Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Cover Designer: Diana Carlile
Sometimes a girl has to take a guy for all he’s got.
One long, hard night of working the streets is more than enough for 25 year old Shea O’Grady, a Boston-based grad student. She just doesn’t have the stomach for it. Or the lips. So she comes up with a better way to use her youthful sexiness to pay off her debts.
When she shares her plan to seduce and rob johns with Cedrick7Z, her nasty tempered pimp, he agrees to fence her take for a generous cut. So Shea puts together a team of girls to work with her. And she convinces her downstairs neighbor, a hunky Rastafarian dealer dude, to help with the knockout drugs.
Based loosely on the exploits of a sexy set of bottle girls operating in South Florida, The Blow Off is a cautionary tale, a romantic black comedy, and a satirical look at student debt, prostitution, woman on man crime, and the things we do for love.
Angling out of the space, I poked my nose into the bustle of evening commuter chaos. I was imagining what my girl gang would be like. We’d be smart vixens, a bunch of super-cool, daringly spicy, wildly tempting babes. Girls who could convince any guy in the toniest club to take them home for some one-on-one time, or some double-the-fun. Girls who would casually slip a man a mickey, then strip his room, his safe, his jewelry box. Take him on, then take him for all he was worth.
Boylston Street was more clogged than a fat man’s arteries. Before I got to the atrial congestion on Mass. Ave., I banged a left, taking the back route home by all the Northeastern University student dorms. No more sleeping on an air mattress on the floor with the other poor grad students. I was going to ride the wave of girl on man crime. A budding entrepreneur, I’d grow my stable of foxy cons until we’d taken over the city of Boston. One wealthy sucker at a time.
I was so excited I sang all the way up Huntington Ave to the VA hospital, where the traffic finally unclotted with a bloody burst and thinned out to a healthy trickle. I was now the handler of a beautiful, ballsy, all-female crew. I laughed. What’s not to like about that job description?
While I waited at a red light in downbeat, trashy, but tree-lined Jamaica Plain, I was in the best mood I’d been in since my mother got married. I felt that same sense of freedom wash over me. I was fully independent, relieved of the burden of pleasing someone else. I had my own business! And soon, all my loan troubles would be behind me.
That was the dream, anyway.
Originally from Boston, Mickey J. Corrigan lives and writes and gets into trouble in South Florida, where the men run guns and the women run after them.
Quirky Debutante thanks you for reading!