The Naked Soul of Iceberg Slim Read Online Free PDF Page A

several years I’ve been answering questions about the pimp life on TV, on radio, in the street and at teen posts. I’m going to rap about the street and the pimp for a while, and maybe answer some questions that you have posed in your mind.
    The career pimp lives by a rigid code of self-discipline which projects (for his admiring whores) an image of icy composure in the face of the constant stresses and threats of the turf. He keeps his cool despite the most voluptuous sexual temptations within his stable or in the streets.
    He’s a gutter god who has put his emotions and sex drive into a kind of commercial cold storage. He never gets sweeter than the amount of a particular whore’s money. The codes, the rules, the attitudes of pimping are passed along to new young pimps who, if imaginative, will discover something new and cunning to add to the pimp book.
    An amusing example of how the book gets thicker and slicker is that inventive young Eastern pimps are at present instructing their street whores to immediately request that new customers who approach them expose their genitals. This screening gimmick must give undercover vice cops a helluva headache, since it is against the law to expose one’s genitals in public.
    Many people ask if I have any thoughts about why I and others become pimps.
    In the late forties, a headshrinker in the federal penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kansas, told me that I had possibly become a pimp because of savage and unconscious hatred for Mama, who was the perfect loving mother except for that one mistake when she fell inlove with a snake and tore me away from my stepfather—my only and beloved father image.
    Maybe his analysis of why I became a pimp was accurate. Looking back, I remember that the most efficient and brutal pimps I have known had mothers who were drunkards, dope fiends or whores. Several of the cruelest pimps that come to mind were abandoned as infants. One was put in a trash bin, and another was stuffed into a garbage can. I am positive that as much as anything else, my boyhood admiration for the flash and dazzle of well-heeled pimps cruising the poverty-mauled slums in gaudy cars inspired me to pimp.
    Ego keeps many pimps from knowing the real reasons why the prostitute needs the pimp. The practical reasons are that the whore needs the pimp to protect her, to advise her, and to keep her out of jail. For another no less urgent reason, she needs the pimp to drive her, to punish her, to make her suffer so that painful guilt for her bitch dog existence can be relieved.
    After all, whores are not born. Before they are “turned out,” they are kick-outs from broken homes, students, waitresses, entertainers, barflies, middle-class kooks, and even daughters of preachers. But all have some conscience and know of society’s contempt and loathing for the hooker.
    I also discovered that whores need and use the flashy front, notoriety and phony glamour of pimps to get a sense of personal importance and worth. I don’t think I ever got a dime from a whore because of any sexual prowess I possessed.
    I am often asked, where does a pimp go to recruit girls for his stable, and how is a contract drawn up with a girl?
    A career pimp literally is working every waking moment, sounding out potential whores for his stable everywhere he goes. A pimp’s next whore could be the young bossomy girl working the elevator or desk at his hotel, she could be a waitress or a barmaid, a lush and susceptible stenographer in an office where he might legitimately visit and notice her commercial curves.
    Then a pimp’s next woman might be a seasoned whore that he cops in the street or in one of the early-morning feeding and drinking joints catering to hustlers. And maybe a pimp’s next package will be a whore from his best pimp pal’s stable. Whores are like quicksilver and twice as hard to hold.
    How a contract is drawn up depends on the speed of the scene, and the