Chapter One

 

"What do you think of this?"

I held up the ... crop top(?) for Chloe to look at.

She frowned, then raised her eyebrows. "As what?"

It wasn't so much a crop top as a uhm, well, think of a long-sleeved black vest with the center cut out and the two sides held together with four-inch-wide straps that buckled together. It was black with gray highlights. The straps were black with silver buckles right down the center.

"Don't you think I'd look hot in this?"

"You look hot in almost anything."

"I mean if I was a bartender."

I'd applied for a job at a very stylish club downtown and had an interview the next day.

"Half your boobs would be showing."

"What's your point?"

"You'd sure get good tips, but every guy would be staring at your boobs and hitting on you."

"I could wear a grey tube top or something underneath."

"I don't know. Seems a little... Road Warriorish."

"I'm gonna try it on."

She shrugged and her blonde hair swished across her forehead and eyes. She brushed it back with a habitual gesture and I headed for the changing room.

My father had gotten me a job as a server at a kitchen in a club when I was sixteen. I'd switched to being a busboy in the main bar after a year and then graduated to 'bartender's assistant'. That meant basically helping out the bartender during busy periods.

Sometimes I even got to tend bar myself when he (all the bartenders were guys) was on break, or at one of the smaller bars upstairs. The club had three of them, after all. I liked it, and so had taken a course in bartending.

As to where to apply, well, I wanted a place where the drinks were expensive so the tips would match. And I wanted a place with a bouncer because I look like I look and most of the clients are guys. Guys who drink, duh.

In the changing room, I stripped off my sweater, then hesitated before removing my bra. I slipped my arms into the tight arms of the sweater-like garment and settled it across my shoulders. It really was more like a jacket, I thought, given the toughness of the fabric. Only it was a jacket without enough fabric to ever close. The whole front of me was exposed aside from the outer part of each breast!

The first strap came across just below my neck and pulled the two sides in a little closer. The next strap was just above my breasts, actually pressing down just a bit along the top. The third strap went across basically at nipple height, which was good since it would be further protection from my movements exposing my little pink buttons.

The fourth strap buckled across my body a couple of inches below my breasts. The four together held the fabric tight against my breasts. And the fabric was black, and thick enough to not show my nipples poking through. Still, even with the straps pulling the two sides closer together almost half my breasts were exposed. The inside half. But it was... decent, if not modest.

I raised my hands high and arched my back, then dropped them and swung my upper body from side to side to see how much I jiggled. I was pleased to not see a lot of movement. I'm no D-cup but my boobs are not small. I thought I looked pretty sexy! And, of course, since it only came down to about four inches above my belly button a lot of midriff was showing above the hem of my low-rise black jeans.

I turned to see my boobs at an angle to be sure, then turned to the door and eased it open a little. I peeked out and saw Chloe examining a dress.

"Sssst," I said.

She turned and her hair swished across her forehead again. Honestly, the girl needs to use gel or a better hairspray or just cut her long bangs.

She walked over and I opened the door wider and posed.

"Have I mentioned that I hate you before?"

"Many times. What do you think?"

"I hate you even more. You look super sexy. You need to get some tan, though. Your skin is awfully pale."

"You want me to sunbath naked on the balcony? How many people will be watching me?"

"I don't know. Why care?"

"Because I have enough problems with people hitting on me on the street without them coming to my door."

"I like people hitting on me."

"That's because you're a cold-hearted bitch and love to turn them down. I, on the other hand, am very empathic and sensitive to their emotional needs."

"Darling, men are put here on Earth to please us and for us to crush their hopes with our stiletto heels."

"Like I said, a cold-hearted blonde bitch."

"That's why you love me. So, are your tits going to fall out if you move around?"

I shook myself, then kind of bounced up and down a little. Just as I did a middle-aged man walked by. His eyes were suddenly captured by all the boobage and his head jerked around so that he walked into a table full of sweatshirts. He quickly pushed himself back, red-faced, and moved away.

"I'm sure he'll give you a great tip when you get him his brewski," she said in amusement.

"You don't think it's... too much?"

"For a dance club? It's fine. I don't know about this place you're going to. I'd wear something under it for the interview and then see what the vibe is like. I wouldn't wear it."

"You couldn't wear it," I said dryly.

"True. I don't have the boobs for something like that."

"You make up for it with all that blondeness."

Her blonde hair hung halfway down her back."

"Guys like to hang onto it when they're doing me doggy style."

"Slut."

"What's your point?"

I went back into the dressing room and removed the top, put my bra back on, and then slipped the sweater on. I'd no sooner gotten out into the store again when Chloe showed up with a couple of small gray tops.

"What do you think?" she asked.

We compared the gray to the gray highlights of the top but neither was right. So we split up and went looking for others. I recruited the salesgirl who seemed perky and interested and found a thin corset-style top that was almost an exact match for the gray. The top was open so nothing showed in the gap, but it was too long.

"You could cut it and hem it up," she suggested.

Too much work. I bought the top, but we went elsewhere looking for something to wear under it.

"You'd really get the tips if you wore it with nothing," Chloe said as we walked down the mall.

"I can't wear it with nothing to the interview. He'd think I was a slut."

"You are a slut."

"Am not."

"You want to be."

"If I wanted to be I could have tons of guys."

"Yeah, guys who don't know what to do with what's in their own pants, much less what's in yours. Let Megan at your pussy and you'll never go back to guys."

"You let Megan at yours and you went back to guys."

"I like cock."

"Slut."

"What's your point?"

"I need a guy who can eat pussy like a lesbian."

"Good luck with that. If you find one, I'll steal him away."

"You think you could do that?"

"Boobs aren't everything."

She swung her head and her hair swished around.

"You're gonna walk into a tree one day because of all that hair."

My hair, a soft brown, thank you, was parted in the middle. And I used the proper holding spray to make sure it curved around my head rather than constantly spilling over my face. It also wasn't nearly as long as hers. Though guys had been known to pull on it - on occasion.

"It gets me attention. Boobs get you attention."

"I wouldn't mind a little less attention most of the time."

"That's why you're wearing a loose sweater?" she asked with a smirk.

The sweater was not at all loose.

"It's form-fitting," I said defensively.

Guys noticed us as we moved along. Boys of thirteen noticed us. Men of thirty noticed us. Grandfathers noticed us. We were both tall, young, slender, and pretty. When I was younger I figured all girls were cute. By the time I was in adolescence, I realized there were shades of cute. And when you added in the body the shades multiplied. Half the girls I knew were overweight. Guys mostly aren't as attracted to overweight girls, even though half the guys I know are overweight too.

Chloe has always been a fitness fanatic. I've always been into sports. Which is one of the reasons my hair has never been as long as hers. It brushes my shoulders and that's all it needs to do. Even that can be hard to take care of at times.

I found a short, gray crop top with thin shoulder straps that fit almost perfectly in color and length. I pulled the other thing out of the bag and tried it on top and it looked great in the mirror.

"You should have a longer top to hide your ugly belly button," Chloe said.

"You're just jealous, bitch."

"Maybe."

***

I showed up for the interview with an attitude. I figured that was what I needed given they might dismiss me as too young otherwise. I pretended to be cool and calm and knowing, applied my markup lightly but artfully to make myself seem a little older and more sophisticated. My hair was brushed to perfection, and I wore the outfit along with low-riding black cargo pants.

Did I look like a tough girl? Well, maybe a little. But if you're applying for a job as a bartender you probably shouldn't look like you're the sensitive type who'll get outraged whenever some half-drunk guy says something impolite or impolitic.

Wide-eyed innocence was, I was sure, NOT what they were looking for.

"You're kind of young," the manager said doubtfully.

"That means I can stay on my feet for hours without a problem," I said with a small smile.

"Yeah, well there is that. You ever handle drunken guys before?"

"In what capacity?" I asked with another smile.

"Uhm, I mean strange drunks at a bar."

"Sure. A little smiling and coaxing will persuade most of them better than yelling at them. I find they're less likely to get their backs up than if one of the guys tells them to go home."

"Depends. Some guys have a problem with women telling them what to do."

"Some guys have a problem with anyone telling them what to do."

"Yeah, well... yeah, I suppose."

"I can keep my calm and smooth things out most of the time. I'm not going to scream and burst into tears if someone stares at my boobs or makes a rude remark. And I don't care about people's politics or religion. If some guy tells me he's a Communist I'm fine. If he tells me he's a Nazi, I'm also fine. Don't care."

"All good qualities," he admitted. How are you at making drinks?"

"Where I was before almost everyone drank beer or various flavors of pretty ordinary liquor. You know, rum and coke, or gin and tonic, or vodka and water, or martinis. That was like ninety-five percent of the customers."

"Probably about the same here."

"I've done other drinks but you know what, even if I don't know it, and there's very few I don't know, guys love to show off their knowledge to pretty girls and will tell me what to do."

"Point," he said with a grin. "How available are you? No offense but at your age and with your looks you're probably dating a lot."

"I love money. Money comes before dates as far as I'm concerned. And my father had a thing about punctuality and reliability. Be where you said you'd be when you said you'd be there or you better have a damn good excuse. So if I accept a shift I'll show up for it or be at a doctor's or something. Well, unless I have like, the flu or covid or something and you'd rather I not cough all over your customers."

"I don't care about the customers. I'd rather you not cough all over me. Or the other staff since then I have to find replacements."

I shrugged.

"Okay, I think I'll give you a try, put you on for a few shifts, and see how you do."

I felt a surge of excitement but did my best to hide it.

"You have any preference for what I should wear?"

"We don't have a uniform here. Something sharp, stylish. We have a reputation as a high-end bar. Our clients mostly come from the very well-paid parts of the financial and tech industries. So modern and sleek. Nothing too... too..."

"Slutty?"

He grinned. "Depends on how it looks. I mean, no bikini tops because that just seems crude. No gaping cleavage because that just looks cheap.

"So, no wearing this but without the crop top underneath," I said with a grin.

That let him drop his eyes to my chest and he said "Uhm... probably... not. I'd have to see how it looked. I don't have anything wrong with you looking hot and sexy, honey. Beautiful, sexy women add to the atmosphere as long as they don't look cheap or desperate."

"I'm neither."

I wore it with the crop top on my first shift and got lots of tips. Five days later I wore it without and my tips doubled.