Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Chapter Four: The Job Application

Chapter Four of American Stripper.

Previous chapter: French Addiction

Chapter Four: The Job Application

Upon returning home that evening, I filled out the job application.

It was different from any other job application I had ever encountered. It asked for my height, weight, eye color, hair color, hip/waist/chest ratio, along with a stage name. It asked about special skills/talents, stripping experience, costumes, and the degree of nudity I was willing to do.

I wrote that I could sing, which wasn't exactly true, but I couldn't think of an actual skill or talent that I had relating to stripping. The costume inquiry worried me. I did not own a single costume for this line of work, and having no costumes would look bad, so I lied and wrote down “Cowboy.”. There was a western store that sold cowboy hats and boots ten minutes from my apartment.

But what stage name? The four dancers at French Addiction had gone by Titus, Maximus, and Adonis. Greek and Roman names sounded like the norm, so I leaned towards Dionysus, the Greek god of fertility. However, that name was too long for a crowd to pronounce, so I shortened it two syllables and settled on Dion.

I tried on the thongs. I had never in my life imagined wearing such a thing. It felt like cross-dressing, and the only thing missing was a pair of pantyhose and high-heels. It was a good thing no one else could see me as I posed in the mirror, admiring how my ass looked with an upside-down V-shaped fabric sliding into the crack of it.

The thong was uncomfortable. It felt like having a constant wedgie that could not be picked. However, the front pouch offered more room than briefs while preventing the painful jostling of the genitals that sometimes resulted from wearing boxers. The contrasting comfort levels was like a dungeon session with a dominatrix – half of it felt good while the other half didn’t. Now all I had to do was practice wearing it in front of large group of women.

My first opportunity was with Holly.

 I went to her apartment the following day so she could take my pictures. The sight of me in a thong caused her to grin. "That looks great on you," she said, with an unabashed stare. She was so easygoing that I had relaxed and even joked a bit while she snapped photos.

The concept of being alone with her while she had a boyfriend made me uneasy. “What about your boyfriend?” I asked her.

“Ugh,” she sighed. “Who cares about him? We’re not serious and I’m seeing another guy anyway.”

Judging from her sour expression, I decided to drop the subject and concentrate on posing for pictures.

Holly had a Nikon with a large lens that needed to be manually rotated. She directed me into poses. She took a few pictures of me standing against the wall of her bedroom, with the strap of my thong climbing out over the belt line of my pants. We finished up the photo session with me standing in the shower with a towel draped around my waist.

Since this was in 2003, her camera used film, so we could not review the pictures on an LCD screen to see if they turned out well, but had to wait through the tedious process of developing the film. Holly offered to develop the pictures for me. I pulled out my wallet to give her some money, but Holly raised her hand to stop me. “No, I got it,” she said.

“I insist,” I said.

“Just buy me lunch sometime when you get the job and earn some money,” Holly said.



A week after the photo session, Holly brought the pictures to class. I wanted to open the envelope immediately, but the presence of other students stopped me. The last thing I wanted was the husky guy sitting behind me or the frizzy-haired girl in glasses sitting next to me looking over at photos of me in a thong.

“How did they turn out?” I whispered to Holly, but she was listening to the professor's lecture.

Once class was over, I rushed outside and sat down at a bench, tore the envelope open right away and shuffled through the pictures. Most of them looked average. A few looked so ridiculous that I wanted to burn them. However, four pictures had turned out great. These four photos lacked the festivity of Titus’s party shots, but they looked semi-professional, especially when compared to the pictures of the other male dancers at French Addiction. My pictures had the edge when it came to the posing and overall image quality. However, a good camera and photography skills can only do so much. I worried about how far my looks would take me.

“My, aren't you the impatient one?” Holly said with amusement as she sat down next to me on the bench. “You didn't even wait for me after class!”

“Sorry about that,” I muttered

“You're so excited that it’s cute!”

“Holly, be honest – do you really think I have a chance at this?”

Holly sighed and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, for the last time, Dion, yes! I don't know how many times we've been over this. You’ve got the looks, you’ve got the body – you just need the confidence. That's the only thing holding you back. Just relax … And don't make a big deal about failing either.”

I nodded.

After a moment, Holly asked, “Did you decided on which pics to turn in?”

I handed her the four photos that I had selected. "What do you think of these?"

Holly looked through the pictures and flashed me a wide grin. “Great minds think alike!” Holly handed the pictures back to me. “Let me guess, you're going to French Addiction now?”

“Yeah, wanna come?” I asked, hoping that she would since her presence would bolster my courage.

“No, I have to study for a test,” she said. “I'll just see you in our next class.”

“All right, well, I'm going to turn these in now,” I said, getting up to leave. “Thanks, Holly. I owe you big time.”

As I was walking away, Holly called out, “Hey Dion!”

I turned around. “Yeah?”

Holly cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Good luck and remember what I told ya!”

Next chapter: The Interview

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