Chapter One

 

Harper Cuttieworth-Smithson prized herself on her intellect. She had been raised to believe that her value as a human being depended on her intelligence and morality, not her looks. It bothered her that society seemed to hold a contrary view. But then her opinion of society, had never been one of unparalleled admiration.

In fact, Harper almost wholly disapproved of everything about American society and its values. She despised its governments and their focus on capitalism and corporate profits. It was perhaps inevitable, given she was born and raised to the highly progressive views of upper-middle-class Ravenna in Seattle, that Harper would develop an earnest, if not zealous attachment to progressive political views.

Rather than attend the nearby University of Washington, she had got a partial scholarship and had persuaded her parents to send her across the country to Mount Holyoke, a very liberal, women-only college in Massachusetts. Her determination to enlighten the country and indeed the world to the righteousness and superior morality of her views led her into journalism.

She, of course, wanted to join the school newspaper and expose the racism and bigotry and homophobia and transphobia which were all around her. Unfortunately, they accepted few freshmen, and most of the positions were, quite rightly, reserved for racialized people, as well as lesbians and transgendered people.

Harper deeply regretted being cis and abled, as well as her embarrassing white privilege. She did her best to try to overcome this by showing extra amounts of respect for other identity groups. As well as accepting, with humility, a sense of shame for the crimes of oppressive white society, past and present.

To prove her open-mindedness, she had embraced sexual experiments with the many lesbian and bisexual girls at Holyoke. And now often daringly described herself as bisexual. She had also submitted to sex with a transgendered woman, who, disappointingly, did not seem to be able to use her penis with any more utility than the men she had previously slept with.

Certainly, Harper had not felt any great degree of pleasure from that experience. Nor from the previous ones with men. Well, boys. She recognizes that there was a difference between an actual man and the males of her own age, who it was quite difficult to respect. They were so immature! As for sex, they were all sex maniacs and perverts.

In fact, she was not all that impressed with the male gender. They seemed to be less sensitive, more racist and sexist and homophobic and cared less about the well-being of society than women did. Not that there were an awful lot of examples around the college. Other than the occasional professor.

She succeeded in getting a position with the paper in her second year. She was pleased, at first, for she knew it would look good on her resume when she applied for positions with real newspapers. But realistically speaking, she came to recognize that it would be very difficult to break into the industry. She needed contacts.

One of the best ways to get these was to apply for internships during her summer break and impress editors with her hard work, intelligence, researching abilities, and writing skills. Of course, even getting an internship was difficult, and there was ferocious competition.

This caused her a great deal of anguish, for she knew in her heart of hearts that one of the best ways to attain such a position was to make a very good first impression when being interviewed by staff. And that conflicted with her determination to be judged only by her intelligence, and not her looks.

She had spent the previous year, and even before that her last year in high school dressing down and ensuring that nothing she wore accentuated the generous curves with which nature had gifted her. Oh, she was proud that her body was fit and healthy, for she worked determinedly in the gym to ensure it was. She could take some credit for that. Taking credit for the size of her breasts or the shape of her bottom or the looks of her long legs was anathema to her.

She had even dyed her blonde hair dark brown so as to not be sexualized by society and its sex-fixated men. At times she even wore glasses, though she needed no prescription. She felt they made her look more intellectual. And she deliberately chose unattractive, thick-framed glasses, to play down her looks.

That might work in certain places, but not the one she had an interview with. In fact, she did not wholly approve of the editorial stances of the newspaper she hoped to gain a spot with. It wasn't that it was conservative, of course. She wouldn't go near such an institution. But it had far too many centrist views.

In any event, her determination to make her mark in the world of journalism in order to enlighten the world forced her to compromise. She would not, of course, dress in any way which sexualized herself. Or which emphasized certain features of her anatomy. But she did dress attractively and even put on lipstick and blush.

Whether this helped or not she did get the position. But this led to further frustration, for the stories they had her researching seemed trivial to her. She wanted to expose the evils of society, not talk about flower shows! And so at what she considered an opportune time, she approached her editor to beg for something more important which would allow her to demonstrate her abilities.

"I think you underestimate just how difficult it can be to engage in this kind of investigative journalism, Ms. Cuttieworth-Smithson."

Harper pursed her lips but with effort, kept her face smooth.

"I'm sure that I would find it challenging, Ms. Cooperman," she said. "But I believe I am up to that challenge."

"Are you?" The woman sat back in her chair and steepled her fingers as she regarded Harper.

"How good an actress are you?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. "You see in order to get hired on with an organization you intend to investigate, or to associate with those who work there you have to be able to take on a sympathetic persona. And given you wish to investigate conservative organizations, I find it difficult to believe you could put aside your very firmly held views, much less pretend to agree with what your subjects are saying."

"For good cause, I could take on any role," she said proudly.

"Could you? Samantha Myers got herself hired with an NFL cheerleading squad and spent months with them in order to do an exposé. You believe you could do something like that? You made it clear what you think about sexualizing the female body."

"But that was an excellent effort and uncovering the misogynistic views of these brutal professional sports organizations!" she said. "She sacrificed herself by pretending to accept that women were to be treated like pieces of meat in order to help women."

"Yes, well, I frankly don't see you as being able to wear revealing clothing and giggle your way through a job like that, not for any reason."

Harper scowled unhappily. Although she knew the woman was right, and it would be extremely difficult for her to put aside her beliefs in such things to wear something as scanty as a cheerleading outfit and accept being treated as a sex object.

"I hadn't intended to investigate cheerleaders," she muttered.

"No, but the sexualization of attractive young women is only one of the smaller and less offensive views that you would find trying to infiltrate a conservative organization. How would you react when they started talking about abortion views or racial views?"

"I would be delighted if they would," she said eagerly. "For I would know that eventually, I would make them eat their words once I exposed them!"

The woman smiled tolerantly. "Forgive me, Ms. Cuttieworth-Smithson, but you strike me as an ideological Puritan with very strong and assertive views on life. I believe that if confronted by polar opposite views you would become enraged and lose your self-control."

Harper bit her tongue at what she wanted to say. She was being tolerated, she thought angrily. The woman clearly didn't respect her maturity.

"I'm quite sure I would be able to remain in full control of myself," she said coolly. "It's not like I would expect anything better of such people."

Ms. Cooperman sighed.

"And it's not like it would cost you anything," Harper said anxiously. "I can pay my own way to wherever it is you send me."

"I suppose it's nice to be so privileged," Cooperman said sarcastically.

Harper flushed, knowing she was right.

"However, if you really want to throw yourself in the deep end, there is one particular project that has been kicking around my desk for a while. It involves an investigation into high-level sex trafficking."

Harper's heart skipped a beat as she leaned forward eagerly in her chair. That was just the kind of evil she wanted to expose!

"Were not speaking here about the worst type of that thing, or we wouldn't even consider sending you. This organization, if the information I have is correct, involves enticing young, naive women with promises of modeling jobs and then luring them into sex with wealthy men. They then wind up working for some corporations and used to please important customers."

"I could do that!" Harper said excitedly.

"Could you? You appear to be an attractive young woman, Ms. Cuttieworth-Smithson, but you seem to have a reflexive antagonism to any man who pays you a compliment. I'm not sure how you could control yourself in such a sexualized environment where you, as a would-be model, would be seeking such compliments and reacting with pleasure."

"As I said, Ms. Cooperman, knowing that it was for the greater good, I can easily overlook such things."

Cooperman's eyes narrowed. "And could you dress accordingly?"

Harper hesitated and swallowed nervously but put on a brave mask. "Certainly!" She said.

Cooperman shrugged. "I highly doubt that, but if you want to try sinking or swimming, this is at least a pool where you can't drown. These people might be misogynists, but they're not likely to be violent."

***

Harper had a difficult time sleeping the night before her assignment was to begin. She had had to buy new clothes, and even very sexually revealing bikinis, in order to fit into the places where such people congregated. That made her highly uneasy. It wasn't that she didn't have confidence in her looks for she had been complemented all her life.

Besides, she knew what she looked like naked, and she knew how that compared to society's view of female attractiveness. Although she didn't intend to ever get naked, she was quite certain her assets would measure up to anyone's evaluation.

Besides, she absolutely had to show that Cooperman was wrong! Cooperman obviously believed she would fail and probably fail quickly. She treated her like some silly little girl! Harper was determined to prove her wrong!

Her first task was to get accepted by the modeling agency the newspaper considered to be at the center of recruitment. That meant she had to get pictures taken. She thought the newspaper would take pictures, but Ms. Cooperman had shaken her head.

"We want you to be a complete newbie," she said. "Not someone who has any previous experience with modeling, or who has had proper professional photographs taken. We believe this is the kind of target these people are looking for."

Her attempt to infiltrate this group has started with her calling the modeling agency. They had told her to send a few pictures which she could take with her phone. They wanted her face, as well as a full-body picture in a bikini.

It was that latter picture which may her mind squirm. Who knew where that picture would wind up!? Suppose it wound up on the Internet with all kinds of lecherous perverts lusting after her!?

Well, it was too late to back out now. So she put on one of the bikinis she'd purchased and then took dozens of pictures before agonizing over which one was both attractive and least revealing. Unfortunately, those two did not go hand-in-hand. And if she wanted to be accepted, she knew she had to go with the more attractive picture.

And that meant the one that showed off her breasts to their best effect. That was anathema to her, but she really didn't have much choice if she wanted to ensure they took an interest. Sure enough, they contacted her to come in for an interview and more pictures.

The Baxter modeling agency was in an upscale building in downtown Boston. She frowned disapprovingly as she walked through the lobby of the building. People like this should be in some grubby, low rent district, where everyone would know that they were up to no good. They shouldn't be in these bright, shiny, luxurious buildings where they could act respectable!

When she walked into the agency, located on the 23^rd floor, she found the decor all teak and leather, very upscale and modern. In short order, she was shown into the office of a woman somewhere in her mid-30s, very blonde, very tall, and very pretty.

She did her best to hide her disapproval that a woman would involve herself in such outrageous conduct, for it seemed like a betrayal of her own gender. But some people would do anything for money.

"Now, Harper, you've never done any modeling before?"

"No, Ms. Carling."

"So why do you want to start now? Usually, girls start this sort of thing when they're 14, not 19."

"I need the money," she said with a shrug.

"Good reason," the woman said with a smile. "However, you're way behind others who have started long ago. They have the poise, the look, the grace, and the movement. They've been training for years and have a lot of experience. Even a 16-year-old has two years on you. You've never been on a catwalk, don't know the proper walk and look..."

The woman's voice trailed off.

"On the other hand, you have a very good body. Most of the younger girls tend to be aiming for the high-fashion section of the industry, and are very tall and slender. That's very good, but there are certain roles in the industry which require attractive girls who are a little older and better developed."

She looks significantly at Harper's chest, and Harper flushed slightly.

"For example, bathing suit models. You looked very good in that bikini shot you sent us. You would look much better with professional shots. And generally, small-breasted girls don't make for very good bikini or lingerie models."

Harper felt her stomach sink at the thought of parading around in bathing suits, much less lingerie, but she understood what the woman meant. She had done some research into modeling, and that was actually another story she'd like to do. It was outrageous how the modeling industry sexualized underage girls simply because they were slender and had pretty faces.

"Why don't we get some pictures?" the woman said.

She picked up the phone and called someone and a minute or so later another woman came into the office. She was a tall slender, beautiful black woman also in her 30s.

"Stand up, Harper," the woman said.

Harper stood and the woman gestured towards the newcomer. "What do you think Gwen? She got the kind of body we can use?"

Harper picked up on that. Was there a secret code in that question!?

"I suppose we'll see," the woman said. "You want the standard pictures?"

"Yes, she's nineteen."

Harper frowned at that, wondering what her age had to do with anything.

"All right, girl, come with me," the black woman said.

Harper tried to show eagerness as she followed the woman out of the office and down the narrow hallway, then into a room which was obviously used for a photographic studio.

"All right, honey, go behind that screen and take all your clothes off," the woman said.

Harper froze. "Um, all of them?"

The woman smirked. You can't be shy and be in this industry, honey."

"No, no, no. It's not that," she hastened to assure her. "It's just that I don't want to take any nude pictures."

The woman laughed and shook her head. "You really are new at this. No, I'm not going to be taking any naked pictures. But I'm going to prepare some things for you to wear, and we're going to start with bathing suits. So get yourself undressed and then I'm going to measure you."

"I know my measurement," Harper said quickly.

"You may think you do, honey, but were professionals here, and we don't rely on things we don't make sure of ourselves."

Harper went behind the screen, her pulse racing. I can do this! She told herself. It wasn't like she had anything to be ashamed of. And it wasn't like women hadn't seen her naked before. She'd had several female lovers at school so far, after all.

Nevertheless, her heart beat rapidly as she took off her clothes, her head jerking around frequently in fear someone, like a man, might come in and see her.

"All right, come on out, Princess," the woman said in amusement.

Harper flushed an embarrassment and anxiety. She had to walk out there naked!?

I can do this! I have to!

She took a deep breath and walked around the screen, but was unable to keep her arms from shielding as much of her breasts that she could. She recognized the amusement in the black woman's face as she saw this.