Her Second Life (Strip-City)  

Posted by H in

G.'s second life really started when, after having left her home and never looked back, she began to face the difficulties of life.

Let's be honest here: it could have been way worse than what you're about to read. All in all, she got pretty lucky for a while and did not run into that much trouble. Young and alone on the street, without a job and obviously without any qualiying degree at her age, G. was not off to a good start to make it on her own. But that's how it is for many people.

Where her story differs, it's when she meets truly helpful people, who seeing a young girl on the street decided to help her out without even asking for a reward or a refund. I wouldn't say none of them didn't get any ideas at some point. But neither the independent teenagers - who were all a few years older than her - nor the bars' and pubs' managers and kind-hearted people who just lent her money (sometimes fairly big amounts at a time) forced her to pay back.

Sure she was still prety much alone and scared, without real friends, but it didn't start that bad. She didn't have to prostitute herself back then, she didn't kill anyone, nor did she start robbing banks. I guess that's a pretty darn good start, isn't it?

So our young G. is in the first half of her teens, and - guess what? - already working as a bar-tender in crappy bars in the city. Not really the sleazy and kiny bars at that point, but still. You can imagine she's really young, and either they're just dumbasses and don't figure out how old she is, or they notice she's in trouble and accept to take the risk to help her, and they're just sleazy as Hell and figure "hey, why not exploit a kid, after all the laws we have against these don't stand any ground, do they?".

But G. is not dumb and realize in a few months that it won't go like that for long, that she needs to put more distance between her and her estranged "family", and to make more cash fast. And if pool-bars and the likes won't mind hiring an early teen, for sure other people won't look twice either. And quickly, our tiny G. makes the switch from pool-bars to underground bars and night-clubs. And as night-clubs start to become part of her life-style, and that she picks up really early the tools and the tricks of trade when it comes to flirting and manipulating, it seems logical to start taking shifts in top-less bars. And from there, on clients' and managers' recommendations, she makes it to strip-clubs.

Of course tiny G. is still young, and though she makes a living - enough to get out of that city, and go to a few different countries before finding one where she can build herself a hard-shell and bury herself in a hole - she got hooked on the trendy lifestyle. You get the picture. Expensive hairdos and make-up, jewelries, some fancy and some kinky clothes to keep the vibe up when she parties or does private functions as a stripper (Beware, bachelors, Here she comes! Would you know that the girl dancing for you and maybe giving you lap-dances and hand-jobs is actually underage?? Way underage...), even some one-of-kind designer outfits, because a young girl needs to keep her self-esteem up and her mood is directly related to the attention people give her, as is her salary. So she needs a bit more money.

And still, even if you do a living from bar-tending - more or less naked - and dancing - more than less naked - the nerve of this industry resides in three letters: *TIP*. And tips do mean good service, and good service means big smile, pretty face, nice body, nice clothes, good attitude, and did I say nice body? And plastic surgery is expensive. Good thing that the world is full of sleazy private plastic surgery practices with surgeons who put ethics and the Hypocritical Oath aside if you show up at the door holding enough watermarked paper in your hands.

G. wakes up one morning with an awful pain in her chest, and as she tries to make it to the bar behind which counter she should be (not topless, this time...), she starts to make a mental note to self that maybe that she went one step too far on the road to perdition, at least for her age, and that maybe this was not worth the tips and the attention, especially considering how much it cost, the scars to remain for life (especially if you're young and stupid and don't rest while it heals), and the excruciating pain. A well, sleazy surgeons are not necessarily bad surgeons, and it works like to get a lap-dance at a strip-club: if you're not a paying that well or do not seem famous, don't expect the best service advertized on the flyer.

Hopefully (matter of point of view, obviously), a few weeks later, our poor G. starts to appreciate the reward for her efforts. She's still in the first half of her teens, and now a private and public stripper with lovely augmented breast, a killer half-angelic half-devilish smile, and a body that would make you go crazy and not care at all that she might not be as old as she looks like, or as you tell yourself she looks like. Money flows in.

And still flows out. Because the infernal and vicious circle of lust and luxury just got started. What used to be the occasional joint becomes a routine, with additional accessories. Bongs appear, roommates grow, and pot is now more of a lifestyle or a continuous escape than a timely pleasure.

And because money keeps flowing out but G. knows where to find it, she moves to bigger cities. Bigger bars, bigger tips, more clients, more demand for mature-looking underage breast-augmented girls. And bigger bars to go out and spend the money, more drugs, and at the same time more generous managers who don't care when the cocaine is on the house when the doors close. Fancier clothes, less private parties, and some time to just live the high-life, the one with stars, strass, the fully-loaded jetset and the designer clothes.


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