a scene by Dewy Pointe
NOTE
: This is adult fiction containing mature material and is intended for an adult readership. If you are offended by such content then please exit the page. Feedback is always welcome. Please let me know if you'd like the narrative expanded.
* * * * *
Marisol walked briskly to her roadster. The resignation had been accepted and she was free to "pursue other opportunities." She tensed her lips in the slight upturn at the corners that was the closest she came to mustering a grin. The nondisclosure clause, the noncompetitive clause and the secrecy clause should mollify Modulagen's attorneys. They would have erased her memory too if they could pull that off. However, years of graduate education and mental training locked formulas and technical procedures into her Ivy League brain; what couldn't be remembered had been transferred out in encrypted e-mail, journal articles and internal memos for months.
Her flats scuffed the asphalt as she paused to open the bright red car door. The roadster's seat had been custom built to fit her diminutive frame, so her shortness was no impediment to driving the car - fast. She let out a long breath as she buckled up and started the motor. Her determined black eyes glanced at her round faced reflection in the rear view mirror. Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, and olive skin bore no makeup. Only a thin line of red lipstick added color to her face.
Unless one were to include the flush in her cheeks. The crimson of anger, rejection and retribution glowed through. The compound, her formula, was deemed to have "unacceptable psychotropic sequelae." All work had ceased; all documentation was filed away. She would not accept reassignment. Thousands of women clamored for what she had spent years developing, and Marisol knew as she sped away from the biotech complex that desire would not only accept psychological aberration but would pay millions for its induction contingent on results.
Dr. Marisol Olvares could produce results. As she changed for bed she regarded herself in her full-length mirror. The taunts and jibes of high school, college and even graduate school were all past history. No more asking if she were a boy and calling her names. The proof was here in her full bosom and in the stares of lustful men and envious women. Marisol was not flat chested any longer. Her crème had done this, and she remained psychologically stable and unaffected.
"I will prove it," she said out loud, defiantly.
__________________
"Dr. Olvares, don't you think it's unusual to meet a chairperson at home rather than at the university?"
Marisol had researched well. Dr. Clifton headed the biochemistry department of a small southern university willing to accept an accomplished Hispanic female for a faculty position. Any past irregularities and work history would be inconsequential. Dr. Clifton was a small-breasted woman nearly six feet tall. If there were psychological issues then Marisol was prepared to play them.
"Please, call me Marisol, Dr. Clifton. The university has made an offer that I'm prepared to accept, but I'd rather discuss my research in a more private venue."
"Alright... Marisol," Dr. Clifton started, "but of course you must call me Jan."
The two sat on the sofa in the living room of the Clifton's spacious home. The Cliftons were childless and the husband was on sabbatical in Europe. Nothing had been left to chance.
"Jan, my interest is hormonal catalysis of physiological change. Specifically I have researched ways to stimulate the hypertrophy of glandular tissue through the influence of synthetic biochemical agents."
Jan Clifton squinted quizzically. "Glandular tissue such as the breast?"
