From London City Broker to Pg3 Girl

It’s 1998, meet me, a small, sassy, smart, streetwise, blonde 24yr old Essex girl called Elen.  I’d left home at 16, got engaged, got a job, got a mortgage, got a car, got a career in the city, at Lloyds of London, got a big television, dumped my fiancé and started raving and some might say, misbehaving, the day-to-day city grind was just a means to fund my partying, I was living for the weekend in every way and loved it. However the decent salary I was on for my age just wasn’t enough to pay my bills and fund my raving lifestyle, I was always looking to make more, so one day I responded to a “Models Wanted” advert in the local newspaper, and ended up jacking my “proper” job in the city, to get my boobs out for a living, on the advice of some dodgy old photographer from the back end of Rayleigh where I’m from, he took one look at me and said, you’d make a great glamour model, so I went for it,  much to my Dads dismay.

I’ve had many jobs, I’ve done all sorts, from barmaid to IT recruitment consultant, I’ve done what I’ve done to get by.  Some jobs I loved, some I detested, but I’ve never stopped working, ever.  I used to skive off a bit in my corporate days, I’d sleep in the office toilets after a weekend of raving, take the odd sicky, but the longest time off I’ve ever had off on holiday, was the two weeks I took off to get married, at Burning Man in the Nevada desert, in 2014.  I’ve never been able to afford much time off, and since 2006 i’ve been self-employed and there’s no days off from this life, that’s why loving my work is key for me, I like to graft hard for what I love, I’ve never rested on my laurels, life’s too short to be lazy.

I spent the first 7years of my working life in the insurance industry, from doing quotes selling car insurance in Romford, to being a reinsurance broker in Lloyds of London, a place which didn’t even let women in till 1972.

So how did I go from there to becoming a Pg3 girl, well in the blink of an eye, and a flash of a camera lens, focused on the cleavage that God gave me!

The photographer in Rayleigh that had done the first topless shots of me, then sent them up to a London glamour photographer.  I suppose he was on some kind of commission deal.  I was sent up to see THE Jeff Kaine.  He was legendary in the glamour photography world; he’d shot everyone from Sam Fox, Jo Guest to Jordan.  Jeff looked a bit like the mad professor out of Back to The Future, he was Jewish, from Israel, and in his sixties by this time.  He offered to do my portfolio at a cheap rate, and so that’s what we did. I still have it, all the pictures in there I am super proud of, and there not all topless.  We became friends me and Jeff, we’d have a smoke and a chat after the shoot, I found him fascinating to talk to, so many stories, he would always say “I was different to most of the girls,” I didn’t know what he meant at the time, but he did later tell me, not long before he died, I’ll come to that at the end.

To begin with modelling was just for a bit of extra cash, but at that time, I was looking for a way out of the rat race I felt stuck in.  I was bored to death with the city mentality, the work didn’t interest me, it was a culture of drinking and ogling women.  99% of the guys that I was working with were all going to the pub from lunchtime, and frequenting the Shoreditch strip clubs in the late afternoon. Half were being unfaithful to their wives at home, the rest appeared to want to be if given half a chance.  Being a pretty blonde girl in the city, I gained a lot of attention.  I wasn’t really interested though, most just weren’t my type.  I had my mates at home, my real raving friends.

I’d worked hard though; I was head hunted 3 times and worked my way up quickly. I was earning £26k plus bonuses, plus pension, healthcare, and gym membership, but the city life, heh it was just not for me.

So Pg3, could I do it? I was about to turn 24 and I basically looked at it like this; I would happily go topless on the beach, so what’s the difference?  I was lucky enough to have been born with a good figure and nice boobs, my mum had always said “if you’ve got it, flaunt it” so I did…

I was then told that a major media publication owner wanted to see me and my portfolio.  He was a big player in the industry. Looking back, I see how naïve I was, but going to see him, and that being my entry into the glamour modelling world, well in hindsight, that taught me a lot about how this world was going to be…

I was given an appointment, took a half day holiday off work and made my way there. I jumped off the underground tube station and marched determinedly up to these massive gates which a full-on mansion sat behind.  I rung the entry bell and walked up this huge driveway in my pin stripe city dress, with my heart thumping loudly through my chest.  I was not that young, I wasn’t silly, and I’m not stupid, I was just going to show him my portfolio, surely nothing bad could happen to me, I thought.

I rung the bell, a butler came to the door, as I walked into the lobby all I could see was bling, everything looked gold plated, very OTT, ostentatious to the max.  I sat waiting, clutching my portfolio, I had no idea what to expect.  He appeared, short, old, in a t-shirt, shorts and flip flops.  I was appalled at just that to start with, I was used to smart dressed city types when doing business.

But this was a different business world altogether.  He took me to the lounge, where I sat while he thumbed through my portfolio, saying things like “yes, very nice” murmuring appreciatively, he then looked up and said, “ok, I need to see you, come with me.”

Frankly I was shiting myself, but I’d seen other people in the house, a secretary, and the butler.  One side of me was saying “You want to be a pg3 model, don’t you? of course he has to ­see you” the other side of me was screaming “get the f**k out of there”.

I let the first one win, I figured if he tried to touch me, I’d scream the house down.

I followed him up the stairs into his bedroom, he gestured to the bathroom.  I went in, took my dress off, leaving my bra and knickers on, and with all the courage I could muster, walked out of the en-suite.

He had a four-poster bed and a chaise longue; he was sitting on that.  He looked at me standing in the doorway, murmuring more appreciative comments, he then beckoned to me and said “come and sit next to me”.

I didn’t know what the hell to do at this point, this was getting seriously concerning. 

I went over to the chaise longue, perched my little ass as far away from him on it as I could, turned and looked him in the eye, he then said these words, I’ll never forget them…

“Well, I can put you in the *****, but do you know ***** (he stated a well-known model, that was constantly all over this publication, he then said, “she’s one of my special friends, and you could be one of those special friends too.”

Woah right there, this was not what I was signing up for, naïve though I may have been to go in, I was truly shocked by how blatant he was. There was absolutely no way on earth I was going to be this slimy horrible little man’s special friend.

I have always been direct, blunt some might say, and this was one of those times.

“If you think I’m going to f**k you to get in the ****  then you’ve got another thing coming, I don’t need to do that”.

He actually looked shocked, he then said, these exact words, they will always stay with me.

“What not even a blow job?”

“NO, definitely not a blow job” I exclaimed.

By this time, I’m up, got my dress back on and at the bedroom door, I then, to my alarm realised he’d locked it!

“Open the door please I want to leave” I said.  I didn’t shout, I was scared, but I just had to get out of the room.

“OK, keep your knickers on” he said “have it your way, but just so you know, you’ll be doing it the hard way” I looked at him…

“I’ll still put you in the *****, just no special favours”.

I just glared at him, straight into his eyes, he unlocked the door, I ran down the stairs and out the front door as fast as my little legs could carry me.

Nothing had happened, I was safe, I was ok.

All I could think at the time was that I’d made it out, and miraculously he was still going to give me work!  I felt like it was test and I’d passed, if that was the hard way, I’d take that way thanks.

I’ve looked back on this memory many times; I’ve told it to many friends over the years since.  It’s always shocked people.  Looking back now it feels like a different lifetime away, but that was my entry into what I soon realised, was just the sex industry, there was very little that was truly glamourous about it.

I realise now, had I not been 24, very head strong, and not desperate, it would have ended up very differently for me at that stage, but he didn’t need to bother with me, he had girls being sent to him weekly no doubt, that’s why I managed to get out I suppose, I was too much trouble.

I later found out, that pretty much every girl that went into the publication was first sent to him.  We girls never really talked much about it, but once in the industry, I found that it was well known that the girls sent to him were all told, that if they slept with him, he would pay for a boob job and give them special preferences!

So, I left my normal job in the city in Nov 96, that was the month I first appeared in Pg3 of The Sun, The Sport, The Star tabloid newspapers, and even made it into the Guardian and The Telegraph broadsheets with my story.  In those days, everyone seemed to buy one of them. ‘Busty Broker Bares All’ “Lloyds Stunna loses her cover” were the headlines, and suddenly, for that day, I felt famous.

That fame immediately brought some very untoward attention though.  I had used my real name, which is Elen in the paper.  Therefore, I was easy to trace in the phone book.  I started to get dodgy calls to my house.  So, with that I decided I needed an alias, I picked the name of one of my favourite DJs at the time Sasha, but Sacha with a C instead, like the shoe shop chain. I’ve been professionally known by that name ever since.

Looking back, I feel so stupid. I was streetwise yes, but I had a lot to learn.  I should have realised then what the glamour industry was all about, but like every business there was the yin and the yang, the glitz, glamour and break from the normal rat race job was great, and I really believed back then that I could just model my figure and go topless, that I didn’t need to “put out” to get work.  That I could be sexy, but not sell myself and my dignity for money. How wrong could I be! I have absolutely no judgement on those that do, women have had to do what they’ve had to do to simply survive in this man’s world. What’s sad is that so many feel they have no other choice, women have been objectified, used, and abused for far too long.  I know why they turn to selling every bit of themselves for the highest value or “favours” they can get for it.  Men’s treatment of women through history has everything to answer for this, nobody truly wants to be a prostitute do they.

I never crossed that line, and I knew it was a line. Can’t say I haven’t been close though.  So many indecent proposals.  I was offered everything from lap dancing in Stringfellows in London’s West End, to going on a boat for a week away with a bunch of Arabs, for the lump sum fee of a small house at that time.  The closest I ever came to this, was agreeing to accompany 2 models/high class escorts on a 1^st class trip to Argentina, with a US oil baron for £10k fee and jewellery gifts, that’s how I ended up with my 18ct diamond clustered bangle.   Thank God I was not forced to do anything out there, but they tried their hardest to coerce me into sex games with them all, tried to ply me with drink etc.  I was just such an adamant NO that they gave up, but you can see why girls were not only tempted, but also drugged and coerced, many glamour girls I knew were “kept women” by these kinds of rich men, maybe some of them still are.

Thankfully, I now know the difference between a man being attracted to you, and loving you for the authentic you, for your beauty plus your warts and all, for the inside and the out.  Those that just want to screw you, use you and objectify you for power and control-based desire to just f**k you is a different beast altogether. It is just a dominating need for conquest and instant gratification.  It is how your partner makes you feel on the inside that counts, making love and just ‘having sex’ are two different acts for me.  We all mess around when we are young and irresponsible, but as we mature, our sex life should also mature, it can be a beautiful ceremonious union for two souls, and not feel like a sordid or depraved act of ‘using’ someone, it should not be a selfish act.  My now husband Mike is what I describe as a real new age man, a rounded person, who’s not scared of his emotions, that celebrates, loves and  protects me and respects women, he treats them in a respectful way, he has real morals, he’s the kind of man a women like me needs, I feel truly blessed to have him by my side, he’s one hell of a good guy.

I spent 3years as a full-time glamour model, so many adventures, so many stories I could tell.  Most of my jobs were not glamourous at all, but for me, at the time, it was a pretty wild ride, but honestly, I didn’t do very well at that game at all, the moral line I had drawn for myself seemed to be getting in the way of making money.

I’d been signed to International Model Mgmt, Karsten was my agent and responsible for sending me for job castings.  I wasn’t very good at the sexy look, I just felt like an idiot pouting, I’m too much of a realist, I couldn’t put on that act, I suppose I just didn’t really want to, so I didn’t play up well to what I now realise most casting couches wanted to see.  Karsten knew I did not want to do any open-leg shots as they were called, but I soon realised that’s where most of the regular work was, it was all on the top shelf, but I was adamant, that was not the place for me.

I did one top shelf mag, once, I was Best of British Babes for Men Only.  I took the job, as it was just nude, and I got £1000 for the day.  By this time, I was starting to struggle financially with the instability of the work, not knowing if I was going to get a job that week or even that month was worrying.  No longer could I just graft harder to get rewarded, this game didn’t work like that.

I took all the jobs that weren’t well paid but I didn’t have to go over the line I’d set myself. You only got £150 for being on pg3 of the sun, and the only regular work coming in was from The Sport; the Daily and Sunday Sport had tits on every page, and plenty of things they wanted us Sport girls to do and stories to make up, every week I’d get calls from journalists “Hi, what have you been up to recently? Got any stories? Shagged any footballers? Give them an inch and they’d sensationalise it a mile.

Then there were The Sport jobs I was sent on, all were just £150 flat rate, and many were Sport “stunts” that they would dream up to see if they could get the girls to do them, the more outrageous the better, a couple of the worse jobs stick out in my mind.

The first is the “Sport babe hotline” it was advertised in the paper that your favourite Sport girl would be taking calls” I was sent up Manchester to The Sport HQ, to sit in the office all day by the phone, and to give each caller at least 5 mins to talk to me.

It was a hideous experience, there was another girl doing the same thing sitting next to me, she was only 16, I seen her before in Jeff Kane’s studio.  Her stepdad had brought her in, and he sat watching the shoot from the back of the studio, uggh, it gave me the full creeps then, and being older and wiser it really turns my stomach now, to think what was going on with him and his stepdaughter.  She had obviously been heavily groomed that she was ideal ‘sport” material, she played up to every caller and gave them just what the dirty old men on the phone were after.

Again, a touch on the naïve side I did not know how disturbing it would be, every caller sounded like he was masturbating at the same time, I lasted seconds before putting the phone down on most. Unsurprisingly I didn’t get asked to do that job again.

Then there was the “meet your Sport babe at your local sex shop and get a picture” I was sent on a tour of 3 sex shops in the Swindon area. I’d never been in a sex shop before then, but my male mates had gone in to buy poppers for nights raving. These sex shops are the seediest places, no windows, blacked out at the front.  I had to sit there and wait to see if anyone would come in to see me, and if they did, charge them a fiver for a photo. I just hid out the back in most of them, I didn’t want to meet anyone coming in, it was bad enough overhearing the customers “Can I have a large dildo for the wife please, what sizes do you have?”

The ‘stunts’ were much more embarrassing, basically they were “flash your tits” in public places.  Once I was sent to stand under David Blane, who was starving himself in a box hanging over London Bridge, we had to stand under it, flash our boobs and throw chips at him, I bailed out on that one as well in the end, when I got there, I was too embarrassed to do it!

Another which absolutely mortified me, and I couldn’t go through with, was to storm the opening of Jamie Oliver’s 13 restaurant in Old St, London, flash our boobs, get a picture, and run out. We made it into the restaurant to find Jamie there, he spotted exactly what was about to go down and shouted, “GET OUT,” I didn’t need to be asked twice, and hightailed it straight out of there.  We ended up doing a quick boob flash for the camera outside in the road, so the Sport got their shot and we all got paid.

Glamourous heh!

It was not all bad though, the best shoot I ever did was for Playboy Lingerie.  I have two of the shots in my portfolio.  It was the one of the very few times when the photographer was less about the sleazy sexy shots and all about the beauty of the feminine body.  The studio was at his house, and he was super eccentric arty type, with loads of art and memorabilia everywhere. I was given much softer make up than usual shoots, he then made me stretch my body to all kinds of shapes and hold still for as long as it took him to get the best shot. I remember aching to high heaven after that job, but clearly remember feeling like I’d worked hard for the day, in a much better way than the other jobs I’d been doing.

I’d been on £26k a year in the city, plus bonuses, plus pension, plus gym membership.  I hoped, at that time, as many other girls did, that my Pg3 break into the spotlight would help me to make my way into TV somehow, I never wanted to be famous, but I’d always wanted to be on the stage, I’d been in many amateur plays and musicals in my childhood and young adult days, it was my first love.

I ended up doing lots of dodgy TV shows, Men & Motors channel had girls on there a lot, I was on Kilroy, and even Jerry Springer UK.  I moved through the Pg3 world having my eyes opened to all kinds of things.  Sadly, my level of respect for myself and men in general, went down to rock bottom, I was treated as a piece of meat with no intelligence.  I didn’t know what misogyny, narcissism or grooming were then, was they even known terms then? I don’t know, but I do now, and since then it feels like I’ve had a lifetime experience degree in dealing with them.

Selling sex in all kinds of ways is big business, but it is certainly not wholesome and good for anyone’s soul. The first thing I noticed was how hyper critical I was getting about myself, from constantly looking at the pics being taken of me. I feel sorry for the selfie generation that’s grown up with that kind of scrutiny.  I’d gone into modelling as a confident person, but once in, I got a hang up about my very slightly lazy eye, my crooked nose and started worrying about my weight and every bit of how my body looked. Most of the other girls were having all kinds of plastic surgery, boob job after boob job, nose jobs, face lifts, it seemed to me like it was addiction, once they started trying to change themselves, they just got hooked.  Few ever seemed to be that happy after it, they were earning more than me yeah, had more material things, but still wanted more work on themselves.  Money has never been my driving factor, that’s probably why I’m not rich, I am happy though and these days, I feel rich in love.

I managed to get a grip of my self-destructive, over analysis of my face and body.  I never took that plastic plunge, I’ve never had any kind of plastic surgery, not even a filler.  I know zillions of women do and whatever you feel you need to do is up to you, I believe in freedom of choice. If I’m honest though, I see it as a never-ending vicious circle of trying to change and manipulate what we were born with, and where does that end? When you’re in the public eye, you end up being criticised constantly and that makes you scrutinise yourself more, the social media world of today now puts us all in the spotlight, and that constant living up to the ‘best life’ image leaves you in an never ending cycle, looking for external validation to feel good about yourself, it’s just not healthy for mind, body or soul.

Towards the end of my modelling career, I could literally feel my brain going to sleep. I’d always been a bright spark, a big reader, done well at school got 8 GCSES grade C to A, and done my stint in the city. This job was not keeping my brain actively ticking in any way.  I just felt I was getting dumber, being dumbed down by that life, and it was clearly what it wanted me to be, a dumb blonde sexy bimbo.

It’s a slippery slope, and one that is very easy to slide down, especially when fat cat men are waving serious amounts of money and ‘favours’ at you and you don’t know how you’re going to pay the rent.  I now know I wasn’t your average topless model; I was 24 when I got into it, most were between 16 – 18, they liked them as young as they could get away with.  I’d also had a normal 8yr start to work life, and my corporate background gave me some kind of business compass to fall back on, plus having been independent from an early age, I knew what I wanted to do, and what I didn’t want to do.  I was not ashamed or scared to say NO.

I was fortunate really, I look back now at some of the risks I took and wonder, what the hell I was thinking? But I was still in my twenties and life was an adventure for me, I’ve always been a “face the fear and do it anyway” kind of gal, as long as that’s not doing something bad to myself or to anyone else, as I strongly believe in karma.

So, I got out of modelling in the end, 3yrs was enough for me, I did the odd job here and there after that, but throughout this period of my life, the other non-work part of me was raving, every weekend, and my escape route from pg3 was my entry into the dance music industry and club promoting for Sundissential at Eden, one of the super clubs in Ibiza.

Some 12 years later, my photographer friend Jeff Kaine who I’d remained in contact with came over to my house in Essex.  It was his first ever visit to me at my home, he had been diagnosed with cancer, was in his late 70’s, and he didn’t know how long he had left.  I’ll never forget that night, it felt symbolic, and he told me 3 important things.

• He told me the story, of how he managed to walk into a lion’s den, take pictures sitting with them, and not get eaten alive. He said he had to release all his fear, from inside and out, he had to go in with love, otherwise they would sense it.
• That we are all here on this planet to help each other, and he was glad that I realised that.
• He then told me that at least 90% of the glamour models in the business had been sexually abused and groomed as children, and that’s why I was different from most of the rest…

I was shocked at the last revelation at the time, but I still didn’t really quantify what that meant, it all makes sense to me now though, at my ripe old age of 49. I now know that child sexual abuse and grooming is rife, of girls and boys. I now know why these young girls found it so easy to serve themselves up on a plate to the highest bidder, it had been totally normalised to them, that’s horrific, what adults have been doing to children is beyond abhorrent, it’s not their shame, the fault always lays with the adult person perpetrators abusing their power, the blame lies solely with them.

I do not judge any of these girls, quite the opposite, what we women have had to do to survive in this man’s world to date is far from ideal, sex sells, men are attracted to female beauty, but it’s become more unnatural, plastic and degrading, it’s not empowering to women, and what that does to your mental health throughout your life is a traumatically hard one to deal with, nobody wants to be used, abused and spat out do they? Everybody is ultimately seeking real love and sweet union, peace and harmony, I feel it’s all got very twisted and sordid, kids have been raised on hardcore porn, and that’s sown a bad seed and role model for our current and future generations.

We now live in a world where I see some female empowerment being mainly self-promotion and a lot of virtue signalling and greenwashing, the good intention being totally skewed and manipulated.  The “come and f**k me now” type provocative shots on insta, that some say is girls taking the power of their sex in their own hands, I don’t get, and I don’t agree with.  I can’t see it’s a way that we would want our daughters to be, the end plastic doll look product is not what we are looking to achieve for female equality.

The selfie generation have not had a chance of innocence, it’s now normalised to start blowing everything up, from lips to face at the earliest of ages, some are even trying to change the sex that they were born with before puberty has even started, its beyond madness in my eyes.

There is beauty and magic in all the feminine beings on this planet, and we women should not have to conform to the ideals of what mainstream media or other people say we should look like, there’s true uniqueness in each and every one of us, when being the real authentic you, as there is only one you, and I believe that is how we find true love and happiness and mental peace of mind. I’m all about celebrating the divine feminine and masculine in us all.

Some girls and women really do look like they are just selling themselves for sex on social media, it’s an unhealthy and shamelessly degrading portrayal of women if you ask me, and is that going to win a decent man that loves you for you? Or a narcissist that wants a trophy on his shoulder, what do women really want at the end of it all?

I might sound prudish and that probably sounds totally ironic having been a topless model, but respect for yourself is where it starts and ends for me, and when you are disrespected and abused from an early age, you have little to no compass to guide you, and that’s never the children’s fault, it’s always the adults problems passed on to the children, the programming of our past is a real problem, but as mature adults we can and should learn these lessons now, and right the wrongs of the past, to make things better for the future for all.

At this time in my life, I have the deepest need to share my stories and my experiences and just say how I feel with no fear. People are quick to judge and criticise me, but that’s out of my control, and not something I can concern myself with. I do know how important it is to have courage in this life, and that when we share our stories, they might just resonate and reach out to touch somebody else, together we can shine the light on these shadows in society, break the silences, sing our songs of life loud and proud, not be scared to face these problems and have the conversations.  I think we should be clear on where our morals truly are, and that unconscious bias, abuse of power, misogyny and mistreatment and disrespect of women is still widespread, and there’s a big difference but a fine line between wearing a sexy outfit, to bending over twerking your ass to the camera on Tiktok, there’s changes in ways of thinking that needs to happen from both sides, and with strong voices speaking on this, I have faith that it will.

With love always, Sacha.x

Contact: sacha@istreemradio.com