I wanted more than anything to not be like my mother.
There is nothing wrong with government assistance and most people who receive it really do need it. But I knew that I could make my own way in life. I don’t have any children and I wanted to make a career that I could be proud of.
I thought that after working for two years at a job that I would have some prospects.
I know that I’m due for a promotion to a position with more responsibility and maybe more money, but is this really what I want to do for the rest of my life? More responsibility and an extra thousand dollars a year still means writing assessment items all day long. And now that I have spent two years doing that, I don’t have experience in another related field, meaning that I would have to start at the bottom at whatever new job I take.
I lie down flat on my back and float with my head half submerged in the water.
I have a good salary, that many people would give anything to have.
I have a nice apartment, a great roommate.
My student loans are all paid for.
So…why am I still considering this?
One million dollars plus fifteen percent of whatever our partnership brings in.
This is the kind of money that changes things. It’s no longer just getting by. It’s no longer living paycheck to paycheck waiting for your annual, one-week vacation.
This is the kind of money that makes a boss obsolete. If invested and allocated properly, this is the kind of money that could set me up for the rest of my life in a very comfortable life.
I fold my arms on the edge of the pool and rest my chin on top.
A tall white bird walks confidently among the lush landscaping outside of the wrap-around porch.
Given the prices in Maui, this house costs a lot more than one million but that million will go a long way toward getting me here.
I take a deep breath.
It’s not just the monetary perks that make me yearn to say yes.
It’s something else.
I have an itch that I haven’t scratched since I gave up replacing sorority girls’ Tiffany jewelry with knock-offs at Wellesley.
I walk back to my cottage to the sound of squeaking rubber as my flip-flops collide with the bottoms of my feet.
There was a time when an opportunity like this was all I ever wanted. But back then I didn’t have much of a life.
To take this chance, I will have to give up my apartment and put my career on hold for a year.
And what happens if something goes wrong?
After taking a shower, I find a large box on the bed.
The note placed on the top reads:
Be ready by 7. Wear this.
NC
The box is beautiful, decorated in ornate swirls of turquoise and gold. I lift up the lid carefully and place it to one side. The contents are packed in perfectly folded tissue paper with a large gold sticker holding everything in place.
My hands shake as I try to peel it off, eventually giving up and just ripping through it.
When I see what’s inside, I gasp.
6
When he sees me…
No wonder he told me not to be prudish, I say to myself, looking at the contents of the box. This isn’t exactly something that a nun would wear.
I take the bra and panties that lay on the top. They are a matching set with the same light gothic design. They are both made from ultra-fine Bobbinet tulle and crisscrossing silk bindings.
The items are so beautiful, I can’t stop myself from trying them on.
Looking at myself in the full length mirror, I admire the way the plunge underwire bra enhances the cleavage without the need for padding.
I run my fingers over the delicate tulle and lace motifs of the thong and linger over the gold rings and double elastic rouleaux sides.
Below another layer of tissue paper, I find the corset. It has a curved front hem with diamond-shaped paneling that wraps all the way around the back.
There’s a knock on the door. A rush of adrenaline courses through my body. I look around for something to cover myself up with. The only thing big enough is the towel.
“It’s not seven,” I say.
“I thought you may need some help,” Nicholas says.
Dressed in a two piece blue suit with a notched lapel and a three-button front, he looks me up and down with a smile.
“I’m not ready yet.” I straighten my back.
“I’m not sure that’s part of the outfit,” he says, touching the welt pocket on the right side of his chest.
I adjust the towel to make sure it’s tighter.
“Drop the towel,” Nicholas says.
“No.”
“This is part of the deal.”
“What? You seeing me in provocative clothing?”
“No, you wearing this to tonight’s event,” Nicholas says. “All of it.”
He motions to the corset.
I clench my jaw.
“This is part of the deal. The mark will be there and we both have to fit in.”
I cross my arms and sit down on the edge of the bed.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not going anywhere wearing that. I look like an escort.”
“You’re not an escort but this job may require you to look like one on occasion. So what?”
“So what? I don’t need this,” I say.
“Actually, I have a feeling that you do,” he says boldly.
There’s a rush that comes with doing something like this.
The anticipation alone is intoxicating.
It’s like waiting for sex.
The foreplay that goes on and on…in some ways it’s better than the orgasm.
But then, when you get away with it, a wave of relief sweeps over you consuming everything in sight…that’s why I have to put on these clothes.
The anticipation starts to build. This is a costume that I need to be the person that the mark needs me to be.
I walk up to the mirror and let go of the towel.
Nicholas’ eyes are on me.
They make their way up my body carefully but without a tinge of desire.
He is in work mode and he isn’t looking at me like a woman wearing provocative lingerie.
He’s looking at me the way that a designer looks at the set that he has just constructed. There’s a window out there and a table to the left and a door leading backstage. All of the pieces are fake but the question is, do they look real enough for the audience to suspend their disbelief enough to get through the show?
Without another word, Nicholas hands me the corset.
It’s a deep-cut, timeless, sexy piece made of Chantilly Leavers lace with satin panels and boning. The lining is made of tulle and it comes with four detachable suspender straps. He helps me fasten the hooks, trimming my waist and forming my body into the ideal female hourglass figure.
“Perfect,” he says.
I glance at myself in the mirror.
Whatever insecurities I have about my body seem to vanish even though I am not wearing much when it comes to clothes.
Everything about the outfit is flattering and alluring. It draws the eye only to my best features while minimizing the rest.
“I don’t have any pantyhose,” I say.
“We’ll just have to fix that,” Nicholas says, getting down on one knee.
He gets so close to me I feel his slow deep breaths on my thigh.