The Awakening of Suzan - Chapter 1

Let's have a little introduction first. My name is Susan. I'm 22 years old, a recent graduate in marketing, and I was born in São Paulo, a city that has always fascinated and shaped me. I'm a natural redhead, with that intense shade of red that always catches the eye, combined with my pale skin. My eyes are a light blue that they say contrasts with my hair. I've never given much thought to it, but I can see the looks. I have a slender, naturally defined body - 1.72 m tall and 63 kg well distributed. My breasts are large, always attracting looks, and, although it sometimes bothers me, I'm learning to live with it. I consider myself an ordinary person trying to find my place in the world. I grew up in the neighborhood of Ipiranga, where my parents, Edson and Marisa, still live. We're a small family, just the three of us. I was the typical only child who always had things under control - good grades in school, focus on studies, few friends, but the right ones. I was never the kind of girl who attracted a lot of confusion, but I always had this feeling that something more intense, something bigger, was in store for me. Now I'm in a transition period. I graduated in marketing from USP and decided to rent an apartment in Vila Mariana, to be closer to the center. The building where I live is modest but comfortable. I'm a few minutes from the Ana Rosa subway, which is great, since the company where I plan to work, InovaMente, is on Paulista Avenue. InovaMente is one of the most innovative agencies in São Paulo. They pride themselves on having a creative and disruptive approach, and I'm dying to work there. They occupy several floors in a modern mirrored glass building on Avenida Paulista. I imagine the interior is one of those very dynamic ones, with young and talented people, colorful tables, brainstorming areas, and even a café with baristas preparing handmade cappuccinos. I haven't yet met the office in person, but I've done online interviews with Harold, the head of the strategic planning department. He seemed impressed with my ideas, and to my surprise, he's already scheduled an in-person interview. Harold is a man in his forties, successful, straightforward, but with a slight smile in the corner of his mouth that didn't make me feel comfortable. He seemed... interested in a way that I couldn't decipher. I'm nervous and excited at the same time, and this is the opportunity I've been waiting for to stand out and start my career. My apartment is small, but it's all I need right now. It's only 45 square meters, but it's well lit, with a decor that I've made sure to put together to my liking. It's a modern style, with touches of color in the right places. The rent is not cheap, but it's the price of being close to where everything happens. The building is quiet, with few neighbors that I can barely see, and that pleases me. I need peace. The surrounding streets have that pleasant neighborhood atmosphere, mixing the old with the new. The traffic is heavy, as always in São Paulo, but walking through Vila Mariana makes me feel part of something bigger. There is a coffee shop on the corner that I visit every day, where the baristas already know my request: a simple black coffee, without sugar. Chapter 1: The beginning of a new phase. The story begins right here, with me facing the bathroom mirror in my apartment, adjusting my black skirt and the white shirt I chose for the interview, the skirt is a bit tight, but it's my best look to look professional and confident. I look at myself and I think about how all of this is a new phase -- getting out of college, gaining my independence, seeking a place in the sun in my chosen career -- but deep down, I feel this chill in my belly, like something unpredictable is coming. The night before the interview, I decided to take a walk down Paulista Avenue to get a feel for the weather. I needed to see the InnovaMente building, the place where, hopefully, I would be working soon. I took the subway to the Consolação station and went straight to Paulista. The wind was colder than I expected, and I cowered a bit in my thin coat, but I still kept walking. The InnovaMind building wasn't hard to find -- that mirrored glass building stood out, and I stood there for a few minutes, watching the lights on a few floors, wondering what was going on inside, and it was a mixture of anxiety and excitement, and I thought, tomorrow, I'll be walking through those doors. I continued my walk down the avenue, looking for a place to have dinner. I ended up choosing a small, cozy restaurant with tables near the window, where I could see the city lights. I ordered a simple pasta and a wine to relax. I was nervous for the interview, but also excited. As I ate, I watched the movement outside. People coming and going, the typical São Paulo rush, but at that time, the Paulista was starting to slow down. When I finished, it was almost ten o'clock. I decided to return home by metro. The Brigadeiro station was quiet, with few people at that time. I took the empty car and went to Vila Mariana, where I live. The metro was almost at the end of the shift, and that gave me a strange sense of urgency <unk> that slight tension of being one of the last people to pass through the station before they closed everything. I got off at Ana Rosa Station, the lights a little dimmer than usual, and I walked towards the wheels, and that's when it all happened. I was about to go through the automatic roulette wheel, a little distracted, still thinking about the interview tomorrow, I held my purse to the side, passed the ticket, but suddenly I felt a pull. I tried to pull gently, but it seemed that the skirt bar was completely entangled in the mechanism of the roulette. I looked around, and the station was practically empty, except for a distracted security guard on the other side. I tried again, harder this time, but what I got was worse <unk> I heard the unmistakable sound of tearing fabric. My heart shot up. Panic-stricken, I kept trying to undo my skirt, but with each clumsy movement, it seemed that more of my clothes were getting tangled up in the machine. I felt the cold in my body before I even realized what had happened: the skirt had just torn off for good. I was standing there, in my underwear and blouse, in the almost deserted subway station. Adrenaline overwhelmed me. I looked around, trying to think fast, but there wasn't much I could do. I had to get out of there, and fast. I grabbed the torn part of my skirt, covered as much of it as I could with my purse, and ran out without looking back. The sound of my jumps echoed through the station walls. If anyone saw me, I didn't have the courage to stop and find out. When I finally reached the street, the cold of the night beat even harder. I ran to my building, my hands trembling as I tried to hold the pieces of my skirt and open the door at the same time. Finally, I entered my apartment, closed the door behind me and fell on the sofa. My heart was still firing. I looked at my watch -- it's almost 11:00 -- and I had an important interview tomorrow, and all I could think about was that I'd almost come home naked from the waist down, if it weren't for my panties. I needed a bath... and maybe a new skirt. Despite the monumental fright the night before, I managed to sleep surprisingly well. I think the emotional and physical exhaustion knocked me to the ground as soon as I went to bed. I woke up early, with the soft light of the dawn penetrating the curtain fringes. It was the big day. But I was a little wet between my legs, perhaps from the tension of the previous night. I stretched for a long time, feeling my muscles relax, and I went straight to the kitchen, and I made a whimsical breakfast of fresh orange juice, avocado toast, and a nice black coffee, and as I ate, I looked out the window, watching the timid movement of the people in the street below, and I tried to keep my cool. Today was going to be the first step to the career I had always dreamed of, and InovaMente seemed like the perfect place for that. After coffee, I went straight to pick out clothes. I wanted something that would make the right impression: professional, confident, but still with my personal touch. I chose a custom-made black suit that enhanced my silhouette without being vulgar, and a white silk shirt. The soft fabric fit well but discreetly. I put on a black pencil skirt that went up to the knees, just the right size. This time, I made sure that nothing could get caught in subway rollers. As I was getting dressed, the memory of the previous night came back to me in a strange way. I caught myself laughing alone. How had that happened? I had gone through the roulette wheel so many times, and just that night my skirt decided to loop. It was comical, but it also reminded me of the fragility of situations <unk> how everything can change from one hour to the next. I thought about how my life seemed to be unfolding lately: full of surprises and setbacks, but always pushing me forward, somehow. I took a deep breath and looked at myself in the mirror. The suit fit perfectly. My makeup was light enough to highlight my blue eyes and give a touch of color to my pale face. The red hair was loose, slightly wavy, just the way I liked it. I was ready. I went down to the metro station feeling a mixture of anxiety and excitement. The streets were busier now, the sun was high. When I arrived at the Ana Rosa station, that place, the scene of last night's disaster, looked like an old acquaintance. As I passed through the roulette wheel, I felt a slight shiver. "Not this time", I thought, holding my bag firmly and checking that the skirt was tightly fastened to the body. I passed through the cataract without any problems, and a feeling of relief took over me. The city gave me a second chance, apparently. The ride to Avenida Paulista was fast, the subway was full, but I was able to focus on my thoughts about the interview, the anxiety was with me, of course, but I tried to focus on what I knew: my skills, my ideas, and how much I wanted this job. I arrived at InovaMente early, almost an hour before my scheduled interview, and the mirrored glass building looked even more imposing in the morning light. I walked into the lobby and was greeted by the receptionist, a friendly young woman who led me to the waiting room. She handed me a form to fill out, which gave me something to do while I waited. My hands were trembling slightly, but I tried to disguise it. The waiting room was modern and elegant, with comfortable sofas and a huge window overlooking the busy Avenida Paulista. Natural light flooded the space, and I felt for a moment that I was in one of those movies where the protagonist is about to get the opportunity of a lifetime. I was there, waiting. The clock seemed to slow down, and as I looked around, I was trying to imagine who was going to interview me. I knew it would be Harold, the director of the strategic planning department. He had shown a lot of interest during our online conversations, but in person things could be different. Harold seemed to be a demanding man, one of those professionals who knows exactly what they want and expects the same from others. My heart was beating a little faster with each passing minute. The silence of the waiting room only increased my anticipation. Was I really ready? was the question that echoed in my head. As I waited to be called, I tried to organize my thoughts, I had studied InovaMind for weeks, I knew what they were looking for, but still, that nervousness before the interview was inevitable. At any moment, someone was going to call me. I settled on the couch, trying to maintain my posture. I smiled at myself, quietly, like a small injection of confidence. Today, everything could change. Finally, after a few minutes that seemed like hours, an assistant came and called me. I got up, adjusted my clothes for the last time, and followed her to Harold's office. My heart was racing, but I held my position, breathing deeply. The office was spacious and brightly lit, with a huge window that let in the morning light. Harold was already there, standing at his desk. He was exactly as I remembered him from the online interviews: a man in his fifties, gray hair, impeccable appearance. He wore a suit that looked expensive and had a professional smile, but a bit cold. "Susan! Nice to finally meet you in person", he said, extending his hand. His grip was firm, confident. "It's my pleasure, Harold", I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. He motioned for me to sit in one of the chairs in front of the table. I sat down carefully, crossing my legs and adjusting my skirt, now more aware of every move I made. Haroldo went straight to the point, something I had expected. Well, let's talk a little bit about your qualifications, okay? I've read your resume, and we've had some productive conversations online, but now I want to know more about you. Let's start with your technical skills. And so, he started firing the questions, one after the other. <unk> What data analysis tools do you have mastered? <unk> How do you deal with campaigns that do not bring the expected results? <unk> Tell me about a situation where you had to think outside the box to solve a problem. <unk> How do you usually manage time and priorities in a high-pressure environment? <unk> What has been the biggest professional challenge you have faced so far, and how have you overcome it? I responded as calmly as I could, talking about the tools I learned in college, my experiences with internships and projects, and as I always try to come up with creative solutions and coping strategies, and as I responded, I noticed that Harold didn't miss a detail, his eyes on my every word, sifting through every nuance. As he was asking me these questions, my mind began to wander, and involuntarily, the memory of the night before came flooding back, the sound of my skirt tearing, the coldness in my skin, and before I knew it, my mind took a completely unexpected turn, and I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to be there, at that exact moment, without a skirt. "Why am I thinking about this now?" I asked myself, trying to suppress the intrusive thought. But to no avail. The image came, vivid in my head: me, sitting in front of Harold, with no skirt, only my shirt and panties on display. My face began to heat up. I tried to concentrate on the next question, but my mind would creep in, distracting me. Harold's impassive gaze seemed to penetrate directly into my insecurities. He kept talking, but for a moment all I could imagine was that surreal scene - me standing there, without a skirt, trying to answer his questions as if nothing had happened. Would he have the same serious expression? Would he understand? What would I do? The discomfort overwhelmed me. The sense of vulnerability, combined with the absurd thought of being almost naked in the interview, made me shake inside. What if something like this happened again? The idea was ridiculous, but I couldn't shake it. Harold then moved on to the personal questions. <unk> How do you deal with stressful situations in your personal life? <unk> What do you do to relax after a hard day's work? What was the last thing that made you step out of your comfort zone? <unk> Where do you see yourself in five years? If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? These questions took me by surprise, and normally I would have had good answers prepared, but my thoughts were so fragmented that I began to hesitate, and I tried to talk about how I do yoga to deal with stress, how I love reading in my spare time, and how I always try to challenge myself, but every time I opened my mouth, it seemed like the heat in my cheeks was increasing, and the image of me with no skirt in front of Harold became more and more intense, and with a tight routine, I ignored my pubic hair, leaving them full, and now they made themselves noticeable by the feeling that was overtaking me, as they felt wet by touching my behaved cotton underpants. "Why is this happening now?" It was an absurd thought, but I couldn't help wondering. What if I had really come without a skirt? What would Harold be thinking? Would he continue with that same implacable expression, or raise an eyebrow, reprimanding me mercilessly? I tried to control my breathing, to focus on the conversation, but the mental scene made me feel a strange kind of shame, as if I was fighting something invisible, trying to appear composed while, inside, I was panicking at the irrational possibility of being exposed. Finally, I was able to focus a little bit more, answering about my future plans and what I wanted to improve about myself, but deep down, I knew that I was being tested by something other than the interview, as if my own brain was playing against me, creating impossible scenarios at the worst possible time. Harold continued to analyze me without giving any indication of what I was thinking. I smiled, a little nervous, trying not to let the whirlwind of thoughts pass through my head. Harold leaned back in his chair, folded his hands on the table, and gave me an evaluative look for a brief moment, letting the silence float in the air. I, sitting in front of him, tried to keep calm despite everything that was going on inside me. The memory of the torn skirt still lingered, like an uncomfortable ghost. I kept struggling to concentrate on the interview, but the intrusive images wouldn't leave me alone. <unk> Suzan, I have to say <unk> he started, with a firm voice, but now slightly more relaxed. <unk> Your resume is excellent, and the recommendations of your professors confirm what I had already realized during our online conversations. You have the exact profile we are looking for for this vacancy. Your strategic thinking ability and your creativity stand out. I made a tremendous effort to keep my expression neutral, nodding my head slightly in agreement as he went on. <unk> I talked to some of your college professors, and they were all unanimous in their praise of you. They said that you have always been a dedicated student, with an above-average creative outlook, and that your graduation papers were exceptional. This reinforced the decision I was already inclined to make. He paused, smiling discreetly before finally uttering the sentence I had been expecting to hear, but which somehow seemed to catch me off guard. Considering all of this... you're hired, Suzan. we'll formalize it now with HR, and you start tomorrow. today is still September 29th, so you'll have a few hours to prepare. My heart jumped inside my chest. I was contracted! A wave of relief mixed with a contained euphoria swept through me, but at the same time, that cursed thought about being without a skirt came back, stronger than ever. For a second, the ridiculous image of me, naked from the waist down, standing up to greet him, left me breathless. I could feel my hands sweating, and the heat on my cheeks rising, with my little red butt wetting my panties. This whole feeling was very new to me. <unk> Thank you very much, Harold <unk> I was able to say, in a slightly weaker voice than I wanted. <unk> It's an incredible opportunity, and I promise I'll do my best. I carefully stood up, trying to keep my composure as I held out my hand to him. Every movement seemed exaggerated in my mind. At every step, the feeling of being vulnerable, imagining the absurd scene of being without my skirt, made me feel a mixture of shame and anxiety. "Stop it", I said to myself. It was just an irrational thought, but it was disturbing me deeply. Harold stood up too and squeezed my hand, his grip still firm and confident. I didn't even imagine that feeling the skin of an older man at that moment would make my body tremble a little inside, increasing my excitement, my mind wandered through the image of my butt a little steep and totally naked, while that gentleman who breathed out life experience shook my hand. <unk> I'm sure you'll excel here, Suzan <unk> he said. <unk> Go to the HR department, they'll finalize the paperwork. I'll send the email right now, informing about your hiring. Tomorrow, at 9 am, we expect you to start the training. I smiled, trying to maintain the expression of gratitude, but inside the struggle was something else. That ridiculous thought persisted, and I could hardly believe that my mind had chosen the worst possible moment for it. I imagined again, unwittingly, what it would be like if I had actually gotten up from the chair, with Harold looking directly at me, while I stood there, naked, exposed. The thought hit me like a shock, and the feeling of embarrassment completely overwhelmed me, even if it was just a creation of my mind. "Thank you, really", I said, trying to sound confident. "I'm going straight to HR". He smiled, nodding his head slightly, and I walked out of the room, trying to hold my breath. As I walked down the hall, my legs felt a little shaky, but I knew I had to move on, forget about that thought. "You did it", I said to myself, trying to focus on the fact that I had been hired, that I had taken a huge step in my career. But as I approached the elevator that would take me to the HR floor, that thought kept coming back to me, and it was like I couldn't shake this feeling of being vulnerable, even though I knew it was all in my imagination, and I kept wondering if this was a reflection of the night before, of the incident with the skirt, and how it had somehow been imprinted on me, triggering this irrational fear of exposure. I got in the elevator, and I hit the button for the HR floor, and the ambient music was playing softly, and I tried to focus on it, and I took a deep breath, and I repeated to myself that everything was fine, the job was mine, I was ready for it, people trusted me, I trusted myself, but my wet panties indicated that my body wasn't aligned with my focus. When the elevator doors opened, I walked towards the HR section, following the directions Harold had given me. The walls were clear, the offices were well organized, and the atmosphere there seemed less formal, more relaxed than on the floor where Harold was. A friendly receptionist answered me, confirming that Harold had already sent the email, and asked me to wait a little while they prepared the documents for the signature. I sat down in a comfortable chair, now trying to really relax, I was about to sign my contract with InnovMind, the anxiety was still there, of course, but now mixed with a sense of accomplishment, the ridiculous thought of the skirt was slowly beginning to dissipate, and I had finally done it, and tomorrow was the first day of the rest of my professional life. I was waiting in the HR chair, tapping my fingers lightly on the edge of the board I'd just filled out. The euphoria of the hiring still reverberated in me, but that damned thought, of being exposed in a completely inappropriate way, wouldn't leave my head alone. It was strange how it still affected me, even after the interview with Harold. I had gotten the job! I should have just been happy, but instead, my mind seemed determined to play with my insecurities. A short time later, a woman came out of a side room and approached me. She was wearing a navy-blue dress that fit her slender body well, and the smile on her face was welcoming. Her hair was light brown, tied in a stylish bow, and she looked a little older than me, maybe in her 30s, with a calm, professional aura. <unk> Suzan? <unk> she asked, confirming that it was I who was there for the final process. I nodded, handing over the completed form. <unk> Very nice to meet you, my name is Paula. I'll take care of your documentation. Congratulations on the job, I heard that Harold was very impressed with your CV! <unk> Ah, thank you very much <unk> I replied, trying to sound natural. She took the token from my hands, and in doing so her eyes briefly scanned my clothing. <unk> I love your style, it's elegant and very professional, and it's very much in keeping with the InnovaMind environment. I felt my face lightly warm with praise, and it's always nice to get that kind of comment, especially in such a competitive environment, but at that moment, her words hit me in an unexpected way. <unk> Thank you, I like to try to make a good impression <unk> She smiled, a little nervous, as she watched Paula walk back to her desk, ready to formalize the papers. And that's when, all of a sudden, my mind, like an inner betrayal, attacked me again. The image came out of nowhere: me, standing there in that room, completely naked, handing over my hiring papers to Paula, every inch of my body exposed, with nothing to hide, her smiling as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if I were fully clothed, but instead I was handed over, without barriers, naked in front of her. My heart skipped a beat, and an intense heat rose through my body. I blinked quickly, trying to push away that absurd image, but it only grew more vivid. I imagined my naked, vulnerable body as Paula scanned the documents and smiled. It wasn't a reproachful smile, but a gentle smile, like the one she had just given me, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. And there I was, naked, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. The feeling of exposure was at once terrifying and confusingly liberating. Why the hell was my mind doing this? I was tense in my chair, almost paralyzed, trying to figure out what was happening to me. I had never experienced such strange thoughts in moments of such importance to me. And then, all of a sudden, it all made sense. It was as if, after years of focusing entirely on my studies, on my professional goals, my mind was screaming for some kind of freedom. I had repressed so much of my personal life, my desires and my wills, that now, as part of my dreams were coming true, this other part of me, which I barely recognized, was seeking a form of balance. I had never really paid much attention to that part of my life. My dedication to my studies and my career had always come first, and the rest -- well, the rest seemed to have been put off indefinitely. But now, sitting there in that HR room, with my professional future finally unfolding before me, my mind seemed determined to unleash something that I didn't even know was suppressed. I couldn't help it. The image of me naked kept pulsating in my mind while Paula worked on the documents. She would hand the papers back to me, I would sign, still naked, and she would just go on with her serene smile. As if she was completely oblivious to the fact that I was exposed, vulnerable. The scene caused me a strange mixture of shame and... something else. Something I couldn't quite define. My breathing was a little faster. "It's just his mind playing tricks", I'd say to myself, trying to control the flow of thoughts. But deep down, a small part of me recognized that this had to do with more than just anxiety. I was awakening something. Maybe it was, in fact, the result of years of one-sided focus. My body and my mind, which I had neglected for so long, now wanted to be heard. Paula came back to me with a briefcase, interrupting my daydreams with her soft voice. I need you to sign these three forms to formalize everything, and then you'll be ready to start tomorrow. She handed me the papers, and as I picked up the pen to sign, once again, that crazy thought of being naked as I signed the papers went through my mind. I imagined the weight of the pen in my hand, the cold paper on my skin, my relaxed posture as everything was on display. It was such an absurd, so surreal, but so insistent scenario. I moved in the chair, trying to keep my composure. I marked the paths carefully, trying to block the intrusive thoughts, but without much success. As I was finishing signing the last document, I found myself wondering, maybe it was right for me to pay attention to this side that I had so long ignored, maybe it was time to find a balance between my professional and personal desires, between my rational side and my more intimate emotions and desires, and I knew that I couldn't continue to repress parts of myself without consequences, and these thoughts, which now challenged me at crucial moments, were a sign that something inside of me needed attention. "All right?" asked Paula, interrupting my daydreaming for the second time. She seemed completely oblivious to the whirlwind of thoughts that went through my mind. "Yes, all right. Thank you very much". I replied, with a smile that I tried to make natural. I handed the signed papers back, and she put them away efficiently. Well, then I'll see you tomorrow! Again, congratulations on the job. I'm sure you'll do very well here. Thank you, Paula, thank you very much. I got up, once again feeling that uncomfortable warmth all over my body, but now with a slight sense of relief, and maybe, in a way, these thoughts were my own call to live a fuller life without so much repression, and as I left the HR department and made my way out of the building, I tried to focus on the new journey that lay ahead, but I knew that something inside of me had awakened that day.