Kitty's thumb hovered over first one option, then another. She let out a frustrated squeal of anger, unable to imagine how this day could get any worse. Finally, she stabbed her finger down on 'Middle Class', hoping to avoid the gutter or the gilded cage. Middle Class might at least mean some Bunny Ranch where she'd hae some level of freedom AND relative safety. She assumed that High Class would have imprisoned her in some penthouse palace where she'd have so many handlers she'd never get free, and that Low Class would...
Low Class. Her finger had slipped and clicked Low Class.
"Th' FUCK!" She shouted in a voice grown husky and course from years of cheap gin and unfiltered cigarettes "I didn' fuckin' hit that fuckin' thing! Shit! I ain' no punkass 'back alley Sally', suckin' dick fer booze an' rollin' drunks fer their wallets! I mean...I does that shit a lot, but I ain't gotta..."
She looked around, and saw a grungy, dirty little efficiency apartment scattered with slutty, unwashed clothes, empty bottles of gin, overflowing ashtrays and a wastebasket half filled with used condoms. Instead of a bed, she had a mattress on the floor. Her office, desk, everything...was gone.
She cried out in horror, realizing that after she'd run away from home she'd never been found by the X-Men, instead staying on the street and surviving as a thief. Once her huge tits had grown in, a couple of prostitutes she'd known had taken her in and started training her in how to move and shake like a pro. They taught her everything she'd ever need to know to survive on the streets, and once she was of legal age she'd taken to the life of a whore like a fish to water. Finally hitting 18, she'd gotten a job stripping (a step up from prostitution) and now she bounced her tits and shook her ass at the 'Shake Shack' - a disreputable strip club in the worst part of town. She rented this room just down the street....
Alleycat. Everyone she knew just called her 'Alleycat' now. Needing to get ahold of herself she tipped back a long swig from a bottle of gin, and her brain exploded in dulling pleasure. A practiced flick of the wrist and she'd lit a cigarette from her zippo like she'd been doing it for years.
Gone. Everything was gone. All she had now was her whores brain, gutter mouth, fat tits and a craving for things she'd once hated. She glanced at a dirty mirror and sneered at the cheap slut reflected back. Dirty, dyed blond hair. Too much cosmetics. Two glinting gold tooth. Her clothes had become tassels on her nipples, g string panties, fishnet stockings and red high heels.
Low Class. She was Low Class.
She looked down at her phone, seeing it was now a cheap knockoff as opposed to her...what?
What...
What kinda phone did I have? Somethin' cheap, fer sure...
What is your biggest hangup?
1. A clients dick size.
2. Flaunting my big, fake tits.
3. Once you go black...
"Aw, fuck me! 'Hangups'? Does that mean...what do I like? Shit! Maybe what I hate? What I crave? But...why does I gotta pick a side? Bein' a stripper ain't that bad. If I pick th' first do I jus' go whore th' whole way? An' the tits thing...would that make me a tease or a fetish pornstar? If I don' pick th' last one, does that mean I'm racist? Why ain't 'Jewish' on this list? I'm a fuckin' Jew all the' way! Fuck!"
As she wondered what her choices would do to her, she took another swig from her bottle of Carnaby's gin - a breed so cheap she could afford to buy it by the case. Nothing seemed wrong about this anymore. She knew she wasn't this crass, classless little foul mouth slut, but KNOWING it wasn't the same as understanding it. She smoked her cigarette to the butt before smashing it out in an ashtrey and instantly lighting another. It wasn't right, she knew...but it sure felt normal...known...safe. After all, livin' on the bottom meant she didn't have so far to fall. It felt so safe and normal...