The Photos Are Real

A younger Susan Storm stared back at her. Fresh-faced, the breasts soft and budding, the nipples small and pink. Before she had children, before she married Reed Richards, before the spaceflight that had flooded her body with cosmic rays and made her the Invisible Woman. Sue Storm had just been another co-ed, out at a party with a girlfriend. That was back when Sue had been more inclined to experiment with ****, and even marijuana, once. Tipsy, she had let her girlfriend take her to the studio...

It was supposed to be a student artist. Serious. Tasteful. That wasn't what it was, though. The pleasant man who greeted them had been older, slightly balding, developing a paunch, with tired, hungry eyes. He smoked constantly. He had wine. Money.

They had just been glamour shots. Susan and her girlfriend Mae, on the bed. In the cheerleader uniform. A high kick, a wave of the pom-poms. Sue had never been a cheerleader, but she had the legs for it, the flexibility. Shedding layers, one by one. The photographer had been gentle, but insistent.

"Let's unzip the shirt. Beautiful. Unhook the bra. No, don't take it off. Let's get a shot of you taking it off. Gorgeous. Now no bra, but cover your breasts. That's it. A little less. Just cup them. Hide the nipples. Excellent. Now just a peak. A little more. Good, good. Bend over, let's get a panty shot. Great. Pull them tight, let's see just the outline. A little more. Getting excited? No problem, the readers will love it. Maybe just pull it tight, let's see some bush on either side. Good. Now on your back, legs spread. Lower the panties just a bit, let's see some more of those wonderful golden curls..."

It had been fun. A game. Little by little, as she had blushed deeper and deeper, Sue had found herself exposed. She had never shown him everything, yet she had ended up showing far more than she had ever intended. Mae had been there, by her side. Except he had already seen more of Mae. The glass eye of the photographer's camera had been fixated on Susan Storm. Fresh meat. Virgin territory.

The older, half-naked Susan Storm blushed as she recalled the feel of Mae's hand on her butt, and her own hand on Mae's ass. The shocking moment when her friend's lips had closed on one of her nipples. The photographer had captured her expression perfectly. Not horror, just surprise. The soft blush on her cheeks. The other nipple hard and stiff.

Then they had signed the contracts. He had paid them in cash. No other paper trail.

Mae had shown her, a month later, the "Sweet Suzy" spread. Mae, the sloe-eyed redhead, had asked Sue if she wanted to do more. It had been the beginning of the end of their friendship. Susan Storm had Reed Richards, she had her studies in biology, her little acting jobs. Sober, now, she realized what a mistake she had made that night. The mistake so many young women made, who accept easy money in exchange for showing a little skin. Except it never stopped at just a little skin.

The older and wiser Susan Storm cursed herself. A ghost from the past had arisen to haunt her. She hadn't even told Reed or Johnny about the photoshoot. It had just been one more of an endless parade of co-eds who had taken their clothes off, instantly forgotten. Or so she had hoped. Now somebody had dug it out. Somebody had recognized her.

Which meant Sue needed to do something about it. Before her husband saw it. Before her kids saw it. She had already had the "Don't Google mommy" conversation with Franklin, because of all the paparazzi sites, the costume damage incidents, the photoshop manipulations, the frankly crude cartoons and erotic fanfiction that people spun about her lovelife. If there were actual pictures of her in the buff, Sue Storm's pristine, motherly image would probably be ruined forever. She'd be branded the Invisible Slut.

As she finished putting on her shirt, Sue texted Janet Van Dyne back.