Additional info: "I grew up off a military base in a small town in Alabama. I
lived with my dad and stepmother. We moved around a lot: I
got used to meeting lots of people (now, if I stay in one
place too long, I get the urge to go somewhere else). I moved
to Philadelphia in my senior year at high school to live with
my mom. Severe culture shock. I really don't think two places
in the same country could have been more different. I like to
think now that I got the best of both worlds: that I can
think fast and still remember my manners! But it was really
hard on me. People talk in a flirtatious manner in the south,
and the boys knew that it was only charm; it didn't mean
anything if you didn't want it to. They knew when to back
off. You just can't talk like that in the north east, boys
will camp out at your house and stalk you to the grocery
store if you do, then tell you that it's your fault because
you led them on! It happened to me a lot that year!
I went to college for a while, taking this and that. I didn't
really want to be there. I was pretty broke and still
indecisive as to what I wanted to do. Nothing could seem to
hold my attention for long. My parents couldn't afford to pay
for school any longer. I'd always had a fascination with
anything to do with s-e-x. Luckily, I was raised to know that
it was natural to be nude and that sex and masturbation were
perfectly normal (mum is European). At that time (I was
almost 19), I got fired from the "McJob" I was working day
and night (at a 'chain' restaurant) and was desperate to make
my rent and overdue car payments. Visions of repo men danced
in my head. My roomates' friend came over with a paper and
one ad grabbed me: "Dancers make Dollar$." He said: "You
don't want to do that." I said "Why not? It's no big deal,
I'm not naked or anything (yet!)... just topless. But, do you
think my boobs are too small?" Guess not.
I auditioned and was terrified. I'd gulped two strong vodka
and cranberries while watching the other girls. We were all
18 years old, but they seemed so confident. I danced barefoot
(heels were out of the question) to "Separate Ways" by
Journey. When it came time for me to take my top off, I knew
I had to do it. So, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and
ripped it off. No one said anything for a split second (I
think they thought that I wouldn't do it), and then I heard
it, applause! A lot of it. I was hooked. And that southern
manner of speaking (mixed with a bit of northern directness)
only helped me make it faster as one of their regular
dancers. Later, I ended up going to a bigger club where I met
and saw lots of top feature acts. I asked a million
questions, and saw how the crowd really livened up for these
sexy ladies, and I decided that this was what I wanted to
try.
When I was little, I loved to go into my grandma's closet and
play 'dress-up'. I'd emerge triumphant with the newest
treasure I'd found in there. Then I'd dress, complete with
lipstick, high heels, jewels and a sequinned cocktail dress.
I thought I looked great. Mum didn't. I also used to go on
"sleep-overs". My best friend and I used to steal into her
dad's room and grab as many dirty magazines as we could carry
(he wouldn't miss them - he had stacks and stacks!). We'd
hide in her walk-in closet and eagerly devour pages of
beautiful women posing for us. These girls were better than
regular models... they had full breasts and bodies, and were
way sexier. I thought then that "when I grow up, I want to
look like that."
Unfortunately, this was not to be so. I was very tall and
lanky, utterly lacking in those prized curves. It didn't help
that my dad was a boob man. He was always explaining the
importance of big breasts in the role of being a woman to
anyone who would listen and grabbing at mum's as she passed
by with the laundry. Boys would tease me to the point of
tears: "You're a carpenters dream!"; "Flat as a board!";
"Don't have a baby, it'll starve!"
I don't think that any woman can truly appreciate boobs
unless she didn't get them until she was 20, when she could
finally afford them! When I decided to go bigger I called my
dad and told him that for this job, I could probably earn a
little more if I went to a double D or bigger. He replied:
"April, I have always felt that a woman can never be too
tall, or have breasts too large." When I did it, he sent me a
big bouquet of flowers and balloons that said "Get Well."
Wasn't that sweet?
After a fairly brief stint of featuring, I wanted to move on
to more. I love nude modeling, dressing up, playing a
character and entertaining live crowds, but wasn't really
happy with the dancing thing. Hated the club politics, agent
games, dirty clubs (literally and figuratively) and always
feeling like I was never quite good enough. I am not kidding.
In that business, I was made to feel like my breasts weren't
big enough, I wasn't worth anything because I wasn't blonde,
I was too hard and muscular, blah, blah, blah.
So, I decided to take myself to a biz that appreciated that
look: fitness modeling. From there it led to all sorts of
cool stuff, and most recently, a job with the WCW. The
hardest part of this is the constant travel. A different city
every day. Sometimes we're not even there for 24 hours.
Workouts are hard to get, and so is sleep. Often it's a toss
of the coin as to which I'm going to get that day. The best
part is working with such cool, interesting people and seeing
and learning the wrestling business and more about
promotions. The perks ain't bad, either. I got the chance to
go to a brown bear farm and play with the baby cubs. I get to
meet cool stars, and a few uncool stars too. And I get some
really great and unusual gifts. One man sent me a huge poster
of a mermaid picture that I loved. Another painted me and
gave me the portrait.
I like meeting people and I love my job. I know I'm lucky to
have the opportunity to do this! Right now the job situation
generally is tough for people my age. I'll also freely admit
to liking the money and seeing myself on TV. But sometimes I
get overwhelmed because I do work so hard and sacrifice so
much. Normal relationships and friendships, holidays and
weekends. Sundays are travel days, so I work 7 days a week,
24 hours a day. Often, the days are long because you're
living it. I get home and it's just a bunch of catching up
before I get ready to do it again. Hell, this year I had my
Christmas decorations up until February because I didn't have
time to take them down! Pathetic, huh? I also wish I could
see more of the towns I'm in.
What keeps me going is when a bunch of people are waiting for
me after a show, asking me to sign something or telling me
they saw and like my site, and looking at me like I'm a comic
book superhero come to life. Children ask me to sign their
pictures-the clothed ones, of course. (Mom is happy I'm doing
something where I keep most of them on now!) And that is what
makes it all worth it.
Yours, April
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