Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I felt the blush start at my collarbone and climb. “Thank you, Ms. Gallagher. I’m really grateful for the opportunity.”
“Penelope,” she corrected gently. “Or Penny, if you’re feeling brave.” A smile, quick and conspiratorial, as if we were already sharing a joke. “Let me show you your desk.”
My workstation lay just outside her office. It had a clean, modern desk with a slim monitor, a phone console, and a small vase of white peonies that I couldn’t imagine had been there before today.
“Get settled,” Penelope said, resting one hand lightly on the back of my chair. “Log into the system. Your credentials are in the welcome packet in the top drawer. Get the lay of the land.” She glanced at the slim watch on her wrist. “But don’t get too comfortable, because there’s a meeting upstairs in half an hour that I’d like you to attend with me. Bring your laptop. You’ll be taking notes.”
“Of course,” I said, trying to sound like someone who attended meetings and took notes all the time, rather than someone whose previous work experience consisted of a summer filing papers at a veterinary clinic.
Penelope smiled again, and something in it—some flicker of appraisal, or perhaps amusement—made the blush return to my cheeks.
“You’re going to do wonderfully,” she said, and disappeared back into her office.
The conference room was on the thirty-fourth floor, two levels up. It was larger than my apartment. An oval table of dark polished wood dominated the center, surrounded by high-backed leather chairs. One wall was entirely glass, offering a view of the city skyline that seemed designed to remind everyone in the room of exactly how high up they were, and what that height meant.
Six people were already seated at the table when Penelope and I arrived: four men in dark suits and two women, one of whom was setting up a presentation on the wall-mounted screen. Penelope took a seat near the head of the table and gestured to the chair beside her. I sat, opened my laptop, and tried to make myself small.
The presentation title appeared on the screen in clean Selecta branding:
New Modesty Training Intimates: Q3 Performance Review & Product Roadmap
I typed the title into my notes and told myself the meeting was just about underwear. Companies must have meetings about underwear all the time. There were huge lingerie brands that probably had meetings about underwear every day. This was normal.
It took five minutes before I realized that, at least for me and my conventional upbringing, this meeting was not normal.
The first speaker, a man named David Hargrove from the product division, began with a slide showing market penetration data for what he called the ‘Training Intimates line.’ It took me a little while to understand what training intimates actually meant. David’s brief, flat explanation at first didn’t seem to make any sense.
“As you know, the classic training underwear is designed to provide a structured intimate environment for young women in the New Modesty program.” Heads around the table nodded. This clearly represented very old news for everyone but me.
“As such,” David continued, “it combines the modesty standards required by the girls’ foster families and suitors with a confining fit that encourages them to confront and process their emerging physical needs rather than suppressing them.”
I stopped taking notes. My fingers hovered over the keys. I made myself start again.
The next slide showed the garments. High-waisted, full-coverage panties in white cotton, jarringly old-fashioned in their appearance. I blinked as I looked more closely at the slide, because it showed an interior construction that was anything but simple. Diagrams illustrated reinforced seams, a snug gusset designed to press firmly against the wearer.
“Plus,” David continued, “as you may remember, our last innovation in the previous refresh, our awareness panels. The slightly textured fabric here and here, positioned as you can see to create constant, low-level friction against the clitoris and the perineum.”
I had to bite my lip as my forehead creased. My tummy flipped end over end, as far as I could tell, every time I looked at the screen.
“The philosophy behind the line,” David continued, clicking to the next slide, “is that a girl who is kept aware of her body’s responses throughout the day is better positioned to communicate those responses to her suitor or husband, which strengthens the dynamic. Repression is the enemy of a healthy authority-based relationship. These garments help her stay in touch with what she’s feeling, even when—especially when—she’s been taught to ignore it.”
I wrote awareness panels—friction—anti-repression philosophy and then stared at the words, trying to pretend they didn’t mean what they said.
“It’s a good product,” David went on, “but as you know we’re losing market share.”
The woman who had been setting up the presentation when we came in—Dr. Maren Holt, according to the slide she now brought up—picked up the thread smoothly.