Intimations of Mortality - 7
Being a series of random but loosely connected musings on my life, the world I have lived in and what the future - what's left of it - may hold.
The money I was making as a fashion consultant (shop girl) was not enough. It would take me a year to save enough for a second class train ticket to the next city down the line. I needed something to help me build up my "escape money", funds I could invest in my future.
I didn't know any sugar daddies and, to be honest, I didn't really want to swap one form of subjugation for another. Besides, I had only just lost my virginity and was still trying to decide if I had enjoyed the process.
One of the clubs I worked in put on strip shows twice a week. One day, just after I had signed in for my shift, the manager called me into his office. He asked me how old I was, if I would like to try working as a stripper. The money was good, compared to what I got behind the bar or serving tables. I lied about my age, I thought eighteen would be okay. I wasn't sure about doing it but I lied about that too.
He told me I would have to do a couple of private auditions for him. From the way he said it, I knew he was expecting more than dancing and taking my clothes off. That made my mind up.
I said, no thanks. Finished my shift, got my pay from the assistant manager and never went back to that bar.
A few weeks later, I saw an ad in a newsagent's window for life models at a "Camera Club" in the city. I was getting desperate to raise some escape money so I took down the name and number of the bloke who ran the club. After a couple of days hesitation, I worked up the courage to call him.
Again, one of the first questions was about my age. By now I was comfortable being 18 and he seemed happy enough with this. I wasn't sure just what a "life model" had to do, other than not be dead. He explained what his members wanted from the models. I was not surprised that some undressing might be required.
The club ran two sessions a week - 7 to 10 pm on Wednesdays and 2 to 5 pm on Saturdays.
I told him I worked on Wednesday evenings. I wasn't going to mention my curfew. He asked me to meet him at the club around 1.30 pm on the following Saturday.
I said I would be there.
The money I was making as a fashion consultant (shop girl) was not enough. It would take me a year to save enough for a second class train ticket to the next city down the line. I needed something to help me build up my "escape money", funds I could invest in my future.
I didn't know any sugar daddies and, to be honest, I didn't really want to swap one form of subjugation for another. Besides, I had only just lost my virginity and was still trying to decide if I had enjoyed the process.
One of the clubs I worked in put on strip shows twice a week. One day, just after I had signed in for my shift, the manager called me into his office. He asked me how old I was, if I would like to try working as a stripper. The money was good, compared to what I got behind the bar or serving tables. I lied about my age, I thought eighteen would be okay. I wasn't sure about doing it but I lied about that too.
He told me I would have to do a couple of private auditions for him. From the way he said it, I knew he was expecting more than dancing and taking my clothes off. That made my mind up.
I said, no thanks. Finished my shift, got my pay from the assistant manager and never went back to that bar.
A few weeks later, I saw an ad in a newsagent's window for life models at a "Camera Club" in the city. I was getting desperate to raise some escape money so I took down the name and number of the bloke who ran the club. After a couple of days hesitation, I worked up the courage to call him.
Again, one of the first questions was about my age. By now I was comfortable being 18 and he seemed happy enough with this. I wasn't sure just what a "life model" had to do, other than not be dead. He explained what his members wanted from the models. I was not surprised that some undressing might be required.
The club ran two sessions a week - 7 to 10 pm on Wednesdays and 2 to 5 pm on Saturdays.
I told him I worked on Wednesday evenings. I wasn't going to mention my curfew. He asked me to meet him at the club around 1.30 pm on the following Saturday.
I said I would be there.
61-69, F
