Ethel was tired of hearing how much money models make. Ethel's daughter, Margo, was 5'9" tall and a size 7. Actually Margo ate very little because she knew one day she would be a model. She would work in New York City and do either runway or photo work. Mostly runway, or fashion shoots. She was too thin to do swimsuit. Every time Margo asked her about taking modeling classes Ethel had stomach cramps. Modeling school was expensive. About $10-12,000 for a 12 week program. As a single mother, Ethel didn't have that kind of money. She wanted to buy a new car. What she needed was to find a photographer, someone to "discover" Margo. Photographers usually hung out in shopping malls. Well, actually, reputable photographers were busy shooting ads, or layouts. They weren't lurking in malls waiting for nubile nitwits.
Margo was 19 years old, and attending junior college, hoping to get an associates degree in either programming or fashion design. As a programmer she could learn Java, HTML, and a few other languages. In fashion design she could go to Paris, Milan, or worst case, New York City. Like all girls her age, she masturbated every day. Some days when her bio-rhythms were high, she'd masturbate 5-6 times a day.
Ethel, at 37 years old, was working part time as a paralegal. She worked for a criminal defense attorney, who clients were usually gang bangers or drug dealers. His name was Alfonse, or Al. She hated her job. She hoped that Margo would make some good money so she could quit her job and let Margo support her. For a quick visual, Ethel was 5'6", brunette and very curvy. She had never posed for anyone except an old boy friend in high school.
By a quirk of fate, Al called her one day with a great piece of news.
"Hey, Ethel, one of my clients got arrested for beating up his ex-wife ..."
"OK. Good for you. What does that have to do with me? "
"He's a very gentle guy. His ex had it in for him. He caught her in bed with two male strippers ..."
"I'm listening, Al ... "
"Ethel, you're always talking about Margo being discovered by a photographer. This guy is really good. I've seen his work."
"And?????"
"He's always looking for new talent. Can I tell him about Margo?"
Ethel imagined the possibilities. She could quit her crummy job.
"Sure, why not?"
Two days later, Ethel got a call from the photographer. His name was Victor. He was Russian. Victor worked with lots of models and shot for Bazaar and Vogue. But occasionally he'd submit something to Playboy, just for laughs. He knew Playboy had their own photographers.
They spoke briefly and set up an appointment for a Friday morning photo shoot. Ethel and Margo would both go to the studio on E. 66th Street. Victor told them what to bring, but also added he likes to shoot women in rags. Like ripped jeans, torn work shirts, or dresses dipped in battery acid. He specifically told Ethel not to buy any new clothes. Margo was so excited, she didn't eat for two days. Ethel brought some chocolate bars for energy, otherwise Margo would probably pass out from hunger on the set. Victor also mentioned his stylist would do their makeup.
The day for the shoot arrived. Their appointment was for 10 AM. Ethel fortified herself with two glasses of burgundy. Margo didn't drink. When they reached the studio, they were impressed by the size of it, ceilings were 15 feet high, and there were strobes, reflectors, and all kinds of lighting equipment. Victor has two assistants, two sisters who would be available during the shoot. They were Italians, who both looked like a young Sofia Loren. They had big boobs, and lots of wild hair, and looked hungry. If you know what I mean.
Margo was going to be photographed first. Maybe Victor would decide to take some shots of Ethel too. Victor explained these were "test shots", not for publication, he wanted to see what Margo had to offer. His stylist did her eye liner, and used a smattering of blush. Margo first put on a shirt that looked like it was bought at Goodwill. Or donated by a homeless man. No skirt, just a thong. Her legs were terrific, long, and toned. The shirt had two buttons missing. No bra.
Victor told her to lie down on a beat up sofa which, new, probably cost $10,000. It was a 90-inch sofa. Victor had found it in a used furniture store and paid $75 for it. The contrast was startling - a beautiful, long legged, half naked Margo posing on a trashy, discarded piece of furniture.
Victor told Margo what he wanted her to do. "Margo, I want to see motion. Don't strike poses. I do not want stiff poses. Lie on the sofa, and roll your hips. Squirm a bit, move your legs. Like you're fucking someone ..."
Margo was startled by the language. He wanted her to act like a whore. Which was OK, except that her mother was watching. She felt self conscious.
"It's OK, dear, let yourself go ..." Ethel's voice came from somewhere behind the lighting. Then Ethel added to Victor, "She has a great butt, don't forget to shoot her butt." Victor kept shooting rapidly, the strobes were popping, and Margo in her mind was fucking her favorite movie star.
"Scissor your legs slowly," Victor said. ""Get a lot of energy into your groin ..." He watched her eyes flicker, as she dry humped the sofa. Margo wished she had brought her vibrator. Victor encouraged her to be more open, more free, which Margo thoroughly enjoyed. In her heart her real self was emerging. A total slut. Ethel was getting aroused watching Margo squirm and slither on the sofa. Like an erotic snake.
