Why I Quit Modeling

During my modeling years, I had so many encounters with male celebrities who saw models as easy women they could play around with whenever they wanted. I had some of them ask me to 'make their beds' because “we happen to be on the same team, and as a model, this shouldn’t be difficult.”

I never failed to tell them how disgusted I was with their words, but were they to be blamed? Whenever we had traveled or hosted huge names from neighboring countries, our managers had always asked us to “be nice to them”. And girls who weren’t ‘nice’ would end up ‘staying at the bottom’ of their careers.

Before I quit modeling, I met this man who wanted me, and some friends to star in his video. We were to meet the team a day before to get acquainted. He picked me up (I met him through a mutual friend, and my friend brought him to my house), but instead of taking me straight to the team, he asked that I help him choose some clothes and shoes from a shop to which I obliged.

While picking out the clothes, he kept talking about his personal life—which I thought was too much information as we had just met. Getting a little edgy, I asked him when exactly we were going to meet the rest of the team. He not only asked me to be patient, but also made passing comments about my physique and how I was his kind of girl.

When he finally decided on the clothes he wanted, he asked that we make a quick stop at his sister’s house. We got to the house, and as I was about getting out of the car, he tried to kiss me. I withdrew and said “No, I don’t roll like that”. It started raining heavily and there was no option than to run into the house for shelter.

Inside, there were a couple of other guys playing games, and a lady in the kitchen. I then told him I had to use the bathroom. He showed me into a bedroom almost at the back of the house. When I got out of the bathroom, he was there, seated on the bed. A bit taken aback, I walked towards the door, and turned the knob only to discover it was locked.

I panicked, but managed to find my voice and told him “I’d like to go to the sitting area”. His response was “We are fine in here”. Truth stared at me in the face; he had locked the door and stashed the key somewhere. To make matters worse, the rain was so heavy and loud that we could barely hear each other. Fear gripped me; obviously from the thought that no one would hear me that easily even if I made so much noise.

I stood grounded by the door. He asked me to join him on the bed. “I’m good exactly where I am”, I replied. After a while he got up, came to me by the door and asked me to sit down. I declined. He then dragged me to the bed, and asked that I give him a blowjob. I told him I wasn’t interested and that he should let me go, but he still insisted and ‘touched’ me. I hit his hand and stood up.

“Please give me the keys to the door”. He said he was horny and needed to cum. He pulled out his manhood, and asked me to “come get it”. It was sickening, but I still held my grounds. Then he stood up, walked towards me, held my hands and said I was not going to leave the room until he ejaculated. He said if I didn’t want to give him a blowjob, then I should give him a handjob, and that “it would be over in a second”. 

It was the vilest minutes of my life handling the genitals of this despicable man against my will, just so I could get my freedom.

What met me at the sitting area after was shame and humiliation. His friends or whoever they were, just sat there looking at me with a silly grin on their faces. I had to endure the longest 30 minutes of my life, waiting for the rains to stop before I scurried home, never to return to the industry.

About the Author:

Just call me Chantelle, and I’m from somewhere in Africa.