The Deviant
Star
- Joined
- May 10, 2015
Charlene Boudreaux had always been a very modest girl. She wasn't really shy, per se, just not very...open. Yes, 'modest' was a good word for Charlene.
She'd been coaxed into modeling by a friend, who insisted that Charlene's "young Dolly Parton" look with blonde hair, natural curves, and a tiny waist would sell big-time. She'd done some magazines and even a quaint little amateur runway show with an up-and-coming designer, but once she tried to pursue some bigger gigs, her manager told her she would never get any farther without "broadening her horizons" and putting what he called a "pornstar body" to good use--tastefully, of course. Charlene, understandably, was not enthusiastic about the idea. In fact, the most enthusiasm she showed involved throwing one of her magazines at her manager's head. He understood her hesitation, though, and gave her the phone number and address for a small but successful local studio operated by a talented female photographer. Charlene accepted the offer, under the condition that he'd also give her the number for a new manager once this particular portfolio was done, ensuring he wouldn't see the photos.
The 19-year-old pulled up to the studio in her black '76 Mustang, ten minutes early for the appointment she'd scheduled on the phone. She'd dressed simply in a light blue tank top and black yoga capris--easy to take off, but casual enough so that it wasn't obvious she'd be taking them off. She took the last drag off the cigarette in her hand, then put it out in her portable ash cup and stepped out of her car.
Even as she approached the door, her nerves were shot. She wondered if she should knock, or if the photographer was even there yet. She knocked on the door as firmly as her shaking hand would allow, and waited.
She'd been coaxed into modeling by a friend, who insisted that Charlene's "young Dolly Parton" look with blonde hair, natural curves, and a tiny waist would sell big-time. She'd done some magazines and even a quaint little amateur runway show with an up-and-coming designer, but once she tried to pursue some bigger gigs, her manager told her she would never get any farther without "broadening her horizons" and putting what he called a "pornstar body" to good use--tastefully, of course. Charlene, understandably, was not enthusiastic about the idea. In fact, the most enthusiasm she showed involved throwing one of her magazines at her manager's head. He understood her hesitation, though, and gave her the phone number and address for a small but successful local studio operated by a talented female photographer. Charlene accepted the offer, under the condition that he'd also give her the number for a new manager once this particular portfolio was done, ensuring he wouldn't see the photos.
The 19-year-old pulled up to the studio in her black '76 Mustang, ten minutes early for the appointment she'd scheduled on the phone. She'd dressed simply in a light blue tank top and black yoga capris--easy to take off, but casual enough so that it wasn't obvious she'd be taking them off. She took the last drag off the cigarette in her hand, then put it out in her portable ash cup and stepped out of her car.
Even as she approached the door, her nerves were shot. She wondered if she should knock, or if the photographer was even there yet. She knocked on the door as firmly as her shaking hand would allow, and waited.