The (first) Time I Visited LA- Part II

I had a very early pick up time from my hotel that next morning.  If I remember right, Bart picked me up around 6:30 to drive me to Venice.  Typically the girls coming into shoot for them were shooting only for them, so in another case he’d have to take me to the airport.  But at that point, I was happy to be shooting for another magazine.  And I was ready for another new and exciting experience.  So we started our journey to Venice Beach, CA.

When we got there, it was far too early for even the “Early Check-In”.  But Bart, being the stern, scary man that he was, convinced them that I needed my room RIGHT THEN or he’d be reporting to corporate.  So guess what?  There was a room after all.  The hotel was so small with only 20 rooms.  So I understood the problem.  But I was happy to get into a room.  The next person would pick me up at 9am, so I had little time to get my stuff together.  But I work better when I’m on a time crunch, so it was no problem.

When he arrived, I met him in the lobby with my tiny bag of wardrobe.  He looked at me and said.

“Are you sure you have everything?  Most girls come with one or two giant bags full”

“And most girls aren’t coming from bum-fuck Oklahoma without a clue what they’re doing”

“You’d be surprised, honey.  Let’s hit it!”

Ew.  Honey?  Never been called that by a John Leguizamo look-alike before.

Even when I look back on this today, all I can picture is him being John Leguizamo.   I cannot remember what he actually looked like.  It’s funny how the brain relates to unfamiliar situations.

We began our trip to the location, which was all the way up towards Simi Valley.  Now that I understand more of LA, I do not get why they put me all the way down in Venice just to come all the way back up to where I already was.  But whatever.

On the way there, he asked me all about my tits and why I got them.  How big they were before and could he please see them now?  Before everyone else.  I was so absolutely freaked out by this guy.  It wasn’t the questions he was asking- well… except for maybe the last-  but it was the way he was asking.  Like a nervous old man or something.  I can say that I honestly wished I had been going to the airport that morning, but I held out hope that he was a rare creep among the crew.  I really wanted this day to hurry and end.

The location was absolutely beautiful.  The house was giant and decorated to the hilt.  It was exactly how I’d imagined an LA home to be.  I was in love.  I walked through the house with my one small bag until I found the kitchen.  There was a model there before me in the makeup chair.  I couldn’t see her face because of the direction of her chair, but I could see that she had a huge rack by the side titty sticking out of her robe.  I wondered if she got the same harassment I did from the creepy guy.

“Hi, honey.  I’ll be with you when I’m done with her.  Just put on your robe for me and relax”

Said the makeup artist.

“Oh.  I don’t have a robe.  I wasn’t told to bring one.”

“Well you shouldn’t have to be told.  You’re a model.  It’s common sense to bring one to shoots so you don’t have panty and bra marks all over your body.  Just sit in the makeup chair naked, I guess.”

Well.  She went from nice to cunt in no time, didn’t she?!

So I sat there naked.  Waiting.  Totally intimidated and self conscious about my body.  The other girl was gorgeous, and a pro.  I was not in the right place, it felt.

Come time for her to do my makeup, let’s just say I wasn’t all too thrilled to make small talk with this lady.  But I could tell she was a chatter from her conversation with the other model.  And nonetheless, she started asking me questions.  And I thought to myself

She’s gonna feel like a real asshole when I tell her I’m just a contest winner and flew in from Oklahoma just for this.

Sure enough, when she got to the question “How long have  you been doing this?  Have we shot you before?”  I got to tell her!  And sure enough, it felt damn good.

“Oh!  HAHA!  No WONDER you didn’t bring everything you’re supposed to.  I thought you were just another unprepared model.  You know, no one takes this stuff seriously anymore.”


“Oh.  Well.  That’s a shame.”

I had this woman 4 inches from my face for about an hour, and it was the most uncomfortable hour.  I kept thinking to myself how nice everyone back home is, no matter what.  It’s like a different attitude back home.  Not everyone is so dang defensive.  I also kept thinking of how nice and comforting the last makeup girl was.  Maybe this woman was just bitter.  Who knows.

So I was done with make up (Thank the good LORD), and it was time for wardrobe.  I showed the camera man what I had and he immediately sent me into their wardrobe room.  I’d never seen so many dirty clothes before.  And I’m not talking about someone needing to do the laundry.  So many choices and only a few that were actually flattering on me.  It was at that time that I decided maybe 8 silver bullets per night wasn’t the best diet for me.  I had to work out, too.

All my photo sets were outside.  It was January and I was melting in the sun, it felt.  But really nothing like Oklahoma humidity.  Everyone was very amused by my story, and we talked about it the whole time we were shooting. It made me feel good to talk about it.  And it took my mind off of Cranky-Pants McGee the makeup girl.  ALSO- it took my mind off of the other girl with the perfect bod and boobs that was shooting just behind me in the pool.  The girl was Shay Laren, they later told me.  Didn’t mean anything to me then, but it did later when I got more into the bizz and saw her again at another shoot.  But that’s for another story.

The sets were a lot longer, and a lot more intricate then my first shoot.  I was fully nude, and sticking fingers inside myself for several different poses.  I was oddly fine with all that.  It wasn’t as uncomfortable as that lady made me feel.  And I was really liking the freedom and carelessness of it all.  It also didn’t hurt that these guys were complimenting parts of my body that my husband never knew existed.  Hell I never knew they existed.

When it was time for lunch, I was feeling really good.  I was at ease, I felt that my pictures looked good, and I was getting along with everyone.  We had pastas from a local restaurant delivered and we breaked for about an hour.  The owner of the company, not the magazine, but the company hired to shoot the photos, came to eat lunch with us.  He was nice.  Critical, but nice.

When I was done with lunch, I had to get a touch up for my makeup.  Then I sat by the pool and put my feet it.  I was naked with only a towel around me.  I was waiting for them to finish so we could pick out the next outfit.  I had just laid back on my elbows and I hear…

“Oh my god!  Get out of the sun.  Are you kidding me?  I just touched you up and your makeup is going to just melt right off!!”

I have had enough of this woman.

But I didn’t fire back the way I should’ve.  I hate confrontation more than anything, so I just said

“Oh I’m really sorry.  I never sweat, but I wasn’t aware that you used would come off that easily.”

And no matter what it took, for the rest of the day I would NOT talk to that woman.  I’d never in my life been talked to by someone who didn’t even know me like that.

A few more sets later, it was time to go.  Everyone had packed up and left, but I had to wait for the crew to finish up so they could take me all the way back to Venice.  They complained the whole time about why they’d put me there instead of somewhere in the Valley.  I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at all the planes in the sky.  I remember thinking to myself that I’d never seen so many planes in the sky at one time.  And I also remember thinking that the next day I’d be on one to go home.  And I was very relieved.


The (first) Time I visited LA- Part I

The night before I left, we had a mini send-off dinner at our new house. In attendance, besides he and I, were his parents, his mom’s parents and his mom’s twin sister. We were a lot closer with his family than we were mine. One of the reasons being that they all lived so close and mine lived about 25 miles away. The other reason being they were like the family I never had. I mean sure, they had their drama just like everyone else. But the level of acceptance and attention they had for one another was different than mine. We’ll get into that at another time.

We had the grill fired up and the steaks marinating. His mom and her mom were in charge of making the fries because they made THE BEST fries (which I learned from them), and we had all the coors light that 7 people could possibly drink. If you couldn’t tell by now, we were fans of the Silver Bullet. It was the perfect send off. We talked about how they remembered me from working at “The Dog”, and how much I’ve changed since then. Somewhere in-between I’d started dying my hair blonde. Also, I’d made enough money at the car lot to provide myself with new tits. I’d saved up some commission money just 2 months in to working there. So yeah, I was totally different. His dad and grandpa told me that if this is what I wanted to do, I should go for it. They would in no way judge me or turn their noses up. His mom, a tad on the competitive side, decided that she looked pretty good and she’d send some pics in to the magazine, too. She was sure she’d get in.

That morning, going to the airport, I can’t tell you that I was sad to leave my husband behind. I wasn’t even sure if I were going to miss him. It would, however, be the first time we’d ever been away from each other in the 2 1/2 years we’d been together. I wasn’t even sure how he really felt about it. He was so reserved and passive that all of his comments on the matter seemed to be forged.


It’s pretty cool.

Kinda crazy.

Hope you don’t get a ‘stick tooticky’ for someone new

All sorts of short, distant comments like that. They sometimes made me wonder if he even wanted me to pose nude at all. In some ways it seemed like he was cool with it, and in some ways it seemed like he was almost embarrassed. And yes, “sticky tooticky” was a phrase he used very often.

I don’t really remember much after that. Just getting off the plane in Burbank where you exited the plane to go outside instead of a gate. Then you had to walk into the airport. That was pretty neat to me as I’d never seen that before. It was so sunny and nice. Especially for January. I had just come from much colder weather, so I was thrilled.

I would shoot for Easy Rider Magazine first. So it was arranged that the chief editor would pick me up from Burbank airport. When I first saw him, it was like he walked right out of my imagination. I’d pictured a tall, bald, strong looking guy to escort me to the company vehicle. And that’s pretty much exactly what happened. Except he used his own car. A truck, actually.

Our first stop was at the Daily Grill right across from the airport. I guess he took all the “models” there, and I was sure glad because I was starving.

He began asking me questions. Questions I thought were personal, but for some reason didn’t mind answering. He asked what my husband thought. So I told him. He asked what my family thought. So I told him they were weary, and didn’t know many details. He then told me that if it’s a one time thing for me, then great. If I plan to try to do more, then it’s important that I have a strong support system. Then, he asked if I wanted to pursue this as more of a career.

A career? Have I given it that much thought? I just wanted to see how this went, and then maybe I’d think of it.

So I told him pretty much that. And that’s when he said it. Right there in the middle of the Daily Grill while he was shoveling down his french dip.

“You know. Print work will only get you so far. If you want the quick fame and good money, Porn is where it’s at for you. Trust me kid, I’ve been doing this for a long time”

I’m sure I was silent for a good five minutes after that. Then I busted out with:

“Wow. What kind of support system would you need if you were to take it that far?

That’s pretty classic, Ash. Sarcasm to hide your bashfulness.

He told me that it was a choice I’d have to be very sure about making. For obvious reasons. But then, I think he sensed my fresh-off-the-plane-from-oklahoma naivety and he backed off from the porn talk. At least until I’d bring it up again.

The drive to the hotel seemed like forever. We’d be driving all the way from Burbank to Oxnard. Along the way, I asked him about the pricing of some of the houses and kept comparing everything to Oklahoma. I think he was getting annoyed. I started thinking to myself that this guy probably doesn’t care too much about the differences of cost of living from California to Oklahoma. So I thought I’d talk about him for a while.

“So what kind of Bike do you have? Man that works for a motorcycle magazine has to have one or three, right?

He chuckled. He told me that he just had bought a Sportster (which I thought was a bit small for a man of his size) and he rides with a “club” almost every sunday. He said it was the best thing about his life besides his daughter who he only saw 30% of the time. I understood. My father in law was the president of a club that were affiliates to the black and white. I knew all the rules and sanctity of the patch. My husband was in it for a while, but by the grace of god he got out of it before it got too violent. My father in law, however, did not.

We talked a little more about the club he rode with, but wasn’t patched up with, and I told him a little about what I knew. But, as a former ALMOST “Property Of”, I knew that I had to keep my mouth shut at all costs. Big or small.

When we got to the hotel it was pretty standard procedure. He checked me in and walked me up. In the room, I called my husband and talked to him for hours. I told him all about the lunch conversation and the conversation about who he rode with. I wish I could give out more info. But I’m saving all the juicy stuff for the book.

That next morning, it was go time. He picked me up around 8am and took me to get breakfast. Then he took me to the shop where the photo shoot would take place.

There’s no turnin’ back now!

Everything was all set up with lights and a giant white screen/backdrop to park the bike and take the pictures on/in front of. Reality set in, and suddenly I felt more at ease. The make up artist kept commenting me on my eyelashes and complexion. That made me feel really good. I asked her all about herself, too. I like hearing people’s stories. I think that helped put me at ease, too.

After I was all done up, we would start fully clothed. I met the creator of the custom bike I’d be posing with. He was incredibly nice, and covered in ink. He brought his new puppy dog with him. I absolutely loved that little dog. It was a black and white boston terrier. It was so new to him, that he hadn’t named it yet. I posed with him and the dog a few times, too. That was very grounding for me. It made the experience feel more real, if that makes sense. To know that there was normalcy, besides just the act of getting naked. Which trust me, got really comfortable very quick. I think that the fact that it was a professional setting with a professional crew made me a bit more comfortable than doing it in my house. You’d think it’d be the opposite. But to me, it seemed a little bit more legit.

As I said, we started fully clothed and I’d work them off slowly. Well, just my top. It wasn’t a fully nude shoot. I posed on top, in front, behind. The crew and myself made jokes and laughed the whole time and it was a pretty pleasant experience. I was so comfortable in my own skin that I surprised myself. Aside from needing to work out a little, I wasn’t ashamed at all of being nude. In fact, I found it very liberating and freeing. Plus I loved motorcycles. So I was altogether happy about the day. I couldn’t wait to call home and tell him everything. I wasn’t sure what kind of feedback I’d get. But he was the only person I had to tell. And he was going to get an earful!

After it was over, we ate a late lunch. They ordered a giant sub and we enjoyed it in the office of the shop. He’d then take me to the hotel to rest and clean up before taking me to a dinner on the pier. To this day, I can’t remember what pier it was. I was so unfamiliar with the area back then. Dinner was good, and we talked more about his daughter and a little bit more about where he came from. As I said, I like to know people’s story. I felt I had to bring up the porn subject again. It wasn’t something I could just let go.

“Say, for instance, if one wanted to explore their options, where would they start?”

I had to ask. I had no serious or pressuring desire to do porn at the time. But just as any young, new to the game, girl would be, I was super curious.

He told me that I’d need to do my research and find an agent. Then the agent would give me all the details, if they were interested in working with me.

I had a lot to think about that night. My first photo shoot, my first trip to LA, my first porn talk. There were a lot of firsts. And the next morning would be my first completely nude shoot. My mind was racing, to say the least.

The (first) Time I posed Nude

Bart and Sissy were alright people. They were business owners, parents, hard workers, and they dreamed big. I always liked that in a person- to have ambitions. Bart was a bit younger than she was. She was also previously married to Bart’s oldest brother who was killed in a car accident by a drunk driver. The loss brought them close. So close, in fact, they were married and had two kids of their own. So now there were six of them, because she had two kids with his oldest brother before he passed. Hope that wasn’t so hard to follow.

They had nice cars, a nice house, and their kids were very well taken care of. They told me of this idea to have a magazine that would start revolving around Oklahoma’s entertainment news (there wasn’t much at that time), hottest women, etc. They discussed this idea with us several times, and asked me to model for them as their first girl and promised me the cover. Considering that every thing they’d previously done had been somewhat of a success, I found it to be an alright thing to do. They were good friends, and I like helping people out.

I thought my guy would discourage it. Instead he suggested I may try to loose a few of the extra “comfort” pounds I had gained since we married. Now, that may sound a little asshole-like, but it was true. I did get a bit comfortable. I think my highest weight was 135. Which by all means is NOT fat!! But for me, on my little 5’2-on-a-good-day frame, it was a lot. After working out every day for 9 plus years for cheerleading then suddenly stopping, my muscles went in to freak out mode and had no choice but to turn into lovely Coors Light love handles.

There was no time for me to attempt to lose the weight. They were ready to start immediately.

I can do it. After a few beers, I’ll be comfortable to do it. No big deal.

We sat aside a saturday evening to do this. We would shoot it at my house which I loved dearly, but really didn’t think it was suitable for it. But hey what did I know? That morning I cleaned really good. Part because of nerves, part because my house always had to be as clean as a sterile hospital. As I cleaned, my husband went to the store and bought a couple of 20 packs of Coors Light bottles, and some food for after it was over. I showered, fixed my hair, and did my makeup. And let me tell ya something, I am not skilled that department now. Imagine how much of a novice I was then.

I thought I was looking pretty good. I dug out some of my old Red Dog uniforms, most of which no longer fit my new figure, and laid them out for us to choose from.

When they got there, I was very distant. I remember everyone (but me) unloading the truck full of lights, gear and camera equipment. I’d never seen anything like that before, and thought that Bart was right. He talked her up because she really does know her stuff. That eased the nerves a tad bit, but they still kept jokingly telling me to relax and loosen up. That I’ll be great and it’s not that big of a deal. Even my husband was trying in his own way to be encouraging, which was nice.

As she sat up her stuff in my tiny living room, she figured out that there was only one shootable wall, and I’d be against it pretty much all night. The boys left us to ourselves and sat outside in the garage with the door open to the neighborhood and chatted it up. Sissy tried to ease my nerves a little more. She wasn’t doing as good of a job as that third or forth beer, though.

And just like that, it was go time. I stood, probably stone cold expressionless, posing for her camera. I thought I was looking good, but the more pictures she snapped off, the more I relaxed. And the more I relaxed, the more I realized how bad the earlier pictures must have looked.

She was a smoker, so about every 30 minutes we’d break so she could light up. I’d throw on a robe, grab a new ball player, and join them in the garage. She took her camera out with her every time to show Bart what she’d gotten so far. Which I thought at first was kind of weird. Then I thought

Oh hell, Ash, they’re in business together. Of course she’d show him.

He seemed very pleased with what he was seeing. Overly pleased actually. And she had MUCH pleasure showing him. I was leaning more toward my first instinct after a couple of comments and eyebrow raises were made.

After one of many breaks like this (and about 2 hours into it), she felt the need to show me a magazine. She pulled out a nudey mag that I’d never seen, only passed in the gas station from time to time. As she flipped through it, I got so uncomfortable.

Oh my god. She’s going to ask me to do THAT. I just know it. I can’t do that.

These girls had huge toys inside of them. And I, frankly, was just not ready for all that.

But she didn’t ask me to do those things. She flipped all the way to the back of the magazine to a section that featured amateur photos, and a contest to win to be in the magazine if you’re voted for. She then tells me that she sees a lot of potential in me and really thinks we should take some shots to send to this magazine. I’d have a real shot, and she’d get a piece of the money, too.

AH what the hell. I actually enjoy this! Let’s see what happens.

I told her. And for the rest of the night I had a new found confidence, like I was working for something, or well… trying to win something.

After we were done and my little living room was put back to normal, we all enjoyed a few more cold brews and some food. Well, every one but Sissy. She refused to drink a drop after the accident if she were to be driving. And no one can blame her for that. I actually admired it and felt her hurt all at the same time.

The shoot took place in september of 2005. She sent the pics in to two different magazines (Gallery and Easy Rider), and we didn’t hear anything back. Not for what seemed like forever anyways.

After Christmas shopping one cold night in December the husband and I stopped at the Olive Garden for dinner. I had just gotten my delicious alfredo dipping sauce when Bart called my cell.

You’ve got to go right now and get the Gallery Magazine. Your picture is in the back for the contest, and they gave you the most space.

I told my husband that as soon as we’re done we’re doing two things. 1-getting the magazine. 2-celebrating.

When we got home with the plastic wrapped magazine, I was excited and nervous all at the same time. But that’s normal. Who wouldn’t be. Here you hold a publication of your first EVER nude photos for the public to see. It’s nerve wracking.

I flipped all the way to the back and low and behold there I was. In all my naked, sort of tanned, needed to hit the treadmill, glory. I really didn’t know what to say or do. And all he could say was

Yep. That’s you.

Yep. That was me. A version of me anyways. And we’d hear back that I won the contest that next month.

By then we’d moved from the little house into a big nice house. I kept the first one to rent out and have as an investment property. But this new house was GREAT. Wish we had it for the photo shoot. There wouldn’t have had to be so many close ups!

I got the call from 2 magazines in one day in Janruary. The other didn’t hold a contest, just saw the pics and wanted me to model on one of their featured custom bikes. I arranged to come out for 6 days and shoot for both of the companies in one trip. This was my first trip to LA, and my first experience shooting for “legit” magazine companies. I tried really hard to get into shape and have my hair looking good.

Those two magazines were Easy Rider and Gallery. Every once in a while, a wonderful fan will surprise me with one of these to sign. How on earth they knew it was me is beyond me. I used my real name, “Ashley”, and looked totally different. But hey- I’m not complaining. That was the start of something very cool for me. And what would take place on that trip would just start the new phase.

Here’s a link to the gallery magazine! I was the July 2006 girl!

The Time I Ran the Used Car Lot

**Names were changed in the story for privacy protection**

A few months of a bit of withdrawal went by. It was sort of hard adjusting to not making all that money to pay for the nice house we had, among other things that teenagers think that have to spend money on. I was still working at the car wash that my dad managed and going to school part time. Don’t worry. What happened with my dad blew over quickly. He had no room to judge me for anything considering his past. And we were still trying to work out all the things he had done. So, there was an understanding met very fast.

Thursday was always a busy day for us at the car wash. Usually because of one guy in particular. That was the day of the Dealers Auto Auction. A near by used car dealership owner would bring all his winnings to the wash to be cleaned, made to look like they’re acceptable cars (when he really bought them on the yellow or red light), and put on the front line. It was quite entertaining. Him, his mechanic, his wife, and his wife’s parents would all bring cars in. One by one. Until all of them were washed. On his good days, he’d bring 15-20 cars.

This started before I even began working there, and was by far my favorite day. Everyone else, including my dad, would get very annoyed with him because he was very picky, very impatient, and very moody. Therefore- Ashley to the rescue. I’d always swoop in and handle the writing up of his tickets. Each car was unique in the way that some needed more help than others. But all were pretty much clunkers, regardless. It quickly got to the point that he wouldn’t let anyone else help him but me. And as soon as his cars were all done, I’d call him up and let him know.

I felt really appreciated knowing that someone like him, with all these responsibilities, could (and wanted only to) rely on someone as young as me.

On a thursday soon after I quit “The Dog”, Larry comes pulling into the lot in his find o’ the day. It was a Cadillac Seville, hunter green, and, by the way, his favorite car to buy. I can’t tell you how many Cadi’s got stuck on the track that this man brought in. Anyways, here he comes. Every one scatters like it’s Billy The freakin’ Kid coming to collect or something. So he and I stood in the lane, alone, not really any different than any other time, and that’s when he says to me

“So. I hear that you had a bit of a stint working at one of those ‘titty clubs'”

I was absolutely thrown back. Let me tell you- besides being the most well known car dealer on that side of town, he was also the most well known preacher. That’s right, man of the lord and Evangelist to the fullest.

“Well, Larry, I’m not quite sure how you could possibly know that. But yeah. But I’m done with that, now”

Just at that moment he hands me a card, and his brood of “helpers” came pulling in with his other purchases.

“If you’re any good with computers, and are interested in coming by and seeing if you could help me out, give me a call. I really need some help around the lot. And I think you could use some help, yourself, young lady”

And he walks off to guide the cars into their places.

In a matter of days, I gave the old guy a call. I went by one friday and gave the place a look. He was so not kidding when he said he needed the help. And not kidding about me needing it, either.

The lot was alright in size. Probably a quarter of an acre total. The front part was used for the cars to be displayed, and the back behind the old wooden fence for parts. Also in the back were a lot of building supplies. He went on to tell me that he was remodeling, and could really use a “young eye” to make the place look clean and inviting to customers. It REALLY needed it. There was a tiny building in the middle of the lot that served as the office. If you could call it that. It was about 15ft long by about 15ft wide. Not total, that was just the only usable space. There was a door that led to the back space that had a step down. It was an absolute mess back there. Cluttered to the hilt with boxes of papers, random furniture and a tiny path that led to this little bathroom in the far back corner.

Larry, about 5’4 and as wide as he was long, explained to me that he intended on getting the office fixed with new paint, carpet, furniture.. ya know.. all the good office stuff. But first he really needed someone to get his mess in order. I asked what exactly I’d be doing, and he told me I’d be filing his taxes, putting inventory into the computer and watching over the lot while he was gone.

Okay so let me get this straight-

I watch the lot, do some computer work, help him clean up. No problem. He told me my hours would be 10am to 5pm Monday through Friday. And maybe the occasional saturday. He’d start me off at $250.00/week and if by chance I sold a car while he was gone, I’d get 10% of that sale.

SOLD!! I put my two weeks in at the car wash, and mid February of 2004 I became the office assistant at a used car lot. He made me cards and everything.

My hours wouldn’t allow me to still go to school. So I stopped taking courses, and told myself that I could always take online courses should I ever want to further my education.

The morning I started, he called my cell when I was on my way in. The key, he said, was left under the mat.

Just go on in and get started.

He told me.

Sure. Piece of cake.

It was such a cold day. February is not Oklahoma’s finest month in terms of weather. I was wearing black pants and a black and white striped long sleeved shirt with a v-neck. I wore a coat, but I remember it wasn’t a warm enough coat as I wasn’t anticipating not having heat in that tiny building. He did supply a tiny floor heater that I had NO LESS than 2 feet from me at all times. He had a radio on the office, too. So I turned that on to a soft rock channel, and off I went.

My first order was to organize the inventory. I decided that all the cars in our possession needed to be documented and accounted for 3 different ways. In writing in a notebook, on the computer in an “excel” type program and they each needed files with inventory number, VIN number, etc to put receipts in for the money spent on the vehicles to make them sellable. Including receipts from my old work place.

It took me probably 2 months to get this system down, but when I did it was fool-proofed and it worked fine for our small operation. I also got a lot of the clutter down in the back so that this man could finish the office and get me some HEAT! I filed all his taxes in a VERY organized manner. What he did with them after that, I do not know and kind of don’t want to.

Months went by, and slowly I started selling the cars. I could sell anything to anyone. I like to think it was because I was very honest, nice, and personable. It really threw them for a loop when they were looking at our cars and this young lady would walk out with a bright smile. Most shoppers expect different when shopping at used car lots, and I heard that everyday.

I wasn’t earning big bucks, but this place had potential. And for that point in my life, potential is just what I needed. My best friend and I were ready to not live together anymore. Not because we got into any fights. But she met the love of her life, and I had met someone. We were just ready to move on to the next point. I wanted to live closer to work so me and my boyfriend moved into a little house just 3 miles from there, which was a lot closer than the previous 20 I had been driving. And she got a small place on the other side of town. She was still stripping and working at Applebee’s if you wondered.

Living closer was a lot of relief. I was able to get there earlier and get things done before the crowd came in. Larry was never there. I was running things alone about 80% of the time. The time he spent there was like a whirlwind when he’d come in. He’d move things out of their place and tear the whole office apart. Finally I had to tell him.

When we get the new carpet and I get my new desk, you’re going to just have to leave things be. I work hard to keep everything organized and you come in like a tornado and mess it all up. So I’ll have my desk, you’ll have yours in the back. And if ya need something, just ask me.

I made it a point to say it right in front of his wife, who was there more often than he was and also who I’d grown sort of close to. She was there a lot asking me questions about my life. She sort of tried to mentor me. She was interesting to say the least. But had good intentions.

We’d all go to lunch together (me, him, his wife, and her parents) a lot. But on occasion, they wouldn’t be available, and he and I would go by ourselves while we were out running errands. We formed a pretty strong friendship in that I felt like I could open up to him a little about my life.

In time, I would tell him ideas I had for the lot and that I’d like to see about making more money. He was always very open to the idea. But this was 7 years ago. It seems like such a short time ago that our economy wasn’t that bad yet, and we were making enough money for the lot that he didn’t mind helping me out. I would eventually top out at $450/week with commission from the cars I sold retail (I sold a lot wholesale, too, but for mere pennies more than cost of the car so I wouldn’t get paid for those). I’d sometime sale 2 or 3 cars a week. So if I remember correctly, there were weeks that I’d bring home $1250/week. I also started a special financing program. I was in close with local financing companies that would finance anyone as long as they had a job for 2 years, and a ID. That helped us somewhat to move a few more cars. Not bad for a young Oklahoma girl.

I was eventually able to buy a house. With my boyfriend of course. Larry paid me in cash, always, so he had to write me a note for the lenders as proof of income. And that worked just fine.

While living in our new home, my significant other (a welder) hurt himself on the job. He was off work, unpaid, for a year before his worker’s comp case was even accepted. And then another several months before he’d start getting a check. So for all that time, I was supporting the household on the monies I made from that tiny car lot. There was only one car payment, which was his, because I would just drive home cars from the lot. There was his motorcycle payment also, and then the usual utilities, household needs, food, dog stuff. You know how it works, I’m sure.

At the lot, I became the System Administrator. All decisions, finances, cars bought at the auction, cars we had on consignment, wholesale deals, parts that needed to be ordered, and what we were eating for lunch, wentthrough me! I started this job when I was 18. And by the time I was 20, I had it all under my little finger.

I was very happy at the car lot. So happy that I went on to get my dealer’s license and was able to go to the auction to help with some of the purchasing. He and I didn’t agree on a purchasing strategy. He wanted to buy everything on the Red or Yellow light which meant this:

Yellow Light: Runs alright, needs some mechanical help, might have some dings, not that great of shape.

Red Light: You might be pushing that mother home, but it’s only $500.00

Me, I liked the green light. Nice clean cars, great shape, not a THING to do to them before I could put those stickers on them and stick right up front of lot proudly. Because that was part of my job, too, sometimes. Arranging the cars on the lot so they caught attention and faced the oncoming traffic just right.

At the end of the summer 2005, I decided that I was just going to take a couple weeks off. Just to vaca, and breath. I was under some stress with having to take care of the whole house, and Larry agreed that I really needed it. He knew the situation, and tried to help as much as he could.

He of course would need to hire someone to be there when I was gone. But when I came back, my replacement didn’t seem to want to leave. He convinced Larry to let him stay on to help with some of the sales. Yeah, as if there were a lot. We had a 30 car inventory, dude. So of course, right off the bat I had my eye on this guy. He was dippin’ in my kool-aid and I didn’t like that. But aside from that, he really creeped me out. He would sit there at the car lot staring out the window with his sunglasses on. He never took them off, ever. At this point, it was like someone had just shut the window on our business. It literally happened that fast. All the sudden the only business we were doing was wholesale, selling to Car-Mart. And there were no more $1250.00 weeks. This guy, who I would give you his real name if I remembered, was just annoying me. Just sitting there with me, waiting to jump on the first person who pulled up.

After some time with this guy, I started noticing something strange about the stories he would tell me. First of all, I would go on his computer every night when he left and check his history. He had “a thing” for two things. Big Beautiful Women, who had to be 500lbs or more, and men. Black men. I would tell Larry and at first we would just laugh. To each their own. And the Preacher was shockingly very accepting of that phrase. Hmm. Then he told me a story of how he once stole a baby tiger from a near by facility when he used to live in southern Oklahoma. He built it a barn to live it’s life in, and taught it to fish in the stream on the back of their property. He told me the story one friday. And over the weekend, I had time to brew up some doozies. I’m nosey like that. So the next Monday I started asking him of this pet, and how he was able to raise it, what he fed it. And from Friday to Monday, the man had NO CLUE what I was talking about! Talk about a red flag. Also, from Friday to Monday, he had met a girl at a bar. He was so fond of said girl, that she came to work with him everyday that week, and wasn’t allowed to leave his side one time. She was actually pretty pleasant. And if you’re wondering, she didn’t weigh very much.

That next Friday, Larry had a talk with him in the parking lot. I don’t know what all was said, but the guy was mad. VERY mad! He stormed off and that was the last we saw of him.

It wasn’t the last we heard of him though. About a month later I was sitting at the car lot alone. Nothing unusual there. A blacked out SUV pulled into drive, and 3 men in suites got out. They walked in and looked the place up and down, touching things (pissed me off… you know how I like things were I put them). They asked how I was doing as two of them sat in the chair situated in front of my lovely big huge desk that I loved.

Ma’am. What do you know about Mr. ____ _____? We’re trying our best to find him. We fear he’s dangerous.

I mean…. do they wanna know everything I know. Because I’m not sure that’s appropriate. But hell if he’s dangerous I might as well spill it!

So I told them

He hasn’t worked here in about a month. And he only worked here for about a month, so I didn’t really get to know him that well. And to be honest, I wasn’t trying to. I do know that he thoroughly enjoyed looking at “niche type” porn during work hours, and last I know he had a girlfriend that wasn’t allowed to leave his side. Hence my weariness of him.

Was that saying too much? Oh well.

They apparently didn’t find anything of much importance because they left. They told me if I hear from him to please follow up with them.

When Larry came to the office I told him about the visit. I told him that he made me very uncomfortable from the get go, and really wanted to know what that visit was all about. So Larry, being just as nosey as I am, called the number on the card the detectives left on my desk.

After a brief conversation with them, he hung up to tell me that my hunch was right. He had beaten that woman he met at the bar almost to death. He had knocked her bottom jaw across the room, and beat her with what they think was a bat. And he had gone missing.

Larry didn’t leave me at the car lot alone for a long time after that. If he couldn’t be there, he’d send someone to sit with me. And if no one was available, my guy would come up and hang out with me. Guess it’s true that your first instinct about someone is usually always the truest.

At home, my guy had become my fiance. He had a lot of time to himself being that he hadn’t worked in a long while. He had always been very artistic and creative, so he started practicing tattooing and became good friends with the local body piercing shoppe owner. He’d come to the house on the weekends and drink beer. He’d bring his wife who never drank to be his DD. Naturally, as the beer started stimulating us, we’d all get to talking about things. The guy, Bart, mentions that he’s going to start a local magazine showcasing Oklahoma finest ladies. His wife, Sissy, would be the photographer, and he talked her up to be pretty good.

I agreed to be their first model, and they promised to put me on the cover. And what happened after that would change my life forever.

The Time I Started Stripping

I’m going to be giving you guys a lot of back stories.  A- because they’re fun.  B- because I think it will help you figure out the real me, and where I’ve been in this crazy little life.  This is the story about how I started stripping (as if you had trouble reading the title).  And keep in mind, one thing always leads to another.  And if I leave a hole in the story, it’s because I will elaborate on that part of it somewhere in the future.

So there I was.  The year was 2003.  I had just graduated that May from Choctaw High School.  There were 596 kids in my class.  And of them, I ranked number 295.  Brilliant, I know.   When I walked across that stage I was 17 years old.  I was wearing a cute little black and white tube top dress and a red cubic necklace and earring set that my mom bought for me.  They were actually very beautiful.  Wish I still had them.

My best friend and I had been planning to get a place together all along, but I wouldn’t turn 18 until that following August.  So that summer seemed like an eternity.  Just as it would any teenager awaiting the departure from nest to… well… new nest.

She had been working at Applebee’s waiting tables, and I was working at a car wash on the north side with my dad.  He was the manager, I needed a job, we just became friends again… and so on.  So we had been saving a little bit of money from our jobs to get this place together.

When time got closer, we put our money together to see what we had.

Well… this is just not enough.  We’ve got to do something else, because I will not stay at my grandparent’s house a day past 18!

And I meant that.  Every word.

You know.  We could make a killing working at a club.  Stripping.  We could afford a nice house and nice cars.  AND MORE!

One of us geniuses said.  Doesn’t really matter which one because we basically shared a brain.  Scary.

On my 18th birthday, August 14, 2003, was the first time I had ever stepped foot into a strip club.  I’ll never forget that smell.  You all know what I’m talking about.  Wet cigarette smoke, stale beer, nasty carpet and cheap fucking parfume.  Happy Birthday to me!

We walked in, and went straight to the back.  The manager’s name was Louis.  He was perched up on this stool at the end of the bar.  He had a black money lock box sitting next to him.  He was a big man.  I’m talking 4 bills at least!  I figured he didn’t move from that stool much.  I’d later find out that I was correct.

So there we sat, filling out our applications.  Every once in a while I’d sneak a secret peak at the ladies on the stage.  We went in the middle of the day, by the way, so you can only imagine the “talent” that graced the stage.  I was thinking,

Shiiiiiit I can do THAT!  Or can I?  What if I’m worse than that?  What am I doing?  Oh well, already gave him your ID to copy.  Keep going!

So we finished our apps and he asked when we could start.  He proceeded to tell us that he had amateur night on Wednesday which also doubled as quarter beer night.

Oh yeah!  That’s perfect.  We’ll see you then.

We got to the car, and all we could talk about was how much money we’ll make, and how I’ll be able to pay for school.  Sounds cliche, but it’s true.

Wait a second.  What do we wear? We have to go to Christy’s and get some outfits.

My best friend said.

Christy’s Toy Box was Oklahoma premier sex shop.  Okay it was the only one.

So we went, we shopped, we bought.

What about shoes?   We can go barefoot, right?  

Yeah sure!  I’m not dancing in those tall ass shoes.  I’ll break my neck.

I respond.

So we were set.  That wednesday we show up, “ready” to go.  I’m not sure what I expected the crowd to be like on a quarter beer night.  But there were a TON of people there.  All the sudden I was scared shitless.  Louis was sitting at the same spot. He says:

You girls ready?  Got your 6 inch heels?  

Um… we don’t have shoes.  And 6 inches?

Yeah.  That’s the minimum requirement.  You guys better go get some.  And hurry.  You’ve gotta have your name in rotation in 3o minutes.  

So we had to go get some friggen shoes, get ready.  Oh AND we had to think of some names to dance by.

We were in such a hurry that we grabbed the first shoes we could find.  They were bright red, with horrible fuzzy, feathery looking stuff on the strap across the front.  Also, the heels were only about 2 inches.

Great! Not only am I going to suck.. they’re going to be laughing at my shoes.  

We told the big guy, he didn’t care too much.  Just said next time we’d better have the right shoes.

We got ready in the designated dressing room.  But let me tell you, when I say this room was the shittiest place on earth, multiply that by like 5 and you have our “dressing room”.  The floor was slanted, and I still can’t figure out why.  There was no bathroom, only a shower that the girls stood and took a drunken piss in.  NO I’m not kidding.  Lockers that didn’t shut OR have the capability of locking and one small mirror for all the girls to share.  There were probably 12-15 girls in there.  And as much as I tried to hide it, I was scared.  Not because the girls were intimidating.  I was scared to touch anything.  I wanted to get dressed and get the hell outta there!! So we did just that.  Also, we carried our bags around all night.  No way I was leaving it in there, I’d rather look like an idiot.  As if the shoes weren’t enough.

We made our way up to the DJ booth.  He was surprisingly very warm and friendly.  We told him that we hadn’t come up with names yet.  So he helped us.  He pointed to her and said “Star”, because I love that star necklace you’re wearing!  He looked at me and said “Roxy” because you’ve got some very roxy eyes.  Okay.  Whatever that means.

So let me paint this picture for you.  There I stand in this black and white two piece outfit.  The bottom are short shorts.  The top is like a crop top, puffy sleeved shirt.  I have on those RIDICULOUS shoes.  My hair is looooong and black.  Because this was before I started bleaching it.  And I wore about a size 30A bra.  This was also pre-boobs.  Not quite sure if I had any innocence left before that moment, standing there at that DJ booth, but I knew I’d pretty much have NONE after my requested first song “Enter Sandman” came on and I walked up those steps to that giant platform stage.

The club was called “The Red Dog”.  It is by far the biggest strip club I’ve been to, ever.  It’s two levels with 4 stages.  3 on the bottom, one on the top.  There were pool tables every where.  Giant TV’s.  The first stage was right in the middle of the whole damn place.  There were these horrible steps you had to climb to get up there, because the stage was probably raised 4 feet from the ground.  We were walking downstairs from the DJ booth to get to it, and wait for our turns (I would be first, then “Star”).  I remember guys reaching out to touch me, and I kept swatting them away.  Ew.

Baby, let me get a lap dance.

MMMM, y’all are fresh meat!

How much for a dance, sweet heart?!

OH MY GOD, LAP DANCES.  Why in the hell didn’t I think of that?! Well.  I am NOT touching these guys.  They have to sit on their hands.

That’s what was going through my head.  It kind of distracted me from the nerves of getting on that stage and taking my CLOTHES off for strange men.  And when I say clothes, it was just the top because Oklahoma is AWESOME like that.  I mean that seriously.  Topless only.  It was sweet!

I hear my name

Up next is, Viper.  On deck we have the brand NEW ROXY!!!

So after this Viper chick, who is super good and you could tell she’s been at it for a while and who was also 5 months pregnant, was me.  Little, tiny, fresh out of high school, no one’s ever seen me naked in the light before, ME.

She finished.  I don’t remember much after her going up, because my heart was in a bunch and my brain wouldn’t let any thoughts through.  I remember hearing “Roxy”, I remember getting help up the stairs from one of the bouncers, and I remember dancing my ass off.  I also remember guys coming to tip me like there was no tomorrow, and me not even putting my tiny tits in their face.  You’re not supposed to touch them, and they’re not supposed to touch you, and in that moment I was glad for that.

When it was over, “Star” would go on that stage, and I’d go to the tiny little stage with just a pole.  I mean it was tiny.  Probably 3 feet in circumference and had a pole right smack dab in the middle that went all the way to the top floor of the place.  Some girls could climb it all the way to the top and kiss the drunk patrons on the second floor.  I’d never even touched one before.  But I acted like I knew what I was doing.  I’d give a little spin here and there.  Then, when her song was over, I’d switch again to the next stage which was by far my favorite.  It was a giant spinning cage.  I climbed up and sat on the bar which was supposed to look like a perch and just flung my hair to the heavy metal, with my top off.  The top stage was closed that night, thank God.  I was done.  There were too many girls working that night, so that was my only ‘go round’ on the stages.  I was grateful for that, too.

We walked the floor together, gave two lap dances together, and went and changed back into our normal clothes.  Together.  We counted our money when all the girls weren’t in the “gross-room”, She had made close to $300.00, and I had made just about the same.  I legitimately thought that was a killing for a 4 hour shift, and thought I could put my woes about the place/”job” aside, at least temporally, for that kind of dough.  She felt the same way.  We headed out the door at the end of the night.  I had those hideous shoes in my hand and I tossed them happily into the trash can by the front door.

Before going back, we got the right shoes.  I worked there for 2 months.  And I’m not even partially kidding when I say that I started getting annoyed that it was interfering with me being able to watch football with my friends.  I quit dancing in October of 2003.  “Star” stayed there for a while after.

I don’t hold many memories from that place, except for the one night that my dad walked in, saw me on the main stage, and walked right out.  I will never forget that feeling.  I tried to push it down and forget it…. but that was pretty much the last straw.  I called a guy who would soon be my husband, and he came and got me out of there.

And I was able to watch football any time it was on.  I found a new job, and that started the next chapter of my life.