Ms. Welsh After the Interview By Paul Henry

The knock on his office door startled Mr. English out of his daydream. “Come in,” he called. When she entered, he recognized the applicant the committee had interviewed in four o’clock slot. She was mid-thirties with curly red hair, straight-backed, impeccably groomed, and attractively Rubenesque. He imagined himself mounting her from behind, grabbing her hair and pulling her head up like you might rein-in an unruly mare. “Did you forget something, Ms. Welsh?”

She stood just inside the Accounting Supervisor’s door. “I couldn’t go back to Rock Island until I asked you something.”

Mr. English reached for his dark green suit jacket. He rose, hastily putting on the coat. She was tall, easily six feet in her two-inch heels. Standing he looked her in the eyes. “We won’t make recommendations until after tomorrow.”

Ms. Welsh remained by the door of the small office, clutching her portfolio tightly against her chest. “That’s what your secretary told me at the elevator.” Mr. English looked. His secretary’s desk was empty and so were the cubicles surrounding it. The digital clock read 5:23.

“This is highly unusual.”

Ms Welsh noticed the desktop picture of a blonde girl in a bright blue soccer uniform standing beside a smiling boy in a baseball uniform. He had a young family. That would make this more difficult. She hesitated. “Why the number eight?”

Mr. English cleared his throat. “What… ?”

“You wrote the number repeatedly during my interview. You circled it.”

Mr. English motioned Ms. Welsh to the beige upholstered chair to the left of his desk.

“I’ll stand,” she said. The white dress she wore had dark blue piping and large blue buttons. The HR Director felt she could have chosen more professional attire, but Mr. English felt the dress suited her.

All the women in his department wore pants suits in earth tones because that was what Mrs. Bontu, the CEO, wore. He fantasized sometimes about replacing Mrs. Bontu as CEO. His first official act would be to ban women in the office from wearing pants. Or underwear. He thought it best at the moment not to mention to Ms Welsh how much her liked her dress.

Tiny beads of sweat formed on Mr. English’s upper lip. He sat down. “This is awkward. Your application is still under consideration.”

“Is it?” Her tone was accusatory. He smoothed back the hairs across his balding forehead and said nothing. “You filled your note pad with eights.” She noticed a twitch by his left eye.

“It meant nothing.” He waved his hand to dismiss her.

“You folded the scratch paper and put it in your pocket. I imagine it’s still there.” Mr. English shifted in his chair. He’d become uncomfortably erect at the thought of Ms Welsh reaching into his pants pockets in search of the doodle. “Should I be flattered that I was an eight? Did you interview any tens?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Did any male candidates get numbers?”

“No.” He motioned again toward the chair. “Please sit down.” Ms. Welsh sat down. She crossed her legs. He tried unsuccessfully not to stare at them. He wondered if she was wearing panty hose. In his imagination she had selected a garter belt and nylons this morning when she’d dressed for the interview because she had discovered how much he disliked pantyhose.

Mr. English made eye contact and cleared his throat. “Look at this office.” He gestured. The credenza was scratched, the carpet worn, the Employee of the Month plaque needed dusting. “My window faces the parking garage.”

He seemed harmless, but it had been a long day, and Ms Welsh had little patience. “And your point… ?” This had been her third interview of the day. The other two had not gone well either. It was a tough job market.

“I’m forty-six years old. Two years ago I mismanaged a major project and was demoted from VP. In May, two Hispanic employees resigned over a remark I made at the Cinco de Mayo party. My boss refused to fill either position so she could come under budget second quarter. I worked fourteen-hour days, and she got a nice bonus.”

He spoke earnestly, his hands folded on his desktop. He tried to keep eye contact even though his eyes kept drifting to her legs. “Two months ago my wife packed a suitcase for me and had a messenger drop it off at my office.” He glanced at the pictures on his desktop. “Now I see the kids every other weekend and Tuesdays. Celia and I have marriage counseling on alternative Thursdays.”

Ms Welsh blinked. “You are not a happy man.”

“Exactly.” He looked over to her. “I live on fantasies because reality stinks.” He hesitated. “There are eight large blue buttons on your dress. I imagined you unbuttoning them for me.”

She slowly rose from the chair. “While I was interviewing, you were fantasizing about me?”


“I could file a complaint.”

“You could. See Ms. Radcliffe about that. She’s the third desk on the left. She’s probably gone for the day.” Ms. Welsh tried to read his expression. “What if I had told you I ranked each candidate’s qualifications from one to eight?”

“I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“Why not?”

“I watched your face while you wrote the number.”

That satisfied him. “So you suspected… ”

“I wanted confirmation.”

“It’s confirmed.”

She looked at him carefully. “Why confess? A sexual harassment charge could end your career.”

“Why confront me? It could cost you this job.”

“We both have something to lose.”

“Yes.” He shifted in his chair. “Our top candidate is overqualified. HR misled him about the position. He will turn us down.” Ms. Welsh watched his eyes. “Our second candidate lacks your education. She’s less articulate, less dynamic, but she’s got a manufacturing background. You have a good resume, but no factory experience.”

Ms Welsh’s face was flushed. She tried to focus on the Mr. English’s remarks. “Even accountants for nonprofits do cost allocation, CVP, budgeting, forecasting, and financial analysis.” Part of the heat she felt was anger, but there was more to her reaction than that. “I have my CMA.”

“But you’ve never done ABC because you’ve never worked with inventory.”

“That’s correct.” She realized she was pressing her portfolio against her chest. She needed to calm down. She loosened the grip on her portfolio and waited. She tried to even out her breathing.

“How badly do you need the job?”

The comment startled her. What would she be willing to do to get his job? “I’m not desperate.” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. Contributions to nonprofit funding was drying up. At most her office had another two months of funding.

“If you’re not desperate, why did you come back?”

That was a good question. She’d convinced herself she was coming back to express her moral indignation at Mr. English’s obvious attraction to her. The others had been expressionless and noncommittal. That had been better than the reactions she gotten at the other earlier interview. Mr. English was right; she needed this job. She needed to find a way to get it.

Ms Welsh stood. “I came back because I was curious about the expression on your face. I wondered what caused it.” She placed her portfolio down on the chair. “Now you’ve given me the answer. It was my buttons.” He watched as she raised her hands to the first large blue button. She hesitated. She wondered if she could do this. She unbuttoned it. “I have fantasies, too,” she told him, and even as she said it, she knew it was true. She unbuttoned the second button, revealing the lace at the top of her slip.

“Please don’t,” he said. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. As she reached for the third button, he swiveled his desk chair until he faced the window overlooking the parking ramp. “I’d like you to leave.”

She paused. “Mr. English, don’t you want more than just fantasies?”

Mr. English continued to stare at the parking garage. There was a long silence. He heard the door to his office closing. “Sometimes I do,” he said finally.

“I do, too.” Her voice startled him. He thought she had left.

“What are your fantasies?” he asked her. Mr. English didn’t turn around.

“I imagine I’m on a stage and every man in the audience is watching me.” She turned off the lights. The light from his lone window illuminated the office. “Will you watch me?”

“I could lose my job… ”

“It’s a risk.” Mr. English heard the rustling of fabric. “I’ve unbuttoned the third button. You’ll miss the fourth if you don’t turn around.”

“I can’t guarantee you the job… ”

“This isn’t about the job.”

Mr. English turned to face Ms. Welsh as she unbuttoned the fourth button. Underneath her dress she wore a pale blue slip. He thought about Celia and the kids. He put his hand in his suit pocket and touched the folded paper that he’d placed there after the interview. He started to rise from his chair.

“Stay there. I’ll come to you.” She walked around his desk and faced him as he swiveled in the chair to follow her movements. She stood erect, straight-backed like she had when she first came into the office. “The next one is yours.” He reached for the fifth button. “Slowly,” she said.

“Yes.” He unbuttoned the fifth button. She hung her hands at her side. She did not touch his shoulder to steady herself as she had done in his fantasy. He unbuttoned the sixth button.

“You find me attractive?”

“Very.” Mr. English reached for the next button.

“Tear it off.”

He took the seventh button in his right hand and grasped her dress with his left. He tore off the button and set it on his desk.

“I’m a size 16. Most men want tiny women with slender waists and no hips.”

“They’re fools.” He reached for the final button and tore it off, too. “They don’t know what beauty is.” Her dress hung open at the sides. He wanted to run his fingers up her nylons. He wanted to feel the dampness of her inner thigh.

Her pale blue slip ended just below where her nylons attached to their garters. The slip clung to her thighs. He reached out and pulled the slip to her waist. She wasn’t wearing panties. He stared at her curly red pubic hair and wondered what it would be like to bury his face in it.

Ms. Welsh stepped back. She wasn’t ready for him to touch her. She pulled back her dress and put her hands on her hips, feigning bravado she didn’t feel. “Disappointed?”

Mr. English sat breathless, staring at her. “How could I be? You’re beautiful.”

“Is it what you imagined?”

“Better.” She smiled, and for the first time that day, relaxed. “And you, Ms. English,” he asked, “is this what you imagined?”

“No. But then it probably never is.” They watched each other in the dim light until, finally, she began rebuttoning her dress. “Even if you hire me, I won’t let you fuck me.”

“I’d be your supervisor. I’m still a married man.”

“Yes.” She picked up her portfolio, and then Ms. Welsh walked to the door and opened it. “You’d have to be content just to watch.”

She didn’t close the door so that Mr. English could watch her strut all the way to the elevator. When she was gone, he placed her two buttons into his desk drawer, proof that it had been real.

Finding Elsbet By Peter Baltensperger

Cory Benson always felt different from everybody else, even as a boy. While the other boys spent their free time playing hockey or baseball or building Lego structures and playing computer games together, he went to his room by himself and played with his sister’s dolls. His sister had all kinds of clothes and jewelry for them, and he loved dressing them up in different outfits and decking them out in baubles. He particularly enjoyed dressing them in classy evening gowns and high heels with earrings on their plastic or cottony lobes and miniature bangles around their wrists.

When they were all decked out to his satisfaction, he sat down on the floor with them and paraded them around, wriggling them in his hands to get their jewelry to dance on their bodies and their heels making staccato noises on the wooden tiles. His inherently vivid imagination saw them attending dinner parties and balls where he pictured them as the center of attention and objects of envy and admiration. To make his childhood fantasies complete, he always imagined himself as their escort who guided them through the evening affairs and took them back home with him at the end.

The first time his sister caught him in his room playing with her dolls, she looked at him flabbergasted, rendered speechless by the unexpected and totally absurd display that met her eyes.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she finally managed to blurt out. “These are my dolls. You can’t just go into my room and rummage through my things.”

“I’m just playing,” Cory defended himself. “Don’t be mad at me!”

“I should be mad at you,” his sister parried. “I should make you take them all back to where they belong and stop all this nonsense. You’re a boy, for heaven’s sake. Why aren’t you outside playing with the other boys?”

“I don’t like playing with the other boys,” Cory said defiantly. “I like playing with your dolls. Please, can’t I?”

His sister looked down on him and her oddly outfitted dolls and frowned. He looked up at her with his big blue eyes, innocently, pleadingly.

“Oh, all right,” she finally said. “Just make sure you put them back where you found them. And don’t break any of them or you’ll be in big trouble.”

“I won’t,” Cory replied.

She left him alone from then on, and he was able to indulge himself to his heart’s content and lose himself in progressively more elaborate fantasies.

When he reached puberty, his attitude towards the dolls underwent some significant changes. He no longer perceived them merely as dolls, but to a growing extent as objects of his own admiration and, as time went by, of a budding feeling of desire. Sometimes when he was left alone at home, his parents out shopping somewhere or getting together with friends and his sister pursuing her own interests, he only put high heels and increasingly more elaborate jewelry on them. Sometimes not even that. Then he rubbed their naked bodies or their bare or high-heeled feet and bejeweled heads and arms against his penis until it grew to what was for him a surprising size and he experienced his first delicious orgasms, surrounded by the rest of the dolls.

Eventually he tired of the dolls and concentrated more on detailed fantasies, most of them still involving naked skin, feet, high heels, earrings, and bangles. He was highly satisfied with his quickly developing sexual imagery and found the orgasmic element of his teenage pursuits increasingly more gratifying and enjoyable. There were a few occasions when he wished he still had some of the dolls and was tempted to resurrect them from his sister’s room, but he knew that he was too old for that now. Besides, he was quite sure that his sister wouldn’t tolerate his playing with her dolls anymore.

Yet the doll imagery remained with him and he still derived great pleasure and sexual arousal from visualizing the attributes of the dolls and the paraphernalia he used to enjoy so much. Nor did his fantasies change to any great extent as he approached young adulthood and became increasingly interested in the opposite sex in the real world into which he was quickly growing.

It took him a while to externalize his fantasies and experience his first sexual encounter. He was in college when he made the acquaintance of an knowledgeable young woman who gladly initiated him in the pursuit of sexual gratification. From then on, his dating habits became more and more regular. More often than not, he found himself in bed or in the backseat of a car or in some secluded meadow or forest with his date at the end of the evening.

All he needed was more privacy, so as soon as he graduated from college and found a suitable position with a large employer, he rented an apartment for himself to have a place of his own to take his dates. Soon afterwards, he was able to buy a car as well to facilitate his outings. It made quite a difference in his sex life. He certainly came across plenty of opportunities for stilling his increasing appetite for sexual activities and the exploration of the female body.

Yet he always felt that there was something missing, that he wanted more than just having sex, good as it felt to do just that. The women he dated seemed to be quite content with what he was doing and what they were doing together. They certainly responded enthusiastically to his growing expertise and widening range of techniques and never complained or suggested anything else. He would have liked to make his own suggestions involving some of the things he used to do with the dolls and still fantasized about between dates, but he was too afraid of rejection or, worse, possible ridicule to mention anything to that effect.

Then one day he walked past a newly opened sex shop and saw the most beautiful life-size doll in the window, wearing high heels and a sensuous negligee and looking almost as if she were alive. He summoned up his courage and walked into the shop.

To his dismay, the sales clerk was a young woman who smiled pleasantly at him from behind the counter. He was ready to turn around and flee the shop when the young woman greeted him and asked him how she could help him.

There was no way out anymore. “I’d like to see the doll in the window,” he muttered without looking her.

“Certainly,” the young woman replied, quite calm and relaxed and sure of herself. “Actually, we have three different models at the back. I’ll show you.”

She came from behind the counter and walked down one of the aisles. Cory followed her automatically, hoping she would leave him alone once she showed him the dolls. The young woman had no intention of doing that. Instead, she pointed out the three dolls to him and began to praise their attributes.

“They are quite life-like, as you can see” she pointed out. “They are very soft and pliable, and they can be dressed in just about anything. You can have a closer look at them and let me know what you decide.”

With that, she did leave him alone with the dolls and went back to her spot behind the counter. Cory breathed a sigh of relief. He examined the dolls carefully and in detail. They were indeed very soft, anatomically correct, and flexible enough to dress them up the way he used to dress up his sister’s dolls. He decided on one of the three models and motioned to the sales clerk that he was ready to make a purchase.

The young woman came back to him and he pointed out the doll he wanted.

“Good choice,” she said. “You’ll be very happy with this one. Now, would you like to pick out some clothes?”

“I wouldn’t know what to get,” Cory stammered. “What size clothing would I need?”

“How about you tell me what kind of clothes you want and I’ll find the proper size for you.”

Cory looked around the store at the various displays. “Well,” he said hesitantly, still not very comfortable with the whole situation, “I would definitely want a pair of high heels and a nice negligee, like the one in the window.”

“Right over here,” the young woman pointed to a shelf of shoes, then picked up a pair of heels. “How about this one? It’ll fit perfectly.”

“I’ll take it,” Cory said.

The sales clerk led him to several other displays and picked out the right size of whatever he pointed to. In no time, she was carrying an armload of outfits he had selected for his new acquisition.

“Now I just need some jewelry,” Cory said.

The sales clerk obliged and his purchases were complete.

He couldn’t wait to try out his new toy. He loaded his purchases into his car and drove back to his apartment.

The doll was perfect. He had her dressed up in no time in a beautiful negligee, the high heels, the earrings and the bangles he had bought, and was ready to engage in his newest games with a life-size doll. There was no comparison to the dolls he used to play with, particularly since this newest one had all the right parts and almost, almost felt like a real woman in his arms. The main advantage was that he could indulge in whatever activity he chose without having to worry about what his object of desire would think or say about his indulgences.

He spent many happy and fulfilling hours with his doll, dressing her in the different outfits he had selected for her, using her in various positions he never dared trying with his real dates. He learned to utilize her flexible hands and feet and the high heels for his gratification, and generally satisfying the sexual desires he wasn’t otherwise able to fulfill. He still continued his regular dating and became an increasingly proficient lover for his dates as well as with his doll.

One afternoon he was shopping for some groceries and approached the cash registered with a basket full of foodstuff in his hand. A young woman was standing in line in front of him, facing the counter and presenting a pleasant profile. She was tall and gangly, almost as tall as he, with hardly any breasts showing underneath a loose blouse but with a pretty face and blond hair falling down to her shoulders.

He felt a sudden attraction as he stood waiting beside her and wanted to approach her very badly. Yet he just kept standing there, trying to figure out how to accomplish what he wanted to do and not coming up with a satisfactory solution to the situation. He just couldn’t bring himself to just start talking to her in the line-up, so he just kept looking at her and racking his brain for a plan of action.

Then it was her turn and he resigned himself to the fact that he had missed an excellent opportunity. Yet when his small amount of groceries had been rung through and packed into bags, she was still loading her own bags into the shopping cart and finished just as he paid the cashier and picked up his bag.

He steeled himself and stepped up to her. “Can I give you a hand with all this?” he asked, hoping with all his heart that she wouldn’t just reject him.

To his relief, the woman smiled at him pleasantly. “Actually, yes,” she said. “I could use some help getting the boxes of pop and kitty litter into the car.”

“You have cats?” he asked, rather unnecessarily.

“Three,” the woman answered. She laughed. “All females,” she added.

“I love cats,” Cory said, although he never had any cats himself or knew anybody who did.

“You’ll love mine,” the woman said as she started to push her grocery cart towards the exit.

“Here, let me do that,” Cory offered. He put his own bags into the cart with hers and pushed the cart out into the parking lot where she directed him to her car. They quickly loaded her bags into her car, then stood by the open trunk, not quite knowing what to do or say next.

“Would you like to see my cats?” the woman said after an awkward moment of silence. “They like company.”

“I’d love to,” Cory said. “I’ll follow you in my car.”

“Sounds good to me,” the woman said.

It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t even know her name, nor she his. “I’m Cory,” he said.

“Elsbet,” the woman replied, holding out her hand.

It felt soft and warm in his, making him shudder with pleasure inside.

When they arrived at her apartment, he helped her unload everything and carry the grocery bags and the boxes inside. She introduced her cats to him, then busied herself with putting her purchases away and putting some of it on the counter while he fussed the cats and had them purring and rubbing against his legs in no time. He had no idea he had such a good rapport with cats, but apparently they took an immediate liking to him. He was very pleased with himself.

“I was just going to cook supper,” Elsbet said. “Would you like to stay?”

“That would be nice,” Cory said.

“It won’t take me long,” Elsbet said. “Just sit down. Would you like a glass of wine while you wait?”

“Wine sounds good,” Cory said.

They each had a couple of glasses while Elsbet looked after her culinary activities. She cooked an excellent meal and they ate at her kitchen table, chatting amicably and getting to know each other little by little. She was very pleasant and an excellent conversationalist as well as a good listener and they enjoyed sharing her meal and their backgrounds and experiences.

They chatted some more over a cup of coffee, then he felt it was really time for him to leave.

“Will I see you again?” Cory asked on his way out. “Perhaps we could go out for dinner or to a movie or something.”

“I’d like that very much,” Elsbet said. “Call me and we’ll arrange something.”

They went out a couple of times and he always dropped her off at her door. By the second time, he kissed her and she readily leaned into him and responded passionately to his kiss. By the third time, she asked him inside and led him straight into the bedroom. The three cats were already on the bed, but they stayed at the bottom and didn’t bother them when they climbed on the bed with them and took each other into their arms. The cats were purring blissfully.

Cory busied himself with her breasts, fondling and kneading them to her obvious delight, then kissing them and sucking her nipples until she moaned with pleasure.

“Kiss my feet,” Elsbet whispered.

“Really?” he said, taken by surprise. One of his fantasies was actually going to come true. He had never thought anything like that would ever happen to him.

“Really,” Elsbet said. “I’d really love it if you did.”

He quickly slid down along her body, took her feet into his hands, and started to rub them slowly and methodically.

“Oh yes,” Elsbet sighed. “That feels so good. Now kiss me, please!”

Cory took one of her feet into both of his hands and started kissing it from the ankle down, down to her toes, took her big toe into his mouth and started sucking it. Elsbet moaned deeply as he moved from one toe to the next, sucking each one in turn. He was tasting a woman’s feet for the first time, reveling in her unique scent, her pungent foot aroma. He licked her toes, sucked at them some more, kissed her foot up and down. Then he turned her foot over and kissed her sole, tasting more of her, delighting in the unexpected treat, the delicious experience. Elsbet kept moaning and groaning and squirming on the bed with unconcealed delight.

“My turn,” she finally said.

They exchanged position and she took his foot into her hands and kissed him and sucked his toes as he had done for her. It was the most incredible feeling, just lying on the bed and having a woman caress his feet like that. He had never thought it would be like that, had never even hoped he would experience anything like that. Yet there he was, her lips and her tongue doing hitherto unknown things to his feet and toes, obviously delighting in the act as much as he had enjoyed doing it for her.

They repeated the ritual the next time they went to bed together, and it was as delicious and entrancing as the first time. When it was Elsbet’s turn and he was lying on the bed enjoying her ministration, he decided he could trust her enough to take their activities to another level.

“Would you mind,” he asked hesitantly but determined to go on, “would you mind if I dressed you now?”

“Dress me?” Elsbet said, a touch of incredulity in her voice.

“Yes,” Cory answered. “I would like to put a negligee on you and a pair of high heels. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“No, of course I don’t mind,” Elsbet said, letting go of his feet and moving back up beside him. “I just wasn’t expecting it. Do you mind telling me why?”

“It’s just something I’ve fantasized about for a long time,” he said. He didn’t think he could tell her about the doll just yet.

Elsbet climbed off the bed, went to her closet, and came back carrying a diaphanous teddy in one hand and a pair of high heels in the other. She was already wearing earrings, as she always did.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“Nothing, if you don’t mind,” Cory said, climbing off the bed himself. “I’d like to do it myself.”

He took the gown and the heels from her, put the shoes on the bed, and proceeded to put the teddy on her. Then he reached for the high heels, knelt down in front of her, and slipped them on her feet.

“Would you lie down again now?”

With Elsbet back on the bed, he started kissing her body through the sensuous material, lingering on her breasts, moving down to her pussy, moving back up. He took her hands and pulled her arms up over her head, then kissed the indentation in the crook of her arm and she shuddered deliciously as he licked the tempting insides of her arm. He kept going down along her arm, kissing and licking her until he came to her underarm and buried his head in the pungency of her body. Elsbet quivered with pleasure as he licked her underarm, lapping up the droplets of excitement from the luxurious hollow, tasting her, caressing her.

From there he went to her ear, nuzzling her until she moaned again. He took her lobe between his lips, then the earring, tugged at it lightly, causing her to sigh excitedly. He kept playing with her ear, exploring her, making her shiver with delight.

After he had his fill, he asked her to lie across the bed with her high-heeled feet at the edge. He climbed off the bed, kneeled down on the floor, and began kissing her shoes, rubbing his face against them, fondling them with his hands. Elsbet was lying motionless on the bed, moaning, wiggling her toes inside her shoes. Then he stood up, took each foot into a hand, and placed the high heels on either side of his penis, thrusting in and out between them. Elsbet gasped, pressed her feet together, and rubbed them against his penis until he gushed all over her feet and legs.

Kneeling on the floor between her legs again, he moved the silken panties away from her pussy and dove into her to lick her and suck her until she shuddered and moaned with her own orgasm. He climbed back up on the bed beside her and took her into his arms.

“Wow,” Elsbet said when she caught her breath again. “That was incredible. Where did you learn all this?”

“Just acting out my fantasies,” Cory said. “I’ll tell you more some other time. Maybe when we’re at my place.”

“Can’t wait,” Elsbet said.

True to his words, he took her to his apartment the next time they were out. He wasn’t sure how to go about this next step, but he was determined to take the chance and hope she would understand. She had been quite willing to go along with everything else so far and obviously enjoyed everything as much as he did. Besides, she was the one who had started it all.

“I’ve never showed this or told this to anybody before,” he began hesitantly. “I do want to show you and tell you about it. Promise you won’t get mad?”

“I can’t promise you anything until you actually show me,” Elsbet said. “I don’t know at all what this is all about.”

“Promise me anyhow,” Cory pleaded.

“Alright, then,” Elsbet replied. “I promise I won’t.”

Cory went to the closet and took out his doll. It was dressed in the negligee and the high heels he usually used. He heard Elsbet draw in her breath in surprise. Then she laughed, rather nervously, it seemed to him.

“What on earth is this?” she blurted out.

“It’s my doll,” Cory said. “I dress it up and use it to … well, you know.”

“I can imagine,” Elsbet said, still quite amused by the whole thing. “But why are you showing me this?”

“I just wanted you to know,” Cory said. “You liked everything else, and you started me on the thing with the feet. I thought you might like this, too.”

“You mean …,” Elsbet began, stopped, started again, obviously trying to make sense of his demonstration and intent. “You mean you want us to use it to have sex?”

“Something like that,” Cory said, sheepishly. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to. It’s just an idea.”

“Well,” Elsbet said, not sounding very convinced. “I suppose it might be fun. I’ve always wondered what it would be like with another woman. Not that this is another woman,” she quickly added, “but I guess for you it is.”

“It’s not another woman,” Cory answered defensively. “It’s a doll, but in some ways it does serve a similar purpose.”

“I can see that,” Elsbet said with a big smile. “I’m willing to give it a try, if you tell me just what you want me to do and what you expect.”

“I’m not really sure,” Cory admitted. “I guess I haven’t really given this all that much thought. I just wanted to share it with you.”

“I know,” Elsbet said. “I do know what it’s all about, really. I just needed some time to absorb it all.”

“Then you’ll try it with me?” Cory said.

“Of course I’ll try it with you,” Elsbet answered, her voice steadier again, making him feel a lot better about his revelation. “Do you want me to stay dressed?”

“We’ll get undressed,” Cory explained. “The doll keeps her things on.”

They undressed quickly, aroused by the whole situation. Elsbet climbed on the bed, Cory put the doll beside her, then climbed on the bed himself. Keeping the doll in her negligee and high heels between them, they reached out for each other and began fondling each other. They grabbed the doll as they were grabbing each other, holding her breasts and squeezing them, reaching for her pussy and rubbing it, Cory fondling Elsbet’s breasts, Elsbet caressing Cory’s penis. Sometimes the doll was facing Cory, sometimes Elsbet, sometimes she was lying between them on her back, sometimes on top of either one of them or on top of both.

Cory was getting increasingly turned on by their shared activities, and so was Elsbet, very obviously, moaning and groaning as she did. The doll became a part of the whole affair, the two of them becoming part of each other, holding on to each other, holding on to the doll. Their breathing was coming more and more quickly, their moaning louder and more intense as the waves of excitation washed over them and through them.

Elsbet unraveled herself from the ménage, grabbed the doll and pushed it down on Cory until his penis penetrated the life-like pussy. Elsbet proceeded to move the doll up and down on him until he shuddered with the onset of his orgasm and gushed into the artificial vagina. Then she put the doll on her back beside him, climbed on top of her, and rubbed herself against the plastic leg to reach her own shivering and moaning orgasm. She rolled off the doll in the middle of her quivering release and on top of him to finish herself off against his leg.

Cory put his arms around her and held her to him until the rush of excitement abated and her body went limp and still, satiated from the unusual ménage as he was. The doll was lying lifelessly beside them, disheveled but still in her negligee and high heels. They would use those another time, when they would be ready for another round of their newfound game.

Shoot Me By Albert Tucher

“I blame the internet,” said Mary Alice.

Diana raised her diet soda to her lips, where it would hide her smile. Mary Alice was off on one of her conspiracy theories.

“How does that follow?”

Diana kept her tone free of teasing. If Mary Alice detected ridicule, it might remind her that she had other grievances, at least in her own mind. Being her friend took a lot of work, but it beat the alternative – making an enemy who knew how to sell Diana to the cops.

“It stands to reason,” said Mary Alice. “Before the internet, the porn business was all local. Neighborhood adult bookstores were pretty much it. They had to stick to the lowest common denominator.”


“But now any idiot can market worldwide. He can specialize as much as he wants, and still find a million customers who are into it. So now a guy surfing the web can stumble on some kink that he didn’t even know he had.”

Mary Alice had more of a point than usual. Diana nodded.

“And his next step is coming to us with it.”

“Admit it,” said Mary Alice. “Haven’t you been getting more weirdos than ever?”

“Hard to say. After twelve years of this, what’s weird?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. So what brought this up?”

“I hate it when a guy comes up with something I can’t do.”

“Professional pride.”

“Exactly. I tell them my rules upfront. No fingers inserted, no coming in my mouth, my face, or my hair. Then whatever else he asks for, he gets.”


“Until yesterday, when this new guy wanted me to play in the snow.”

“I’m not sure what that means,” Diana said.

Mary Alice’s smile held a tinge of malice

“Much as I would like to know something you don’t, it means exactly what it sounds like.”

“Fill me in.”

“He wanted to watch me get naked and roll around in the snow. There’s this website called Snow Bunnies, and that’s all they have – girls cavorting outside in the middle of winter. You can tell it’s real. Their whole bodies turn red the way your face does when it’s fifteen degrees.”

“Completely naked?”

“Sometimes they keep their boots on.”

“Any guys involved?”

“Hah. They’re too delicate.”

“So am I, probably.”

“That’s more or less what I told this client.”

Diana looked at Mary Alice across the lunch table.

“If anybody could do it, I would think it would be you.”

“Not me. I know too much about winter.”

It was one of the fascinating things about Mary Alice. Diana knew her friend had grown up in North Dakota, but Mary Alice was dark and dramatic, the opposite of the placid Scandinavian blond stereotype.

“I wonder who they get to do it. And how much they pay.”

“You could ask Heather,” said Mary Alice. “I recognized her in a few pictures.”

“Heather is nuts. I always knew that.”

“Last month she mentioned she was going up to the Adirondacks for the weekend.”

“Maybe that was it.”

“You might want to think about it. So you’ll know what you’re going to say if it comes up.”

Diana caught herself reaching for another of Mary Alice’s French fries. Her friend always ordered something unhealthy and then left most of it on the plate. Diana had eaten every scrap of her Greek salad without the onions or anything else that would give her client-killer breath.

Mary Alice picked up the check and started to slide out of the booth.

“Gotta go. I want to knock off an errand.”

Diana stifled a grimace. By breaking off early, Mary Alice had just give her an extra half hour to get to her date in Sussex. It wasn’t quite enough time to justify backtracking to her rented house, and the manager of Rosen’s restaurant was eyeing their booth as if he needed it for the lunch rush that was still going strong.

Outside, Mary Alice turned right and started to walk the three blocks to her apartment in downtown Driscoll. Diana had parked her Maxima at the curb. She climbed in and started the engine.

The latest snow was two days old. There had been a brief warm spell, but now the gray clouds had returned. Diana drove north on 206. Just a minute or two later she crossed the line into Witherspoon Township, where she was especially unpopular with the cops. The route took her through some of the last working farms in the northern tip of New Jersey. She always enjoyed the views of alternating field and forest.

Ahead of her the two-lane highway climbed steeply enough to make her step on the accelerator and let the transmission downshift. As she crested the hill, the sun broke through and struck the snow-covered fields on both sides of the road.

Blinded, she stamped on the brake pedal. It was the wrong move, because she felt the car skid. A sheet of melt water must have crossed the road and frozen in place. The car slid to the left. She was bracing herself for an impact, when the tires finally gripped dry pavement. The car stopped.

She expected to hear horns blaring from oncoming vehicles, but nothing competed with the sound of her own rapid breathing. If she insisted on pulling a stunt like this, early afternoon was the time to do it. She had this stretch of road to herself.

Diana put the transmission in neutral and climbed out of the car. Things could have been worse. The tires on her driver’s side had dug into six inches of snow, but the other two wheels rested on pavement. The Maxima faced the wrong way, but it didn’t intrude into the traffic lane. She turned away from the car to slow her breathing and calm her nerves.

The field still dazzled her, but the danger had passed. Now she could afford to admire the beauty of the expanse of snow. In town, cars were busy turning the white into gray where the dogs hadn’t drilled yellow holes in it, but here nothing had spoiled the perfection.

Thirty thousand feet overhead the clouds fled like hookers from a wife with a gun, but at ground level the wind had died. The silence waited for something to happen.

Diana peeled her gloves from her hands and tossed them onto the passenger seat. She started to unbutton her coat. The cold attacked her, but she stripped the coat off and threw it into the car.

She unbuttoned her white blouse. Her fingers threatened to stiffen, and she forced them to work more quickly than they had with the coat. To take her black wool trousers off, she first needed to remove her boots. Mary Alice had told her that the Snow Bunnies kept their footgear on, but Diana decided there was no point if she didn’t plan to outdo the competition.

Professional pride, she thought.

She undid her belt and sent her trousers and panties to the ground. She stepped out of them and bent to pick them up. The cold groped between her thighs and made her wonder whether she was going to lose control of her bladder.

She didn’t, but she felt vulnerable in a way that summoned a buried memory. She was sixteen again and showing herself naked to her first boyfriend. It had been her first and last experience of modesty.

She left her thigh-high stockings on. That much of a concession she could make, but the bra had to go. She folded all of her clothes over her arm and threw the bundle into the car.

Now what?

She took another step into the snow. The cold cramped her arches.

Cavort, she thought. Cavort or die.

Diana stretched her arms as if embracing the view. She looked upward and spun around, once slowly, and again more quickly.

She wore the cold like a fuzzy robe. Somewhere in her mind she recognized the danger of the fake warmth, but for the moment she didn’t care.

She spun until dizziness overcame her and knocked her flat on her back. She laughed like a six-year-old and flapped her arms to make snow angels.

Another inspiration struck. She visualized the pool at Driscoll High School and started swimming her best event, the backstroke.

That’s a new school record, she thought.

Her back had lost all feeling. She rolled over and faked a crawl stroke.

This was getting dangerous, but she still had one thing to do. She turned on her back again and raised her knees. She crossed her left leg over her right and starting squeezing her thighs together. She felt nothing but the ruthless rhythmic pressure on her clitoris.

Numbness pared her to mind and pussy. She squeezed and kept squeezing. Where had all those clouds gone? The featureless blue of the sky inflicted a kind of blindness on her. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear, and only one overwhelming thing to feel. It circled her and taunted her and made her beg.

Come on, come on, come on, come on.

When it was good and ready, it skipped the writhing and toe-curling and jumped her like a schoolyard thug. Stunned by the assault, she could only endure it until it passed.

But she kept squeezing, as if she wanted to crush something between her thighs.

Her attacker stole away. For a while she lay there and whimpered. Then she breathed and watched her exhalations disappear.

Damn, Diana thought. It’s cold here.

It was time to get up, but what had happened to her balance? Without feedback from her senses she had trouble locating vertical, but she put in the time and effort and made it to her feet.

“Oh,” she said.

She had company, of the kind she needed least.

“You want to explain what you’re doing here?”

A Witherspoon Police patrol car had parked nose-to-nose with her Maxima. Diana studied the officer who stood facing her. He looked her age, about thirty, with reddish hair, a florid complexion, and the twenty extra pounds around his waist that the Witherspoon taxpayers seemed to require of their officers. She hadn’t realized that this stretch of road was still their jurisdiction.


It was true. Her jaw spasmed, and the rest of her body followed.

“Let’s try that again,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Um, it’s a little hard to explain.”

“Looks pretty simple to me. Disorderly conduct. Indecent exposure.”

“Exposure is the word.”

“I don’t need smart mouth. What I do need is some ID.”

She pointed toward her driver’s door, which still stood open. He nodded, and she walked the ten paces to the car. The first thing she reached for was her coat, which she started to pull on.

“I said, ID,” said the officer.

“First I’m putting my coat on.”

“You were warm enough a moment ago.”

“Shoot me. I just had the orgasm of a lifetime.”

His jaw flapped open, but nothing came from his mouth.

With her coat on Diana felt her body returning to life. She realized how close she had come to the danger zone. She hoped the Snow Bunnies had backup out there when they did their cavorting.

The warmth felt so good that she reached for her boots. He glared, but she didn’t care.

When she was ready, she took her bag from the passenger seat and held it where he could see her reaching for her wallet. She extracted her license and held it out toward him.

“Diana Andrews,” he read.

She watched his expression and saw what she expected to see. Most local cops knew her name and what she did for a living. Some didn’t care, some would bust her if they could, and some would take a more entrepreneurial approach.

Which kind of cop was he?

“How many dates so far today?”

Witherspoon, she thought. I should have known.

“None yet.”

“You know what I’m saying. It’ll take a donation to make this go away.”

“I told you, I don’t have any cash with me.”

“Better find some.”

“I don’t think so. You want your freebie, come get it. Otherwise, I have things to do.”

He glared for a moment. When it didn’t make him feel better, he gestured toward her back seat.

“You sure?” she said. “The snow is really comfortable.”


“I guess you’re not a Snow Bunny.”

“What does that mean?”

“Never mind.”