Her voice grew bubbly. “Lots of ’em. You’d be surprised.”
I need a sugar daddy of my own.
The in-house buzzer boomed like thunder cracks from Heaven and yanked Lindsay from her memories of talking with Pamela yesterday and sent her stumbling as she hopped out of bed. OhmiGod. My first lineup!
Full of jitters, Lindsay wasted no time. She couldn’t afford the fine for being late and rushed out to the hallway. She was ashamed earlier when choosing her outfit for the evening – a bridal white bra and sheer stockings, and a tiny thong that revealed far more than it hid. Jim helped her pick it out. What kind of girl wears lingerie like this and walks around in it but a slut? A sense of foreboding bit into her belly. Lindsay Michelle Anastacio, welcome to your new life: thot for hire. She had a pink bow in her hair, pink and white plastic bracelets dangling from her right wrist, and a pink ruffle around her left elbow. A pair of modest two-inch pumps completed the delightful ensemble. Remember, this is what you wanted.
But the negative feelings faded once Lindsay gathered the courage to mill around the house a while ago. Every woman she encountered loitered in revealing lingerie or a plunging, low-cut minidress. Lindsay was truly “one of them” now and blended in like it was nothing out of the ordinary. Colt and Jim paid her minimal attention too. Pfft, I can do this.
Pamela, Kenzie, Sahara, and Aaliyah soon joined Lindsay outside the kitchen as they awaited the lineup. Chillin’ with my new squad. Scarlett, Riley, and Nicolette were busy entertaining other customers. Business was flourishing, so they wouldn’t be part of the lineup.
Lindsay stole a peek of Pamela and was amazed she had spent three hours with a client this afternoon (and took his virginity in the process) and not a single hair was misaligned on her head. Sure, Pamela had since bathed, showered, and reapplied her makeup, but Lindsay would never guess she had spent her afternoon getting fucked.
Neither would any potential customers, and that was the important thing.
“Ladies, follow me.” Jim led the group through the bar to the lap dance room at the far end. A gentleman vegged in the center chair, waiting to check out the merchandise.
Overcome with hysteria, Lindsay couldn’t contain herself as she found a spot between Pamela and Sahara. All her tireless research since last fall was about to pay off – she was one hundred percent certain she’d be the girl chosen. Time to start saving for a car.
A thirtysomething, the customer was attractive. Lindsay envisioned him as a business executive from the Midwest whose marriage had grown stale and was here hoping to spice things up. I can’t wait to see what’s underneath your custom suit, sir.
“Hi, I’m Kayleigh! It’s my first day!” The other ladies had animated, humorous reactions as Lindsay introduced herself and stepped back in line. It was subtle, but Pamela gave Lindsay a pat on the ass and offered a flirtatious wink afterward.
I wonder if Colt will fine her?
“Who will it be, Lucas?”
Pick me. Pick me. Pick me. I’m DTF!
The idea of this stranger taking her to a private room and having his way with her not only made Lindsay squirm with unfettered desire and anticipation, but she became so wet she had the urge to reach inside her G-string and play with herself. Lord have mercy; where are my Ben Wa balls and dildo when I need them? She was eager to take this man’s dick, to do her lewd duty, and please him.
“I gotta go with Sahara.”
What!?
Caught off-guard, Lindsay’s world came crashing down like a house of cards and her stomach lurched. Sahara? He chose… wait, what, why?
She maintained her composure the way Pamela trained her to and followed the others out of the lap dance room while Sahara cozied on up and introduced herself.
“Lucas? Hiiiii! I’m Sahara. It’s wonderful to meet you.” The appreciation on her face was evident as she hugged him. “Hmm, you smell so good. Are you a local, or an out-of-towner on vacation?”
Deciding to break away from her coworkers, Lindsay’s black shoes, sling-back designs with moderate heels, clanked as she stomped down the steps to the recreation room. That fucker chose Sahara over me? What the hell? What’s she got that I don’t? Heartbroken, Lindsay plodded straight to a stool in the corner and settled there.
I put on tons of makeup and go to all this trouble to make myself sexy, but that guy didn’t even notice me! Lindsay flexed her fingers and her muscles quivered with hurt and frustration. What the fuck am I doing here? If I can’t get noticed in this – she glanced down and regarded herself in the bridal lingerie – how am I ever going to get picked? I’ll be passed over in every gosh darn lineup. She pounded her dainty fist on the table with a force that rattled a nearby flower vase.
“Hey. Wanna talk about it?”
Lindsay swiveled around and found Pamela’s large, overflowing breasts at eye level. She hitched in a breath and had the sudden urge to peel away the thin fabric concealing them. Still, negativity won out. Her lips curled into a grimace. “I don’t like lineups! That was humiliating! Degrading!”
“Don’t take it personal. You can’t.” Pamela planted herself on a stool and squeezed Lindsay’s wrist. A light blue, one shoulder minidress wrapped around Pamela’s torso and showcased her flat, toned abdomen with an exposed triangle cutout in front. “No girl likes lineups, honey.”
“Yeah? You don’t say? Really? Tell me about it.” Lindsay couldn’t tear her gaze away from the swell of Pamela’s breasts, and with the way the minidress was designed, her under cleavage.
“Lineups are part of the job. They’re a daily reality and they’re not going away. If a customer asks for one, we have to provide it.” Pamela steered Lindsay’s hand to her mouth and kissed it. “Again, you can’t take anything personal here. I’ve been telling you that since you first arrived yesterday, haven’t I? You’ll go insane if you do.”
“Rejection sucks!” Lindsay stomped over to the loveseat and tossed the two magazines that had been atop it to the floor. “It fucking sucks!” She snarled and her silky blonde hair swung from side to side.
* * *
Pamela figured this was the first time Lindsay had ever experienced any sort of rejection in her young life. It must be. Back in Citronelle, Lindsay stood atop a pedestal, and more than likely, the entire town catered to her every whim. Especially the guys she attended school with. Pamela was certain they’d roll out the proverbial red carpet whenever she walked from one class to the next.
But things were different here. Brothels were a competitive, winner-take-all environment. They were full of girls who’d been the hottest and most sought-after while attending high school and college. Girls who were accustomed to getting whatever they wanted. Some could adapt, but many failed and fizzled out.
Look at her. Lindsay’s face was puffy, and she slouched on the loveseat with her arms folded, mimicking the image of a toddler who’d been sent to timeout.
But Pamela was wired differently. Instead of dismissing Lindsay as self-centered and telling her to suck it up, she was sympathetic. I understand. It made sense given that Pamela, a Psychology major, was fascinated by various human emotions and personality types. Everyone is unique and no one should be judged for how they feel.
Was it Lindsay’s fault she grew up in a nothing, nowhere town, and her parents never allowed her to venture outside its confines? She’s happy, she’s cheerful, but has also lived under a rock, and despite being talkative, doesn’t know how to socialize and integrate herself with others yet. Part of that could be chalked up to her youth, however another part could be attributed to being Citronelle’s town princess who could do no wrong. It’s not her fault. She just doesn’t know any better.
Pamela had her viewpoint, unique as it was, but not everyone in the house shared it. Rumblings abounded that Lindsay’s immaturity had rubbed one of the other working ladies the wrong way. Aaliyah thinks she’s a spoiled little brat and should be put on blast.
First things first, though. Pamela needed to have a long talk with Lindsay about rejection and the best way to handle it. Colt won’t put up with her if she becomes pouty and emotional like this. He’d fire her without remorse. Every time I get passed over in a lineup, I deal with rejection too. I don’t like it but refuse to let it bother me.
Another thing Lindsay had to learn about this job, Pamela thought, was that she was selling a product, and that product was her. Although the money could be lucrative, Lindsay would have nights where things wouldn’t go her way. Not every customer would be interested in what she had to offer. Likewise, not every customer was attracted to Pamela either. We all go through slumps. To see other girls succeeding and raking in money while she was having a slow night was difficult.
Working here can be a surefire way to practice hating yourself. Lindsay couldn’t allow that cycle of rejection to affect her. It was constant and would never end. If she wasn’t careful, Lindsay may wind up feeling worthless in the long run.
Maybe even suicidal.
“What’s wrong with me?”
Pamela’s heart plummeted once a dramatic whine escaped from Lindsay’s throat, each word louder and more animated than the one before it. In the blink of an eye Pamela was kneeling beside Lindsay, one arm around her shoulder, and a hand grasping her kneecap.
“Nothing is wrong with you, sweetheart.” Pamela moved her hand to Lindsay’s upper thigh. “Nothing at all.”
Lindsay stared at that hand, which radiated empathy, however it wasn’t enough to topple her dismay. “Why didn’t that guy choose me?” The grimace remained.
Instead of talking Lindsay up and giving her a rah-rah speech, which may sound disingenuous, Pamela took the simple route. “I don’t know, honey. But I do know that man doesn’t realize what he’s missing.” Yet her soul ached when the hurt deepened in Lindsay’s eyes.
* * *
“That lineup made me feel like shit! I… I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I don’t know if I want to do this!” Am I attractive enough for this job? “I feel so out of place here. I’m the youngest girl and everyone else has tons of experience, and when I compare myself to someone like you, there is…”
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