Free Underneath It All by Traci Elisabeth Lords Page A

on my way. Roger was waiting when I got back with a stack of magazines he'd bought, like
Vogue, Teen, Playboy,
and some foreign nude ones. We hit the drive-thru on the way to the Valley, and I snacked on a Big Mac and chocolate shake, flipping through the magazines and rambling on about the models I saw. He told me I needed to memorize all the different poses, be cooperative with the photographer, and most of all act like a professional.
What did that mean?

We arrived at the studio fifteen minutes early. The photographer was arranging the set and I was introduced to a man wearing more makeup than I ever had. He said his name was Coco. He'd be doing my makeup and showed me where I could change.

Coco mixed me a vodka cranberry and had one himself while Roger talked to the photographer in the other room.

"You have the most flawless skin I've ever seen," he said. "What's your secret?"

"I'm an Ivory soap girl."

He laughed and said it ran in the business, referring to Marilyn Chambers. I had no idea what he was talking about but pretended it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard. I only got the joke years later, when I crossed paths with the queen of porn herself. Apparently Miss Chambers, star of the X-rated film Behind the Green Door, originally gained fame as the Ivory Snow detergent girl.

When Coco finished painting me I changed into a blue pleated skirt and a tight sweater. My teased hair made me look at least five feet ten and I couldn't believe the image in the mirror staring back at me. My lips were painted huge and so glossy they looked like they were going to drip. I wasn't sure if I looked pretty or not, but the photographer seemed pleased. A pair of white bobby socks and really high heels completed the outfit.

The photographer showed me where to go and I climbed up on a white bed filled with big pillows and pink bows, realizing then that this shoot couldn't possibly be for a clothing store. t Roger was there, I told myself, and he wouldn't let anything had happen to me. And I had to start somewhere.

The photographer talked me through a dozen poses and I had three more vodkas in between film changes. My eyes were watering so much from the liquid eyeliner and the false eyelashes that we had to keep taking breaks, and I couldn't help but wonder if this would be considered unprofessional. But the vodka eventually washed away my worries---and schoolgirl innocence.

I was the center of attention for the first time in my life. I remember feeling important, even powerful. My sexuality had robbed me of so much, and now it suddenly gave me something that had eluded me in every aspect of life — control. I got off on the power my body held over that entire roomful of adults.

As I lay on the bed, the photographer showed me where he wanted my rear end. Then he asked me to really arch my back as I bent forward. Cupping my naked breasts, I slid my panties off, closed my eyes, and made the kissy face Tim North had taught me.

I spread my legs and caressed my breasts. Through a dreamy fog, I spotted Roger sitting in the corner of the studio, his hand buried beneath his coat, watching me.
What was he doing?
He caught me staring and immediately stopped.
Was he masturbating?
Disgusted by the thought of my honorary "stepfather" doing such a thing, I avoided his gaze, and when we finished the shoot minutes later, I dismissed the incident as a vodka-induced hallucination.

I dressed quickly and, with the vodka buzz finally wearing off, felt unsettled by the afternoon's events. I'd been turned on by the attention I'd received, and now it confused me. I became flooded with shame as I got dressed.

I had to get out of there.

Roger collected the two hundred and fifty dollars cash I was owed for the shoot. Apparently, the girls were paid at the end of the shoot in cold hard cash. I quickly lit the first of a series cigarettes I would chain-smoke that night.

Quiet on the way home, I listened to Roger cheerfully jabber on about how