Free Bettie Page Presents: The Librarian by Logan Belle

never had these types of problems,” Regina sighed. The moonlight wasn’t strong enough for her actually to read, so she got out of bed and turned on the overhead light. She blinked hard and got back into bed with the book.
    She flipped through the pages, searching for some clue as to what Sebastian found so interesting. The woman was pretty, for sure. More than that, she seemed confident. Despite some of the more provocative poses, her blue eyes had, as Regina’s father would have said, a “twinkle” in them. And in many of the photos, she had a big smile that was somehow very old-fashioned, all-American in its guilelessness.
    The first section of the book, Prelude to a Pin-Up, showed pictures of a very normally dressed and unremarkable—though pretty—young Bettie Page. She didn’t even have her trademark bangs. The next section showed Bettie when she moved to New York City, just before she became a model. The text read, “She was an anonymous secretary, working all week and taking long lonely walks on weekends dreaming of a more glamorous life.” Regina couldn’t imagine that the beautiful, commanding-looking woman she saw in the latter half of the book could ever have felt lonely—or worked a boring nine-to-five job as a secretary.
    She flipped further, studying the progression: Bettie wearing bras and stockings with garters, then Bettie brandishing whips, and eventually Bettie being bound and gagged.
    Regina closed the book.
    She wondered if Bettie had ever felt as she herself had felt tonight under Sebastian’s gaze: partly thrilled, partly mortified. She wondered if Bettie had ever let a photographer touch her.
    Regina thought about Sebastian’s request to photograph her. What she had told him was true: she hated having her picture taken. She felt self-conscious while the other person was focusing the camera on her, and she usually hated the way she looked. She didn’t like to think of herself as being vain, but the idea of how she looked in her own mind didn’t match up to what she saw in pictures. She wondered what it had been like for Bettie Page. Had she been resistant at first? Had she done it for the money? How did she find the courage to take her clothes of f ? Regina could never do it, and she lived in the age when women disrobing was more normal than their not taking their clothes off. Who didn’t have naked pictures on the Internet these days? Or a sex tape? Sometimes Regina believed she was the only one.
    She looked down at her floor, where the lingerie was piled in a small dark heap. She’d been too tired even to put it in the laundry. She picked up the garters, playing with the small hooks. Then she got out of bed and carried the pieces with her to the full-length mirror propped against the wall next to her small closet.
    She pulled off her nightgown and looked at her body, naked except for her plain white cotton underwear. She thought about trying on the garters to see what she looked like in them, but it was too much trouble. Instead, she had the urge to touch herself. She lightly ran her hands over her breasts. She didn’t see herself, but instead had visions of the burlesque dancer, the smear of blueberry pie between her breasts, her fingers trailing up her body and into her mouth. Regina didn’t understand how that woman was able to do that in front of an audience, or how Bettie Page could take her clothes off for the camera. Did it feel good to have people watch? Did it make them feel beautiful?
    Regina trailed her hand from her belly up to her breasts, the way the dancer had done. She teased her nipples, watching them grow into small points, and imagined someone else watching. She looked away from the mirror, embarrassed. But there was no denying what her body needed her to do.
    She returned to her bed, turning off the light and lying on top of the covers. Safely in the dark, she again touched her breasts, this time not