I had then been, to my puzzlement, photographed several times, from the neck up, front view and prof
I had then been, to my puzzlement, photographed several times, from the neck up, front view and profile, against a type of chart, on which appeared various graduated lines, presumably some type of calibrating or measuring device. The lines, as nearly as I could determine, however, correlated neither with inches nor centimeters. “Now, please, step into the sand box,” he had said. I had then stepped onto the sand, in the wide, flat box, with the beach scene projected onto the large screen behind me. Then, for several minutes, the photographer moving about me, swiftly and professionally, sometimes almost intimately close, and giving me commands, the camera clicking, I had been posed in an incredible variety of positions. Men, I had thought, must enjoy putting a woman thusly through her paces. Some of the shots were almost naughty. I think, too, given the absence of a brassiere and panties, and the skimpiness and tightness of the shorts, and the tightness of the blouse, doubtlessly calculated features of my apparel, there would be little doubt in the minds of the observers as to the lineaments of my figure. I did not object, however. In fact I rather enjoyed this. I think I am rather pretty. I was now standing in the sand, my left side facing the men, my chin lifted. The lights were hot. To my left were the lights, the tangles of cord, the men. To my right, in contrast, there seemed the lovely, deserted beach. “She is pretty,” said one of the men. “She is pretty enough to be a Kajira,” said one of the men. “She will be,” laughed another. I did not understand what they were talking about. “Do not see such a woman merely in terms of such predictable and luscious commonalities,” said the first man. “You see clearly her potential for us, do you not?” “Of course,” said the second man. I did not understand them. “Turn on the fan,” said the first man. I then felt a cool breeze, blown by the large fan in front of me. In the heat of the lights this was welcome. -- source link