Notice: This is an excerpt from a fictional novel in progress that is being developed exclusively for richbitchitch.com. This work is copyrighted. You may not reprint without permission.

Virginity is interesting. One minute you have it and the next you don’t. One day you’re innocent and the next someone’s had you and so you’re not worth the same; and it only takes a moment for you to be transformed from one state to the other. Even while lying in bed being penetrated, until you are actually popped you are precious and dear and valuable; but once you’ve been broken you are now used and no one will regard you in the same light. It was Lulu who said that to me although in different words. She said it to me the same day I met Richard Berkley. Or rather she said it on the eve of that day while she and I were lying in her bed talking about Madame Sheila’s efforts to sell my virginity. But we talked about Richard Berkley before we got around to discussing how I was feeling about having my virginity negotiated over.
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Notice: This is an excerpt from a fictional novel in progress that is being developed exclusively for richbitchitch.com. This work is copyrighted. You may not reprint without permission.

Actor Victor Garber (Victor Garber is in no way linked to this story. His picture is being used because the main character describes Richard Berkley as looking like him

When Richard Berkley first came to the brownstone it was I who answered the door. Madame Sheila had been in with a client negotiating over my virginity which I personally thought she was never going to get an offer for in the price range she was demanding. Not that I did not consider myself as special as Madame Sheila apparently believed I was; but the idea that any man would pay even five thousand dollars for something he could get from a street girl for a few dollars seemed completely incomprehensible to me; but then, at the time, I did not understand the mentality of the kind of men who patronized Madame Sheila’s establishment.

Richard Berkley paid his first visit about three weeks after the Charles Kennedy incident had erupted. Things had quieted down around the brownstone. New developments in the Kennedy case had taken the spotlight off Madame Sheila, shining it instead on a famous fashion model. Jada Kimberly, Madame Sheila’s girl who had been a suspect was no longer under suspicion, and with a famous fashion model as the primary suspect in the killing of a well-known New York politician, Madame Sheila and her brothel were soon forgotten by the media, leaving Madame Sheila free to resume the fun business of trying to command a six-figure offer for my virginity.
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Notice: This is an excerpt from a fictional novel in progress that is being developed exclusively for  richbitchitch.com. This work is copyrighted. You may not reprint without permission.

Lolas Wohnung aus "Lola rennt" in der Albrechtstraße Berlin Image Credit: Luiz Eduardo

Granny B’s murder would  change the course of my life. At the age of 13 I entered the New York City Foster Care System; and by all accounts I should have become another statistic; but it turned out Granny B had believed so much in me that she’d made someone promise to help me beat the odds in the event anything should happen to her before I became an adult. That someone was Francis Berkley’s husband Richard Berkley.

It was through Richard Berkley that Granny B had acquired the one-hundred thousand dollars she’d been saving for me and my cousins to go to college. I would eventually come to find out from Francis Berkley that my grandmother had acquired the one-hundred thousand dollars over a period of five years during which Richard Berkley would pay $2000 per episode to act out his master slave fantasies with her.

“Your grandmother was just a worthless whore,” was how Francis prefaced the revelation. “She didn’t mean anything to my husband any more than you mean anything to him.”
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Notice: This is an excerpt from a fictional novel in progress that is being developed exclusively for  richbitchitch.com. This work is copyrighted. You may not reprint without permission.

Money is everything. I used to hear my grandmother say that practically every day as I was growing up. Not that she needed to say it for it to be reinforced. Growing up poor, you come to understand very early in life that money is everything. But one thing a lot of people don’t seem to understand about money is that how much or how little of it you have comes down to a question of how badly you want it and what your limits are as far as what you will and will not do to get it.

Everybody wants money. Well mostly everybody anyway. You have your rare folks who genuinely have no use for money; and more power to them. But I knew by the time I was ten that I would rather be dead than stay poor for the rest of my life.

I used to tell my grandmother that I was going to buy her a house in the Hamptons and a Chateau in the South of France when I grew up. My grandmother used to work as a housekeeper for a rich woman named Francis Berkley; and she would always talk about how Francis, whom she called a rich bitch, would find any and every opportunity to talk about her house in The Hamptons and her Chateau in the South of France as if to rub her obscene wealth in my grandmother’s face.
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