Did she quit for the Right or Wrong reasons?I am not sure.
Sixteen naked young women stared at me from a contact sheet of photographs. Some stood tall; others cocked their hips in a coy slouch. One girl with short, curly hair smiled broadly. The rest seemed to be searching for something in the camera.
I scanned through each photo, noting hair color and style. I looked for tattoos and piercings, for stretch marks and scars. I searched for the right one.
Each girl held a paper with a name scrawled on it—not in front of her, but to the side.
They didn’t want to hide their tits.
When I found the one, I circled her stage name with a red marker. Sharon. Sharon glowed with a light tan. Her hair shimmered with natural blond highlights. She smiled with her big blue eyes while her full lips curled in a faint grin. And her pale pink nipples stood pert—like perfect little gumdrops. She looked like a cheerleader. Athletic. Clean-cut. Shaved.
“Does she do anal?” I asked.
My boss rustled through some papers, and then shook his head. “No, but she does boy/girl.”
“Perfect.”
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