Valentina was a young cute, petite woman of twenty-three years old, where she was from no one quite knew. But she was young and a woman of ingredients-you might say-of that present time anyway. It was said, and we all kind of guess it to be more right than wrong, she was from Peru, living in San Francisco: from poor stock, as they say. She had never married, and had she it would have been someone who owned a business, or a thousand acres of land, and was educated, and could take care of her in a lively and interesting style. But as I said, she was not married, and really had no intentions to for the moment. What she wanted was not what she needed, but what she sought after and got literotica. We in San Francisco, up around Castro District, had listed to her talk in several of the nightclubs (this was back in 1969), she could be a little more than loudly of her adventures, and she had many, and those of us who befriended her, had looked upon her a little coldly and a little suspiciously for a ruthless girl, who said she was from the mountains of Peru, but at other times, she said she was from, a city within a large Valley of Peru, as she told us her tales of those men who took her here and there, both white and black men she met of means, until she met the violent one.

Let me explain, she, Valentina, had little money, worked for Lily Anne, a dress designing company, down by Market Street, and she would flirt with the designers, and supervisors, and she’d tell us, she simply would touch a person’s hand, flirt a little, knowing in the back of her mind she was after something she wanted, not needed, and was more than willing to use socioeconomic currency (her body), she called it ‘a form of evolutionary psychology’ and it worked-well, most of the time.

The main manager, was Jewish, they called him Absalom. He was married, but went to Paris often without his wife, for the owner of the fabric factory, to buy textiles among other things. She herself was a seamstress on the third floor with Mr. Green.

Valentina, had been worn by Mr. Green to keep everything at work business, meaning, not flirting and on and so forth, but she did anyhow, so when he left home, Absalom, without his wife, she went along as his secretary, but we all knew, from her boasting at the bars, she had bartered her body for the trip, a form of business perhaps, and she called it, ‘a just progress,’ and smiled, he got sex, and she got a trip to Paris, paid in full, and for him, the company simply used it as a tax write-off.

She looked at those men whom attracted her, not for good looks but who were smart, good providers at home, thus, these were the ones she was attracted to, for the part, there were other reason she was attracted to me other than that and I shall tell you that in a moment.

Matter of fact, she even told me one day in the bar, “Touch my hand, or let me touch yours,” and I let her touch mine.

“There she said, we’ve made physical contact, now all I need to do is flirt a little more, and most likely we will end up in some kind of an agreement, exchange for your needs vs. mine.”

She once invited me over to her apartment; it was on Dolores Street, a ways away from the Castro District. There we watched TV; she only ate and drank and watched TV, on Sundays at home, and she walked about with her pajamas on, and said, “You see, even you and I can come up with a need, and being mature, simply both can watch TV.” And she laughed.

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