Every now and then, I get to visit other branches of my work for a few days, which usually means a few days in a hotel. For a thirty-five year old guy it's nice to travel now and then.
To pass the time and to save money on escorts, I started pretending to be a modelling agency scout in the shopping centres I would be staying near.
It was simple enough, buy a pay-and-go sim card for my phone, get some cheap business cards printed with some convincing-looking bullshit and head out to the shopping centres.
A little-known fact is how vast the number is of girls who get themselves dolled up hoping to be scouted after reading shit celebrity biographies and magazines. They parade around these places, knowing scouts will frequent them.
It was too easy.
On one trip, I saw a group of girls stood by a set of railings, giggling self-consciously, as if their every motion was planned to make them look sexy. Bingo I thought to myself.
I approached and introduced myself.
"I hope you don't mind my being forward, but I'm a scout for several major agencies. Any of you girls ever thought of modelling work?"
There were four girls, all with elaborate hair, fake tan, too much make-up and outfits that set the mouth drooling.
One, an eighteen year-old thick-bodied blonde with the largest breasts of the group, I would guess a 36DD jumped eagerly to reply first. These kinds of girls were so obviously the girls everyone had fancied at school, who had utterly failed to develop any redeeming qualities owing to their constant attention. They were as dim as a shattered lightbulb and unfriendly in their attitude, having never needed to rely on anything but their looks.
I gave her one of my cards with my Pay-and-Go phone number on it and told her to ring me if she wanted an interview.
That afternoon as I was watching TV in my room, my phone beeped.
"Hi its Becky frm town 2day! Wen can i hav a intervew?" was her message. Her grasp of the written language had me cringe and laugh at the same time.
I replied telling her my hotel and that I would reimburse her taxi fare.
"Dnt wuri mi bf wil drop me of."
I cursed, but reflected a boyfriend doesn't stop girls like this when there is something to be gained.
I waited for her in the lobby, and saw her and her boyfriend enter. She had a set of heels on that must have been eight inches high, and even more hair extensions in than before. Even her over-done make-up had somehow levelled up atop her breasts crammed into an ill-fitting push-up bra. She looked cheaper than a portion of greasy chips and my dick was harder than a crowbar in my jeans.
Her boyfriend looked like the typical chump types like her go for, morons that think their trophy tart will bring them happiness when all she will ever care about is herself.
She waved him off and I greeted her.
"You look fantastic!" I told her, playing the enthusiastic scout.
She could barely walk in her heels, but still managed to turn every head in the lobby.
I led her to my room and let her in.
"To begin with, I would say your image is perfect for glamour modelling, is that what you had in mind?" I asked.
"Yeah, I idolize Katie Price." she proudly admitted. To those that don't know, google her, you'll see why this had me nearly laugh.
