Challenge 02 - Heather and Monica

The clock ticked down as Heather let out a sharp exhale of breath. As the numbers reached zero she began the next stage of her exercises. This time it was forty-five seconds of pulsing narrow squats and as usual they were not her favourite exercise. Coming late in her daily programme they had her leg muscles begging for rest. But wasn't that the point - no pain meant no gain. She powered on through - shutting out the discomfort and ensuring that she completed the exercise. At least that let her drop to her hands and knees but next up was thirty seconds of circles with each leg. These had initially been torture but now as all her work was bearing fruit she could do them with relative ease. She wished tomorrow's weight training was always so easy.

Her training regimen had started quite easily, three times a week. However, as time had passed her exercise program had increased and now she worked out every day. A rotation of specifically tailored exercises, her weight training and a continuation of the dance-fitness classes that she had always enjoyed so much.

Her love of dance had been a constant in her twenty-three years. Her first ambition had been to dance ballet and she had undertaken years of childhood training. The precision and control, the discipline leading to the joy of achievement. Ballet had given her much that otherwise was missing from an emotionally distant family and a world that only cared about the funds which would one day soon be hers for the spending.

She had loved ballet but time could be cruel. Ballet loved the long graceful line and as she had grown it had become very clear that her changing body and ballet were never going to get along. Curves were the problem, not least a tendency to the 'chunky' in the lower trunk. You only had to see pictures of the great ballerinas to know what the model was and to know, equally certainly, that she did not fit.

She had immediately given up ballet. Why do something if you weren't going to be the best at it? Maybe that was a bit of her grandfather's personality finding its way down to her. That had interested her and she had developed her existing passion for sociology and psychology - rather to the bemusement of her father. Still, it was a benefit of his negligence that she basically got to follow what paths she desired. He had his art galleries and yacht racing after all. You had to have interests when you knew that you would never need to work.

It wasn't as if she had become a lazy slob. She hadn't given up dance altogether. She really enjoyed her dance fitness classes but she had always had to be careful. Dancing built up the leg-muscles after all and she was naturally a little self-conscious about that. Maybe that hadn't been ballet's fault. Hadn't she been like most young girls - very aware of her changing body shape, very self-concious of her perceived failings and imperfections?

You might think that it would not matter at an all-girl school and an all-girl college. You would be wrong. Especially at the former the chance to judge someone else's appearance was a treat seldom neglected.

By the time she was in College she was at least fully-formed. Her body had developed so that her buttocks no longer seemed the only curves that she had. She could look in the mirror and not immediately wish that she looked radically different. Her first boyfriend had called her beautiful and that had felt really good. But it hadn't stopped him moving on as soon as she had given him what he wanted. Her second had said the same and he had hung around. Which was worse - because he'd been cheating on her. What Brett had really wanted had turned out to be her trust fund and that imminent inheritance.

She could see now that he had been a total shit - but she had loved him then. It meant the scars went pretty deep. She'd had some attention from young men but she'd always assumed that they knew who she was. Which meant she could see them for who they were. Men interested in dollars much more than they were in her. Once you were looking for the signs it became very easy to spot them.

She had decided not to encourage such attention. It was quite easy really. She had devoted herself to her studies and researches, had dressed for comfort and had not bothered with time-wasting foolishness like make-up. She'd still drawn some attention of course - just more proof that they were gold-diggers. She'd sent them packing real fast.

She'd got used to her life. A relatively solitary one focused around her time-consuming researches. A love-life was all very well but it was just not worth the pain. Perhaps one day she'd meet a guy who wasn't a total ass-hole. However, she hadn't been holding her breath on that one.

She knew what had been said about her. That she was more interested in women than men. That wasn't true - she knew that. When she thought or dreamed about such things she thought or dreamed about boys, well about men. Definitely not the blue-blood types though. They'd always struck her as weak and superficial and besides she'd already had quite enough of them.

It was just her luck that the men she did desire were those least likely to cross paths with her. Men with purpose, with real personalities, men who didn't have to brag or pose to catch a woman's eye. Around her she saw little men in big suits and sat behind big desks. That didn't impress her. What she did want had always seemed a little nebulous - vaguely defined by media and literature.

The trip to H-Town and the meeting with Harley had not helped. About the last thing she had needed was the discovery that her fantasies and desires were now focusing more and more on African-American men. Black guys were not unknown on her campus. George Fitch was a night-security man. There were also a couple of the maintenance crew whose names she didn't know. That was about it and none of those three were under fifty. The college was representative of the leafy suburbia that surrounded it in one way at least. Diversity was not a strong point.

Was that why she had taken up Harley's suggestion? If anyone had asked her she would most certainly have denied it vehemently. Harley was her best chance of accessing the sources she needed if she was to successfully expand her researches. Harley had required her to prove her dedication to the task. He had explained that no-one in the city would take an outsider seriously. They would lie to her just for the hell of it. She needed her credentials if she was to get anywhere. She needed to prove her seriousness, ultimately to them but first of all to Harley himself. What was it that he had said?

"I don't waste time on wannabes. Put in the time and I'll get you what you need."

Part of that had been writing the simpler parts of her thesis and forwarding it to Harley. He didn't seem the sort to read academic papers but she'd learned in a few seconds that Harley's requirements were non-negotiable. You wanted Harley's help then you played by Harley's rules. Well that was OK - up to a point.

The other part had been this exercise program combined with dietary recommendations. She had tailored the latter to her own situation somewhat - rather more Greek yoghurt and quinoa than pork and eggs - but the principle was the same. Fuelling her work-outs and allowing her body to recover and strengthen.

She sometimes wondered if that was a little of her grandfather showing through too. When she did something she wanted to do it right, to do it well and to finish the job. Was that why she hadn't dumped dancing altogether when ballet had let her down? Was that why she'd come to enjoy this gym work so much?

As challenges went, once the first couple of painful weeks were over, she had found it very easy. She liked to keep fit and she enjoyed exercise. Sitting at a desk all day researching or writing was not the way to a healthy lifestyle. But it was sometimes hard to find the time or the energy. She found that Harley's program had kept her going, had kept her motivated. She was not going to be beaten. She would prove that she wasn't just a dilettante, she would prove that she was serious.

The exercise regime had certainly had an effect. On her mind first of all - she felt good. She had come to relish that feeling of completing another work-out. The satisfaction of putting her muscles through their paces. It had also had an effect on her physique. She had felt minded to alter the program. There was an awful lot of concentration on the glutes and she hadn't ever really felt unprovided for in that department. She had thought about it but had always really known that she would stick to Harley's program. Wasn't that the whole idea? Proving that she had the discipline to follow the program?

So after more than six months the evidence was there for sure and it continued to develop as she completed the nine months. She knew girls who had personal trainers who devised exercise regimen for them - working on their strengths and weaknesses. Harley's program had very clearly worked on parts of her that she'd never really felt needed any help. She now had a pro dancer's toned muscular thighs and had undeniably built up her rear-end. Strange that she'd once felt so insecure about that. Now, instead of looking askance at it she began to relish it. It demonstrated all the hard work that she was putting into this project.

Her toned butt was the proof of all of those kettlebell squats and stiff-leg deadlifts. All of the lunges and work-out sessions, all of the sweat and dedication. Just as clear and obvious as the pile of papers on her research desk and the initial twenty thousand words ready to be sent off to Harley when he contacted her. Then, after that, she would send her work to Professor Solon, her supervisor. It seemed a little odd to be doing it that way round but Heather also knew that it just felt right and that it was the way that it was going to be.

***

She had questioned her common sense every mile of the short drive to Philadelphia where Harley had arranged to meet her for lunch.

'Why there?', she had messaged him.

'Your ground,' he had responded and then allowed her to pick the meeting place.

She decided to press home that little advantage. She doubted very much that he was a regular at HipCityVeg.

Watching him study the menu-board she knew that she was right.

"This shit might as well be written in Chinese," he finally admitted.

"Want me to order?" It felt good to have a little control over Harley. It felt even better when he smiled and nodded. This wasn't his strength and he wasn't afraid to acknowledge the fact. Wasn't afraid to pay the bill either.

"Best be good cos it ain't cheap. Dunno how a student ever got used to it."

"It's easy if someone else is paying." She watched him and saw him laugh to himself.

That was good too. She really didn't want Harley to know too much about her, especially about her financial situation. So long as he thought that she was the typical broke student then that was just fine. Well as broke as anyone at her college was ever likely to be anyway. His little laugh had been an acknowledgement of the hustle being played on him. Not annoyance - rather appreciation. She realised she had gone up a little notch in his estimation of her.

Not just for that reason either. Earlier at their meeting she had been aware of his eyes checking her out. As she'd led the way into the HipCityVeg she'd let her hips give a little roll. Made sure he had a chance to fully appreciate her reason for meeting him in her tight gym leggings.

Harley got up and returned with another plate-full. He gestured that she could take what she wanted but she demurred. She sensed that he didn't object. Harley was a big guy and obviously with appetites to match. The thought sent a little shimmering frisson through her followed up by its opposite, a spreading warmth of anticipation and desire. She knew when she'd last felt that - in Harley's spare room as she had heard Allie crying out her climax through the walls. Harley was a man of appetites and not only for food.

She was still slowly making her way through her lunch as Harley got down to business.

"I read that paper of yours girl. Got a quote on page 73 you put down to Garvey. Less'n they've swapped jobs I'm thinking it should be Cordelia's."

She tried to hide her surprise and knew by his little smile that she had failed.

"Also - I was wondering why you didn't ask Melissa about the festivals. You got any idea how much business she makes out of them? Gotta fit your theme because its literally catering to a multi-ethnic customer base." His eyes were holding hers as he spoke. Then he let them drop back to his plate as he took hold of his third vegan burger. "Just a suggestion mind."

It was a really good suggestion. Heather sort of felt embarrassed that she hadn't thought of it herself. She knew Professor Solon would have. She had to put that front and center of her 'To Do' List.

Harley chewed and swallowed a mouthful of his burger. "Otherwise it's pretty impressive - good to know you're the real deal."

That was nice to hear though tempered a little by the fact that Harley wasn't the most obvious judge of academic standards. However, to her surprise, he had made it clear that he had read her paper and read it thoroughly too.

"I followed the rest of your instructions too." She'd said it almost before she knew it, her voice sounding strangely rushed and anxious to earn his approval. That was not like her at all.

Harley chuckled and the sides of his deep brown eyes crinkled into little lines as he smiled. "Damn girl I knew that the first second I saw you. May not be a genius but some things I am a true expert on. You looking real fine where it counts." He paused. "Real fine everywhere it counts."

The warmth was in her cheeks now and she knew that she was blushing, knew that he knew it too. She understood how she was supposed to react to such comments as a modern woman. Especially to such comments from a man like Harley - a man so far from being her social equal. Worse - a Black man.

She knew all that and she immediately knew that she didn't care how she was supposed to react. She didn't feel offended and she didn't feel suspicious. Harley was just stating his opinion and his opinion was that she was hot! Why be offended? A real benefit of being Heather Cameron, heiress to the Cameron fortune, was that she really didn't have to care what anyone thought. Her opinion was what mattered - her opinion and the opinions of those she valued.

"To be honest I thought I was getting a little over-developed back there." She arched an eye-brow at him. Again a part of her couldn't quite believe what she was doing. Was she really angling for praise from a Black guy almost twice her age?

If she was then Harley wasn't reluctant to bite. He nodded and gave another of his low rumbling laughs. "Not sure that's possible. Anyways you white girls need a little work back there. You're lucky you could do it natural. Just a little effort and you got just what pleases a man."

She made a little face. "Or one man at least."

"Or one certain TYPE of man at least." He gently corrected her, that little smile still on his lips.

What did he mean? Men like him? Men with his tastes and preferences? Or did he mean...

"Which brings us on to what we here for. A little something that can do good for all of us. Get you the profile you need to talk to the people back home. Also, if'n you do as well as I know you could, get you out of college already debt-fee. Sound good?"

He wasn't to know that she'd never had any need for a student loan. She also remembered Fox and Cassius over in H-Town. Their style and surroundings were different but their occupation was the same. She wanted Harley's help but she didn't want it that bad. "I meant what I said about the club - I'm not interested in going near that."

"I hadn't forgotten girl - I'm not asking you to do anything you ain't comfortable with. Maybe we should go over to that park over there if we gonna talk business."

***

It was Spring and the weather was just seeming inclined to show it. It was bright and the heat of the sun was finally starting to be felt after the long cold months. Plenty of people were taking advantage of the moment and enjoying the blossoming open space. Harley and Heather walked along one of the wide paths - free of potential eavesdroppers.

"I had something in mind that could fit the bill. You ever heard of the 'TKB'."

It rang a bell, something from a while back. However, she couldn't quite place it. "Give me a hint Harley."

"It's a website offering certain opportunities and fitting a certain gap in the market." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. "Know what that is?"

She made a little face and not just because the answer was printed on the box for all to see. Was that what this was all about? "You mean its one of those Fan sites like...," she struggled to remember the name of the one that had been in the news.

"Nah, TKB is a sight more exclusive. Remember what I said about a certain type of man. That's a man who knows what he likes in a woman. He wants her to look like a woman - all the right curves in all the right places. He wants a woman that knows how to take care of herself, who likes to look good for the world and most of all for her men. He wants a woman that knows how to dress so she'll look good with her man, make him proud to show her off. That's what I like and that's what the men on TKB like."

Heather wanted to glance around her. Wanted to know if anyone was eavesdropping on all of this. Men weren't supposed to say this sort of thing nowadays. They were not supposed to be so blatant, so clear in their expectations from a woman.

"Best thing about it for you," said Harley, "is that you don't ever need to do more that you want to. Got girls on there that just appear on cam and chat to the audience, got others that like to put on a show via the challenge or otherwise, a few that like to give the crowd what the crowd wants. They only got to do what they are comfortable to do. But the rewards of course match the level of commitment. Shit tho, I've known girls just dress sexy and dance on cam and they've pulled in four figures over a few months easy. Do that and you'll have a name. I can show that to people and then they're a whole street more likely to take you serious. To give you some time and answer some questions."

"I see..." said Heather. She wasn't at all sure about this. What exactly did a 'show' mean and what exactly was 'the challenge'? Harley seemed to sense her uneasiness.

"You'd pick it up real easy as you went along. It's kinda like picking up money in the street and I'm sure as a student that can't be too bad a bad prospect for you. I'll be straight too - you make your green on sponsorship and the site takes its 25%."

Heather thought back to Harley's wheels and his place. "Would you just possibly be connected to that site Harley?"

Harley gave a little smile and let one eye-brow edge upwards. He'd expected her to ask the question and he knew that in reality he didn't need to answer it.

Now it all made a little more sense. However, there was no way that she could do such things on the internet. The internet never forgot. She was going to make the point when Harley reached into his pocket again.

"I know what you are thinking," and he held out his hand. In it was the mask from that evening almost a year before, the mask from Cassius's club. Or if it wasn't that exact mask then it was one exactly like it.

She reached out and took the mask. "These men - the men on the site - they pay to watch us?" Where did that 'us' come from? She wasn't sure but she saw Harley's pleasure at hearing it and understanding its implications. As naturally as naturally could be that pleasure meant she didn't want to retrace her steps and correct the 'error', the 'slip of the tongue.' What, in her subconscious she knew, had most definitely not been an 'error' or a 'slip of the tongue' but rather a manifestation of her deeper wishes and desires. She wanted to do this or was it just that she wanted to please Harley?