Hey Mister, Got a Dollar?

An excerpt from Hey Mister, Got a Dollar?

"You're from England?" he asked.

"Yeah, Brighton. I'm a mod." That seemed to mean something to her.

"What's a mod?"

"You know, a mod. It's all about the beats, mister: Johnny's Steamboat, the Huffinpuffs, Bert Hyatt and the Englishmen... mod music, man." Dick got it now, altho he certainly had never heard of those bands or their music. He loved the way she talked, tho, that dirty Brighton accent coming out of that pretty English mouth.... He could jerk off just listening to her talk about her "fave strummers."

"How did you get over here?" He watched her shuffle back and forth, those luscious bosoms swaying lewdly in her loose shirt.

"Aw, not 'alf bad, that. My dad come over for work. He's a machinist." She looked away. "But we don't get along, do we?"

Dick reached out to her, but she brushed away. "So you're on your own now? No friends? Have you got somewhere to go?"

"Hey, I got friends," she said. "Not good ones that'll take me, if that's what you mean. They got parents of their own, now don't they?"

"Sure they do." He wondered if she'd take money.

"What about you? You... got a place of your own?" she asked.

Dick smiled, but not too much. "Sure."

She came closer and put her hands on his thighs, rubbed them on his trousers slowly, and bit her lip. "I could go for a little bite of somethin'," she said quietly. "You a nice bloke, Dick?"

"Sure," Dick said.