There is nothing funny about prostitution, and I know that people who become prostitutes have very sad reasons for doing so. But, an encounter with a prostitute and/or her pimp can be an amusing story.
This is about an encounter I had about four years ago. I do not use, or hire prostitutes. But they and their pimps can be quite enterprising. Phoenix does not have a prostitute district, or an area where hookers are numerous. It used to have such an area, on East Van Buren Street in east central Phoenix, but they were run out of that area by the local constabulary about twenty years ago.
Now, they are thinly spread all over the metropolitan area. Although it’s not a frequent happening, you can be approached by a hooker or a pimp almost anywhere around here.
This encounter happened in a large city park in the north central part of Phoenix one bright and sunny morning. I was out for my morning walk, which is usually about 4 to 6 miles in length, when I was offered the services of a hooker in a very unique manner.
I was so taken with the creativity employed by the hooker-pimp pair that I was compelled to write a poem about it. here goes!
I saw today a whore in the park
She was with her pimp, and he was quite dark
Her skin was white, so brightly it shone
And it was one hundred percent continuous tone
No tan lines, just butt shines
Was all I could see
As the whore in the park
Beamed her bare ass at me
With a dress so short
Way beyond thigh-high
I passed, she bent way over
And not the least bit shy
He back was towards me
But she didn’t need to see
Her pimp was her eyes
And he was looking at me
A conductor, a director
A maestro was he
The whore was his work
And a masterpiece was she
An ass man I am
And have always been
And often I’ve taken
A good drink of sin
Beautiful ass she may have had
My feelings for her were only sad
I silently wished her the best
And a sincere smile I gave
Though I knew for her
On her chosen path
There was only an early grave
My step quickened and I moved along
But to the whore in the park
On this brilliant blue dawn
Only one thing really mattered
Finding the next willing john
There is nothing funny about prostitution, and I know that people who become prostitutes have very sad reasons for doing so. But, an encounter with a prostitute and/or her pimp can be an amusing story.
This is about an encounter I had about four years ago. I do not use, or hire prostitutes. But they and their pimps can be quite enterprising. Phoenix does not have a prostitute district, or an area where hookers are numerous. It used to have such an area, on East Van Buren Street in east central Phoenix, but they were run out of that area by the local constabulary about twenty years ago.
Now, they are thinly spread all over the metropolitan area. Although it’s not a frequent happening, you can be approached by a hooker or a pimp almost anywhere around here.
This encounter happened in a large city park in the north central part of Phoenix one bright and sunny morning. I was out for my morning walk, which is usually about 4 to 6 miles in length, when I was offered the services of a hooker in a very unique manner.
I was so taken with the creativity employed by the hooker-pimp pair that I was compelled to write a poem about it. here goes!
I saw today a whore in the park
She was with her pimp, and he was quite dark
Her skin was white, so brightly it shone
And it was one hundred percent continuous tone
No tan lines, just butt shines
Was all I could see
As the whore in the park
Beamed her bare ass at me
With a dress so short
Way beyond thigh-high
I passed, she bent way over
And not the least bit shy
He back was towards me
But she didn’t need to see
Her pimp was her eyes
And he was looking at me
A conductor, a director
A maestro was he
The whore was his work
And a masterpiece was she
An ass man I am
And have always been
And often I’ve taken
A good drink of sin
Beautiful ass she may have had
My feelings for her were only sad
I silently wished her the best
And a sincere smile I gave
Though I knew for her
On her chosen path
There was only an early grave
My step quickened and I moved along
But to the whore in the park
On this brilliant blue dawn
Only one thing really mattered
Finding the next willing john
