Heather Brown - Blow girl

I selected one of the ads that seemed to be for a place within walking distance. After taking a left turn, walking three blocks, and turning right, I saw the place in the middle of the block. The building had a garish facade done up in red and silver with a neon sign that was flashing even in the middle of the day, advertising the name of the place as Count Porno's Lounge. My better judgment warned me against going inside, but the thought of my financial situation propelled me toward the door.

Holding my breath, I pushed open the door and went inside, hearing it swinging behind me, sealing me inside a smoky roam that was so dark I had trouble making out any detail. When I did I saw that it looked like a standard barroom, with a gleaming jukebox, pinball machines, cigarette machine, a bar and booths. The only thing unusual was that there was a raised platform in the middle of the room. I quickly figured out that that was where the dancers performed. There was nothing going on now since, apparently, it was the slow time of the day. Just one man sat at the bar.

I walked over to the barmaid, who was dressed in the briefest of bikinis. "I'm looking for, uh, Count Porno." I felt like a fool actually saying such a ridiculous name.

"Hi ya, sweetie," the man at the bar said, looking up at me, his intent gaze seeming to undress me. "I'm the man you're looking for."

It turned out that Count Porno was a short, fat, bald guy who quickly informed me that his real name was Harry. I was prepared for anything just by virtue of the fact that I was actually inside a place such as this, but it was still a shock when the man said, "Okay, doll, take off your clothes and let's see what you've got." I wasn't going to do it, but when he added, "Look, doll, if I like your body you'll get one twenty-five a week," I reconsidered.

"All right," I whispered, "I'll do it." I began slowly peeling off my outer garments. As each thing came off and a new part of my body was exposed, he made some sort of vulgar comment. When I reluctantly stepped out of my parties he said, "Oh, and you're a real blonde! This is Count Porno's lucky day!"

I turned red all over in both embarrassment and anger, and grabbing at my clothes to hide my body from him, I was just ready to tell him what he could do with his one twenty-five a week when he said, "Say, listen, for that I'll give you one fifty a week, and I don't care if you can dance a step. We don't get many real blondes in here."

I was defeated by my own need, and perhaps greed, and muttered, "Okay."

As I started to put my clothes back on, I got up enough nerve to ask, "When would you like me to start work?"

"Tonight," he said.

"Okay," I replied, "tonight."

"Okay, doll, be here at eight o'clock, and you work until two."

I went out onto the street, and walked down to a phone booth. I put in a dime and dialed Margot's number. She answered after a couple of rings. I instantly made the decision that I would just give her the bare information that I wouldn't be home until late because I had found a job, not mentioning either what kind of job it was, or what had happened between us the night before.

"Margot," I said. "Listen, I've managed to get a job, but I have to start tonight and won't be home until late."

"Oh, how lucky, a job right off the bat," she said. "What is it? Something exotic, I'll bet."

I gulped at her choice of words, and then said, "No, it's just an ordinary job. I have to am now, I'll see you later." "But-" she started to say.

"Goodbye, Margot, see you later," I interrupted, and hung up the phone, breathing a sigh of relief.

I had a few hours to kill before I was supposed to go back to Count Porno's, so I found a restaurant, ate a light dinner, then spent the next two hours strolling up and down the streets, window shopping and thinking about my new job.

At seven-thirty I found myself only a couple of blacks from Count Porno's. As I came upon the garish red and silver building with its winking sign, I stopped to get my breath. As I entered, the atmosphere was quite different than it had been before. The place was now full of noisy men, the buzz of their comments filling the smoky room with a reverberating din that was topped off by a screeching jukebox blasting out rock music. The girl who had been behind the bar during the afternoon was shuffling around on the stage with a bored expression on her face, popping her gum, but this time without her bikini. Despite her obvious lack of enthusiasm and relatively small tits, the crowd seemed to like her. Although I wasn't looking forward to what I was going to be doing, I couldn't help but think to myself that if they liked her, they'd love me.

Then I heard a gravelly voice interrupting my thoughts. It was Harry. "Say, listen," he said, "I'm glad you're here early."

I steeled myself and asked the inevitable question. "What do you want me to do?"

"Oh, that's easy," he said. "Just take it off."

"On stage?"

"Do you mean strip on stage?" he said. "Naw, you don't have to do that. This ain't no strip joint. This here's a bottomless dancing joint. There's a difference. In the one you start off with all your clothes on and tease the customers by taking them off. Here you start off with them all off and give the customers a good look at what you got. You can start off with a pair of panties on, though. What kind you got on?"

"Well… well," I stuttered, "they're those bikini kind, and they're blue with little rose decorations on them."

"Are they clean?"

I was rendered speechless.

"Aw, I'll bet I offended you," he said mockingly. "Well, that's show biz. Anyway, listen. I think it would be a good idea to wear panties when you first come out, sort of tantalize them for a couple of minutes while they wonder if that blonde hair is natural, heh-heh. But, here, I want you to wear these." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pair of orange panties with black lace on them and tossed them over to me. When I looked at them, I gasped. They were crotchless like the ones I'd found at Margot's.

"I don't think I want to wear these," I summoned up enough courage to say.

"Why not, doll?" he said. "They're gonna see your snatch before you know it anyway. Wearing these'll just make it a little classier. How you do it p is go out there in these things and sort of keep your legs pressed together at first. We'll hold back the music for a few seconds so they can get a good look at you. Then when the music starts, slowly spread your legs apart so they can see what you've got between 'em. Then, while you're dancing, take 'em off."

I stood silently for a moment, contemplating the crotchless panties, and then finally had to give in to reality and agree, "I guess you're right, I guess it doesn't make any difference."

"That's the way I like to hear you talk," he said triumphantly. "Now, listen, here's the schedule. You dance for three records and then you get off and another girl takes your place. There's enough girls so that you only have to dance about once an hour. When you're dancing, do your own thing-just so long as they get plenty of good looks at your pussy, because that's what they're paying for. The dressing room is back there." He pointed toward a white door which had the word "Ladies" stenciled on it.

"But that's the restroom," I protested. "Do I have to change in there? What if someone comes in?"

He laughed. "Come on, use your noodle, kiddo. How much business do you think the ladies' restroom gets in a jackoff joint like this?"

I had to agree with his logic, and nodded my head that I understood.

"Now we're gonna have you go on right after Bertha up there is through," he went on. "The only thing we gotta do now is think up a name for you. What's your name?"

"Honeysuckle," I said.

"Terrific!" he exclaimed. "A name we don't have to change! After these guys see that blonde cunt of yours, that's one pot of honey they're all gonna wanna suck. Terrific!"