Noooo.... well, maybe...

Rushing out the door you can feel the letch's eyes on your ass, but tell yourself that you have to get used to it if you're going to be a stripper. As a sort of practice you put an extra roll into your hips, trying to emulate the hooker-walk you've seen in movies.

You make it as far as the corner before anything happens.

"Damn, girl, you looking fine. Want to have a go up in my place?" a black man asks, his friends laughing as you approach.

A grimace nearly breaks out before you tame it, changing it to a saucy smile. "Aw, that's so sweet, but I'm late for work. Maybe later," you wink, feeling oddly thrilled by the act.

"Damn straight. Hey, what's your phone number?" they call out after you, making you roll your eyes. Men, not too bright. Giggling a little you look back, seeing the group ogling you from the corner. Grinning to yourself you check out the front of the strip-joint, verifying that the sign is still there.

'Amateur Night - Thursdays. $100 award, free drinks' Beside it is another sign: 'Girls Wanted'

"What **** slut would want to work here permanently?" you wonder, pushing through the door.

"Hey girl," a big burly man says in greeting. Apparently he's the bouncer.

"I'm here about the sign," you say, pointing your thumb over your shoulder to the signs, still visible through the glass door.

"Oh, you're applying?"

"Well duh, what else? Amateur Night."

"But it's Frid... Ohhh... Well that's not nice, no need to be sarcastic."

"Huh?"

"You'll have to see the manager," he grumbles, good mood gone for some reason.

"What? Why?"

"What do you think? Paperwork," he says, motioning you toward a door that you hadn't noticed before because it almost blends in with the wall. Shrugging, you walk over.

"Now where today's Newspaper," the bouncer mumbles as the door closes. "Wednesday, Thursday... bingo, Friday."

On the other side of the door you walk down a short corridor with doors on the sides until you reach the stairs. Since none of the doors had names or signs on them you assume the manager is up, and grasp the hand-rail for support.

"Yeah?" a grumpy voice calls out as you knock.

"Can I come in?"

"What the hell do you think?" the man calls back, and you grimace, pushing the door open. You wince as you see the interior. It looks like what you'd imagine a pimp pad to be, with neon lights, tasteless zebra-striped carpetting, and a giant desk for an even larger black man who obviously felt that there wasn't any such thing as too much bling. To your eyes was as ugly as he was big, but you plastered a friendly smile on your face anyway. After all, you'd lose the role if you didn't audition, and if he turned you away you couldn't audition.

"So, you're here to take your clothes off and let a bunch of men fuck you," he stated.

"What?" you stared at him. "I'm here to dance. To strip."

"You gotta keep the customers happy, girl. You go all the way?"

"All the... of course," you wink, thinking of how you'll have to take everything off. "Anything to make the customer happy."

"Good attitude. I gotta see you naked first, then you'll go onstage for your audition."

Your ears perked up. This guy was in on the audition? Your smile grew broader, and although he didn't put on any music you used the song from the audition and performed a quick, but enticing, strip-tease.

"I meant, you gotta dance on stage for your audition," he said, like you weren't too bright, then continued before you could speak. "Tits are a little small. You should get implants. D or double-D, not those little C's"

"Small? They're C's, and I don't need bigger imp..."

"Ass is nice, and you work out. Plus you're young so we don't need special lighting. Yeah, I can work with this. Let's get the paperwork out of the way."

"Paperwork? For an audition?"

"What, you thought it'd be cash under the table? Gotta get your info, get it all official so the police don't hassle my ass."

"Oh. Right," you sigh. Paperwork sucks. If you'd known there'd be any paperwork in being an actress you might have reconsidered, especially when he pulls out a thick folder and plops it in front of you.

Sitting on the edge of the chair in front of his desk you lean over and bleakly stare at the pages. Try as you might to read things you never were that good at multi-tasking, and trying to read, fill out the indicated areas, and listen to someone talking has your head all muddled in no time. Being naked doesn't really help things either.

You decide to just bite the bullet and just sign where indicated, filling out things like address, phone number, bank account, and personal information where indicated. You briefly register certain words like 'consent' 'release form' and pause at something called 'limits'. Without bothering to read the paragraph above you right in 'None'. You've always been fortunate to not have any dietary limits.

"You sure about that name?" the man asks abruptly.

"Huh?"

"That's your real name, isn't it?"

"So?"

"Just asking, you sure that's what you want to write?"

Frowning, you wonder why you wouldn't. "Yes, I do," you say, wanting to keep things above-board. Obviously this guy is a little shady if he's going to ask you to use an assumed name for signing documents. Thank goodness this is just one night.

Shrugging, he takes the papers when you sign. "Now let's just put this stuff away," he says, and after dropping the paperwork into a drawer he gathers up your clothes, unlocks a side-cabinet you hadn't noticed, and shoves them inside.

"Hey, I need those..." you start to say, but he's already shaking his head.

"You don't think we provide clothes? Go down the stairs. First door on the left is the change room. Get ready to turn on a room full of horny men."

"Great," you mutter, fighting the urge to cover both crotch and breasts. The only reason you succeed is that you don't want him reporting back to the producers that you didn't act appropriately wanton.

It isn't until you're at the bottom of the stairs that you realize that he never told you his name. Shrugging it off you enter the first door on the left.