The side streets of West Hollywood were quiet tonight, a gentle breeze whispering through the tall eucalyptus trees lining the streets like soldiers. Behind her was the steady rumbling of city traffic down the boulevard. Yes, she had been living in a side street all her young life, away from the mainstream.

These and other similar thoughts swam through the girl's head as she walked back and forth, glancing nervously at her watch, wondering when it would be safe to come home. Shortly after eleven, she turned the corner and walked briskly toward her house, squaring her shoulders, feeling her heart beginning to beat wildly once more.

No car, no lights in the bedroom window! The man had gone. Arlette let out a sigh of relief, yet felt somehow disappointed at his disappearance. She almost wanted him to be there, wanted to surprise her mother and her lover, perhaps to be drawn into their filthy little game of S amp;M.

Opening the door, the blonde teen peeked into the livingroom. All was quiet, as before. The magazines she had accidentally knocked from the coffee table had been picked up and stacked neatly on one corner. Closing the door and locking it, Arlette began climbing the stairs.

"Is that you, Arlette?"

It was Monica, her voice drifting in from the other room. The girl shivered, remembering the thrill cries her mother made when she came with that stud. Her fingers gripped the wooden handrail as she struggled for some kind of control.

"How was the game?" her mother called. Monica came into the livingroom, a modest, dark-blue bathrobe wrapped tightly around her body. Arlette blushed furiously, glad only one light had been left on in the frontroom. The gathering darkness was masking her discomfiture.

"Oh, all right," she said with affected boredom, yawning and drawing her arms over her head.