Outstripped by T.C. Avery

“Are you sure you’re cut out for this love?”
    “Yes,”
she replied, sheepishly, contradicting her outward appearance. “I need the money.”
    “OK,
let’s get on with it. Turn around. Slowly,” he shouted, gesticulating in
accompaniment to his orders. “Stop. Bend over. Hold it. Up. Turn. Hands on
hips. Push your tits together.”
    He
discussed a few finer points with the others beside him and the lady on his
left made some notes.
    “Right
you can all fuck off and I want Blondie back first. As soon as you hear the
music, I want you on stage. You can dance, use the pole, get your ‘kit’ off, whatever you want. Just carry on till I tell you to stop. We’ve
got room for three, so you might just wanna make it good.”
    Back in
the dressing room, Jody and Rachael were busy discussing the rather blunt and
unceremonious nature of it all. They had no idea what happened, but the blonde
girl came rushing in wearing just a g-string and high heels, clutching the rest
of her gear, mumbling obscenities, somewhere between sobbing and anger.
    “Next!”
Came the bellowed instructions from the main clubroom.
    The
“Circuit Girls”, in turn, both came back ‘chuffed’ to bits with their
performances. Stark naked and displaying an array of tiny
tattoos and piercings in some interesting places. They were very
comfortable in their own skins.
    “Best of
luck.” Jody said, as Rachael disappeared, to the sound of some
‘techno-disco-thumping’. Four excruciating minutes later she came back,
clutching her clothes with a look of bewilderment on her face. Jody looked at
her questioningly and, “Don’t know,” was all Rachael said, before adding, “I
haven’t got a clue. I thought it was good, but they just sat there, so, I just
don’t know.”
    The
random ‘techno-disco-thumping’ began again and Jody stood up, sharply. She
looked in the mirror, patted her hair and blew a kiss to Rachael.
    Jody
sauntered on to the stage.
    Back in
the dressing room she’d put her coat back on and now, as she, seductively,
placed one red stiletto, in turn, in front of the other she began her audition by
undoing the lightly knotted belt. She then opened the coat, dropped it off her
shoulders behind and caught the collar with one hand. She trailed it behind her
as she continued her slow, calculating swagger to centre-stage.
    She
paused in front of her allegedly discerning audience, feet apart, one hand on
hip, the other holding her coat over her shoulder.
    The boss
crossed his arms. He then crossed his straightened legs in front of him, pursed
his lips and raised his eyebrows. Jody’s white PVC nurse’s uniform was as
bright as a lighthouse in those stage lights. They thought they’d seen her
earlier, but they hadn’t seen her at all. They could see her now. She now had
command of her stage.
    Jody had
made long, long plans for this moment and there was simply no way she was going to waste her big opportunity. It was shit or
bust. All her homework and her practice, her eagerness and her scheming, all
came down to whether she could deliver the goods, for real , on the day.
    Taking
an unbelievable gamble, she threw the coat in his face, and began to move to
the music. Refraining from dancing, as such, she instead chose to writhe to the
rhythm. Her feet never moved.
    She
pouted and smouldered and belied her years and inexperience with an air of
confidence these guys had been waiting for all their professional days.
    Jody
hadn’t taken a scrap of clothing off yet, but she had them captivated,
mesmerized, drooling and waiting, impatiently, for the next thrilling
installment.
    Tantalizingly
she undid the press-studs on the front of her nurse’s tunic. When they were all
undone, she paused, waited, waited some more, then flung open the garment to the beat. She stood there, with a dirty, dirrrty smile on her face, her long slim legs apart, red
high heels towering, white coat of authority held wide and beckoning, and a
high cut, see through,