Chapter 2

She continues, “Monday came and I was introduced to different women. Two were on the local school board, one was a realtor, another was an accountant. They were lounging outside near the pool, sitting on recliner seats. There were drinks made. Food was by the grill, but no one cooked yet. They were cordial towards me. They were eager. I introduced myself and did the sales pitch that I honed, but with more conviction. I was on a mission to impress and I wasn’t going to fail.

She continues, “Basically the same thing happened. Mrs. Clinesmith asked me to model for them, which I kind of expected would happen. I mean, the last time was a success for that reason. But to my surprise, Mrs. Clinesmith asked me to wear a matching undergarment set. The women smiled while I thought about it. I’d already come that far, so I agreed.”

“Were you upset?” I ask.

“It’s impossible to explain. I’d never done anything close to what they wanted. Not even a little. But I was motivated to be great at my job. I wanted to be successful. And, you know, I thought it was fun. It’s a weird thing to admit, but part of me liked the excitement. It was something new.

She continues, “Mrs. Clinesmith selected the attire from my rolling luggage — the smallest bra and panty set. I was speechless when she handed it to me. But I went inside the bathroom and changed my clothes. My tidy outfit was placed neatly on the bathroom counter and I wore the undergarments. Looking at myself in the mirror was surreal. I’d never worn anything like that in my life. I was barefoot when I went to the backyard. My hands trembled. It was scary.”

“Did you want to stop?” I ask.

“No, because I liked it,” Penny says.

“How much did you make that day?” I ask.

“Almost $500 in total. Same as before, I took orders, pre-orders, and enrolled the women in memberships.”

Her claims ring a bell and I flip through the sales sheets on my desk to find Penny’s figures; her numbers are accurate and the date matches. Something else catches my eye. The following Friday, her numbers skyrocket to around $1,000 in sales — in a single day. A record number. Her figures remained consistent ever since, making her the star employee.

Placing the sheet in front of her, I point to the astronomical figures.

“What happened here?” I ask, tapping the number on the page.

She looks at the document. No hesitation.

“A pool party,” she says.

“Can you tell me about that?”

“Swear not to tell anyone? The details about the women, I mean.”

“Of course. I’m only interested in how you maintained these figures.”

“Mrs. Clinesmith had a pool party,” she says. “Details were light, but she said she’d introduce me to other friends with deep pockets. When I arrived at her house that day… it was the weirdest thing… there was this energy that radiated when I walked in the door. I was nicely dressed, pulling my luggage with me. Mrs. Clinesmith had a sultry smile on her face. The living room was open space and there was a clear view of the pool area through sliding glass doors.

She continues, “As we went to the pool, I saw a topless woman. Laying back on a lounge chair. A drink in hand. Casually carrying on a conversation.”

“Breasts exposed?” I ask.

“Pink nipples and everything.”

“I won’t give a name,” she says. “But I later learned that she owned and operated a local bakery. Mrs. Clinesmith introduced me to everyone at the pool. I did my best to avoid staring at those tits, wondering why everyone was so oblivious to them. At one point, I thought it was my imagination. Mrs. Clinesmith was telling the group about my services, while I stood there wondering if I was seeing things. If I’d gone crazy.

She continues, “This was a different group of women, but they all came from the same world. You know, the housewives, the PTA and school board moms, the small business owners. You know the world I’m talking about. They’re the kind of women who value status and reputation, above all else.

She continues, “Mrs. Clinesmith took me to the bedroom after all the introductions were made. She went through my luggage and found something perfect for me. Black bra and panties. Sheer. That’s right — it was sheer. When she dangled the bra in front of me, she had this mischievous smile, because we both knew that my nipples would be showing.”

“Did you wear it?” I ask.

“For the same reasons I mentioned earlier. Career advancement meant everything to me. I was desperate to succeed. And, to be honest, I liked the thought of being the center of attention for those kinds of women. Of doing something ‘bad’ by society’s standards. It’s not something I’ve ever done before, you know.”

The image of Penny wearing sheer undergarments is an attractive one. Even wholesome girls have fantasies and desires. Being in this business for a long time, I understand her reasoning. Right or wrong, our corporate culture is built around competition.

“Can you tell me what happened at the pool?” I ask.

Penny winces. “When I went back to the pool area, the entire atmosphere changed. I could feel their eyes on my nipples, which were covered by the thin, see-through fabric. It was awkward. Very awkward. I was so embarrassed, but it was a rush. Mrs. Clinesmith held my hand and guided me towards the center of the backyard, near the pool. She encouraged me to make my sales pitch — and I did. I explained the fabric I was wearing, how comfortable it was. Our different rewards and membership programs. Things like that.”

“Did anyone take advantage of you?” I ask, afraid of what the answer might be.

“No, no, god no. These are the sweetest, most amazing women. You’re lucky to have them as clients.”

“Did anything else happen?”

My straight-forward question stops Penny in her tracks. I’m only asking these questions because she’s easy to read. Her body language is more nervous. Her voice has a different pitch, which suggests something sexual.

“Please don’t make me go further,” she says. “You can use your imagination. But yeah, that’s the secret. I became the best saleswoman thanks to the door-to-door program and being at the right place, at the right time. I used my body and modeled outfits for them. Nipples and all. Mrs. Clinesmith showed me a new world and I’m grateful for that. “

I nod. “May I ask a personal question? If you’re grateful to Mrs. Clinesmith, and if you’re so enamored by these women, why are you leaving?”

“Because I’m afraid I’ll become addicted to their lifestyle.”

Looking into her eyes, it makes sense. I understand Penny’s perspective and I can imagine what she did with those women. Or rather, what those women did to her. Frankly, I shouldn’t be surprised. How could I have missed the cues?

I open my desk drawer and get the checkbook. Penny is getting a bonus, my way of thanking her for giving me a new sales strategy.

Mrs. Clinesmith’s Pool Party

The backyard is spacious enough, the fences tall enough, that we have a reasonable amount of privacy. Sure, neighbors can peek if they’re at the right window at the right time, but it’s weekday. People are at work. School is in session. We get to play.

One of the most exciting new developments in recent years is guiding Penny to the pool area. She’s wearing the undergarments I selected for her. The sheer fabric of the bra does little to hide the pinkness of her nipples. The pinkness of her nipples almost matches the pink shade of her blushing face.

Penny is a rare gem that I’m always searching for. She has what I like. Innocence. Every respectable woman at my pool party thinks the same thing when looking at her; that the contrast is unbelievable. Her innocence shines as she stands there, frozen in time, with her hands down. The sheer undergarments are nothing she’d ever wear. I can tell from her discomfort.

But I can tell from her breathing that she’s into this. Her eyes are wide, a slight curvature on her lips, she makes an effort to push her chest forward, jutting her breasts and the shade of her nipple color through the sheer fabric. The girl is a secret exhibitionist, as I had anticipated the moment I first laid eyes on her.

I stroke the back of her shoulder, running my hand down until I reach the bra. Then I speak on her behalf, telling the group of esteemed women how high-quality the fabric feels and how great it looks. Penny finishes that thought, explaining the new design and the quality of the European fabric, with a slightly squeaky voice. The squeak in her voice makes her more desirable. She doesn’t realize that, but it’s true.

Penny forces herself to maintain composure in front of the small audience. She keeps her chest jutted out, good posture, and her eye contact is nice. I notice that she looks in the direction of the topless woman. That’s my friend Alejandra who owns the sole Cuban bakery in our area; she was premature in undressing and I had to remind her earlier that this is a classy event.

As expected, inquiries for sales come in strong. They think it’s a great deal. Home service is appealing to women with busy schedules. Especially if it involves the personal service of a young woman like Penny, who has the fortitude to demonstrate the wonderful products that are available.

“Can the fabric handle these?” Alejandra asks, pointing at her chest.

My hedonistic friend gestures to her long dark nipples, asking if the sheer bra will be uncomfortable on her chest. It’s a tease from a woman who loves drawing attention to her big nips. The question is a first for Penny, who handles it well, answering that the material is more than suitable for big nips (my words, not hers).

I ask Penny if she’s okay with a demonstration. I want to show this group of ladies that the products (and Penny) are legit. These women are happy to pay top dollar, but they want proof. Our typical conversations revolve around vying for status, having the best of everything within a moderate price point, and making our community a more elegant place.

When she agrees to demonstrate, I cautiously reach towards Penny’s chest (slowly because it gives her an opportunity to decline) and I hook my fingers on each cup of the bra. I pull downward on each side. Penny’s pink nipples are revealed to the group. The sun shines on her white chest and it reflects. Her nipples are hard and delicious. Her face turns red.