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AUTHOR’S NOTE: sorry it has taken me so long to write. I have been searching for new and unusual plots. I think I came up with a true version of what the tabloids think goes on in Hollywood. The names have been changed to protect the guilty. Please let me know if you like it.
I was born beautiful, so don’t hate me.
Being beautiful was all I have ever known, it is who I am and everything I will be. I know most of you women are jealous of my perfect features, my flawless skin and hate my body which is desired by most of the male population.
I was born beautiful, which means being hated by women, especially my so called peers. Models and actresses that I work with all hate me because I am born beautiful not fined tuned by surgery. Those women that want to be my friend, desire to be around someone beautiful like me. I guess they think I make them more attractive.
I know you immediately think I am conceited, a braggart or just “full of herself”. What it is, its honesty and I need to tell you my story, the true story of Bridgett “Jet” Tarboe.
When I say I was born beautiful, I mean it literally. After just 20 days old my mother got me my first job, as a new born baby on a TV show. My mother knew I was going to beautiful the day she found out she was pregnant.
Her mother expected her to be beautiful also, they named my mother Estella. They expected her to be a star and have a “stella” career. My mother was good looking, as from the time she was a teenager she entered every pageant or fair that had a beauty contest. She won first place in a county fair when she was 14, but most of the larger beauty pageants she had to settle for second or third place.
My mom talks about those days a lot while I was growing up. She told me how the other girls would either sabotage her or give sexual favors to the judges to win. She used to tell me that she had learned from mistakes in her own life to make sure my life would be perfect.
Did I mention my hair? Men are mistaken when they say it is blonde. It is such a perfect blonde that Rivlon and Sam Factors, the two largest cosmetic companies both tried to replicate my color calling it Jet Blonde.
Jet is my nickname.
I have an older brother named Ian. I suspect that my mother was so disappointed that her first born was a son, that as soon as she was able, she tried for a second child, me. My mom devoted my life to me and she made sure my brother did the same. He was taught to care for me, to worship me, to make sure I would develop to be me. He went to regular, public schools while I went to the right private schools.
As my mother groomed me to be a star, as soon as I was born she groomed Ian to take care of me. In looking back, I can see why he might be resentful of me. Ian was less than a brother and more of an administrator to me. He always played second fiddle to my needs. When we were children, if there was only one scoop of ice cream left, of a flavor that he preferred over me, all I had to do is ask for it and mother would dish it out for me.
She would say something to him like “now Ian, you know your sister can’t eat as much ice cream as you, she has to watch her weight; so indulge her.”
In times like this he would storm off mad. It might have been then that I realized the power I had over him. I would take one lick of the spoon then dump the dish of ice cream in the sink. To me it was all about the power.
Don’t hate me.
I was really more often nice to my brother than mean. I would buy him things and introduce him to girls. Because having power is more than making someone miserable, it’s how far you can push someone to a point and then bring them back into acquiescence with minimal effort. With real power people will always do what you want, just to make you happy.
My mother had placed Ian under my thumb but I learned from her how to keep all men that way. She did it with my father. My mother chose him because he was hard working and would do anything for her. Why wouldn’t he, she was way out of his league. When they met he was a senior vice president of a construction firm making a decent living.
After I was born, my mother knew she would need more. She demanded he start his own business and she went out to get backing for him.
I have heard stories about her ways. I look back now and I can honestly say I believe them. She seduced his co-workers, bankers, and even rivals to get his business up and running. I have heard people say that women using sex for gain makes them a whore.
These people are what I call “outsiders.” The “insiders” know differently. The “outsiders” use sex for enjoyment, just as they use money to buy toys with, like driving a Porsche for fun. The “insiders” use sex for power. When an “insider” buys something like a Porsche it’s because his partner has a Corvette. If his partner has a Porsche then the “insider” buys a Ferrari. It’s always about the power.
My mother used her fine figure and her womanly wiles because sex brought power. My father enjoyed the success of his casino siteleri new construction company. It was much smaller than the corporation he worked for, but it was his own and he made more money. My father, Robert, worked long hours at keeping the company successful. After all, my mother insisted on it. My mother didn’t allow him to interfere much with me, to his credit; he knew his place in our family.
Don’t think I am cold.
I love my family. They have all given so much to me. But let me continue to my teen years. By the time I was 12 I was worldly. I knew I had power over men and women. I knew my life story as well as if it were already out on DVD. I would collect valentines from school as if they were worn socks; as soon as I got home they were in the trash. Why waste my time on childhood puppy love, when I knew I will be courted by Princes and Kings. I was already modeling and doing small TV spots but to me this was all just baby stuff.
I remember coming home from school one day and the look on my mother’s face, gleaming with radiance told me that something special had happened. The world famous designer, Kelvin Cline was considering using me for a new line of clothing. He wanted us to come to New York and do some shots. The famous French photographer Vida Goresson would be the photographer. THE Vida Goresson, at the time he was considered in modeling to be GOD. He could make or break a person just with the click of his shutter.
My mother knew all about Kelvin Cline, she called him a closet pedophile. I didn’t know at the time what that meant. I knew he liked little girls like me. In fact, at the age of 12 my breast were quite developed and I even thought I might be too developed for his particular taste. I have seen his other ads in all the magazines. What interested me more was Vida Goresson. If he liked me, I knew he would be my ticket. My mother agreed, Vida was the person to impress.
It was then I wished I had a boyfriend. If I had one, perhaps I would know how to do this sex thing. I wondered if Vida would be interested in a girl like me. I thought not, he was surrounded by adult models all the time. I had hoped he would find my mother attractive; perhaps she can work the sex thing on him.
Don’t hate me.
I was done with childhood at the age of 7 and now I was dealing with an awkward age in which my body was that of a woman, by my age was of a child. My mind? Well that hasn’t really changed at all. Then just as now I always knew what I wanted.
We went to New York. Daddy couldn’t come because of work. Mother and I invited Ian along on the adventure. Not that he was going to the studio or be involved, but someone had to carry our bags. This was a big day, I was not going to chance breaking nail or straining myself.
It was a game. I played the naïve young teen with Vida all the while trying to seduce him with my body. Naturally my mother was there, I was a minor after all. He would ask me to step into the dressing room and change into shorts and a blouse. I would come out with the blouse clutched against my naked torso, just covering my nipples but allowing him to see how full and developed my breasts were from the side.
I would act coy and ask “is this the right shirt?”
I knew when I struck a chord when he would cough and give a nervous glance to my mother. Vida was a man of 34. He was fit and his fame and confidence, made him more attractive than he was. He took hours of pictures of me. I seduced him with my eyes. Vida would tell me many years later that the look I gave him back then were as if I was ” the most experienced whore in the world.” I think that was the greatest compliment you can give a virgin.
The next day we went back to the studio, Vida and Mr. Cline was there. He shook my hand and offered a peck on the cheek to my mother.
“Call me Kelvin.” He smiled and I could see him glancing about my body.
When we looked at the photos sprawled on the large glass table, I stood right up against him, reaching across his body for a photograph, making sure my breast was firm against his arm. Occasionally, I would rub against him, squealing in delight when he said something nice about a picture. I could see through the glass table that his penis was stirring. I had a pretty good understanding on what this man liked.
Over the next two days, we all had dinner and discussed the photos. Kelvin would fatherly give me advice, which always seemed to entail a caress or hug. I pretended to not only act unaware, but to enjoy teasing him with my “unintentional” rubbing. To his credit, it never went any further than that. I am sure to this day he still masturbates thinking about how he would have deflowered me. But he was too successful and astute of a businessman to fall into that. Perhaps he just used his imagination or perhaps when he was off in one of those third world countries checking on his factories, he would find himself a young girl and pretend it was me.
Needless to tell you all, I was signed. You’ve seen my ads from billboards to magazines. They created slot oyna quite a controversy with that ad, all of the religious uproar made millions in sales. The ad featured a really sexy side shot of me.
The photo of me stopped just above my ass crack, my arms clutching the blouse against my breast with the slogan “If I can’t wear KC, why wear anything?”
I really don’t think the controversy over the picture was that a 12 year old was nearly nude, no. It was my face. My seductive pouting lips and my eyes, the photo said “I want to fuck you and you want to fuck me, but you can’t because I am just 12.” What that ad was, was a cruel joke to play on men, when they all saw it they wanted me….until they found out how old I was, then they felt ashamed. That was my power.
Vida and I teamed up with Kelvin Cline ads for the next two years. I did many other ads, my mother moved us all to New York, which meant father had to fly back and forth from Manhattan to Chicago all the time. My mother and I did lots of interviews. We played up the fact that I was naïve and pure and had no clue on what my body did to men. When asked about boyfriends we would tell the press that I was to involved in school, acting classes and modeling to have any friends. Oh how the press loved to hear that. People actually felt bad for me. No one hated me then. My mother and I were master manipulators and we knew how to work the power.
Ian hated to leave his friends behind; he even had a girl friend back in Chicago. I reminded him that he would even have met his girl friend if it weren’t for me. I promised to introduce to other girls, more beautiful. Of course he whined, but he really didn’t have a choice. We needed him here. Mother told him it was about time he learned the business so that he would be able to take care of things. After all, if you can’t trust family, who can you trust? He had to make sure my dietary needs were in order, the staff was paid accurately, and all our appointments were kept. It was a big responsibility for a 16 year old and you think Ian would have appreciated the trust we put on him.
I wanted more than just being “the KC girl.” I was 14 now and it was just a matter of time when Kelvin would find younger girl to fill his fantasies. I needed a manager. My mother did a good job, but I had to face it, she brought me along as far as she could. It would take more than her giving a blow job to the director of a commercial to get me that close up shot now. It would take someone entrenched in the business to maneuver my career. I met many such people in the fashion business, but I knew only one could do it well. Vida.
Would Vida give up his status of being top dog in the world of fashion photography to being my manager? Maybe if I offered him something he wanted or needed. Did I have the power to do that? Of course I did. You knew it was a rhetorical question right?
One evening I called Vida and told him I needed to see him, it was very important. His apartment was also his studio. For Manhattan it was luxurious. It was on the 35th floor and 3000 sq ft of studio space with windows on one wall that opened up to the entire city. Adjacent to this large studio space was a kitchen, laundry room, bathroom, closets and guest bedroom. Upstairs was a loft that over looked the studio; this loft contained the only non-white walls. These three walls painted in earth tones of brown, orange and yellow were his master bedroom and bath. I had seen it only from the studio floor. He never allowed anyone to go upstairs, at least as far as I ever witnessed.
Vida and I sat on the couch in the studio with only the lights of the city flooding the room. I told him I wanted him to manage me and my career. At first he shrugged it off like it was some teenager’s whim. But as I spoke he knew I was speaking like a professional, no emotion and just business sense.
“Besides leaving my own career aside, what’s in it for me?”
“Vida darling, if you still have time after taking care of my career you can still take your pictures of wannabe models. I am offering three things. First is the opportunity for a new ambitious career as my manager. Secondly, to become wealthy doing so, 15% of everything I make. I am talking, movie contracts, product lines, TV rights, the full monty.”
Vida no longer had his amused look on his face. It was a serious business look that I have seen lawyer have. There was a short silence as I waited for him to ask the next obvious question.
“And what is the third thing?”
“Why I am surprised you have to ask.”
I stood up from the couch and moved in front of him. With a practiced move I deftly slipped out of my dress and stood before him in my sexiest lace bra and thong. The body lotion glistened on my perfect hard body.
“So, Bridgett, you think I throw away my career to sleep with a teenybopper?”
“No Vida. You move to a new career for the fame and money. I don’t want to sleep with you.”
“You don’t?” He swallowed hard.
My power was working on him. I studied his pupils as they widened, canlı casino siteleri the small bead of sweat forming just above the hairline near the right ear. I noticed the small hairs on his neck tell me that I have won.
“No Vida, I want you to be my manager and my teacher. How can I act sexy? How can I be expected to be sexy if I don’t know anything about sex? I need you to be my teacher, my instructor for as long as it takes. You need to be my master.”
I inched closer to him with my head tilted down at my feet. I knew the word “master” would get to him. As if I would let anyone be the master of me. This was my power. To find out what bends your opponent and use it to your advantage.
“Cheri, you are just a…”
“Don’t say child. A child trapped in a woman’s body. A Child that makes over one million dollars a year. I am so much more that a child or a billboard. You can make me a woman. Teach me all the things in the one mysterious world left to me.”
I then sat on his lap; my head nestled into his neck and my right arm around his shoulder. A moment of silence then I turned my face toward him, my lips a breath away from his. He moved in to brush his lips with mine, then the kiss, and the feel of his tongue on the roof of my mouth. What an electrifying feeling, not the kiss, I had power over this 38 year old man. That everything he worked his entire life for was now thrown away for me.
To his credit, he did not give in and ravish me on the couch. We kissed; he caressed my perfect firm breasts and even stoked my pussy through the thin laced panties. I thought for sure he would strip me down. Was I prepared to do it then? Sure. Why not? Sex is power and that is the only reason for it. I am an “insider” don’t forget that.
You reading this may not believe me, but I never masturbated or had sexual fantasies. I dream what it would be like to win an Oscar, planned the steps to get me there. I bet more actresses and models think like I do than do not.
I was lying on the couch when he abruptly stood. Vida reached out his hand and pulled me up from the couch while picking up my dress. He gently handed it to me and cupped my face in his hands as he spoke in nearly a whisper.
“If I am going to be your manager and your instructor, there will be a proper time. Not a quick throw on the couch and send you home. I want to do it right.”
“Then you agree to manage me?”
“Yes. Cheri, you and I will conquer the world. I will have my lawyers send you the papers. Then I will teach you in the ways of love.”
“No need Vida, I had my lawyer send your lawyers the papers late this afternoon. See you later my professor.”
I then blew him a kiss and left the studio for home. Ian was waiting in the car down stairs. It was only 20 minutes, I told him it would be a half hour so I really don’t know why he was pissed off at me. If anything he owed me 10 minutes but we drove back to our brownstone in silence.
The next few years were very busy for me indeed. Besides acting lessons, Vida hired a voice coach for me and a personal trainer. Since I was blessed with a perfect figure, the trainer had an easy job, just working off the occasional chocolate indulgence. Vida had all the best designers in the world create outfits for me. I was no longer the KC girl. I was Versace, Prada, Gautier and all of them. They all vied to me model for them. Vida was very busy reading movie scripts, dozens of them sent to him and he was so picky. Then there was the big night of my instruction, my 18th birthday.
Vida had planned everything. We were going to Los Angeles to meet with executives at Paramount. Vida insisted that my mother and Ian come along. I told my mother it was best just Vida and I met with the executives. Once something was more firm, her arrival would mean something. Of course it was just a ploy. It didn’t need to be an intricate one, my mother understands power and she knew if I wanted something, I had the power.
We had separate suites at the Beverly Hills Hotel. It was really cute the way Vida fussed about trying to make everything so perfect. He had candles, soft music and champagne. Being a model in New York, champagne is like bottled water. No one every says “you’re too young”, it would be like telling someone they are unsophisticated. When he finally knocked on the joining door I opened it wearing my sexiest shear teddy. We kissed, we mauled each other and then he swept me up in his arms and carried me to the king sized bed.
It sounds so romantic doesn’t it?
He went out of his way to make it so. I am sure he really thought I had a crush on him or was madly in love with him. He was so gentle so conscious as if walking on cracked ice. But the only ice was my nerves. I was not scared, or in love or trembling in anticipation. I was fulfilling a contract negotiation.
Don’t hate me. This is business.
Vida was my manager and doing a terrific job. I really did need to learn this sex stuff; it might as well be from Vida. If he hurts me, he hurts himself. My image was the sexy but naïve virgin. I couldn’t just have sex with a male model, who even if I could find a straight one, would blab it to the first tabloid just to knock me down a notch. Logically, Vida was the only choice. Besides, it was contractual.
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