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Kaycie Goes to College-Prologue and Chapter 1, The Interview

How I got my REAL education...

I arrived for my freshman year at college full of self-assurance. I had been an honor roll student in high school, popular, active in my community, and comfortably well off.

Although I had somehow been unable to save more than $227 from my summer job, my parents had generously supplemented my bank account, bringing it up to $1500, and I was further armed with a major credit card with a $1500 limit. As I was living in a dorm and my meals were paid for by my board contract, it was felt that my resources were sufficient to see me through the first semester at the State University College my parents had selected for its affordability and close proximity to home. This was soon to be revealed as unwarranted optimism.

I had insisted on saying my goodbyes at home and driving myself to campus. Wanting no repetition of my parents' embarrassing behavior during "orientation weekend" two months before, I loaded my belongings into my brand new used X-Terra (a going-away-to-college gift from my grandfather) and drove the 70 miles to school. At eighteen, with a car, $3000 in cash and credit, and a large bag of marijuana (one of the reasons my summer job savings had been so disappointing) I was on my own and on top of the world.

I adapted quickly to campus life. There were a number of kids I had graduated with attending school, and I soon made a flock of new friends as well. I managed to restrict (most of) my partying to the weekends, and at the same time maintain a 3.8 GPA. The only problem I had was money. As I approached the winter holiday break, my checking balance had become alarmingly low. To compound the problem, I had lost track of precisely how low it was, having neglected to balance it for two months running.

As I was afraid of bouncing checks, I began to rely on my credit card perhaps more than was wise, and soon found myself in the awkward position of making a minimum payment on a maxed credit card without any confidence at all that the check would clear. My car had developed a mysterious ailment that caused it to sometimes refuse to start, or even turn over. Then a few minutes later, it would be fine. Two trips to the repair shop had failed to reveal any problem. I dreaded the coming conversation that was sure to take place when I went home for the holidays. On top of it all, my big bag of weed was now a small baggie of crumbs, twigs and seeds.

All of this is by way of explaining how I came to take my first job as a nude dancer. Carrie, one of the RAs in the dorm, had started dancing at a bar nearby, and suddenly seemed to have all the money she needed. I asked her if they needed any more dancers, but she told me they would not hire me because of my age, as they only hired dancers over 21. She did know of another bar that would hire eighteen-year-olds, as they had a "BYOB" (Bring Your Own Bottle) license, and therefore did not sell any liquor. The name of the place was “Benny’s”. I called the number and made an appointment to interview that day. The owner, whose name (unaccountably) was Bill, said he or his manager would be there between 2:00 and 3:00 PM.

I was not nervous about it, having always been something of an exhibitionist. In fact, I had something of a reputation for it in high school, having eagerly participated in drinking games that involved removing clothing, and whatever followed. Nude dancing was perfect for me, since I would be getting paid for doing something I enjoyed.

I tried to dress appropriately for the interview, in a clingy white tank top that emphasized my small (but perky) boobs and an extremely short denim skirt. Looking in the mirror, I was pleased as the outfit emphasized my best feature, my legs. Carrie loaned me a pair of high heels with ankle straps and I was almost ready to go.

She asked me what kind of panties I had on, and when I told her a thong, she made me change into a pair of tiny little red booty shorts. They were silk-screened with "liquor" in front, and "poker" in the back, with arrows pointing downward. She said they would help me establish the “right mood”. My roomate Karen thought I looked incredibly cheap. That was the look I was going for.

Chapter 1- The Interview

“Benny’s” looked rather dingy in the light of day. The front of the building had big plate glass windows but these were completely papered over on the inside, with signs in large letters saying ADULTS ONLY! And LIVE NUDE GIRLS! in huge yellow letters. There was a big sign on a pole in front declaring it was “The One and Only Benny’s Lounge!” The lettering was neon, and there were light bulbs all around the sign. I imagined it attracted quite a bit of attention at night. There was a sign on the locked front door that said “Deliveries in rear”, so I walked around back and in the open back door. As I walked in I noticed an old well-taken-care-of Cadillac and a Harley-Davidson Trike parked in back, the only vehicles in the lot.

The bar smelled of stale beer. Looking around, I saw the walls were decorated with beer signs and posters, even though they did not sell alcohol. The bar was a u-shape around the main room, with a platform in the middle with two shiny poles extending to the ceiling, and multicolored lights aimed down from the top. The back room I had walked through coming in had a half dozen beat-up easy chairs arranged around the outside.

I spotted a door marked “Office” and heard a voice I recognized as Bill’s. He was evidently talking on the phone. I knocked on the door.

Bill barked, “Come on in!”

He was a big man with long grey hair flowing around his ears and the back of his head, and completely bald on top. He had a full grey beard, and the leather vest, teeshirt, jeans and motorcycle boots that told me the trike out behind the bar was his. His face was deeply tanned, freckled and weather-beaten, which made his startling light blue eyes stand out like light bulbs. He told the person he was talking to he had to go, and hung up the phone.

“I have two of you coming in today. Which one are you?”

“I’m Kaycie. I talked to you this morning”

“Right, the college girl,” he said, and extended a huge hand.

When he smiled, I saw he had gorgeous, perfect white teeth.

“Since you got here first, I’ll let you have your choice of the two shifts I have open.”

“That’s it, no interview?” I asked, surprised.

“I can see you’re cute, and have a nice figure. These guys that come in here really don’t care how you dance anyway. All I care about is that you are over eighteen, and you understand the rules.”

He handed me a green sheet of cardboard with “House Rules” at the top, and the following list of bullets:

Dancers are paid $6/hr
Dancers must be on time for their shift.
*Tips must be handed to dancers or placed in garter.
*Customers may not touch dancers, except when placing tips in their garters
*No cameras may be used in the bar, by customers or dancers.
*NO illegal drugs on property. This is a ZERO TOLERANCE item. What you do on your own time and in your own place is not my business, but keep it off my property. This includes the parking lot.
*NO personal contact between dancers and customers, except during lap dances. Customers must remain fully clothed during lap dances, and may not touch dancers with their hands.
*NO hookups between dancers and customers on my property. This is a ZERO TOLERANCE item. What you do on your own time and in your own place is not my business, but keep it off my property. This includes the parking lot.

“Think you can follow the rules?”

I nodded yes. Bill noticed I seemed quiet, and asked what was wrong.

I told him I was a little bit disappointed that I did not get to at least audition.

He burst out in a big booming laugh and said, ”Well, if you want to, let’s step over to the platform, You looked fine to me, so I had made up my mind already, but I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He pointed to the juke box. “It’s on free play, just pick out what you want to dance to and go ahead.”

I looked over the play list, and saw hardly anything I recognized. Finally, I picked out a few songs at random and climbed up on the platform. The first song was a noisy techno thing that at least had a good strong rhythm. I was able to dance to it pretty well, (I thought) and by the time it was done, I had dropped my skirt and stepped out of it, and was working my “liquor in front, poker in the rear” panties down to show the “landing strip” I had so carefully trimmed into my pubes.

The next song was an electric blues with a really dirty sound, and I decided to try my hand (and whatever) on the pole. I peeled off my top and felt my nipples harden as the cold air from a fan overhead hit them. I tugged my tiny booty panties up to form a tight camel toe, and started working it against the pole. Although I did not really know what I was doing, I loved the way it felt, and the brilliant gleam of Bill's grin told me I was doing okay.

I pushed my panties down my thighs and calves, and spread my knees wide open as I pushed the tiny scrap of cloth off my ankles. Now clad only in my borrowed red “fuck-me” shoes, I started to try different ways of using the pole. I tried to do a couple of spins, but really did not have any idea what I was doing, so I returned to just humping the pole with my bare pussy. I loved the sensation of the cool metal when my wet labia pressed against it, and I worked from one pole to the other to feel that again and again. I also learned to back into it, letting it part my buttocks and pussy lips, rubbing my "groove" up and down against it. When the third song, a sexy R&B number finished, I was covered in a sheen of sweat, and thoroughly aroused.

Bill had an enormous grin on his face.

“Well, nobody would accuse you of being a pro, but you have enthusiasm!”

He told me I was hired, and if I wanted to start that night, he had an open shift.

“Be here by 7:00 PM, and just watch the other girls to see how it works.”

I accepted immediately. Dancing naked for him had been such a turn-on, if he had unzipped his jeans just then I would have fucked his cock off right on the bar. I told him I would see him later and started for the back door.

“Don’t you think you’d better get dressed first?”

I had completely forgotten to pick my clothes up off the platform. We both laughed, and I gathered them up. I put on my skirt and top, and stuffed the panties in my purse. I knew I would want to “get at myself” on the drive back to the dorm.

I also knew that working for Bill at Benny’s was going to be a lot of fun…
(To be continued)

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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