Chapter 2 Sex Trade

• Amanda’s POV
• "I'm not interested in doing this with you again," the manager said bluntly. "You're too skinny. It wouldn't be any fun."
• Tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Please, isn't there something else I can do here? Any job?" I begged.
• He looked me up and down, his eyes cold. "You look too weak to work in a factory," he said. "This isn't a charity."
• With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, feeling more lost and hopeless than ever. I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They streamed down my face as I stumbled out of the factory. The cold night air hit me, but it was nothing compared to the chill I felt inside.
• As I walked through the dark streets, I couldn't stop thinking about how desperate my situation had become. "I'll do anything," I murmured to myself. "I'll wash plates, sweep, mop floors—anything for a bit of food."
• My stomach rumbled loudly, a painful reminder of my hunger. I looked around, hoping to find any restaurant that might still be open. But it was late, and most places had closed for the night.
• I stopped walking for a moment and considered my options. My hair—long and naturally blonde—caught my eye as it fluttered in the wind. "Maybe I could sell my hair," I thought. But then reality hit me again. It was too late at night; no place that could buy it would be open.
• With a heavy heart, I kept walking, my mind racing to think of any way to survive the night. The streets were nearly empty, the occasional street light flickering above me. My feet hurt, and my body felt like it might give out and collapse at any moment.
• I walked through the city, my situation seeming more desperate with each step. Then, I saw it: a big, glamorous club in full swing. Luxurious cars were parked in front, and people in fancy clothes laughed and talked as they entered the club.
• "This might be my chance," I thought.
• "Sometimes drunk people are the nicest. Maybe one of them can offer me a dollar or maybe give me something I can eat and drink."
• I walked toward the club, my heart pounding. I stood near the entrance, watching the wealthy patrons. I mustered up my courage and approached a group of people, my stomach in knots.
• I walked up to the group of people standing outside the club, my heart racing. "Excuse me, could you help me? I just need a little food or some money to get by," I asked, trying to sound as polite as possible.
• They glanced at me, their faces indifferent, and then turned away, continuing their conversation as if I hadn't spoken. I felt invisible, my pleas unheard. It was like I didn't exist to them.
• Fighting back tears, I stepped back, feeling more alone than ever. Just then, a commotion started near the entrance of the club. A drunk man was making a scene, shouting and stumbling, drawing the bouncers' attention.
• Seizing the opportunity, I slipped past the distracted bouncers and entered the club. Inside, the club was stunning. Lights flashed all around, music pounded through the air, and people danced with abandon. It was a different world.
• My cheeks warmed as I caught sight of the stage—naked strippers danced under the bright lights, their bodies moving rhythmically. Men crowded around the stage, throwing wads of dollars at the dancers. I quickly looked away, embarrassed.
• "I’m not here for fun," I told myself firmly, trying to focus on why I had come. I scanned the tables, hoping to find some leftover food, but to my disappointment, there were only glasses of alcohol and bottles of expensive-looking whiskey everywhere.
• My stomach growled, reminding me of my hunger. I felt out of place among the laughter and the clinking glasses. No one noticed me; I was just a shadow passing through their merry world.
• I wandered through the club, feeling more and more desperate. Everywhere I looked, there was nothing for me. It seemed like this world was designed to remind me of what I didn't have.
• As I moved to the back of the club, away from the noise and the chaos, I felt a wave of sadness wash over me.
• "I'm going to die," I thought, the realization hitting me hard. "I'm really going to die if I can't find help."
• “Maybe I should seduce someone into giving me money “ I said tugging on my old cheap and faded red dress that I matched with a worn out blue crocs.
• The idea had popped into my head, to seduce some rich old men, get some money out of them. Simple, right? Except now, standing here, it feels anything but simple.
• I let my gaze wander over to a group of older men standing by a private table. They're laughing, one of them telling a story that seems to have the others highly amused. I watch their carefree expressions, a pang of longing hitting me. Money does that, makes problems like mine disappear.
• I shake my head slightly. No, it's not just about money. It's about feeling secure, something I haven't felt in a long, long time.
• Just then, a group of giggling girls pass by, their perfume lingering in the air, their dresses sparkling under the club lights. They look so confident, so beautiful. I look down at my own dress, bought for a few dollars from a thrift store, and I feel a stab of self-doubt.
• Who am I kidding? I think bitterly. Who would choose a homeless beggar over them? I don't even know the first thing about seducing a man. Heck, I've never even been with a guy. I can't compete with them.
• A laugh escapes me, bitter and a bit loud. A few heads turn, and I lower my gaze, embarrassed. "Great, now I'm the crazy girl laughing to herself," I mutter under my breath.
• "I need to think of another thing," I say aloud to myself.
• Just as I was about to give up and leave, something on an empty table caught my eye. It was a black, heavy-looking wallet. My heart skipped a beat as I looked around. The table was deserted, no sign of the owner even though the men sitting close to the tables were busy flirting with the beautiful and sexy looking bartenders to even notice my penance.
• My eyes glittered with excitement as I stealthily reached for the wallet. This could be the break I needed, a chance to get some food, a place to sleep, maybe even a way to turn my life around. With trembling hands, I picked it up.