Ripped tights and ankle boots

I received a call a few days ago from my hairdresser. All of the main London escort girls go to her at least once a fortnight, usually for a trim, or a posh party up do. This time, she asked if I could stand in at the last minute to help model at a hairdressing show the next evening. Her planned model had chickenpox, and she needed someone with a similar hair length and thickness of hair. I double-checked my diary. It was possible, although, I would only be available in London from around five-thirty, and if she needed me this evening to do a run-through, she could come round to my place as I was with Josh.

So last night, I’d had my hair twisted into various shapes, with curls and the use of combs and glittery material. I looked a little like Boy George did in the eighties, as the dreadlocks around the back were interspersed with longer lengths of curls. It took quite a while to perfect and she wrote down notes and her timings as she went along.

I needed to look more street-wise like a hooker. She’d taken a miniskirt out of a holdall, with ripped-effect tights and ankle boots, to go with a waist-length purple jacket. I looked about ten years younger when she’d finished; a rebellious college girl who was going out with the bad boy everyone wanted to date.

Josh laughed when he saw how I looked, but there was also a glint in his eye at my cheeky sex-kitten appearance. My hairdresser needed me to be there for six for a six-thirty start, and she’d be there from around five when the venue opened.

I thought this was a small event, but when she explained there were over two-hundred fully-qualified hairdressers, plus eleven other contestants, all vying for a semi-final place for a National Hairdressing Award. The judging panel had two names I’d even heard of. I felt nervous. Lingerie modelling is one thing for professional escort girls, but a real catwalk model was another.

“The thing is,” she said, “the look is for a young woman from the age of 18-22. I know you just about fall out of that age range, but you look young, have a fabulous figure, and are so pretty to boot; no-one will care if you’re twenty-four.”

I looked at Josh and winked. It was my twenty-seventh birthday the following week.


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