profession but Jessie knew if her plan was to succeed, she needed to be in a place where men had money. She remembered the punchline of an old joke. Which one of the cheap bastards gave you a quarter? All of them.
No. One time. One good fuck with a guy she might have slept with anyway and she would never do this again. She just needed a stop gap.
She shifted on her stool, letting her skirt ride up just a little, not slutty but casual, and she looked down the bar to a man three stools away to her right. Not bad. Mid-thirties, thick, dark hair, serious around his eyes, but his lips looked scrumptious.
He looked at her, as if he sensed her appraisal. He moved with fluid ease to sit beside her, his smile confident and warm. “I’m Derrick,” he said. “Derrick Johns.”
“Jessie,” she nearly purred as she broke his gaze and looked down, a little shy but not sure why. His eyes were deep blue and very direct.
He tapped the bar to attract the bartender. “You work in the district?” He asked, his voice like cognac.
“No.” she lied. “I’m a stewardess.”
He grinned. “No offense, but you look smart enough I figured you’re a trader, and I thought you might have lost your job.”
She swiveled to face him, a little shaken.
He smiled. “Drink’s on me.”
They fell into easy conversation, funny, quick and intelligent. She liked talking to him. When he touched her hand as they worked on their third drink, she liked that too.
As she finished the drink, he leaned close and thrilled her. “I have a room at the Alpine. Will you go back there with me?”
She found exhaling hard all of a sudden. “Sure,” she said, trying for a gaze that left no mistaking her intentions, hoping for a hard and mercenary shine. “For five hundred dollars.”
He laughed but she held her expression, the faintest twitch of a smile, exactly as she had rehearsed.
“You mean it?” Derrick remarked, his voice a little breathless. “I’ll be damned. All right. Why not? But let’s make this interesting, shall we? Five hundred cash, but you have to do whatever I say. Fair?”
She wavered and hoped her weakness didn’t show. “I don’t like pain,” she stated flatly.
“What kind of sicko do you think I am? No, no pain. Nothing bad at all. First thing is, we go someplace else. Come on.”
**
Please buy a copy of “Playing the Market” and support the voice of the 99% as it’s being expressed on Wall Street and Main Street! And isn't it fitting that it’s only 99 cents?
Posted by Angela Caperton at 11/12/2011 4:21 PM 
Categories: Angela Caperton, Occupy, Alyssia Brio, Erotica
Tags: Angela Caperton Coming Together Erotica Occupy
Categories: Angela Caperton, Occupy, Alyssia Brio, Erotica
Tags: Angela Caperton Coming Together Erotica Occupy
Comments