She wanted to go and I didn’t want her to, but I couldn’t
stop her.
All this hadn’t started out bad. She and I had moved to
Hollywood because that’s where the hippies were. But once she saw the Walk of
Fame with all those famous names, she decided she wanted to be one of them.
We found a place to take a portrait shot of her and then distributed
it around to all the modeling agencies.
I was shocked when one responded and asked her to come in
for an interview., shocked more when I found out what kind of modeling they had
in mind.
“You can’t be seriously considering modeling in the nude,” I
said.
“Why not,” she responded. “Girls do it for Playboy.”
She was determined to do it, even over my objections.
The agency did not like the fact that I accompanied her to
the audition, and insisted I wait in the outer office.
She went in, but didn’t come out for over two hours, and
when she did she was flushed and excited, and chattered nonsense the whole way home
She refused to talk about the gig, only that she had another
one lined up a week later.
“This time they want you to stay home,” she said.
“I don’t like this,” I said.
“Don’t be a sissy. It’s good money for a few hours work.”
The agency sent a cab to collected, taking her to some
remote shoot. She would not tell me where, and I sat at home waiting for to get
back. When she arrived, she went straight into the bathroom for a shower, telling
me later just how satisfying the job was, but also that it was a lot of work.
She did not tell me precisely what she had to do, even when
I asked her repeatedly.
“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” she said, patting my
arm measuredly, adding that she had a couple more gigs liked up. “They really
love me.”
Two weeks passed, and she was out more than she was at home,
several times overnight. Finally, I told her that I didn’t want her doing this
any more.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because it’s getting between us,” I said.
“But it makes me happy. Don’t you want me to be happy?”
“It’ making me unhappy,” I said.
“That’s not my problem,” she said, suddenly cold. “It like
doing this and you’re not going to stop me.”
“Even if means our breaking up?”
She glared me.
“You won’t break up with me,” she said. “You love me too
much.”
“I don’t love what you’re doing.”
“Stop being a sissy,” she said, laughing at me. “You’re just
jealous because I can do it and you can’t.”
“What said I can’t?”
“You don’t have a big enough dick,” she said. “Maybe you could
do it with other boys. But they would be the ones doing it to you, not the other
way around.”
So, she laid it out there, which shocked me, but also shut
me up.
“Now if you’re finished complaining, I have to get ready for
my next gig,” she said.
She was right. I did love her too much to leave her, and
resigned myself to live with the way things were.
Only a few days later, when I tried to make love with her,
she shook me off.
“Not tonight, honey,” she said. “I’m too sore.”
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