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Prologue (6/8)


TheLivingCamera

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He led me to a room with several couches and arm chairs and a red curtain that could be drawn for privacy. It was clearly just another VIP room, but according to him, they didn’t typically do private dances for security reasons. I had assumed that the combination of the wad of cash I had waved in front of his nose and my status had been enough to convince him to make an exception, so I was shocked when he revealed he had no clue who I was. I squinted at him in suspicion; I had been on the cover of three different magazines, visited four talk shows, and spoken at the Plumbob awards in the last three months alone, and you’re telling me he hadn’t even seen my face once? The more he talked however, the more believable he seemed. He thought my heels were “fancy” when I’d just borrowed one of the other model’s knock offs for the night. Apparently, he assumed I was some desperate housewife out for a night on the town with her other unsatisfied friends. Even when I said I was a model he seemed so nonchalant about it. Maybe he thought I was one of those girls who thought posting poorly lit selfies online made you a Simstagram model. Normally, I’d be a little irritated; I had done a lot for the recognition I usually enjoyed. But there was something magnetic about this guy, something in the casual conversation he kept up while he ground himself into my lap and caressed my legs like they were fine china. As he pointed to his belt buckle to ask if I wanted to undo it myself, I bit my lip slightly. A familiar feeling was taking over that I couldn’t resist and I knew that I had found the thing that would make this night out worthwhile. I undid his buckle quickly.

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