I always wanted to be a star. To be famous. I don’t know if that was something I wanted or something my mom wanted me to want, but the result was the same. Modeling gigs, singing lessons, dancing lessons, competitions. I did them all. The lights and faces on me, the applause, it was intoxicating before I knew what that word meant. I just knew I craved attention, needed it. It was the only time I ever felt real or alive. To be ordinary was to swim in an ocean of gray.

Of course, being a young and attractive girl that thrived on attention, I learned a bit about men earlier than most. The lingering hugs, the leering stares, the hidden glances at my slim figure, my thin lines. Despite being really too busy to have any relationships or date, I knew what it was like for an older man to hug me and have the bulge in his pants pressing against my belly. The lust in their eyes, the “accidental” touches. It was par for the course. I knew some girls who had it worse. We all did. Some would visit their coach after a session and they would come out quiet, crying softly. But then, despite not doing as well, they would get first spot or top billing. We didn’t say anything. That was how everything worked.

I was spared that growing up, but my mom wanted my stardom as much, if not more than I did. Coaches and agents visited our house a lot. She went on dates with people who might be able to help. I grew up listening to her sounds in the bedroom, just to give me an edge. I didn’t always understand, but on some level, I knew. And sometimes, well, she would let them touch me. Nothing too explicit, just lingering long enough to be inappropriate. She would let them take pictures of me in my nightgown or less. Not naked, but near enough. I sat on enough laps to learn what was going on as they stroked my back or rested their hand on my ass. It was the “price” to get ahead.

But I never did, not enough, not early on anyway. I made decent money, nothing special, nothing to justify all the hard work. Not til high school, having turned 15 only a month before, when an agent spotted me while shopping of all things. I wasn’t even trying to work at all and that’s when my opportunity came. She talked to me, told me what they could bring, and what they could offer me if I just signed the dotted line. Even if I was hesitant, my mom wouldn’t let me pass up the chance. College, normalcy, they all could wait until later. This was my “moment”, she declared. I had to take it. So I did.

It went well at first. They had us come in, had me exhaust myself dancing and singing to evaluate me, and I had to dress up over a dozen times in different clothing. Long fancy dresses, short skirts, almost naked to barely showing skin. They took hundreds of photos, casual to seductive to slutty, as the agent watched, licking his lips the entire time. I felt dirty as he observed, always commenting on my slim form and how young I looked. Every opportunity he could, he made sure to pat my butt to tell me I was doing a good job.

Then, near the end of the day, I was in a halter top that barely covered me. I was wearing a short skirt and panties that left me exposed if I moved much at all, and we were all sitting down. I was soaked in sweat, tired, but glowing as this was the biggest chance I’d ever had. They weren’t talking about a commercial appearance on local TV, but a full-on music tour. Not as the lead, of course, but as an opening act for a group they’d just hired on. No one world-famous, but still, I’d be traveling around the country and getting recognition along with heavy social media saturation to promote me. Mom did most of the talking. She had done that before. Her job was to talk, mine was to sit there and be pretty. So I crossed my legs and nodded, noticing his hands graze her legs, her fake laugh at every joke of his. I figured she would disappear to his office or send me home while they talked “business”. They got up while I drank some water, watching them from a distance. They grew animated, as he waved a finger at her, then pointed at me. It grew silent for only a moment and then they talked some more and he walked off to his office.

Mom came over to me, all smiles as she fussed with my hair, stroking my cheek. Then she sat down and told me that she would wait for me in the car. That he needed a bit of convincing to seal the deal and that I had to be a good girl. She asked me if I understood and I did. I wished I didn’t, but she gripped my hands hard and told me to do what I had to do. And with that, my mom sent me off to the office to be a whore.

It was different when you were passive. Letting them stare or touch, you just had to keep the smile on. You didn’t even have to be sincere, they didn’t care. This made my stomach churn as I walked to the office, knocking on the door before entering.