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So... looks like I set it up correctly, yeah..." Laura leaned forward slightly, checking the angle of the camera on her smartphone screen. Her black locks slid over her shoulders, the strands tickling her neck. Damn, these damn hairs always get in the way. Her face reflected on the screen—close-up, with full lips slightly parted in a concentrated expression. Her expressive eyes seemed a little surprised, and the light freckles on her fair skin gave her a certain… cuteness? Shit. The pink mini-top with ties shifted slightly, and Laura irritably tugged it back into place.
— Damn... — she quietly repeated, glaring at the screen with annoyance. Even this simple sound, meant to express her dissatisfaction, came out too feminine, too soft, almost syrupy. Like her voice was programmed for flirting.
Laura took a deep breath, and the pink mini-top shifted again. She tugged it back into place. Her breasts... Just don't think about the breasts.
Those... damn... tits.
Every movement reminded her of them. They were heavy, too firm, too... mobile. Even when she just breathed, they rose and fell as if they had a life of their own.
"Damn, how do women even deal with these things? Ah... Wait, I'm..." Laura clenched her teeth. Yeah, she hadn’t been Laurence Whitmore for a long time — the ardent conservative, supporter of traditional values, and one of those who openly called for a complete ban on TikTok in the U.S.! "Dumbing down the youth!", "Destroying morality!", "A lure for empty-headed girls selling their bodies for likes!" — all this flew from his lips with such passion that conservative newspapers were eager to publish his articles. He could go on for hours about how a decent woman wouldn't expose herself, how the culture of self-presentation turned girls into airheads, and how all this was the decay of Western society.
The irony hung thick in the air of that small room, mingling with the scent of her new perfume, sweet with a hint of vanilla and something citrusy. The same scent she now wore. Laura. At least they’d kept her old name, though the female version. She swallowed the lump in her throat, trying not to remember that day. But it kept coming back, again and again, in her sweet little head, reminding her of everything.
...
The radio studio. A not-so-comfortable chair. A voice in the headphones.
— You don't understand! — Laurence angrily threw a stack of his articles on the desk, nearly knocking over the microphone. — TikTok is a breeding ground for vulgarity, immorality! Women are putting themselves up for sale, twisting in stupid dances! It’s destroying the moral fabric of society!
— Oh, yeah, I got it, Laurence, — Jacob Rayner, the show host, smirked, crossing his arms. — You think that every girl who posts videos on TikTok just wants... well, let’s say attention?...