School wasn’t easy for me. I grew up in a rural area before moving to a rough part of the inner city for my final High School year. Being a 'posh white girl' in a predominantly Asian/black school was bad enough. But, add my tiny frame, huge bum, glasses, and acne, and you’ll see that I really struggled. Also, I was socially awkward and only felt comfortable when I was at my dance class. Dance was my life — but my commitment also distanced me from the rest of my peers.
About three months into the school year, things got even worse when someone tossed my bag into the boys changing room. I went to retrieve my belongings and saw Jameel, the most popular guy in the school and the boy responsible for most of my misery, smoking weed. I grabbed my bag and scurried out as fast as possible.
But that didn’t stop Jameel telling everyone that I’d followed him into the changing rooms and offered him a blowjob. Great! So, all the girls then hated me because they thought I was a slut and the boys hated me simply because the girls hated me. Oh, the joys of High School.
Fast forward four years…
My High School experience behind me, the shortcomings of those times had turned into my strengths. My awkward dancer’s body had developed into a powerful frame fit for a goddess. Shapely legs led up to a gorgeous bum that had men falling to their knees. I had a flat stomach, perfect boobs, and my acne had cleared, leaving behind a beautiful fresh complexion. With deep blue eyes, plump lips, and golden hair, I was a knockout — and I knew it.
Men hit on me constantly but I rarely entertained them. I had a few boyfriends, but I was still committed to my dance, trying to make it onto the big stage. I was always short of money, slipping months behind on my rent, and I needed my dancing to kick off soon or I’d be forced to get a regular job. Or be evicted.
My story really begins from the day I ran into Jameel again.
It was a cold Wednesday in November and I’d just finished my early morning workout at the gym. Having changed into a tight pair of yoga pants and a thin cotton top, I was dashing to my car when, from behind me, I heard a voice calling, “Excuse me… excuse me.”
I hurried on, ignoring the voice. “Katey," came the next shout but I still ignored it, thinking it was much too cold to stop for a conversation.
“White girl.”
I froze in my tracks. I’m not sure whether it was the voice I recognised or the fact that I hadn’t been called that since my dark High School days, but I turned around. I immediately recognized Jameel.
"I thought that would get your attention,” he said. “Look at you now, white girl — ugly duckling to gorgeous swan, it seems.”
"What do you want?” I wasn’t prepared to give my school bully the time of day but it didn’t escape my notice that he’d become quite a man: big and muscular, rough beard, and fade haircut.
He reached out a hand toward me and said something completely unexpected. "Katey, I’m really sorry about High School. I was a total dick to you and must have made your life miserable. I really am sorry.”
I was shocked. I couldn’t believe that my biggest tormentor had reached out and apologised. I briefly took his hand, mumbled some acceptance of his apology, and quickly continued walking to my beat-up old Ford Fiesta. I climbed in and was about to drive off when Jameel sped past in a sparkling new Porsche.
Over the next few weeks, we chatted most days at the gym. Conversations even became a little flirtatious and I learned he owned a nightclub. Occasionally, I caught him staring at my body as I worked out and I admit I was distracted by his huge muscular frame and the way the light would dance off his dark skin. If I was lucky, I’d catch an outline of his meat and then I’d be close to soaking my yoga pants with lust. But nothing sexual was going to happen. This man had bullied me mercilessly at school and, no matter how nice he was to me now, I could never forget that.
“Katey," I heard him shout one morning and I stopped, prepared for our usual chat. Jameel seemed panicked. "I desperately need your help,” he said.
“You do? In what way?”
“Yes, I really do. I’m hosting a party tonight at the club and a dancer has let me down.” He took a deep breath, staring into my eyes. “Look, I’ll pay you three-thousand pounds if you help me out.”
It didn’t take much thinking about. I needed money, I was on the verge of eviction, and three-thousand would get me a stay of execution. I agreed and he thanked me, saying he’d send a car. Then he shot off as quickly as he’d arrived.
At eight that night, the car arrived and within thirty minutes I was walking into Jameel’s nightclub. It was dingy, but I’ve yet to see an empty club that looks good. So I thought nothing of it and proceeded to go up to his office as instructed. Jameel was there to greet me.
“Hey, Katey, thank you so much again for doing this. The outfit choices are over there.” He pointed toward a rack of clothes.