The mall.
Have you ever noticed how many lovely available women work at the mall? In our local mall at Westridge, we have at least sixteen women's dress shops, not counting cosmetics stores, sports apparel, and shoe stores -- all of which cater to women. I should include maternity shops. Obviously the salesgirls at maternity shops are not all pregnant. In total that's about fifty stores. One time I had a lovely Filipina who needed a dress for a dance routine. We went into a dress shop around 2 PM and the store was empty. Except for one salesgirl masturbating in the stock room.
My name is Francis, and I teach ballroom dancing. I have just returned from a month in the Bahamas, recuperating from sexual exhaustion. I look like a young Rudolph Valentino, slicked back, thick black hair, piercing dark eyes. A sensuous mouth. Beautiful expressive hands.
I happened to mention this mall issue to Victor. Expounding on the number of bored horny women in the mall. Victor, you may remember, discovered Margo and her mother, Ethel. Victor is a fashion photographer, shooting mostly women.
Naturally, Victor was already aware of the number of women waiting to be discovered. Victor knew most of the hottest new models were coming from Brazil and Russia these days. But for sheer fun and games there were hundreds of women available right here at Westridge.
"I am way ahead of you," Victor told me. "I've been mining for women forever it seems."
He had my unglued attention. Whatever Victor said, to me, were pearls of wisdom.
"I always wear my camera -- the heavy, clunky Canon with the telephoto lens. It's looks phallic so the women love it. And I carry my business cards." He went on, "My model management cards too. That usually hooks them."
"So how does it work?" I asked him, being quite fascinated.
"Most girls over eighteen are bored to tears working here in the mall. Their hormones are raging, they're wet most of the time, and they are waiting for the right guy to come along ..."
"And the right guy is --"
"A guy who recognizes the symptoms -- nervous fiddling, playing with their hair, dry mouth, rubbing their thighs together ..."
He clarified. "That, of course, happens when you speak to her." He added, "A woman doesn't just stand there panting like a thirsty dog. There are more subtle signs, but with a trained eye, you can easily spot them."
He was scanning the area.
"See that girl standing in the entrance of the leather goods store? The one with the miniskirt, and the knee high riding boots? Sexy, right? Great legs!"
"Yeah. I'd like to ride her."
"Don't be so crass, Francis." He started towards the leather shop. "Let's go talk to her."
"Hi, Sweetie ... " Victor spoke to her first. She stared at the phallic camera. She looked to be about 18 years old. "My name is Victor, I'm a fashion photographer. And this is guy here, is Francis, one of my male models." We both appeared harmless, not like the gang bangers that usually hang out in malls.
She smiled at us, timidly. "My job is to find new talent", he went on. "Especially beautiful women. Have you ever modeled?"
"N- n-no ..."she stammered.
"What's your name?" Victor gave her a small smile; he didn't want to appear too eager.
"Beth," she answered, a bit nervously.
"Well, Beth, today is your lucky day. You have beautiful eyes. Do you do your own makeup?"
"Yes ..."
"Usually I take a couple of quick shots of someone I like, and show them to my boss. If she likes your look, I'll call you and book you for a photo shoot ..." By now the girl has been hooked. The mention of a female boss did the trick.
"Do you have a few minutes, Beth? I 'd like to take a few quick shots of you." The poor girl had been bored to tears; she had the whole afternoon. "We can do more test shots later."
"Yes ... OK."
"Good. Do you have something special you'd like to wear, or should I shoot what you have on?"
She was wearing a sweater, miniskirt with the boots. Her boobs looked average.
"What I'm wearing is OK," she said. "We do have a small sofa outside the changing room."
We walked to the back of the store, to the sofa. Women usually looked better lying down with their legs spread apart, but in this case Victor positioned her like a young sales professional, holding her cell phone. I moved over to the handbag display and pretended to be interested in a bag made in Nigeria. The price tag said $1800. Victor was working his charm, smiling at her, commenting her on her hair, and telling her he love her boots.
