Careers Counselor

by Abby Rhodes

 

"Come in, Bradley. Have a seat. I'm Miss Travers."

Bradley looked at the woman on the other side of the desk. She didn't look much like a teacher, at least not like any other teacher he'd ever met. Not only was she a very good-looking brunette with the face of an angel, (an angel with impeccable make-up - dark red lips, long dark lashes, sparkling green eyes), she was dressed in a form- fitting, dark, pin-striped skirt suit, although the skirt seemed quite short. Her shoes, gleaming patent leather, were high and pointed and there was this expanse of sheer black hosiery between shoe and skirt. He could see the swell of decent-sized breasts under the jacket. Good God, was she naked under there?

Bradley wasn't sure. He thought he knew about girls but he didn't have the slightest idea about women.

Diane Travers regarded Bradley carefully. As the school careers advisor she always had a list of positions people wanted filled and she never limited her lists to the normal or routine. In fact, she enjoyed the challenge of an unusual assignment. Bradley was slim and tall, his skin was pale and clear and his longish brown hair was shining and clean.

"As you should know, I'm the school Careers Counselor. Tell me, Bradley, do you have any idea about what you want to do? What you would like to become?"

"Well, I thought I might get into astrophysics. It's very exciting and there's a chance I could get into space one day. I'd really like that. My science grades are excellent and I don't think I'll have any trouble getting into a very good college."

"I see. Have you ever thought you might get employment locally? There's a new club opening downtown shortly that needs two cigarette girls, although God knows none of us will be able to smoke inside a club after the next round of legislation."

"Not really, Miss Travers."

"Call me Mistress Travers, Bradley. Do you have any idea how much a good cigarette girl can earn? Over a thousand dollars a week, not counting anything made on the side. And then there's the uniform. What kind of uniform does an astrophysicist wear?"

"Well, probably a white lab coat, Miss, er, Mistress Travers. Of course if you go into space you get to wear a space suit."

"A white lab coat. How fantastic. I've seen the new uniforms the cigarette girls will be wearing. They come in red or black satin with gold buttons. On the jacket that is. The skirts are quite short and have many petticoats to puff them out. The jackets will hug you, much like the one I'm wearing. Do you have nice legs, Bradley?"

"Well, I suppose so. I've never really looked at them from a comparative point of view."

"You would have to wear sheer black stockings and very high heels. Black patent pumps that will lift you up into the stratosphere, and without a rocket. You will have to wear black ruffled panties, too, and a matching bra."

"I would? I'm not sure we're talking about a career for me, Miss Travers."

"Mistress Travers."

"I had it in mind to be an astrophysicist or maybe a dentist as a second choice."

"A dentist. More white coats? Do you have a white coat fetish, Bradley? Stand up and show me how tall and slim you are. Yes. You'd be perfect for this job. Sit down again. Your hair needs to be longer and a better color, maybe a dark red, a nice auburn instead of that mousy brown, and you'll need some decent jewellery, tasteful and discreet, nothing too flashy. You'll have to shave your legs of course. The customers will want to glimpse your ruffled panties under those short skirts as well as your stocking tops and garters. Your legs will have to be immaculate."

"But I'm not sure ... "

"Nonsense, Bradley. Listen carefully. The customers will give you fifty and one hundred dollar bills for a packet of cigarettes – a packet of cigarettes they won't even smoke - after they've seen your garters and stocking tops and double that when they've had a glimpse of your frilly panties. You're probably looking at two thousand a week."

"Two thousand a week?"

"At least. Then some rich and handsome man will take you as his lover and the sky's the limit. How does two thousand in one night sound?"

"Two thousand a night?"

"That's two thousand along with the lingerie and jewellery your man will give you. Mink coats and silk dresses, four-inch evening sandals that will make you look like a movie star. You'll lie around drinking champagne and eating chocolates all day while draped across a satin bedspread dressed in a black chiffon negligee. At night you'll be in the very best restaurants while men worship you from across the room and send diamond rings to your table."

"Um, what are the holidays like?"

"Months on the Riviera, weeks in Las Vegas, time out in Hawai'i with rich men who will seduce you under the stars and give you stocks and bonds. All they will want in return is a gentle kiss and the opportunity to occasionally insert their equipment into your pert little bottom. Your photograph will appear in the society pages as you flash a perfect thigh through the slit in your evening gown. Perhaps a President will want to spill his seed on your cleavage or on your blue satin gown. There are no limits."

Silence, then, "I'll be famous?"

"And very, very rich. When was the last time someone wearing a white lab coat appeared in the society pages?"

"Now that you mention it, I don't know. Who should I see? What's the address?"

"Here it is. Ask for Carla and tell her Diane Travers sent you."

  

  

  

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