Betty snipped the price tag off the Victoria Secret thong panties, super soft floral lace in candy colors. She placed the panties beneath the bra, the brand new add-two-cups-push-up-bra. "The ultimate lift-loving push-up instantly adds 2 cup sizes for the most cleavage and fullness. Delicately thin black lines ran across the white fabric in a crackled fashion. The look she was after was definitely sexy, yet also classically muted.
The bra was carefully arranged above the bra in proportionate distance of her body size. The burgundy bed sheets provided the back drop for her arrangement. Next to the intimates was her green ruffle dress laid out and patted flat. The spaghetti halter and triangle shaped breasts coverage, triangle shaped like the sail on a sail boat and stretched by her boobs like the sail is stretched by the wind into a round shape, were girly cute. The hem would stop in the middle of her thigh. A pair of stringy high heels completed the look.
Everything was laid out in front of her on her bed like a showpiece. Her wet hair was rolled into a turban. Water drops were missed on her shoulder and running down her youthful 23 year old skin, hugging around the curves of her slightly plum body. The little extra fat would be good for the baby, had Liz said. Her boobs were round and full. Her belly and thighs were curved in a feminine, nurturing way.
"It's all in the ritual," mumbled Betty to herself to encourage her to go through with it all in dignity.
She had painted her makeup with more foundation today and less rosy cheek highlights. More foundation means smoother skin, more classy. She had to make responsible and confident impression at the meeting. The couple, the buyers, had to believe in her, especially her responsibility.
She slipped into the clothing. The last pertinent memory that stuck with her were the skinny leather straps of her high heels curving around her ankle and the tiny gold lock that she was manipulating with delicate finger tips. With a rushed glance, she noticed the pores on her leg skin. The clock told her that the master plan had decided for her to leave right now. Harried, she traipsed into the bathroom on her high heels one more time. She shuffled through the bottles to find the leg cream. She smoothed the white cream quickly over her legs up to her thighs. Ah, she got that sexy, smooth leg look. And the scent of pampered baby hung heavy in the air from the cream.
The rush down the stairs, the quiet cab ride, and the polite hostess walking her to the table were a blur. The blur stopped when she stared at the crisp black font on the white paper, the thin long line with the blank space above it, the gold plated ball point pen in her hand. She only dared straying her glance as far as the heavy white table cloth.
It all had become real right now. She had to make a decision. She could not hesitate. The couple would worry about her getting cold feet. She had had to prove to them that she was confident in the choice. The worst thing for a couple is paying through the whole pregnancy, and then after delivery, the girl refusing to sign over the adoption papers. She had to be certain about how her life would change, how her friends would notice her getting round, how there wasn't a boyfriend. They had warned her about the worst pain in her life during delivery. They had warned her about talking to the baby in the womb both for the development of the child and also for creating a painful to cut off emotional bond.
"Betty, this is only one more formality. You already signed the surrogacy contract. We have to reaffirm the contract three times separated by a week each to make it fully binding."
Liz was speaking calmly with a hint of friendliness. Loudest in her voice and appearance for Liz was the middle aged demeanor, this demeanor that said that Liz was an administrator. She administrated the couple's life. She ran all the forms. She made all the responsible decisions in life. She knew how to managed the cleaning person in their home. She knew how to invest the couple's money for a good profit. All girlish, playful beauty had vanished from Liz's face. There were deep furrows, a serious look, and unwavering, penetrating eyes. Those eyes, that patiently waited out all emotion and uncertainty in life, were probably staring down at Betty, as Betty was staring down unsure at the piece of paper.
Betty's eyes got a little glassy for unknown reason. And Betty knew she had to sign. She the ball point pen pressed a groove into the paper. The scratching sound as hushed as it was carved itself on Betty's mind. She felt like she was in a bubble with it, shielded from the restaurant noise.
"Now, if I could see your driver license for final verification," asked Liz.
Liz was a tall woman, not a percent of fat on her. Her hair was black and styled by a $200 hair stylist. The breasts were flat, yet dressed in Nordstrom designer clothing. Liz's eyes looked between the signature on the contract and the driver license. Liz then noted the driver license number. She moved the driver license over to her husband Pete. He nodded silently in confirmation.
Betty's eyes wondered around the restaurant. There were golden details. Each table had its own lamp, a green bowl turned upside down. The waiters had the classic uniform of black pants, white shirts, black jackets, and white towels over the arm. Liz had chosen the restaurant for its high formal factor. Betty felt appreciative about it, yet out of place.
"I'd like to go over nutrition with you one more time," said Liz.
"Of course," replied Betty.
Pete was leaning back silently, watching the women talk. He was wearing a suit with a gray jacket and blue tie. He wasn't as formal as the wait staff. It looked like he had come from work. His hair was neatly trimmed like a professional mid-level manager. He had blue eyes, which Betty found cute.
"You are only to eat organic food. Your extra $3,000 stipend should cover the cost. You must not eat any seafood because of the mercury level in the ocean. Try to drink the kale power smoothie at least every other day. We want to give the baby the best start possible, right?" Liz looked sternly at Betty. There was that look that made Betty feel like she was a little, uncontrollable child that no matter how stern the lecture was couldn't follow it.
"Yes, I've studied the instructions carefully," replied Betty.
"We both appreciate that you agreed to conceive naturally. It's so much better for the baby," said Liz. Liz put her hand on Betty's as a warm gesture. Liz's hand was slender, sinewy, and bumpy. There was an expensive gold watch on her wrist. The finger nails had a French manicure with a super glossy shine. A Tiffany's ring styled like a serpent body was on it. Betty's hand was warm and youthful, a little sweaty. There was no manicure, except for neatly trimmed fingernails. There was no jewelry.
"Of course, it's so much better for the baby," replied Betty with a smile.
Both women looked at Pete, who had been sitting silently. Liz looked with a barely concealed scorn at her husband. Betty looked at Pete's Adam's apple, how pronounced, masculine, and grown up it looked. Pete had the look of authority on his face. All the boyishness had vanished from him. It made him look in a way that suggested to Betty that she would not be able to connect with him. His face was serious. He was going to set the directions and ground rules. Betty knew that she had to give the deepest, sweetest parts of her body to that gruffly man.
"Well, I'll leave you two to get to know each other over lunch. It'll make it more comfortable to become intimate," said Liz while pushing her chair back. An attentive waiter immediately ran to Liz's help of sliding the chair back. "Now, I won't be eating today," told Liz to the waiter. The waiter silently took away her utensils and napkin.
With the only female companion and the only conversation partner gone, the young Betty was sitting in her decked out dress, painted face, and smoothed legs with the silent man. Betty squirmed in her seat. Pete's stare was fixed on her. The tie was neatly knotted, hanging straight down, the surface so shiny and clean. Pete's clothes did all the talking of being a gentleman, while his face and voice was quiet, like an awkward little boy.
"What do you do for a living, Pete?"
"I'm an SVP for a government contractor of missile components," replied Pete matter of fact. "We have an office out in the desert. Half of the building is underground. What do you do?"
"I'm a bagger at Albertson's. I actually went to college. I studied history. Though, when I finished college, I did not want the stress of an office job. I did not want to work 40 hours in the same office and go to a lot of meetings. My colleagues are really nice." Betty's bubbly personality showed through.
"Well, I grew up in Connecticut. I loved running through the woods with my dad and our family dog Charlie. That's the sort of thing that Liz meant with getting to know each other, isn't it?" said Pete unsure. Hearing the family side set Betty at ease about the manager having a human side. She could relate to a little boy running with his dog.
"May, I ask you something," asked Betty cautiously.
"Of course, what is it, Betty?"
"Well, you aren't going to do any weird sex things to me, are you? You won't tie me up or choke me, or something, will you?" Betty's voice was quivering for fear of offending him.
"Bloody no. I'm not some kind of pervert. We'll have normal people sex."
"And how big is your, you-know-what. It's not going to be a monster that'll hurt me, will it?" Betty almost lost her voice for admitting to her biggest fear.
"Well, not that we could do anything about it. Though, it's an average size, seven inches. It's circumcised, if you care about that detail," replied Pete brusquely.
Betty seized up this man whom she had seen twice before in her life, always in serious and formal settings, the first time with a lawyer. He was going to fuck her. And that was it. It had been all agreed to and signed. Luckily the waiter was pushing the menu in front of her to cut off the conversation. "All organic, all grass fed, all free range," said a cursive written note at the bottom of every page in the menu.
"Am I just like the food? Drug free, disease free, clear mental health, a product bought for its pure attributes?" asked Betty herself silently.
"One more formality," interrupted Pete her study of the menu. "Here is my doctor's lab report. I'm negative on HIV, HPV, and all those things. The HIV test is a polymerase chain reaction test. It can detect infection within 2-3 weeks." Pete slid a stack of stapled together papers across the table.
Betty picked them up. It was a computer printout. There were lots of medical words on it. Things counted out numbers. There was a lot of positive and negative written on the test. She flipped to the second page, pretending she knew what it all meant.
