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"Hi, spare change ?" she says. "No, sorry not today" says Fuller not even looking down in her direction. "Wait, please wait" she begs. Fuller hesitates and stops. The other pedestrians flow around them.

"You can spit on me for a dollar," she offers. Fuller stares at her speechless.

"I know you despise me."

For a minute, Fuller stops breathing. He's dressed in a business suit standing at a busy downtown street corner across from a park. He looks down at the beggar waif. The thin girl with long brown hair is plainly dressed in old blue jeans and a man's faded plaid wool shirt. There is nothing exceptional about her. Countless other beggars loiter around the downtown streets asking for spare change. She is probably a drug addict, a homeless teenager, or a prostitute. Maybe, she's one of those cocaine whores that Fuller has read about in the X-Rated Men's magazines. The other pedestrians flow on around Fuller and the beggar girl oblivious to their existence.

"You'll let me spit on you ?" "Only if you give me a dollar." "Do you want me to spit on you ?" "You despise me, and for a dollar you can spit on me."

It is this last comment that causes Fuller to stop breathing. It isn't the words. The words are innocent. Spoken out loud on a street corner where vulgar sexual profanities are freely shouted. No it isn't the words. It's the implication.

The implication has stopped Fuller cold while his imagination runs wild with the possibilities.

If he can spit on her, what other bodily fluid exchanges will she consider ?

It is as if he has suddenly been confronted with the vulgar big city equivalent of pretty girls selling kisses for $1.00 at a county fair.

"Well mister, make up your mind."

Fuller considers carefully before responding.

"No thank you, but we might think of something else." "Like what ?" she quickly throws the problem back to him. "Well, like a kiss." "No, sorry, I don't kiss strangers."

Fuller quickly reviews this verbal exchange before answering.

"You're a tease," he counters. "Maybe, are you man enough to find out ?" "Are you old enough ?" "I'm old enough to know how." "I'll bet you are," answers Fuller.

He looks at her more closely. She doesn't appear to be wearing any bra beneath the plaid shirt.

"Take a picture, it lasts longer," the girl taunts him. "I'll give you a dollar." "Ok, but no drooling. Just spitting once." "No," says Fuller. "You really do despise me, don't you ?" "No." "Ok, for $1.50 you can drool all over my face."

Fuller imagines in his mind's eye doing something similar to drooling all over her face, watching the thick viscous fluid flow around her mouth and drip off her chin.

"No," he answers. "Forget it cheapskate if $1.50 is too high." "It's not too high." "Well, bite me !"

With an exaggerated shrug of exasperation the beggar girl flips her long hair off to one side and looks him directly in the eyes.

"Two Dollars, but you have to bend over to pick it up." "That's all ?" "No, you need to undo the top two buttons on your shirt first"

For the first time, the girl smiles.

"Now I get your game." "But not here." "Where ?" "Over by that park bench across the street."

As if they know each other, the girl and Fuller walk across the street to the park. An old wino with a scruffy beard sits on one end of the park bench. He's drinking out of a wine bottle poorly concealed in a paper bag.

On the benches across from him are some young secretaries eating brown bag lunches and enjoying the sun.

Fuller stops about ten fee away from the park bench and starts laying quarters down on the bricks, dropping 8 of them in intervals of 1 foot. He drops the last quarter just two feet from the end of the bench. He sits down.

Fuller watches as the girl standing in front of him casts her eyes down unfastening the top two buttons of her plaid shirt. She lifts her eyes to his before removing a third button.

She flashes him a smile.

Fuller waits feeling himself growing hard.

She gets down on her hands and knees, tosses her hair back out of her face and picks up the first quarter.

The angle is wrong. Fuller can't quite see.

She crawls forward picking up the third and fourth coins.

Fuller smiles. Now he can see her. She's much fuller then he guessed.

As she crawls closer the view gets better.

Finally, Fuller has a full unobstructed view of her hanging breasts.

He is so engrossed in his fantasy that he blocks out the wino sitting on the other end of the bench and even the young secretaries eating lunch just 20 feet in front of him. His whole world is focused on the girl. Focused on one part of her anatomy. He's getting his peep show in broad daylight. No need to go into a sleazy porno store and put quarters into a slot. He's enjoying his peeping in the fresh air at noon time with pedestrians walking all around him.

The ripe jiggling breasts are crawling across the park directly toward his bench.

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As the girl reaches out to pick up the second to the last of the coins, Fuller feels a familiar tingling in his loins. He is excited, completely hard. He's so hard, it would be impossible for him to stand up and walk away from the park without it being obvious to everyone that he is fully aroused. The bulge in his pants could not go unnoticed. It would be painful to walk.

Suddenly, the totally unexpected happens.

The wino, momentarily coming out of his alcoholic haze sees the girl, in an almost frozen poise of exaggerated theatrical slow motion, approaching slowly on her hands and knees to pick up the last quarter. Thinking the money belongs to whoever gets it first, the wino lurches off the bench to grab it. The sudden exertion upsets his stomach and vomit explodes out of his mouth covering the last quarter.

Ashamed at his sudden illness, the wino staggers away leaving the vomit covered quarter for the girl.

The girl remains frozen.

On her hands and knees with a pool of vile smelling vomit separating her from Fuller, she looks up into his eyes with a mischievous smile.

With extreme care, she extracts the vomit covered quarter with her left hand.

Again she looks Fuller directly in the eyes.

"My tongue is going to clean the vomit off this quarter." "No," says Fuller with a look of sick disbelief. "Yes," answers the girl on her knees. "Don't do it," Fuller begs.

Without taking his eyes off her face, Fuller watches as her right hand places the quarter in her mouth.

"Yummy," she mumbles fishing the quarter around in her mouth and pushing it out so Fuller can see it lying on her tongue.

It's true. Fuller wanted to debase the girl, humiliate her, but this is out-of-bounds. This is hard-core. This is beyond X-Rated. Fuller is out of his league. He feels sick to his stomach.

His hardness shrivels away. His fantasy broken.

Feeling his stomach in turmoil, hot bile rises in his throat. Fuller turns abruptly and vomits to the side of the park bench. With a sour mouth, Fuller turns toward the girl.

"Why did you do it ?" "Do what ?" "Put the vomit covered quarter in your mouth." "I didn't," the girl said spitting the quarter out into her right hand. "Don't lie. I saw you do it." "No you didn't." "What do you mean ?" "You only saw what you wanted to see."

Smiling the girl stands up and dumps all the clean quarters from her right hand into her front jeans pocket.

Flipping her long hair around as she turns, Fuller watches the girl walk out of the park blending in with the other pedestrians.

As she walks away, the vomit covered quarter is still tightly clenched in her left hand