Chapter 1

Mom and I have been struggling for money for my entire fifteen years of life. It isn’t mom’s fault so much as it’s the fault of the boy who knocked her up when she was sixteen and a Junior in high school. She was left with little choice but to quit school. Her staunchly religious parents didn’t kick her out but they provided only the bare minimum of support. They gave her a place to live and food to eat but that was pretty much it. She might as well have been living alone. And those good Christians had nothing to do with me, her bastard daughter, after I was born.

My father ... no, he was never a father to me. The boy who knocked up my mother was seventeen and a Senior. When it became known around school his girlfriend was pregnant he told all sorts of lies about my mother and her morals. He had taken her virginity in what had been a date rape situation and he had been the only boy with whom she ever had sex. But from the time he found out she was pregnant he never said another word to her. He only said a lot of crap about her. He graduated at the end of the school year and went off to an Ivy League college. He never saw or spoke to her again.

Mom couldn’t return to school after I was born. Her parents refused to have anything to do with either of us beyond providing us with the use of a bedroom and our meals. I don’t remember those meals but I can’t imagine they were pleasant.

I don’t know all the details. Mom never talks about her parents and I wasn’t all that aware during the first half dozen years of my life. I know mom eventually managed to get some help from several government programs. She got me into childcare, got a job and eventually got us into an apartment. Keep in mind that she has only an eleventh-grade education so no one offered her a job as CEO of a Fortune Five Hundred Company. She got jobs as a waitress or cleaning houses, stocking shelves in stores or, when she got lucky, as a cashier.

I won’t bore you with the whole story of the first fifteen years of my life. I just wanted you to know my background so you can better understand how I got into the strange situation I’m in now.

At the age of fifteen I have two main sources of pleasure in my life. I love to read. Thanks to public libraries it’s a pastime mom and I can afford. Other than that, when I was nine, a newly hired gym teacher discovered I have a talent for gymnastics. It came as a surprise to everyone, probably me most of all. I think one of the reasons I’m so good at it is that it takes so much concentration. It’s like I go to an entirely different world when I’m devoting every iota of my concentration on learning a new routine or, better yet, when I’m competing before an audience with a routine I’ve perfected and know I can perform like a pro.

My coach says she thinks I’m so good because I lack imagination. I don’t even think about what could happen if I screw up a landing.

We live in a fairly small town. There are no gymnastic facilities or coaches unaffiliated with the local school system. But our coach is very good, so good that they have put her in charge of installing programs at the elementary school, the intermediate school and by the time I moved up to the ninth grade she had put a program in place at the high school and that’s where she spends most of her time now. By the time she reached that level she had such a good reputation she was able to talk the school board into some upgrades to the gym and to the locker room and shower facilities.

The girls in all three programs are all on the same team. We just compete at different levels. I’ve been on the school team at various levels for six years now and thanks to that relatively small group of girls I have friends. I never had friends before I joined the team.

As my teammates and I perfected our skills we began to compete around the state and a couple of times we even competed against out of state teams. That led to competing in multistate competitions. That’s when my problems started. In the beginning the only expense mom had to deal with was an occasional cute, sexy little leotard, or on rare occasion when we traveled to a competition, a night in a shared room in a cheap motel and enough money for a couple of light meals. The problem I’m having now started when we had a three-day meet coming up, a big one, an important one.

More than anything I desperately wanted to go to that meet. But I knew better than to even ask mom for the money. I knew she couldn’t afford it.

Our gym coach, Miss Phillips, gave us the details after practice one afternoon. The rest of the team was so excited you’d have thought they were going to the Olympics! It was all I could do to keep from bawling right there in front of everyone. I didn’t even bother to pick up the information packet. I showered and dressed and headed toward home. I stopped on my way through the small park between school and our little duplex. I walked to my favorite park bench, sat down and finally allowed the tears to fall.

There had been no one around when I sat down so I almost had a heart attack when someone sat down beside me and asked, “What’s the matter, Paula?”

She spoke so quietly I didn’t recognize her voice at first. I hurriedly pulled myself together and wiped my eyes. I didn’t realize who the intruder was until my vision cleared and I saw her. It’s Marsha, a girl from my gymnastics team. I forced myself to calm down and pasted a poor imitation of a smile on my face. I didn’t fool her.

I’ve known Marsha for almost ten years but we are just acquaintances, not friends ... well, I guess we’ve gotten to be friends, just not close friends. I never really had any friends until I joined the team. I was the girl in the old hand-me-downs who lives in the rundown old duplex on the wrong side of the tracks. Over the years I’ve gotten picked on by some of the meaner kids in school but mostly I just got ignored. Marsha was one of the girls who got her kicks picking on me until I joined the gymnastics team. I’m not sure why but after that she began to lighten up. But that change didn’t occur until my second year on the team. That’s the year my confidence seemed to soar and I really began to excel.

Once I began to get a reputation as one of the best girls on the team people began to treat me nicer, even though I still wore old clothes which mostly fit if I was lucky but were obviously thrift shop specials. And I still had my hair cut in the girl’s equivalent of a bowl cut. Mom did her best with a comb and a pair of scissors but I was never going to look like I’d been to a beauty shop.

I finally replied, “Nothing. I’m just feeling a little depressed.”

She gave me a look which made it clear she knows that’s a load of crap. Then she looked at the textbooks I’m carrying home and asked, “Where’s your information packet?”

I sighed and said, “I can’t go.”

“Because of the money, right?”

I looked down at my hands and nodded.

“I know a way you could get the money if you want to go bad enough. My parents can’t afford it either. But I found a way to get the money.”

My spirits soared for about a fraction of a second. But then reality hit. There’s not a chance in hell whatever she’s going to suggest is legal. There’s no way a fifteen-year-old girl can earn two-hundred dollars in three weeks. Or at least no way which is legal. She saw my skepticism, smiled and said, “That’s alright. Forget I said anything. I shouldn’t have said anything and you couldn’t do it anyway.”

I’m fairly sure she’s right. I’m not going to steal something or sell drugs. I can’t imagine what else she might be doing.

I picked up my books and I was about to stand up when she said, “Let me know if you change your mind.”

I know better. I’m growing up on the wrong side of the tracks. I have a pretty good idea how the world works for people who live on the bottom rungs of the ladder. But I just had to ask. “What is it, Marsha? How can I earn that much money in three weeks?”

She looked around to make certain no one is nearby. Then she turned back to me and said, “If I tell you, you can’t say anything to anyone, not ever. Whether you take the job or not, you have to swear you won’t tell anyone.”

I sighed and said, “I think I believe you, Marsha. I suspect what you’re about to tell me is something I couldn’t do. But I’m desperate. I have to ask. How can I make that much money in three weeks?”

She smiled and said, “That much and more. It’s pretty much up to you how much you make.”

“And it’s illegal, right?”

She had to think about that for a minute. She finally responded, “I don’t think it’s illegal for you. For them it is.”

Okay, that doesn’t sound creepy at all! I waited for her to go on but she just sat there watching me until I exclaimed in exasperation, “What?! What is it?!”

She grinned and as if she’s proud of it she said, “I pose for pictures.”

A violent shudder ran through my body. I don’t know exactly, but I have a general idea what kind of pictures I’d have to pose for to earn that kind of money in such a short time.

Neither of us spoke for a couple of minutes. Not until she said, “I have a few with me. Would you like to see them?”

Do I want to see nude pictures of Marsha? Not really. But I’ve seen her naked a thousand times since I joined the gymnastics team. I suppose I could look at a naked picture of her without fainting.

“Yeah. Okay.”

She reached into her bookbag and unzipped one of the compartments. She pulled out a cell phone, something we’re not allowed to have in our school but that’s a rule which is pretty much universally ignored. She put her bag down and started pushing buttons.

She handed me her phone and showed me how to move from picture to picture. I got the idea but most of my attention was focused on the picture of Marsha posing in her bra and panties. Marsha is a very pretty girl and she’s very sexy. Like me and pretty much every other girl on the team her breasts are kind of small for her age. I swiped to the next picture and gasped. Her bra is gone. She’s smiling at the camera and cradling her boobs in her hands as if posing them for the picture.

I feel my face turning bright red, in part because I know she’s watching me and judging my reaction. After staring at her boobs for a couple of minutes I whispered, “You’re very sexy.”

“Thank you. So are you. That’s one of the benefits of spending so much time in the gym.”

I moved on to the next picture. She’s stark naked in this one but she seems pretty damn happy about it. She still has that inviting smile on her face. She really looks like she’s enjoying herself. I see no sign that she’s the least bit self-conscious, which is all the more remarkable because, like pretty much all the girls on the team she has removed all of her pubic hair. We spend too much time in leotards to have to keep messing with pubes.

I stared much too long at her naked body while wondering what it’s like to pose like that for some man. And I wondered about that man. Who is he? What’s going through his mind? Well, I suppose I have a pretty good idea what’s on his mind. I’m not that naïve.

Without turning away from the picture I asked, “How can you do that with that beautiful smile on your face? Weren’t you scared? Weren’t you embarrassed? Weren’t you ... I don’t know what to say?!”

“I was at first. Before I began posing for those pictures I’d never undressed in front of a guy. Even my doctor is a woman. The first couple of times I was a little nervous. But once I settled down I started to enjoy it. It helps that the guy taking the pictures is easy to work with. I suppose it also helps that I’ve always been a bit of a showoff. I’m just taking it to the next level ... and getting paid for it.”

I moved on to the next picture, Marsha, nude again, but in a different pose, a more revealing pose. I didn’t notice it on the last picture, but in this picture I can see signs of moisture around the lips of her sex! She’s turned on! She’s enjoying this!

As I move my finger to swipe to the next picture I asked, “Aren’t you afraid someone will get their hands on your phone and find these?”

“They’re password protected.”

“Are these being posted somewhere ... or published? No, you’re only sixteen. It would be illegal to publish them.”

“They aren’t being published. But there’s a pay site on the dark web for members only where they’re being posted. There are DVDs for sale, too.”

“Isn’t that scary?!”

“It was at first. But once I calmed down I kind of find it exciting. Like I said, I get a kick out of showing off. It kinda turns me on to know I’m turning all those guys on.”

I moved to the next picture. In this one she’s on her hands and knees with her butt toward the camera. She’s looking back over her shoulder, looking right into the camera and smiling an incredibly sexy smile. I finally got the nerve to look at her and said, “You certainly are sexy. How long have you been doing this?”

“About three months. I do it after school one day a week and most Saturdays. The sessions last between one and two hours.”

“Does the guy ever ... you know ... get fresh?”

“I’m still a virgin.”

She said the words but something, a strange expression flickered across her face for like a second. Still, seeing her with that sexy smile in the pictures ... she really looks like she’s having fun.

I looked at a few more sexy pictures. I can’t deny I was getting turned on. Not so much from looking at Marsha naked but just thinking about the situation, about what it would be like to let a man take pictures of me like that. I’m sure I couldn’t actually do it. But the concept is kind of exciting.

But then the reason Marsha is showing me these pictures popped into my head. The meet, and the money I’d need to go. I desperately want to go, to compete. But do I want it badly enough to do what she’s doing in those pictures?

I looked at a few more pictures before I found the nerve to ask, “I guess since you brought it up you won’t be offended. How much does he pay you to pose like this?”

“The first time I went I made two-hundred dollars. Now it depends. Most of the time he pays me one hundred now.”

“Depends, depends on what?”

“I can’t tell you that. I gave my word.”

“That’s not scary at all.”

She chuckled and said, “The guy is breaking about a hundred laws. I can certainly understand wanting to keep things from anyone not involved, like you. If you think you might be interested, he’ll answer your questions. And if you decide you think you have the balls you could make more than enough money to go to the meet.”

“I can’t deny I’m tempted. I want desperately to go to that meet. It’s like the team is moving up to the big time but I can’t go with them. I just don’t know if I have the nerve to actually get undressed in front of a guy, especially a guy I don’t even know.”

“Yeah, I felt like that at first. But I thought about it a lot and by the time I showed up for my first session I had a different way of looking at it. It was like I could do it because I don’t know him and don’t give a shit what he thinks. And after the first time it just gets easier. I was still nervous the second time but I calmed down enough that I started getting excited, too. By the third time it was just exciting. I probably wouldn’t keep going if I weren’t getting paid. But I can’t deny I’m having fun.”

“Can I meet him?”

She smiled, took her phone back out of her purse and placed a call. A moment later she said, “Hi. I’ve been talking to a friend of mine. She’s desperate for the money to go to an out-of-town gymnastics meet. I told her a little bit about how I’m making a little extra money and she’s nervous but interested.”

She handed me her phone and said, “He wants to talk to you.”

I took the phone from her and in a very tentative tone of voice I said, “Hello?”

A man with an unusually pleasant, friendly voice said, “Hello. I understand you need to make a little money. I gather Marsha has told you what she’s been doing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me about yourself.”

“My name is Paula. I’m fifteen, 5’2”, blonde. I’m a gymnast so I’m in pretty good shape. I need money to go to a meet but my mom is a single mom and I know she can’t afford it. I wouldn’t even ask her. I’m very nervous about this. I ‘ve never been undressed in front of a guy before. But I think I want to go to this meet badly enough that I could do this.”

“Are you a virgin?”

I blushed like crazy but answered, “Yes.”

“Just out of curiosity, have you ever done anything with a boy ... anything of a sexual nature I mean?”

“No sir. I’ve never even held hands with a boy or kissed one. Or a man either! The only person I’ve ever kissed is my mother. And I don’t kiss her like I think girls kiss boys.”

He laughed and said, “I’m relieved to hear that.”

I love his voice! It’s so reassuring!

“How much money do you need and when do you need it?”

“I need two-hundred dollars. They’re leaving in three weeks but I’d have to turn in the money for the room in two weeks.”

“That’s feasible. When can you come over and give me about two hours of your time?”

“I don’t know what your hours are. My mom doesn’t get home until after eight. On the nights I don’t have gym I’m free between three and eight ... well, seven-thirty. I’d need time to get home. On weekends I’ve usually got a couple of chores but mostly I’m free all day.”

“Do you have gym tomorrow?”

“No sir.”

“Would you like to come over and we can talk for a while. I’ll show you my studio and we can see how you feel about it.”

The quaver in my voice was noticeable when I replied, “Okay, I guess.”

“Great! Give the phone back to Marsha please.”

I handed her the phone and said, “He wants to talk to you.”

She listened a few minutes and said, “Yes sir.”

She put the phone away and said, “I’ll take you over there after school. I know it’s scary. You just gotta keep telling yourself why you’re doing it. And remember, it gets easier every time you go back.”

I want to know more about what happens when she goes to that place but I don’t even know what to ask her. And although she seemed happy to show me her pictures she seems reluctant to talk about her experiences there. That kinda makes me nervous but I suppose my questions will all be answered when I go there tomorrow. And if I don’t like what I find out when I get there I can always leave.

I had a hell of a time getting to sleep that night. I lay in bed imagining what it would be like to pose for pictures like the ones Marsha showed me. Alone in the dark those mental images terrified me. Or at least the thought of undressing in front of a strange man, displaying my body so blatantly while he takes pictures which will be posted on the Dark Web so that god only knows how many perverts will soon be able to see every intimate inch of my body is terrifying. But I was surprised when I slowly came to the realization terror is not the only reaction I’m experiencing!

I’ve been living a more or less sex free existence. I don’t pay much attention to boys. I’m only fifteen. I can’t date. But even if I could, at the moment the focus of my life is gymnastics. School is okay. I’m a good student and I enjoy school, especially now that I have friends. But everything else in my life takes a backseat to gymnastics. I suppose the fact that all my friends are gym rats too helps keep me focused. When we’re together there is almost never any talk about boys.

I hear the other girls at school talking about the boys they’re attracted to or some guy they went to a movie with and the kinds of things boys and girls our age experience. But that’s all foreign to me. To be honest, the idea of kissing a boy makes me uncomfortable. That doesn’t mean I’m into girls. I’m not. I just don’t have the time or energy to expend on boys right now.

Until this afternoon and evening I’ve spent almost no time thinking about sex and sexuality. But lying here in bed, imagining posing for pictures like the ones Marsha showed me, I’m discovering a strange side effect. My body is tingling in places it has never tingled before!

When I awoke in the morning I was relieved to find that, despite the turmoil in my brain before I went to sleep, I apparently didn’t have any disturbing dreams. If I did I don’t remember them. I got up and quietly went about getting ready for school as usual. Mom works from ten until eight, six days a week. She sometimes picks up a little extra time on Sunday but she doesn’t do that as much anymore. I don’t think she gets nearly enough sleep so I’m always very careful not to wake her when I’m getting ready for school.

I left the house at the usual time. I was surprised to find Marsha waiting for me on the sidewalk in front of my house. We said good morning and started walking to school but we hadn’t gone ten feet before she asked, “Have any trouble getting to sleep last night?”

I just laughed. Then she asked, “Having any second thoughts?”

I sighed and said, “I think going to that guy’s place after school is probably one of the dumbest things I’ll ever do. But I have to go. I have to go to that meet. Not a lot of good things have happened in my life. I’m pretty sure gymnastics is the reason I haven’t just given up on everything. I know I’ll never go to the Olympics or even the Nationals. This meet may be the only chance I’ll have to make a splash. In my mind this is my one chance to shine. All I can thing about lately is how very much I want to go to that meet and knock everyone’s socks off.”

When we got to school she said, “I’ll meet you at the gate as soon as school gets out.”

I nodded and we separated. I had a terrible time concentrating in my classes. I kept picturing myself in the poses I saw on Marsha’s phone yesterday. That was bad enough. But when I went to the restroom just before lunch I was shocked to find the crotch of my panties was soaking wet. That kind of scared me. What kind of girl has that reaction to the strange thoughts I’ve been having today?!

The afternoon was even worse. The closer it got to being time to go talk to Marsha’s pornographer the more nervous I became. Several times I made up my mind not to go. But each time I did, ten minutes later I told myself I have to go. I told myself I’m just going to talk and that posing like a Playboy model won’t be so bad. I might even enjoy it judging by the condition of my underwear.

I think I finally made up my mind for good when, between classes, I rushed to the gym. I found Miss Phillips, the woman who teaches gymnastics and who got me interested in the sport initially. I asked her for one of the information packets for the trip.

She smiled and said, “I wondered who didn’t take one yesterday. I thought maybe someone decided not to go on the trip.”

I think that was the longest afternoon I ever spent in school. But finally, the last bell rang and I found Marsha waiting for me at the gate. She grinned when she saw me and said, “You look like you had a rough day.”

I smiled, a much weaker smile than hers, and replied, “I must have chickened out a dozen times this afternoon. But ten minutes later I always came back to the conclusion I have to go with you or I won’t be able to go to the meet.”

She looked down at my books and saw the info folder sticking out. She said, “I see you picked up the packet.”

I shrugged and said, “That’s what this is all about.”

As we started walking I said, “I wish you’d tell me more about what’s going to happen there, what I can expect.”

She sighed and replied, “I really can’t, Paula. I just can’t. And besides, it’s different every time I go. And I’ve talked to another of his girls. She has had a much different experience than I have.”