Bated Babes
by Jo-Anne Wiley
Copyright© 2026 by Jo-Anne Wiley
Fiction Sex Story: Includes cover illustration: No more enticing tits. Sleaze-bag porn-photographer, Bill Bates is out of a job but is blackmail the answer to his financial woes? His body landing in the City morgue would imply no, it isn't. And Detective Jilly Anderson is left to answer the question... “why?”
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual Lesbian Crime Mystery DomSub Rough Anal Sex .
“Lick your lips. Look up ... into the camera. Yeah. Now jostle your hair, some. Lean back and give me a little more tongue. Lord, you’re hot...”
“Ahh, chicken scratch. You photograph the City’s most beautiful women for the amNewYork Sunday Edition. You can’t tell me...”
“No ... no ... It’s true. Those women I photograph for the tabloid are nothing more than your average, everyday store-window mannequins. You’re the real deal, sweetie. I swear.”
She shot him her ’I Didn’t Just Fall Off The Turnip Truck’ look but leaned back, sipped more vodka and ran a pretty tongue along her upper lip. She flashed him a lazy smile.
“Jesus,” he muttered, thinking of his cock as he watched her mouth move on the viewing screen of his Canon Camcorder. He zoomed in for a close-up: a perfect line of ivory framed between wet, luxuriously red lips. “How ‘bout,” his voice cracked, “d-dropping a few buttons.”
She’d had enough vodka to haze her thinking. “You’d like that...”
“I’d love that.”
She started to giggle. The sound rang hollow, unnatural in her head and it should have been a warning but she set her glass aside and worked loose the row of buttons that ran down between her breasts.
She let out a yelp, her fingers hanging-up in the silk below the under-curve. “Oh my god. Silly me. I’m not wearing a bra.”
“I noticed,” he grinned, eyes above the camera, “but don’t stop now.”
“Bugger,” she swore. But a moment later she had a bare breast captured in each hand. With stout nipples pinched between thumb and fingers, she lifted the mounds toward the lens. “You finally did it,” she hissed. “You finally talked me outta my clothes.”
Bill was toying with the idea of another bourbon when the knock against his back-door jarred the night-hush.
“That you?” He crossed his studio and pulled back the deadbolt. “Ahh ... right on time, too. And you have it,” he said, his eyes landing on the small suitcase.
“It’s here, just like you asked. I’m holding you to your side of the bargain.”
“Sure ... sure. Come in.” Bill set a clean glass on the edge of the bar. “Wanna drink to seal the deal?”
“No. It’s late. Just give me the photo and I’ll be going.”
“Of course.” Bill turned, unrolled a file-folder and flattened the glossy photograph that had been clipped inside. “Let’s have a last look, shall we?” Greed flashed in his eyes as he looked at the figures in the photo. “Lucky you. Those have to be the nicest set of tits I ever photographed.”
“Bastard. Hand it over.”
Bill pulled the photo out of reach and laughed. “And those nipples...” He turned to hold the photo under a lamp. “Leave the money on the floor. You can have the photo now and the camera’s SD Card later.”
“Later? That’s not what we agreed to.”
Bill was still licking his lips at the sight of long erect nipples. “Relax. It’ll take me awhile to count the money. And maybe I’ll jerk off one last time.” With his back still turned he squeezed at the front of his trousers, made loud kissy-kissy sounds and began to laugh again.
The ice pick was right there, on top of the bar. “Bastard. You’ll fuckin’ pay.”
Jill Anderson was in her flannels and working the remote when the phone chimed. “Sorry to disturb you,” it was her boss, “but we’ve got a homicide.”
“That’s alright, Sharon. I couldn’t sleep anyway. Victim’s name?”
“William Bates. He was a photographer for amNewYork. A neighbor was walking his dog and heard a commotion. Frank has been notified and will meet you at the scene. Got a pencil?”
William Bates lived in a modest house among modest surroundings– a workingman’s neighborhood close by the City Harbor Commission. Jilly pulled in behind a CSV van and, shielding her eyes from the flashing blue lights, she strode quickly up the damp asphalt while staving off the smell of dead fish and rotting algae.
She presented her ID wallet to the uniform at the door and was led through to the rear of the house. “It’s his photo-studio,” the young cop said and held the door for her.
Jilly stepped into a large room, an extension that had been tacked onto the original house. There was a light truss above her head and two fill lamps stood on stands either side of a sloped expanse of glass that opened onto the victim’s backyard.
A police photographer noticed her studying the tilted window. “It’s to capture natural light,” he explained. “Likewise the skylights overhead. Bates was into glam-photography and those guys always like to work with soft, natural lighting. The body’s over in the corner, by the bar.”
Bill Bates had built a cozy lounge in one corner of his studio where presumably, he entertained models, agents and clients.
Jilly adjusted her red, designer frames on a perky nose. “What’dwe got, Frank?”
Medical Examiner, Dr Frank Reid, looked up from a blood-stained sheet. “Guy with a hole in his back. Mr William Bates, if his driver’s license is to be believed.”
“Gun shot?”
“Uh-uh.” Frank held up an evidence bag. “Ice pick. I’ll know more when I get him on the table but time-of-death looks to be about midnight.”
“Just an hour ago?” Jilly looked at the shards of ceramic strewn across the carpet. “What happen to his lamp?”
“Looks to me he took a header straight into it. He might have been holding this up to the light when he was stabbed.” Frank held a file-folder that had been loosely rolled. “It’s been dusted.”
Jilly took the file-folder into her hands and rolled it flat on the bar to check the tab. “Odd. Why is it all rolled up? File-folders are kept flat, aren’t they? Hang in a cabinet.” She checked inside. “Huh. Nothing but a paper clip, but the tab says B-L-S. That could mean anything.” When Jilly relaxed her hold, the folder rolled back up like a kid’s party-twizzler.
Frank shrugged. “Maybe he was scrunching it ... about to toss it out.”
She watched Frank slip a thin digital camera from a leather case. “Maybe.” And, still holding the file-folder, she ran her eyes along the surface of the bar. It was clean except for a bottle of bourbon and two empty whiskey glasses. “Has this been dusted?” Jilly asked a lab-boy who was bent over, close by.
“Not the glasses,” he informed Jilly. “One is wet with condensation and I have to wait for it to dry.”
Jilly’s eyes narrowed. “Hold off until I check something.” Jilly moved behind the bar and opened an ice bucket. Next she squatted to check the bar fridge. She paused a moment, got to her feet and ran her fingers around the sink drain. “Get a tech over here. And photograph everything, understand? I want a record of everything.”
A moment later, a police photographer stood by her side. “Get both glasses, together,” Jilly instructed. “Then flip them over. I want a photo of what’s underneath.”
“Sure thing Sargent.” The guy wasn’t sure he understood the instructions but pulled a dental pick from his jacket pocket and got to work.
Once again, when she placed the file-folder on the bar, it coiled up– a tube as big around as her forearm. Jilly thought a moment, then glanced about the room.
“What are you looking for?” Frank was watching Jilly lift a framed photograph from the wall.
“I was wondering if he had a safe.”
A young lab technician was within earshot. “A safe?” His eyes narrowed. “I just saw a safe. It’s under a rug in his bedroom.”
“Show me,” Jilly said and followed the techie out of the room.
It was a small, round safe set into the floor by the bed. Jilly stood, straddling the metal lid. “Get someone up here who can open this thing.”
“No need,” the technician said and reaching down with a pencil, he hooked the handle and lifted. The round lid came up, swaying below his fingertips. “It’s empty.”
Jilly peered into the hollow cavity, got to her knees and slipped in the rolled up file-folder, end down. It was a perfect fit. “What was in this file-folder,” Jilly asked, “that was so valuable, he had to keep it locked in a safe?” The guy shrugged. “Make sure the photographer gets a shot of this and after, bag the file-folder for Forensics.”
On her way back to view the body, Jilly was taken aside. A technician had her by the arm. “You might be interested in this. It’s his home office.”
Jilly allowed herself to be led into a small room complete with desk and file cabinets. “Check out the bulletin-board,” the guy said. Jilly saw a dozen shots of a blond woman in various stages of undress, displaying a slim body for the camera.
“And check this out...”
The technician held a newspaper clipping. It was a photo of the same woman. Bates Babes, the caption read– Sonia Livingston.
“Wow. Nice digs,” Tommy commented from the passenger-side as Jilly pulled to a stop on the interlocking brick the next morning. Sonia Livingston lived well in a garden apartment in South Village.
“Yeah,” Jilly added, “beats my slum studio all to hell. How much does a newspaper reporter earn?”
“Nuts. I couldn’t afford her fuckin’ screened-in porch.”
“Well let’s never mind the assessment for Home & Garden,” Jilly said, pawing at her seat-belt. “Let’s see what the woman has to say.”
Jilly walked purposefully to the door and rang the chimes. The door opened on the chain and an intensely attractive face appeared to run a discerning eye along the lines of Jilly’s smart business suit. “I’m rather busy at the moment,” Sonia said coolly. “Is this important?”
“Sonia Livingston? I’m Detective Jill Anderson. And this is Detective Sargent Tomasina Vencenzi.” Jilly held up her ID wallet. “We hope you can help us.”
The woman’s eyes shifted to Tommy who, from long experience, stood to one side, sheltered by the door frame. A muscular hulk dressed in black spandex, Tommy didn’t look much like a cop but Sonia noted the small pistol she carried in the cuff of a knee-high boot. And the shield clipped to her belt.
Sonia hesitated, then unfastened the chain. “What’s this about?”
“Might we come in?” Jilly asked.
“Not until I know why you’re here.”
“You’re a reporter, with amNY?”
“That’s right.”
“Jilly took a breath. “We are inquiring after a Mr William Bates. Do you know him?”
Sonia chewed on the question a moment. “I guess. Bill’s a photographer at the paper. He and I have never been formally introduced,” she shrugged, “but I’ve seen him around the building.” Bill does the Bates Babes feature for the entertainment tabloid. It comes with the Sunday edition of the paper and, as you might imagine, I find his work rather tasteless.”
Jilly studied the woman’s face. “Bill was found murdered, in his home last night.”
“And surprise...” Tommy moved forward. “He has photographs of you, posing naked, pinned-up allover his wall.”
The color drained from Sonia’s face and she slumped sideways, a hand flailing for support. “The ass...” she exhaled. “Of all the stupid...”
“I think it would be best if you allowed us in,” Jilly said in a hushed whisper.
Sonia, visibly shaken, was pressing her eyes behind a thumb and forefinger. “Yes ... yes. You had better.” Sonia pushed up from the wall and walked away, leaving Tommy to trail along behind, closing the door after. Jilly followed Sonia to an upholstered bar in the front room and watched as she poured Grey Goose into a shot-glass.
“I’d offer you one,” Sonia said, tilting her head back, “but I guess you can’t, right? Please sit.”
Jilly nodded and dropped to the sofa but Tommy remained close by the door. “Does the name Chastity Cheeks mean anything to you?” Jilly asked.
“How...” Sonia’s chin came up, eyes flashing with surprise. “How d-did you know?”
“The prostitution charges were dropped but that didn’t mean the case-record was erased. Wanna tell us about it.”
Sonia seemed to cave-in onto herself. “It was University. I was so friggin’ broke. I had gone through all my savings and was desperate to make enough cash to finish my final semester. A girlfriend took me to the Calico Cat and I watched the girls dance. I thought: I can do that... and that’s how it started. I had a tight butt and earned the stage-name honestly. Stripping got me a degree in Journalism.”
“And the prostitution charges?”
“It was only the once. And once was enough. I was hired for a bachelor party that got outta hand. Five of us girls signed on to provide the entertainment. Only dancing wasn’t enough for the men. They wanted us down on our knees. One of the girls was forced. She was put across the head table and the guys lined up. Someone called the cops, thankfully before it was my turn on the table. I got off lucky, I guess. We, all us girls, were brought up on prostitution charges but later, the charges were dropped.”
Tommy hiked an eyebrow. “So you’ve always had this propensity to promiscuity?”
Sonia whirled, her hands high and fisted. “Don’t you try to fuckin’ bait me,” she swore. And she took a menacing step forward. Tommy stood six-foot. And was heavily muscled in her upper arms and shoulders. She had nothing to fear from the slim blonde but she had to admire the woman’s balls. Tommy shrugged and looked away.
“Miss Livingston ... Sonia. Please,” Jilly tried to get the inquiry back on track, “if you could explain the photographs in Bill’s home office.”
Sonia blinked wildly for a moment before returning to the bar to recharge her glass. She poured vodka down her throat. “Okay ... sorry I lied.” She turned her focus on Jilly. “You’re a woman. You should understand.”
Jilly softened. “Try me.”
Sonia tossed back what was left in the glass. “Bill and I had a thing going. It was purely physical. The relationship didn’t have legs and only lasted a few months. Anyway, he started photographing me. It was innocent enough in the beginning ... photos of me strolling in the park, admiring the sky ... that sort of stuff. But then one evening at his place, he asked me to unbutton my blouse. God, this is embarrassing...”
“Go on,” Jilly coaxed. “You’ve got nothing we haven’t heard before.”
“I swore to myself that I would end it there ... posing topless. I mean, what woman hasn’t bared her breasts for a boyfriend’s camera?” Sonia studied her glass a moment. “Four weeks later he was using a camcorder, making videos of me sucking his ... his...
Sonia gulped at her glass before realizing it was empty. “Oh Christ. He had me doing all sorts of disgusting things and then loading the images onto his hard drive. And somehow, I got blown away. It was wild ... it was sick ... it was thrilling. Like a hit of adrenaline. I’d let him film me doing any depraved act he could think of. And Bill has ... well had ... a very active imagination.”
“But at some point, you broke it off.”
“Yeah. You hear of the magazine, Local Tricks?”
“Uh-uh,” Jilly shrugged. “Explain.”
“It’s a cheap local rag. Guys send in revealing photos of the girls they’re involved with. The only criteria is the girl has to be local and photographed with nothing on. The magazine also has a website and they encourage the posting of videos of the same sort of disgusting content. Guys log on hoping to recognize a friend’s wife, someone’s daughter, a neighbor or maybe some woman they work with.”
“And Bill was posting videos of you. How did you find out?”
“In the most demeaning way possible. I had already broken it off with Bill when I got a call from downstairs. It was one of the workers on the loading dock, a guy named Rick, and he told me to check out the website ... and that he had a proposition for me.”
“Extortion?”
“There are four humiliating videos of me, and all of ‘em end with me ... oh Jesus.” Sonia dropped her face into cupped hands.
Jill made a note in her book. “How much does the guy want?”
“Guy? Christ ... Ricky’s only seventeen. And he’s not looking for money. Get my drift?”
“We can have a word with him...”
“Yes ... well ... I’d rather you leave it. If word got out, I mean.”
“Back to last night. We have a witness that saw you leave Bill’s residence. That places you at the crime scene. There is also a whiskey glass, maybe with fingerprints and enough saliva for a DNA analysis. Would you consent to providing samples for comparison?”
Sonia let out a breath. “No need. I was at Bill’s house last night, but I didn’t kill him. I wish I had that kind of nerve.”
“Can you tell us what happened?”
“I had logged onto the Local Tricks website and saw the videos ... me, with nothing on, and doing things. It was devastating to watch. I felt sick and humiliated and needed to confront Bill. I called a cab and went straight over.”
“What time was this?”
“Late. Maybe ten o’clock.” Sonia pulled a tissue from her sleeve and touched the corner to an eye, sniffed, then swiped her nose. “Allover town, guys are jerking off to the images of me with my finger stuck up my ass. Chastity Cheeks reigns once again.”
Jilly looked left, then right before backing onto the street. “Well, whatdayuh think?”
“I think we should’a dragged her cute little chaste ass into a holding cell.”
Jilly’s eyes came up. “Really?”
“She’s bright, and quick. And I don’t trust anyone who thinks it’s perfectly okay to lie to my face and that a simple apology will make things alright again. You got an evidence bag?”
“Check the case in back. What yah got?”
Tommy twisted in her seat and came up with a plastic zip bag. “I lifted the klean-x she tossed onto the bar after wiping her nose.” Tommy placed the tissue into the bag, sealed it, jotted down the date and signed her name. “There should be enough snot for a DNA match.”
Jilly bit her lip. “I’m willing to bet there’s not going to be any DNA match. At least not Sonia’s.”
Tommy’s expression fell. “But we got the whiskey glass.”
Jilly shook her head. “Uh-uh ... think about it. Sonia was furious when she saw nude images of herself on the Local Tricks website and went to Bill’s house to have it out with him.”
“Yeah. To kill his ass.”
“The whiskey glasses don’t make sense. If Sonia was intent on killing Bill, why would she pause to share a drink with him?”
“Christ, I don’t know. Because she’s fuckin’ nuts?”
“Maybe, but let’s wait for the lab report before we start speculating.”
Tommy’s head came up. “Hey. Pull over.”
“What?”
“Pull over. Right here by the curb. There’s the Nice Rack adult bookstore halfway down the block. I wanna check.”
Jilly parked and drummed fingers on the steering wheel as she waited. A moment later, the door swung back and Tommy emerged with a shopping bag. “Got it,” she announced, swinging into the passenger seat. “The latest edition of Local Tricks magazine.”
Tommy pulled a thin publication from the bag and flipped the pages. “Wow. These girls aren’t shy about flashing their goodies.”
“Let’s see.” And Jilly leaned over to look at the glossy pages bursting with fleshy mounds and lean hollows. “It’s true,” Jilly commented. “They are amateurs, all of ‘em. Not a fake boob anywhere. Why would young girls allow their boyfriends to submit their private photos for every horn-dog in town to gloat over?”
“Because they don’t know. You can bet most of these girls have no idea what the boyfriends are doing with their photos.”
Jilly sat back. “I can’t imagine...”
“You never had a boyfriend ask you to pop your buttons and pose for his camera?”
“Christ no. You?”
Tommy shrugged. “Well once. Only it wasn’t a guy.”
Jilly’s eyes shifted. “A woman...”
“My volleyball coach. I was only eight but tall for my age. My mom enrolled me in sports. Most of the girls on the team were nine or ten but I had no trouble keeping up.”
Jilly ran her eyes across Tommy’s broad shoulders and shrugged. “Do tell ... And your coach asked you to pose? Naked?”
“Miss Hilson. Yeah. She was great, and all the girls loved her. I remember she would come into the locker room sometimes, sit quietly and watch us shower. No one complained.”
Jilly was mortified. “If someone had complained, your Miss Hilson would have lost her job. At the very least.”
“I guess, but no one did ... complain, I mean. And for some reason she cut me out of the herd. Maybe because I was the youngest. One day after practice, she took me aside and told me she had bought me something but it was at her apartment. It was a slinky, blue dress. And really short. The style was very mature for an eight-year-old but I wasn’t about to disappoint her. I let her help me try it on.”
“And she took photographs...”
“Mmm. She had a camera with an automatic speed-wind, mounted on a tripod. When she started the timer, it would take a photo every ten-seconds or so. I stood in front of the lens while she stripped down my jeans and got me outta my underwear. She held the blue dress for me and zipped me up.”
“Geez Tommy. A speed-wind? Sounds like she had done it before. Did she touch you?”
“She kissed me. She got me seated on the sofa in front of her camera and asked if I’d like to see her breasts. I didn’t know what to say but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t about to wait for an answer. Miss Hilson wanted me to see.
“She undressed in front of you...”
“She unzipped her dress and let it fall. Miss Hilson had nothing on underneath and I remember she was so tall, and very slim. No boobs to speak of. No ass neither. She was cleanly shaved and as slick as a mink. And then she leaned down and kissed me. My whole body was heaving from the softness of her tongue in my mouth. After, she made me promise not to tell, drove me home and I hid the dress in the back of my closet.”
“And that’s all? She kissed you. And you left?”
Tommy grinned. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
The color climbed Jilly’s neck. “It’s just that ... well you enjoyed it, right?”
“It was a tender moment. What can I say?”
Jilly looked over. “You’re not, are you?”
“Not what...”
“Not ... you know...”
“Hey. I’m the one who woke up naked in your bed. Remember? And you never did tell me what happened.”
“Nothing happened. You were unconscious after you took that hit to the head. Someone had to look after you.”
“Oh I see.” Tommy’s grin widened. “And that meant undressing me and crawling on top of me. In bed. That right? If you’ll recall, that’s where I found you the next morning ... naked, and on top.”
“Sheesh. The thanks I get ... Nothing happened.”
“Something happened.” Tommy was chuckling now, enjoying Jilly’s discomfort. “A tender moment, perhaps?” She flipped to the inside front cover of Local Tricks and ran her eyes down the masthead, looking for an address. “What perv prints this rag, anyway?”
“Yeah.” Jilly was happy for the change of topic. “Anyone we know?”
“Carlson Publishing. Clarence Carlson, Publisher.” Tommy’s eyes circled. “Shit. You’ll never guess who else is at the top of the corporate ladder.”
“No...”
“Yes ... William Bates, Senior Editor.”
“Well surprise ... surprise.” Jilly’s eyes flickered. “Looks like Billy-Boy was double dipping. He’d use the prestige of his newspaper credentials to get an unwitting chicky to strip down to her underpants for the amNY tabloid. Then, with charm and a little persuasion, he’d work her outta her bra and panties and have a nudie for Local Tricks magazine.”
“Crafty old Bill ... working all the angles. And ripping off a bit of tail on occasion, as an added bonus.”
Jilly reached to start the car. “I think I’d like a chat with this Mr Carlson ... Bill’s Publisher.”
Tommy ran her eyes over Jilly’s slim business suit and shook her head. “Uh-uh. I’m better dressed for this occasion.”
“Sweet Mary, Mother of God...” The woman who stood in his doorway, seemed to fill it.
Clarence Carlson set aside a stinky cigar and watched the bitch lift her arms and grip the door-frame, a hand either side. It was an ass-puckering move that lifted unsupported breasts beneath the spandex of her sleeveless bodysuit. She leaned into his office, boobs first.
The woman didn’t break the spell by opening her mouth, and for that, Carlson was thankful. He desperately needed an undisturbed moment to savor the sculpted body sheathed in black. God, she was a monster and Carlson was surprised to see she wore flat-soled boots, not heels– dark leather boots that were tightly laced to the knee, and above, inner thigh muscle bulged, encompassing the jut of her sex where the spandex was bunched– the stretchy fabric sucked into her slice.
Licking his lips, he dared to look further.
The smooth outline of jaunty tits was broken by the thrust of thick nipples. Her upper arms and shoulders were bare and ripped with muscle and if not for her tallness, she could have appeared stocky. But she was tall, and she looked sheened and smooth because of it.
She finally spoke. “Mr Carlson? I don’t mean to intrude but they said I could find you back here.”
“With a bod like that, you can intrude on me all you want.” He dug his cigar outta the ashtray and blew a plume of blue smoke toward the ceiling. “C’mon in, doll, and close the door.”
Tommy stepped into his small office and immediately felt claustrophobic. The wall to the left was floor-to-ceiling framed photographs and to settle herself, Tommy turned to look.
Girls looked back. Dozens and dozens of girls, some smiling, some appearing suggestive, others touching themselves– even entering themselves. Tommy halted at a chestnut, red-head in the second row and having seen enough, she pulled her eyes away.
“My bragging wall,” she heard Carlson’s dark chuckle from behind. “Take a seat, doll. You wanna drink?”
Tommy jackknifed into a scarred guest chair and disappointed him by tossing one leg over the other, barring the view of her cunt. “Thanks, but no, ‘though I’m happy to watch you...” She bobbed her boot.
Carlson, compensating by looking at her tits, grinned and pulled a bottle of Jack from a lower desk drawer. He filled a whiskey glass. “So what’cha sellin’ doll?”
“Selling?”
“Sure ... dressed like that. You gotta name?”
“Tomasina. And I dress like this because men like to see me this way. You certainly seem to.”
Carlson humped a shoulder. “Effin’ you wanna show off the goods, doll, I’m happy to oblige you with a hard-on but before I jerk off allover you, you wanna tell me why you’re here?”
He was a crude bugger but if he meant to shock Tommy he’d have to come up with something clever. Something she hadn’t heard before. “I’m looking for modeling work,” she responded. “You publish a magazine ... so...”
“Have you seen the publication? We got all amateurs. Our girls work for free.”
“Free? You don’t pay them to bare their tits?”
“Uh-uh,” Carlson laughed. “It’s perfect. Guys send me nudie photos of their girlfriends. They get the thrill of seeing their bitch in print and I got no overhead. Beautiful.”
Tommy rolled her eyes. “Guys do that?”
“Yeah. As stupid as it sounds. My partner and I got into this shit back in college. Bill Bates and I were best buddies. He stood up for me at my friggin’ wedding, for christ-sake, and he was a genius when it came to talking a broad outta her clothes. We were enrolled in Media Arts at the time. He handled the photography and I did the merchandising.”
“Bill...”
“Yeah. He works for amNY, now. He does that feature in their entertainment tabloid, Bates Babes it’s called, but I don’t know for how much longer. He got his nuts in a wringer with the new boss. Word is his editor doesn’t think photos of girls stripped down to their undies is dignified.” Carlson laughed. “And I guess she’d be right. Anyway, Bill was taking underwear photos for the entertainment tabloid then sweet-talking the girls into stripping the rest of the way down for our magazine.”
“Bill sounds like quite the player.”
“Yeah. What a dude. In college, he had these business cards printed up with the Playboy logo front and center. And the chicks on campus fell for it ... thinking he was on assignment for Hugh Hefner. And Bill would hang around the dorm at night, shooting through windows.”
“That’s not exactly legal,” Tommy commented.
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