Chapter 6: First Lesson

Wednesday, we boxed up the three extra turntables for shipping. Fex Ed picked them up and took them away. One for her mother, one for her grandmother and one for the designers. Cat was worrying at her bottom lip. She wore a rather normal black high cut Brazilian bandeau bikini highlighted with gold O rings and despaired over her grandmother’s reactions, especially the LBD.

For this week’s dismay, I recorded her in all her bathing suits. Cat was back to swimming twice a day, requiring two different suits. Each suit was recorded. A new weekly task was introduced along with the recording.

“The school worked very hard to make you your outfits. The least you can do is give them a full write up on each outfit. Color, material, cut, fit and style. Each outfit deserves a separate write up. After that I want you to pick a favorite of the week and tell them why. When you are done, submit it to me and I will send your evaluations to the dean overseeing the program.”

“You really have nothing to do with these outfits?”

“Not in designing. I did ask for lingerie the first week and gowns the second. After that, I said that you would need seven days of outfits and as long as they are themed, then I am happy. Do you dislike the arrangement?”

“No, but it seems wasteful. How many people do you have assigned, just to make my clothes?”

“I don’t really know. I gave the school a large check with my desires and specifications.”

“They had to have had my measurements for months.”

I waited without responding to the obvious.

“I grew three quarters of an inch in the last six months ... Your program, how far does it go?”

“I simulated until you were twenty-one.”

“Just for my clothes?”

“Just for your clothes.”

Thursday morning’s bikini was well done and quite interesting. The person who designed it had to have assistance with the modeling department. Models as in structures not the waifs on runways. The bottoms were wrapped up and under while spreading out covering her derriere the front was a wave that barely made it past the Promised Land without any attachment to the sides connecting the rear portion of the suit. The bandeau was open in the middle, wrapping around from the back cupping her pert breast in the same aqua wave pattern material. I approved from a design standpoint and an aesthetic one.

Cat wasn’t as thrilled or accepting as I was, on that particular suit. As the week progressed the designers became more and more daring. Friday afternoon was the little mermaid’s sea shells top and bottom held together by transparent plastic leaving the impression that the shells were being held in place by body heat or glue. The dark green imitation seaweed bottoms were the only reason my Pet didn’t strangle me. They gave the appearance of at least something there, even if she felt otherwise.

Saturday’s pair, one gold, one silver, were one pieces that were just beyond rubber bands with rings for the upper body. Up and over the belly button and just under the shoulder blades the thin strands drew an ‘X’ for one and a ‘V’ with the second one. A single strap up and over the hips for gold and across the shoulders for the silver. The suits had Cat in a jumpy mood all day. The fork that bounced off my head was a distinct tell of her unhappiness at the exposure. The faces she made when modeling it for the Device were funny enough that she retaliated by pushing me into the pool when I couldn’t restrain my mirth. Her self-satisfied smirk in the picture that I took from inside the pool while she was in that silver suit was one of the best pictures so far.

Sunday morning’s outfit was a full coverage, one piece with a single tie at the hip leaving the rest of the sides completely open, followed by a traditional backless pink one piece with a little above average high cut.

Monday’s low rise boy shorts with a mini tank felt young with the cheerful color scheme. I thought that her sigh of relief after she opened the white box would drive a five-hundred-foot windmill.

I didn’t remark that when she moved her arms above the rest position a hint of underboob revealed itself and the canary yellow trunks left just as large of a gap at the ass as the LBD from the previous week.

Tuesday, she stomped down the stairs wrapped in her after swimming towel and into the Dining room. She was furious. “NO,” she shouted, throwing the box at me. Curious, I peeked inside.

A gold candelabra was my first impression. After pulling the bottoms out, I studied it for a few seconds. A ‘Y’ that was bent into a U with a curved end, the ‘Y’ had a thin golden fabric stretched up to the very end of the prongs. I carefully flexed the springy metal and understood. It was very similar to the one from Thursday without the subtlety. Setting it aside, the tops were golden coffee cup sized concave plates with a similar motif, but were supposed to be held on by little nipple clamps.

“Get one of my shirts, doesn’t matter which.” She ran upstairs for some hope of salvation. While Cat was upstairs choosing, I quickly looked up the instructions for wearing the ‘C-String bikini’ that one only saw in 3D renders. Inside the box were also two arm bands of the same design. Honestly, I thought it was quite well done, if the target was not a bashful sixteen-year-old girl.

“Sit and read.”

“Please no. I can’t...” she cried.

“I’ll make you a deal. Wear the suit and let me take the normal images. Afterwards, you can remove the shields and wear what you want for the rest of the day.”

“You wear the clamps.” She refused.

“Okay, after the Images, I will put on the shields,” I shrugged. Fair was fair.

“Honestly?” Her expression was not of disbelief but more of curiosity.

“Honestly.” I did test out the gentle clamps to hold the plates that would cover a portion of her breasts and the force was minimal but enough to hold them in place unless external pressure was applied.

Cat had trouble getting them on at first until I handed her an ice cube. No cursing, just quiet. She changed in the dining room with me looking away. When I turned back at her acknowledgment, I gasped, ‘wow’. She was fidgety.

Opening the door, she scurried out to the patio.

She stood there, a young bronzed goddess in training, adorned with golden shields, golden spiraled armbands, a golden ‘C-string’ bottoms and golden laced up sandals. Giving in, she slowly spun in place, just like the previous two weeks for all her other outfits.

“Punch me.” I demanded.

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.” She hit me moderately in the shoulder. “Harder ... Hit me for real. I won’t die, just do it.” Cat, when she went through Heroine training learned to punch correctly. I admitted, it almost hurt. “Again. With your left this time.”

“Ask me why.”

“Why?” She cocked her hip to the side with her fist resting against it, angry at me for making her wear that gorgeous, yet too skimpy, outfit.

I activated the Device and a second later had the image I wanted. “Imagine your father seeing you in that get up.” I got another great image. I tossed her back in the pool and without letting her dry off took another shamed/ angry pose.

“Done. Go get changed and bring me the shields.” I wore them the rest of the day, while she kept on the bottom portion, only with the addition of one of my button-down shirts. I thought that was an indication of her expanding horizons since I had vests and suit jackets hung up in the closet.

I peeked at Tuesday afternoon’s dental floss masquerading as a pink bikini and put it aside. The webbing between my thumb and forefinger was greater than the three areas that it covered. Regardless, Cat earned the afternoon free from further embarrassment and I allowed her to choose another shirt of mine instead of pushing her too far.

That night when she knelt beside me and after we finished our days lesson review, she asked me. “Did you really wear them all day?”

“They are still on.” I tapped the left one, making a noticeable metallic noise.

“Why?”

“Those designers went through a lot of time and effort to design and tailor them to fit you. The least we can do is try their ideas out and give an honest response.”

“Not sure if I’m ready for that yet.”

“Which is why you only wore them for five minutes, and I the rest of the time.”

“Thanks.”

“The write ups from today’s lessons need to be completed tonight before bed.”

“Okay,” She replied, deep in thought.

...

Wednesday morning, I was scanning yesterday’s report while breakfasting. Sighing, I put down my fork and headed to the pool. I half expected what I read, but it was still disappointing.

Cat saw me waiting for her at the pool’s edge just as she finished her latest lap. Nervously she hid her bare breasts, slowly walking towards me. “What’s wrong?”

“The evaluation of the seven gowns that you submitted was nineteen pages. Were the swim costumes so lacking that they only deserved six for twice as many outfits?”

Cat halted ten feet away. Obviously, she didn’t know how to respond. I glanced at the tablet, “The first black bikini; how was the cut?”

“It was okay.” Again, my student didn’t understand the reasoning behind my question.

“Was there something you specifically liked or disliked?”

“It was a little loose in the rear, it kept riding when I walked.”

“Why wasn’t either of those written down? The students put great effort into designing that outfit for your specific body type. Without feedback how can they grow? Both positive and negative feedback is necessary for students in every field.”

“I’m sorry.” She went from worried to scared. Not what I was hoping for.

“The gray and pink tank set. You stated, ‘the top didn’t move very well’. What did you mean by that?” When she went to speak, I stopped her. “Thursday’s, springy teal one, ‘Both top and bottom felt tight.’ Nothing else. No elaboration, no details. Not good enough. On Saturday, you tried out a gold and a silver one-piece. You never mentioned if you preferred one to the other. You gave the gold one a negative report on the lack of coverage. It was designed to be a string thong with a ‘V’ up over the shoulders with a ring in just below the shoulders and one over the belly button. I have no problem with you mentioning the fact that you were uncomfortable with the amount of exposure. But you didn’t say that. You just criticized the lack of coverage, which it was designed specifically for. The silver one. Was there anything you liked about it?”

“It rode better,” she admitted.

“In the seat, the chest, the lower ‘V’ around the neck. Where? Nothing was listed. I watched you walk all evening in that one and you looked comfortable. Am I wrong?”

“No, you aren’t wrong,” she admitted reluctantly, realizing her mistake.

“Again, if it wasn’t to your taste, say so, but give the outfit it’s proper due. Monday evening you had a turquoise and peach suit on. Tankini, I believe they are called. Although that outfit was more traditional, I had the feeling you didn’t care for it as much as the others. Why was nothing written about the source of your dislike? Yesterday morning, you had the same outfit you are wearing now except for the shields. Yet you wrote less about that one then the rest. Plus, you never mentioned that you never gave the shields a realistic try, only wearing them for approximately five minutes.”

“One day you hope to be able to forge and build an exoskeleton or even a full suit of powered armor. Do you plan on testing it? What about others that might need to test the equipment? How do you expect to handle them relieving themselves if they plan on wearing your devices for more than an hour or two?”

“Will you blush and turn away when the topic arises?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated while tears ran into the pool.

“Sorry is the correct way to describe the tripe you submitted.”

“Catherine. I know that you get embarrassed by wearing and writing about these things. But your honesty in reporting your evaluations is essential for everyone involved. You most of all. If you ever begin lying to yourself, stopping becomes more difficult with each passing day. At the end you will go nowhere and accomplish very little. For you, lying prevents you from growing. Running away from an embarrassing topic is just as bad as lying.”

“The day you stop growing, stop learning, stop progressing is the day you sit in a rocking chair and watch the sun set; for the last time. Any day before that is a waste of your soul. Even when you decide to retire and or do other things than science, you still need to go out and explore new people, things and ideas.”

“That can be baking cookies for the church. Knitting for the poor. Making artificial limbs for the disabled. Creating Shakespearean crosswords. 10K marathons for the aged. What you ultimately do, doesn’t matter as long as you give it your best, even at the ripe old age of ninety. Even if you decide to take over the world for a few years.”

“I am asking you to give a full effort in living your life.” I stopped her from speaking again. “Now is way too soon. You have years ahead of you. And yes, we all take days off or do less on certain days for a variety of reasons. Watching a flower open and close for a day is a suitable diversion or stress reliever. If you would have said, ‘Can I do this tomorrow? I am not up to it right now or any other excuse, I wouldn’t even have blinked before responding with a ‘yes’. The people that want your report would prefer to have it on Wednesday afternoon. But if it was a day late it would not be the end of the world.”

“Do you understand what you did wrong and why?”

“I do.”

“This is life, not school, where times and dates are all important. If an assignment is late for a good reason, it is late. But when it is half assed, no reason is ever sufficient. There are no makeups, or extra credit in your education.