Jordan's Second Jobs Pt. 01

For all of her 20s, Jordan Petrenko had been a good girl. She studied hard and did her homework. She went to church. She went to bed at a reasonable hour. She wore sensible, conservative clothing. She went to an all-girls Catholic college. It was a stunning contrast to her teenage years, but the strict, disciplinarian methods of the nuns at college had seemingly conditioned her wild ways out of her.

When she graduated, she took a job as a biochemical researcher Mass Biotech. It paid well, though not well enough for the expensive area of New England she'd chosen and she realized quickly that she'd overextended herself on the picturesque old cottage she'd rented when the bills started rolling in. Matters were made even worse when her student loan grace period ended.

Babysitting and other small jobs failed to consistently cover her living expenses and loans and, in six short months she'd taken far too many cash advances on her credit card. Jordan considered quitting her job and moving back to San Antonio, but the told-you-so look she knew she'd see on her parents' faces made relocating a last resort.

She'd lamented her situation to one of the human resources assistants, Carly, and fumed when Carly revealed to her that Jordan was making little over half what the entry-level male researchers were earning. Carly had suggested she file a complaint with the Equal Opportunity Commission, and Jordan seriously considered it...but in the end she wanted the experience on her resume and feared rocking the boat might get her blackballed.

Something had to break sooner or later. Jordan's job was demanding, and the babysitting, housesitting, and part-time job as a barista were tiring and failed to make up the difference. That picturesque little cottage had turned into a ball and chain.

"I don't know what I'm going to do!" she complained into her ramen.

"Less than six months and your scheduled raise will kick in," Carly responded optimistically. "At least the raises are all the same. Everyone gets bumped up by six thousand after their first year. And your merit bonus will hit next month!"

"I won't make it that long, but it doesn't matter anyway. My credit card is maxed out. My second jobs are maxed out. The extra money will barely make a dent."

"Maybe you could borrow money from your parents?" Carly suggested, but knew the answer.

"They won't. They want me to move back to Texas. They'll refuse and tell me I have no choice but to move back."

Carly looked around and then leaned in, beckoning to Jordan to do likewise. "Have you thought about...a gentlemen's club?"

"What?!" Jordan nearly shouted.

"Shhh!" Carly gestured. "You don't want any of these nerds catching wind of what we're talking about."

"Seriously? Do I look like...well...like that kind of girl?"

"Yes!" Carly grinned.

"Oh, my God! What?!"

"Look at you!" she continued. "You're what, 5'8"? 5'9"? And you have a 23" or 24" waist? And you're a C cup, if not a D cup! You could easily pull it off. Probably make more than you make here. And in cash!"

"I keep all of that covered up under a lab coat and scrubs! And for good reason!" Jordan complained. "I'm not doing it!" I know what will happen, she thought.

"Then what about lingerie modeling? I know a guy in Dover who does photography for a few websites. He normally travels to do his shoots, but that's because Massachusetts girls are...well...Massachusetts girls."

"No," she quickly responded, but the look on her face betrayed her interest.

"It pays well," Carly teased.

"No," Jordan said more firmly. "That isn't any better. Instead of a few dozen drunk men seeing me naked, the entire world could see me half naked." ...which is better than the entire world seeing me entirely naked, like high school, she thought, then squeezed her legs together tightly and shuddered.

"With your makeup done right, no one would know it was you, especially as frumpy as you dress. And your hair is always up in a bun and you wear glasses, Clark Kent. Even if one of these nerds had a girlfriend, and she was the type who wore lingerie, and he happened to find one of the websites your photos were on, and he happened to find one of your photos, and he looked at your face instead of your boobs, he still would have no idea it was you."

"No," Jordan repeated, but conceded in her mind that Carly's points were well made. "How much?"

"When I did it, it was a hundred and fifty an hour for the test shoot and three hundred for the real thing. And more for some other things."

"Shut up! You did it?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" Carly asked, feigning insult.

"Not what I meant. Come on! Dish."

"Yes, I did it--for about a year before my boyfriend complained. I wish I was still doing it because I really miss the money, but I'm not in the same shape I was then and my boyfriend is still my boyfriend. He's not cool with it." Carly paused before adding, "But you don't have a boyfriend."

Jordan plopped a lukewarm blob of ramen noodles in her mouth and chewed silently before asking, "Is your photographer friend sleazy?"

"I wouldn't call him sleazy. He's not shy, though." Carly quickly added, "But he never touched me without my permission, and he never gave me a reason to not trust him."

Jordan didn't immediately respond. She could feel herself getting wet, and her nipples were tingling. She fought to stifle the memories that were tumbling into her brain. "There's no actual nudity?" she finally asked.

"Some of the lingerie is see-through. Some of the shots were panties only, or garters and stockings only, but I think you get to choose which ones you want to do. When my boyfriend started protesting, David agreed to shoot some at creative angles to show, you know, that I wasn't wearing panties but without showing anything. And there were other opportunities. I just did all of them. That's where my boyfriend had problems with it. He was okay with lingerie modeling that didn't show my nipples, but he wasn't okay with...the more artsy stuff."

Carly looked away for a moment before her eyes returned to Jordan. Jordan continued thinking and chewing even though the noodles in her mouth were a fine mush. She hadn't noticed.

"I made over twenty thousand in less than ten months," Carly whispered, and slightly paused before adding, "...and it could have been way, way more."

"What's his phone number?" Jordan whispered back, slurping another noodle, and ignoring the heat her body was shedding.

###

"I'm sorry, really I am, but don't have any jobs for them right now. They bought the rights to a new line, but there was a problem with production and it's not shipping for months. I probably won't shoot it until well after Valentine's Day. It's shitty because that's their big sales season, but it happens sometimes."

"Carly told me that lingerie shoots paid more but I'm happy taking any gig. Student loans are horrible. Is there anything else?" Jordan asked, almost pleading.

"Unfortunately, no. Why don't you e-mail me a link to your portfolio, though, and I'll see if there's anything else I can hire you for?"

"I don't have a portfolio."

"Oh."

"Carly mentioned that you sometimes do paid test shoots."

"Sometimes."

"Maybe I could do one of those? And that could be my portfolio?"

"I don't know. I haven't had a lot of luck with local models. Carly was an exception."

"I'm not from here. I'm from Texas. I could text you some photos? Or maybe we could FaceTime?"

"Texas, huh? Sure, kid. Why don't you text me some standard shots--headshot, profile, standing--the basics. Wear something that shows me what I have to work with, but it doesn't have to be lingerie. A simple one-piece swimsuit would probably be best. I have to go, but I'll take a look when I have some time. Okay?"

Jordan's stomach sank. She hadn't wanted to do this in the first place, but she'd talked it up to herself--a few hours here and there every few weeks for an extra thousand or so a month--she was already thinking about all the free time she'd have not having to work all of her second jobs that paid barely a few hundred a month. "I don't mean to be pushy, but can you look now? I really need the money."

"I--sure, kid, but I have another call I have to take, I--"

"Can you just hold on for half a minute? I'll send you one right now."

"Okay. Thirty seconds."

Jordan looked around desperately but had nothing close to a swimsuit other than her plain cotton panties and a standard bra. She hadn't packed to swim...or to impress. Feeling the impact of each second tick away, she bit her lip and hurriedly disrobed, shook her hair out of the bun, turned to the mirror hanging on her closet door, stood tall and straight, threw her shoulders back and pushed her chest out, and took several photos.

She quickly selected all before she could change her mind and sent them. She'd never texted nude photos before, but he was a lingerie photographer. He'd probably seen everything there was to see, she convinced herself. "They're on the way." The phone was silent in her ear. She waited for what seemed like an eternity. "Hello?" she quietly ventured.

"Yeah, we can do a test shoot. When do you have time?"

"How about today?" Jordan asked haltingly, not wanting to sound too eager.

"Can you be in Dover by 4pm? I have a four-hour window."

"I can."

"I'll text you the address. Bring two forms of photo ID. Passport and drivers license, if you have those."

###

Jordan stood outside the large, gray-stone colonial and second-guessed herself. It was cold and there was a light dusting of snow on the ground. She hadn't thought to ask if she should bring any wardrobe and, in her haste, had dressed for the weather, throwing on a sweater and jeans to go with the chunky overcoat she normally wore--not exactly the kind of outfit for a modeling portfolio. She hadn't even told Carly she'd agreed to shoot and Jordan didn't know this guy, David Something-or-other.

Come to think of it, Jordan didn't really know Carly that well either.

A stiff breeze blew her overcoat open and sliced through her jeans. Jordan cursed herself for not putting thermals or leggings on under her jeans, then remembered in her hurry she hadn't even put her panties back on. Then she realized she hadn't put her bra back on either. Texting out nude photos to a stranger, not wearing underwear...what is this guy going to think of me? she wondered and shook her head.

While she stood there being annoyed with herself, the front door opened and a man who seemed too young to have such a giant house emerged. "Are you going to stand there all day and freeze? It's fucking cold. Come inside."

"S-s-sorry," she shivered. "I wasn't sure I had the right house."

"You could have waited in your car with the heater going, if you weren't sure about the address. Standing in the cold is a different kind of uncertainty."

I guess that's what Carly meant by 'not shy' she thought as she stood there, brow furrowed.

"Are you going to come in or not? Now I'm cold."

Without a word, Jordan trudged toward the house.

###

David offered her coffee first, then hot tea, and she'd passed on both, telling him she was eager to get started and get back on the road home, since she was still unaccustomed to driving in snowy conditions. He showed her around the downstairs and told her during the tour that his test shoots were typically a few industry-standard portfolio shots against a gray backdrop he'd set up in a room he used as his home studio, and then any number of posed shots around the house if she was willing.

"You have to tell me your boundaries. The test shoot is as much about your comfort level as it is about the images. In my mind, there's no separating the two. I typically pay $150/hr for basic clothed test shots and have some simple wardrobe for those shots. If you're interested in going beyond that, I pay different rates depending on what we shoot."

"Like what?" she ventured.

"I typically pay two hundred an hour for art nudes, three hundred an hour for erotic, and five hundred an hour for erotica, with one-hour minimums."

"What does that mean?"

"Which part?" he asked.

"'One-hour minimums.'"

"Whether it's fifteen minutes or an hour, I pay by the hour, but I get the images I want regardless. There's no quitting at the fifteen minute mark with no images I can take to post and expecting to get paid anything other than the basic appearance rate."

"How much is that?" Jordan asked timidly.

"Fifty dollars," David mumbled, now looking annoyed.

"So...I could change my mind if I wanted to? If I ended up not liking the concept, I mean." She shuddered again.

"Yes, but it would likely have an effect on whether I believe you when you say in the future you'll agree to certain shoots. It may not be a big deal with a test shoot, but I'm a preferred vendor for a variety of commercial buyers with print deadlines and similar. They won't be understanding. At least they never have been. Anything else?"

"What's the difference between 'erotic' and 'erotica?'" Jordan blurted before she could stop herself.

"'Erotic' means you open your legs. 'Erotica' means you engage in sexual activity."

Jordan said nothing. She'd 'engaged in sexual activity' with her boyfriend and his friends in high school for free while he took pictures. Five hundred dollars for fifteen minutes...she shook her head to clear that thought from it.

"There's no guarantee of any of it, understand? Looks are only part of the equation. If you don't know how to pose or don't like what you're doing, you'll look awkward and uncomfortable and there's no point in continuing without instruction. I'm patient, but minimally so."

David scanned her face while she contemplated. "And time is a factor today. I asked you in for a test shoot because you are perfectly proportioned for the kind of work I typically do and, judging from the images you sent me, have no problem with nudity. Lingerie work and modeling in general require some comfort with one's own nudity. Have you ever done this before?"

"I have some experience," she replied simply.

"But no portfolio? That's strange."

"I didn't think I'd be doing any modeling again," she lied. Jordan's high school boyfriend had fancied himself a photographer. She was young and stupid and had let him take pictures of her using his phone. At first they were like real modeling photos. He'd bought a cheap DSLR from Target when they were seniors, and it quickly escalated from there. None of the photos were the kind she'd put in her portfolio. The nicest of his friends told her she had a real talent for posing.

The rest had... She shuddered, but not in disgust, at the memory and bit her lip in mild embarrassment.

"Oh," David said simply. Jordan felt like he was probing her with his intense stare. "Like I said, time is a bit of an issue," he finally continued, "but we might as well do a quick run-through of portfolio shots--headshot relaxed, headshot smiling, headshot profile, full body, swimsuit, and then something fashion and something commercial. We can do all of those in my studio, but the commercial one. We can do that one in the kitchen."

Jordan was silent, still thinking about all of the options David had presented her with.

"Can you do your own makeup?" David prompted. "I have a kit in the studio dressing room. Nothing over the top, just clean base, lips dark enough to stand out but not grossly so, basic mascara and eyeliner. How much time do you need?"

"Thirty minutes," she blurted out, trying to absorb everything he was saying. She'd learned how to do makeup for her high school boyfriend's shoots, and, for a while, she'd done exactly what David was describing...until her boyfriend had wanted sluttier and sluttier looks. Sticky, bright red lipstick had been his favorite. He'd liked seeing that first perfect red ring on his cock and had liked smearing it all over her face before he came on her...or in her, which started her escalating journey to an all-girls Catholic college.

Jordan shuddered again and tried to push the memories from her mind.

"It'll get a bit warmer under the studio lights, but not very warm," he assured her. "I'll set up the lights while you do makeup. There's some wardrobe in there, too. When you're ready I'll help you make selections, but it won't matter for your headshot. Just pick any top that doesn't hide your neck."

"What if nothing fits?" she blurted and suddenly felt foolish. It sounded like a poorly-written line from some porno.

He looked her up and down, again evaluating her. "If something doesn't fit, we'll use backdrop clips to cinch it up in the back if it's too large or we'll leave it unzipped and use tape if it won't stay in place, so don't worry about it. It happens all the time, especially on impromptu shoots."

###

Half an hour later David knocked on the door. He handed her an iPad with a modeling release and a Form 2257. "The 2257 is standard now, regardless of the type of shoot. Everyone's trying their damnedest not to run afoul of Federal regulations and--is that the top you decided on or is that what you had under your sweater?"

Jordan looked down at the simple top, the iPad suspended in the air, and then back up at David's frowning face. "What's wrong with it?"

"I told you 'pick something that shows your neck.' Find a t-shirt or just wear your bra."

"I don't have a bra, and there's no t-shirt in here."

He didn't respond for a moment, then turned and left the small dressing room. A few minutes later he returned with a black v-neck t-shirt. "It's going to be too big, but that's a good thing. It won't hide your neck. Are you ready?"

"Yep."

They started just as David had said, with headshots, and he paused every few minutes to adjust lights and show her the result. After fifteen minutes or so, he called for a wardrobe change. "Wear the jeans you brought earlier. They're form-fitting enough. You can use this t-shirt and we'll clip the back of it, or look for something closer to your size on the rack."

A few minutes later Jordan returned in her jeans with the same top she'd chosen earlier. "Not that top," David chided. "The collar is too tall. It makes your neck look short. Or, you know what, maybe unbutton the top two and--" He stepped forward, unbuttoned the top two buttons and pulled the sleeves off her shoulders. "That's better." He grabbed a clip from a nearby cardboard box and turned her around. Jordan felt the material tighten across her chest. He turned her back around. "That's more like it."

They shot for another fifteen minutes or so, with David again pausing every few minutes to adjust the lighting and show her the photos he'd taken. "Swimsuit time."

Jordan disappeared into the dressing room and rummaged around. "There aren't any," she called out, then emerged from the dressing room, shrugging.

"Hold on," David replied and left the studio. He returned momentarily and tossed a small piece of black cloth to her.

Jordan hesitated for a second, then disappeared into the dressing room. "What do you think so far?"

"I'm not gonna lie. You're a natural. I don't think there's a single unusable image. We'll just have to choose the best ones. Sometimes it's harder to pick the best out of a bunch of good ones. You said you modeled before? Anything I would have seen?"

"I doubt it," she called back, before adding, "...but maybe. It was art imagery, not fashion or commercial."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Some nudes. Some uncommon poses," Jordan replied, trying to sound casual. "Some other stuff."

"We'll finish the swimsuit portion in about ten minutes or so, depending on the lighting. You want to do some nudes? Like Playboy-style poses?"

There was no hesitation or doubt in his voice, and it put her at ease. "Sure," she responded, as she exited the dressing room. "It's a little small, but I don't think it's obscene." She took a couple of steps forward, stopped, shifted her weight from one leg to the other, then turned and walked back toward the dressing room, then turned again to face him.