Chapter One

 

Elena was noticed as she moved through the grocery store. She had never really been a girl who could go unnoticed. She had tried, though, for some time. She was a thoughtful and intelligent young woman with a keen imagination as well as empathy for others.

She had been raised to be modest and self-effacing in both manner and dress. She was not a flamboyant person by nature in any case. As she grew older, however, she found herself on the receiving end of a good deal of attention, most of it embarrassing.

It was not attention to her artistic nature, to her writing or painting or poetry, but to her looks. A part of her found this flattering, but it very much went against what she'd been taught about how she ought to present herself to the world. And since, moreover, many of the young men paying her obvious attention were rude and crude about it she often found it embarrassing.

This presented her with contradictory feelings. She could not but help being proud of her looks – because society said that young women were to be valued by their appearance. She knew very well that her appearance was attractive, that it would meet up with almost anyone's approval.

At the same time she had been taught, not merely by her family but by society, to be modest, and to not show off her looks or body. And in addition she tended to be shy and soft-spoken around strangers, so people staring at her breasts, as they had a habit of doing, was deeply embarrassing.

Early in her teenage years she began to do what she could to dissuade such attention by covering her body in loose layers. This helped disguise her shape, and in particular, the size of her breasts. People still looked at her, for she had lovely eyes which were wide, soft deep pools of brown, and her face was pretty, with a small, turned-up nose and high cheekbones.

Thus now, as she pushed a small cart and examined the produce, looking for the freshest, she was wearing a pair of trousers, an over-sized gray sweater (which came down to her thighs) with a loose-fitting turtleneck collar, and a light jacket.

Still, she was noticed. She was a pretty young woman, and there were few of those for the male customers to feast their eyes on. She had long, thick hair in a rich mahogany, and of course, those huge brown eyes. The men who eyed her as she passed might not be able to quite tell the shape of her body, but it seemed reasonably slim, and requirements were low if such a body went with a face as pretty as hers.

Elena was peripherally aware of such glances as she moved through the store, but, for the most part, ignored them as best she could. She had come to accept that men would look at her, and as long as they were not too obvious about it, or rude or tried to hit on her she could brush it off.

Her friend Amy spoke of how men kept leering at her and saying crude things, and how she had to be careful on the subway in case they grabbed her butt. Amy, however, was a blonde, and considerably more flamboyant than Elena. She wore form-fitting clothes which caught the eye. And while Elena didn't (quite) disapprove of this she thought that it was likely the reason for her getting so much attention.

Which made her feel a little smug about her wisdom in avoiding it by dressing conservatively.

Yet still, she felt that conflict between her sense of discretion, and her feminine pride in her appearance. A part of Elena wanted people, especially men, to notice how attractive she was. She disapproved of that part of herself, though, and was wary of men being rude, as well as other girls being catty if they thought she was showing off.

Her outfit was her armor against rude stares and words, but she sometimes got jealous of the girls who looked so beautiful and sexy who appeared to shrug off the problems the inevitable attention brought them.

She finished her shopping and went to the cashier to pay for them, thanked the girl, then put her things into her large shoulder bag and walked out. She walked along the sidewalk, ignoring the cars moving around the large parking lot, walked past the grocery store, then past a number of other stores in the mall, including Brown's family restaurant, where she had been working all day.

Elena had applied herself to her studies and always got As, especially in English, where her creative writing and poetry were often praised. But as she approached graduation she began to feel a sense of unease about her future. Every career she thought might provide her with a satisfying life required a college degree. And while she was intellectually equipped for college, her financial resources were meager.

Her parents were quite conservative, and had raised her to be of a similar mindset. The thought of borrowing tens of thousands of dollars from the government on the promise to start paying it back right after graduation struck her as deeply risky. What if she didn't get a good job right after graduating? What if it didn't pay well?

Taking on an obligation was extremely important to Elena. It was far more than simply signing her name on some paper. She took her promises seriously!

So right after graduation she quickly found work at Brown's restaurant waiting on tables. It didn't pay very well but, with tips, it paid better than working as a store clerk or a barista. Still, it had quickly become evident she would never be able to save up enough for college on what she earned there.

The restaurant was part of a chain which provided fairly ordinary food for fairly ordinary middle-class people. She was a pleasant, friendly girl, in addition to being attractive, so she got very good tips. But tips were a percentage of the cost of the meal, so Elena had started looking for more expensive restaurants.

And as she walked past it, turned the corner, and headed down the street, she pondered the discussion she'd had last night with her girlfriend Samantha. Sam had suggested getting a job at Mobies. Mobies was a chain restaurant, much like Brown's, but with higher prices.

The problem was Mobies was a 'Bar & Grille'. That meant more alcohol, which meant better tips. It was divided into two parts, a restaurant part with traditional tables and booths, and a bar which, she knew and everyone else knew, was something of a pickup place.

Moreover the girls at Mobie's wore tight little black cocktail dresses. They were short and they had cleavage! They were not, she recognized, improper. The amount of cleavage was reasonably modest. The dresses did not plunge low, but did bare the very tops of the girls' breasts.

And they were not unusually short for cocktail dresses either, but far shorter than Elena was used to wearing.

All the way home she mulled over the pros and cons of working there. The only pro was, of course, far higher tips. The cons were that she would be in a faster-paced work environment and dressed in a somewhat revealing outfit. That would draw much more interest from men, and probably those with alcohol for courage would be rude about it.

But on the other hand, the lights in the bar section were fairly dark, and there were bouncers to make sure anyone who was rude was dealt with. And all the other servers would be dressed the same way, so she wouldn't really stand out – much. Nor could she be sneered at by the other girls for wearing the same outfit.

She made it home and put her purchases away. Her parents were both at work, and her sister and brother were both out. She went upstairs to her room, quickly stripped, and went into the bathroom. Working in a restaurant all day made her smell too much like the food, she thought.

Naked before the mirror, she pondered how she'd look in a tight little dress. And what kind of attention she might get. Surely the bouncers knew how to keep people in line, and besides, there'd be other girls dressed the same, she thought.

The tips were supposed to be very high...

But while she had worn a minimizer bra at Browns – a bra designed to flatten out her breasts and make them seem smaller, she wouldn't be able to wear that with a cocktail dress.

She cupped her breasts, both proudly and regretfully. She had, she had been told, the most perfect breasts in the world. Certainly the few boys who'd seen them had been delighted. She'd also had comments from girls in the changing rooms or during sleepovers. And, of course, while she avoided pornography on the internet, it was impossible not to notice some of it.

And she had almost reluctantly, but with pride, come to accept that judgment about her breasts. They were large and full, yet almost pert with their small, turned-up nipples. She only had to jiggle them or bounce them a little with her hands and they would instantly snap back to their proper position.

She was quite dedicated about her exercise, especially the ones to keep her chest muscles strong, and her breasts were something of a secret source of satisfaction for Elena. They were her one vanity, and she posed for herself, feeling a sense of eagerness to show them off – in a dress, but also nervous about the thought.

*

A week later, Elena stared at herself in the Mobie's dress in that same mirror. Her full breasts pushed the chest out quite noticeably, even in a black dress. And while the neckline was no lower than on other girls, her breasts were more obvious. She could slide two fingers down into her cleavage without touching the dress at all because of how her full breasts pushed out on the material.

The fact the dress was also much tighter and shorter than she ever wore were secondary worries, but they added to her concern. She argued with herself about it, thinking she should really just take off the dress, take it back, and apologize to the manager.

Finally, she forced herself to go through with it. She had made a commitment, after all. She stripped off the dress and stood there in her small, black, shelf bra and thong. They were lacy and sexy because she had compromised with her femininity some years ago. She would wear conservative outer clothes, but sexy, frilly, lacy underthings.

The shelf bra was the only one low enough to hide below the neckline of the dress, but it tended to squeeze her breasts together more than the others.

She put the dress and high heels into her shoulder bag, then, wearing her usual conservative layered look, headed out the door.

*

Mobie's was far noisier than Brown's! She went into the rear and changed, then found the manager, blushing as he looked at her.

“Good,” he said. “Excellent.”

He didn't stare at her breasts but his eyes had glanced over them!

He handed her off to Deidre, another of the girls, who took her out into the bar and showed her her tables. Then, bracing herself, and glad it was dark enough to help disguise just how much she was blushing, Elena went to the closest table.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she said, smiling in the same way she had at Brown's. “My name is Elena and I'll be your server.”

The man at the table looked at her, and then his eyes flicked down to her cleavage, before coming back up.

She felt a flash of embarrassment, mixed with something not quite definable.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he said.

“Can I get you something on the menu, sir?” she asked, still smiling.

“Get me a Keats, would you, honey?”

“Right away, sir!”

Elena decided this was not the sort of place and certainly not the right time to object to the customers using words like 'honey' or 'gorgeous. She disapproved, of course (though she was also flattered at being called 'gorgeous') but knew the atmosphere here was considerably more – slack – about sexist language, and had prepared herself for that.

She was being looked at, she noticed, as she walked to the bar. Men's eyes skimmed over her as she walked along, and that made her feel even more self-conscious in the little black dress. She got the beer and returned to the customer, smiling as she set it down.

Another man had joined him at the table, middle-aged, like the first one.

“What can I get you, sir?” she asked with a smile.

“I'll have what this guy is having,” he said, his eyes, too, flicking up and down.

She smiled again “Right away, sir!” she said cheerily.

She blew out a deep breath as she walked away, hoping her acting skills would keep up.

She went to another table which had just been abandoned and took away the glasses, returning them to the bar – still under scrutiny by every man she passed. She was quite sure, and her peripheral vision supported her certainty, that they were looking at her legs and breasts. No doubt the ones behind her were looking at something else.

She returned to the table to find three men had already sat down.

“Hi,” she said in her memorized cheery voice. “Just let me clean this off for you, guys.”

She realized her error fairly swiftly as she bent over, rag in  hand, sprayed, and then began to swiftly clean off the table top.

Her dress and half bra firmly supported her breasts when her body was in an upright position, but provided somewhat less support while leaning over. Not only that but her breasts naturally pushed out more against her top, expanding the cleavage even as she vigorously moved her arm – and upper body to clean the table.

She refused to look up through her hair, knowing at least two of them were looking right down her top!

She finished quickly.

“Be right back!” she gulped, turning and hurrying back to the bar.

She closed her eyes, her face feeling hot.

God, she thought! This is indecent! I shouldn't even be here!

Yet every other girl here was doing it and without much apparent bother, and nobody was looking at her like she was any different. She took some assurance from that.

She returned, the smile quickly pasted on her face.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. My name is Elena and I'll be your server. Can I get you something from the menu?”

They were a little younger than her first two customers, and looked raptly at her, though their eyes moved fairly constantly. One ordered a Carlsberg, the next a Michelob.

“My eyes aren't that good, Elena, is this a German beer?” the third one asked.

That required she lean over to look at the drink menu, of course, and she caught his eyes rolling to the side to look at her cleavage.

“Erdinger Kristall is a Germany beer, yes sir,” she said, straightening quickly.

“I'll take that,” he said with a grin.

“I'll be right back,” she promised cheerily.

Pervert, she thought in annoyance.

Then she re-thought. It wasn't at all perverted for men to want to see her breasts, or to look down her top given the type of dress she was wearing. That was just how men were.

And you'd better get used to it or find another job, she told herself sternly.