EXTRACT FOR
Rebel In A Thong
(Argus)

      Jessie walked smoothly and gracefully into the room, back erect, head high, perfect smile on her perfect lips as she moved through the guests smiling and nodding pleasantly to those who knew her. 

      She'd just finished a gruelling month of exams at college, yet while her friends were off somewhere loafing or enjoying themselves, she was at one of her dad's fund raising events, smiling and looking pretty.

      She hated it. In fact, she was beginning to hate everything about her life. Her friends, none of which would be called wild by any stretch of the imagination, had tales to tell of the exciting things they'd done in their short lives, the countries they'd visited, the frolics they'd taken part in, the... relationships they'd had.

      Meanwhile, she'd done nothing. Nothing. When she was a little girl it had always been "Be a good girl now, Jessica. You don't want to embarrass your father now." She'd been forced into frilly party dresses to be patted on the head, while her friends were out playing in jeans.

      As an adolescent it had been the same. Being the perfect daughter to Mr. Family Values, her father, required she have just the right haircut, go to just the right schools (all girl schools with rigid rules and unpleasant uniforms). She'd had to work her ass off to finish high in her classes so her father wouldn't be "embarrassed".

      That left virtually no time for socializing, and with the girl's schools, little opportunity. She could count on one hand the number of dates she'd had in high school.

      Then came college. She'd had such high hopes. She'd actually put up a fight over it. She'd tried to go to an out of state college, a big one where she could be anonymous and maybe have a little fun.

      But no. What would people think if she had to go out of state to get an education? They'd wonder if her father took no pride in the state's own colleges. Well, then she'd go to the big state college. No. Certainly not. 

      So she'd gone instead to a tiny, exclusive women only college where the girls were all as snobbish as she herself was trained to be. More boredom, more work, more pressure to be perfect. And at every break... home to be on daddy's arm, to show everyone how he'd raised his little girl right.

       Everything she did or said had to be analysed for how it might affect her father's reputation, his re-election chances, his fund-raising campaigns. 

      Her soft brown hair was long and straight, with cute bangs over her forehead. She'd long wanted to cut it, do - do - something! - with it, maybe even dye it, but her parents were aghast at the thought.

      There were no pants in her wardrobe. None. Likewise there were no short skirts, or tight blouses. There was nothing anyone could term sexy or revealing. There were pleasant dresses in proper shades, long skirts, and, of course, blazers.

      At the moment she was clad in a long, loose ankle length dress that did as much as it could to hide her lush 38-22-36 body. It bared her softly rounded shoulders, but that was the most that could be said for it.

      Her hair was bound lightly with a small gold chain, pulled together at the back of her neck to hang loosely over her right shoulder. Her small, pert mouth was graced with soft, sensuous lips... had she been able to put makeup on properly. Instead she was forced to try and make her mouth as unsexual as possible. She hadn't really succeeded, but she'd tried.

      Her nose was narrow and aristocratic, her eyes rounded and a bright, startling green. She was six feet tall, which she might have taken pride in, except it wasn't quite right, according to her father's handlers, and she was forced to always wear flat heels to disguise her height.

      She had, according to her friends at school, quite beautiful legs, exquisitely formed and sculpted, long and ivory and flawless from her trim ankles to her firm thighs. No man had ever seen them however, at least not above the knee.

      She didn't even understand why she went along with this. She loathed her father's perfection, and had her own money, courtesy of her grandfather's trust fund, which had kicked in on her twentieth birthday. She longed for the day she could just tell her father to go and screw off.

      Instead she helped her mother and father to squeeze money out of the rich guests at the party, so her father could get back to doing whatever it was he did in the senate.

      "Jessica, darling," her mother said, smiling her phoney smile. "Come and meet someone, dear."

      She took her wrist and led her to a tall, skinny looking man with narrow eyes and a sulky mouth.

      "Eugene, this is Jessica."

      "Hello, Miss Taylor," he said, smiling every so slightly. 

      "How do you do, sir?" Jessie said, keeping her voice in tight control.

      Her father had had voice coaches for her since she was twelve, trying to make her voice higher, and more girlish. She tried her best, but at times it still came out low and husky. She'd heard actresses speak in the same low tones, and people called their voices sultry. Her parents didn't agree, however.

      "Jessica is getting straight A grades at Lord Lloyd's College," her mother beamed. "After she graduates she's going to work for the party."

      "Good for her," the man said dourly.

      Jessica looked at her mother in surprise. For this was the first she'd ever heard of what she was supposed to do after college. She'd had many fantasies, of course, of going off to some forgotten corner of the country and maybe leading her own life.

      "Mother, may I speak with you alone for a moment?"

      "Don't be rude, dear," her mother said, smiling coldly.

      Jessie blushed as her mother turned back to Mr. whatever his name was and ignored her. She stood there like a lamp for five minutes until the man moved off, then her mother pulled her over to meet someone else.

      "Why must you speak to me like I'm a child?" she demanded.

      "Because you act like one," her mother snapped.

      "What is this about me going to work for the party?"

      "After you graduate you'll go and work for Michael Rogers in youth recruitment. He's sure you'll do quite well in helping bring in the younger crowd, the college people into the party."

      "But I don't want to work for the party," she protested.

      "The party has put food in your stomach and clothes on your back all your life, young lady," her mother glowered. "Don't you dare show your ingratitude and embarrass your father."

      "But I - ."

      "Your father went to a good deal of time and effort to give you a purpose in life," her mother said, digging her hands into Jessie's wrist. "So many other young people are graduating and have no idea what they will do. They can't find jobs, and discover their education wasted. Now you're complaining because your father had the decency to help you? You should get down on your knees and thank God for a father like him. Now come along!"

      She pulled Jessie over to meet another rich man, but Jessie hardly saw him. Her mind was filled with misery at the thought of spending more years as her father's flunky, keeping all her emotions in check, acting like the "good girl" for her father. Never having any fun. Never having any life.

      Then she felt intensely guilty. Her father had done so much for her, and was doing so much more for the America. How could she act like a spoiled brat and complain just because she didn't think she was having any fun? What kind of an ingrate and selfish child was she anyway?

      And yet it was so hard to think of more years as... as a perfect little girl. She felt near tears at the prospect. She moved away from her mother and down the hall, searching for an empty room where she could be alone.

      She opened the door to the library and went inside, blinking back tears as she closed the door behind her. She turned on the lights and gave a little gasp as a man jumped up from the desk near the French windows, clutching a handful of cigars.

      It was Daniel Moore, a nasty and rude man who went to Harvard, and had almost been kicked out for painting a statue pink. He was about her age, but not, in her opinion, very mature at all.

      "What are you doing with those?" she demanded.

      "I uh, was just refilling the humidor."

      "I saw you putting them into your pocket."

      He looked around worriedly, then sighed and shrugged.

      "You're right," he admitted. "I didn't think anyone would miss them."

      "That's stealing," she said accusingly.

      "Oh big deal. Your old man is rich as shit," he protested. "And he's a politician. They're all crooks anyway."

      "My father is one of the most honest men in this country," she said haughtily.

      "Oh, right."

      "You're so gauche, Daniel," she frowned. "If you wanted cigars surely you could purchase your own."

      "These were handy, and they tasted good." He grinned.

      "Put them back and I won't tell anyone," she said.

      He put them back, but didn't look very grateful for her understanding.

      "Try to act like a mature gentleman," she said, acting somewhat like her mother.

      "Are you kidding?" he sniffed. "I'm not a friggin robot like you."

      "Don't be insulting," she snapped.

      "Hey, I've seen you wandering around with your mummy holding your hand, smiling and bobbing. Yes, Mr so and so. No Mr. so and so. Why thank you, Mr. So and so. Yeeesh."

      "I am helping host this party," Jessie glared. "And being sociable is nothing to be embarrassed about."

      "Right, and letting that old man grope your behind was sociable?" He smirked.

      She blushed angrily. One of the guests had put his hand on her behind while standing beside her. She had shifted out of range as quickly as possible, but hadn't protested. Making a scene would have been so gauche.

      "I did not let him," she snapped.

      "You didn't say no."

      "I moved away!"

      "My sister would have kicked him in the balls."

      "Well if you're any example, your sister is hardly a lady."

      "My sister is more of a lady than you. You're just a china doll. I'd be willing to bet every cent I own that you're still a virgin."

      "Don't be such a pig!" She glared.

      "I bet you've never even given a guy a hand job." He leered.

      "Get out!" she snapped, pointing at the door.

      "Come on, Jessica. Let's do it. Right here. I'll give you a ride you won't ever forget," he taunted.

      "I'd rather die," she sneered.

      "And the sad thing is, I believe you mean it."

      "I do!"

      "Yeah, well, I guess you aren't always your father's daughter, are you."

      "What's that supposed to mean?"

      "Just that your father sure never turned down an opportunity for a good ride."

      "You're disgusting! My father has been faithful to my mother for twenty years!"

      He laughed uproariously, laughed with such genuine mirth that she was taken aback.

      "Oh Christ I think you actually believe that," he giggled, rubbing his eyes.

      "It's true," she said, with less confidence.

      "Your father, dear girl, will screw any female out of her training bra with the slightest opportunity."

      "You're a filthy liar!"

      "Think so?"

      "I know so!"

      "You're forgetting my father is Chairman of the Tobacco lobby. He knows all about your father and what it takes to buy his votes."

      "My father never sold a vote in - ."

      "Yeah right. Let me tell you how it's done, little girl," he sneered. "The tobacco lobby sends a really high class call girl, one of those thousand bucks a night ones, to his apartment here in the city - ."

      "He doesn't have an apartment!"

      "And she does everything he wants, then gives him the number of the Swiss bank account the lobby is using that particular month. He takes the money and transfers it into his personal Swiss account."

      "You're lying!"

      "Am I? I happened to overhear my father talking to Paul Madsen. He's got a redhead for him tonight. He'll probably be heading off to his apartment any time now."

      "I'm not going to listen to any more of this!" she snapped.

      She turned and rushed to the door, then jerked it open. The first thing that caught her eyes was her father coming towards the library, arm in arm with Daniel's father. She pulled back, then turned to find Daniel behind her.

      "Come on," he gasped, gripping her arm and pulling her towards the corner.

      "What? Wait? Let me go!" she demanded as he pulled her behind the thick, heavy curtains.

      He pulled her flat against him and put a hand over her mouth.

      "Listen and learn," he whispered.

      She struggled to pull loose, but then she heard the door closing and her father's voice.

      She stopped moving. How would she explain being behind the curtain with Daniel?

      "Well a good party, Phil," Mr. Moore said.

      "Yes, and profitable, thanks to you."

      "We do our best to help," Moore said jovially.

      "Yes, uh, speaking of help..."

      "Her name is Ellen."

      "Ahhh."

      "She'll meet you tonight at seven."

      "I can't make it tonight, Phil."

      "Oh?"

      "No. I've gotta meet Joe Banks at eight."

      "Pity. Well, tomorrow then?"

      "Yeah, I guess," her father said, sounding disappointed.

      "Why don't I uh, bring her in here for... ah, consultation?"

      "If you can be discreet - ."

      She felt Daniel's hand creeping down her back and onto her backside, and she jerked her head around and glared at him.