Another story inspired by Cheryl, who was a "prominent" member of 
the old group for far too brief a time.


   

                     AN ODD STORY FOR CHERYL

                              by 

                           Joe Doe          


AS A THANK YOU TO CHERYL FOR POSTING HER PICTURES AND MESSAGES, 
HERE IS AN ODD LITTLE STORY ABOUT A YOUNG LADY OF THE SAME NAME.... 
                 


Cheryl had been shocked when the pictures of her strip-search 
appeared on Searchem's homepage on Friday night, but a relaxing 
weekend at her parents had calmed her fears. 

She was confident that statistics and the law of averages were on 
her side.  "After all," she reasoned, "what are the chances, out 
of the billions of pages on the Web, that someone I know will 
stumble on THAT site?" 

Happy to be back home, she hung up her jacket and glanced at the 
clock -- still time to catch "60 Minutes" if she hurried.  She 
pressed the playback button on her answering machine. 

"Hello, ma'am," a squeaky voice said.  "This is Beth at Victoria's 
Secret, down at Cumberland Mall.  I wanted to let you know that the 
bra and panty set you ordered came in and is ready to be picked up. 
I also wanted you to know that the mall security guards came by.  
They had a copy of your picture, and they wanted to know if anyone 
who looked like you had purchased anything at my store. 

"When I told them what you had bought, they asked me if they could 
see it, so I showed it to them.  Well, they leered and smirked and 
nudged each other as they examined your panties.  They said they 
might have you change into these first at the store before they 
arrested you. 

"I asked them what they meant, and they said something about some 
photos of you on the Internet.  The picture they showed me didn't 
look bad, but I think they cropped it so it just showed your face. 

"I wanted to let you know, because the two guards, Daryl and Floyd, 
are real lowlifes.  They have this special room where they 
strip-search shoplifters, with a one-way mirror and video cameras. 

"I said you hadn't stolen anything, but they said it didn't matter.  
I'm supposed to find out when you're going to pick up your order so 
they can be there to arrest you.  And today they've turned one of 
the cameras so that you can see the entrance to the store from the 
main video room.  I think the guards are watching all the time. 

"Daryl kept toying with the cuffs on his belt the whole time, and 
he really creeped me out.  So I wanted to warn you." 

Cheryl's heart sank.  What terrible luck!  Of all the websites why 
did those assholes have to hit HERS? 

Of course, it wasn't like Daryl and Floyd would be monitoring the 
homepage of the Atlanta Symphony.  Strip-searches were probably the 
reason they became security guards in the first place. 

And, when she went to pick up her frilly little panties, she would 
be at their mercy.... 

On the brighter side, the damage was still under control.  Her 
husband could pick up the purchases, or maybe it would be better 
if the clerk just mailed them. 

Then again, maybe not.  She felt a deliciously naughty tingle as 
she thought of all the trembling, humiliated women the guards must 
have searched over the years.  The thought of being just another 
notch on the belt was unspeakably exciting. 

She would stroll into the mall as a confident and independent 
career woman.  But the redneck guards would teach her a lesson 
in humility! 

She advanced the answering machine to the next message. 

"Hello, Cheryl.  This is Jake down at building security...I work 
the front desk." 

She smiled.  Of all the guards at her building, the portly and 
fatherly Jake was her favorite.  He always said hello to her in 
the morning, and he always walked her out to her car whenever she 
worked weekends. 

"Anyway, I was calling you up because there's a problem with your 
security ID.  (Ahem!)  I deactivated your ID today and put a note 
in your computer file that we need to...uh...'discuss' some things 
before you can be admitted to the building. 

"Uh...the truth is, I was surfing the Web when I was working this 
weekend, and I came across some pictures...pictures of you.  And 
I'm thinking we've been too lax with security, at least in your 
case, anyway.  So I'm going to have to have a stern talk with you 
when you come in on Monday morning.  I mean, you might be into 
drugs or industrial espionage or diamond smuggling or something...." 

Cheryl swallowed.  It didn't make much sense for her to be 
smuggling industrial secrets INTO work, not that she had any.  
And she didn't have any diamonds, either. 

Certainly not in the places Jake would be looking. 

Of course, Jake was kind of cute -- in a Wilfred Brimley kind of 
way. 

She triggered the next message. 

"Hello, Cheryl?  This is Dr. Johnson.  I just wanted to say that 
those lab results I mailed you a couple of months ago...well, they 
looked fine.  I mean, I know I told you that when I mailed them to 
you, and I know it was just some blood work, but I thought it might 
be nice to give you a call. 

"Actually, the main reason I'm calling is that I saw some pictures 
of you on the Web.  I have to say I was a little surprised.  I 
never knew you were into that sort of thing.  But I liked the 
photos." 

There was a long pause as the doctor considered the matter.  "I 
liked them a LOT.  I feel kind of bad that you always have my 
partner, Cindy, examine you instead of me, truth be told," he added 
with a nervous laugh. 

"Anyway, I see in your file that you said that you were having 
trouble sleeping.  I have a friend who runs a sort of private 
hospital where they deal with women with...special problems.  
It's called the Breckwood Asylum for Women, but don't let the 
name turn you off.  Most of the women aren't really crazy...just 
trophy wives who got out of line, or women who crossed someone who 
had the money to get them committed. 

"I go there about once a month and check the women out.  It's 
really cool.  They have these big old gang showers, and my 
friend lets me give the women a full physical -- pelvic and all. 

"Anyway, the reason I'm calling is that the orderlies there are 
really, really into strip-searches.  I mean, they strip-search the 
girls all the time, and give them sponge baths, and enemas...and 
everything." 

Cheryl felt a tiny chill run through her as the doctor playfully 
added, "Boys will be boys," with a lewd chuckle. 

"I called your husband's cell phone, and he thought it would be a 
great place for you to spend a weekend.  So I faxed the commitment 
papers over to him.  I said he should just give it to you as a 
surprise, but he wanted me to call you first. 

"It's not exactly the kind of place that has a brochure, but there 
are pictures of some of the inmates on one of the straitjacket web 
sites, if you want me to send you the link.  Anyway, I'll tell your 
husband that I spoke with you.  As soon as he faxes back the 
commitment papers, we can send the straitjacket boys over.  Have 
a great weekend, and I'll see you...all of you...real soon!" 

Cheryl's heart leapt as she heard a loud pounding on her front 
door.  "Atlanta Police!" a voice said.  "Open up!" 

She checked the security peephole in her front door.  Sure enough, 
there were two smiling police officers standing outside.  One of 
them already had his handcuffs ready. 

Cheryl opened the door with the chain still on.  "Could I help you, 
officers?" she asked. 

"Yes, ma'am," one said.  "Is this your picture?" 

Cheryl took the photocopy through the gap.  The top half showed a 
closeup of the facial portion of her Internet photo, while the 
bottom half was a copy of her driver's license. 

"Yes, officer," she said nervously. 

"Well, in that case, we have a warrant for your arrest." 

"On what charge?"  

"Please, just open the door, ma'am," the officer said, sternly. 

Cheryl obeyed, and the officers entered without being asked. 

"Could you please explain just what's going on?" Cheryl asked. 

"Judge Search'em signed the warrant this morning.  He left it up to 
us to fill in a charge when we got here.  We have a search warrant, 
too, so I'm sure that if we look around long enough we'll find 
something.  Or, if we get bored, who knows?  Something might just 
fall out of one of our pockets." 

The officer turned to his partner and smiled.  "Did you turn in all 
the heroin from the raid last night, Pete?" 

"I dunno," Pete said, with a sheepish smile.  "But, now that you 
mention it, I do have a hole in my pocket." 

The first officer turned back to Cheryl.  "Or, you could just make 
it easier on us and confess to something -- something trivial, so 
you won't do any real jail time, but something just the same." 

"But...I haven't done anything!" she protested. 

"Is that a smoke detector?" the officer asked, pointing at the 
ceiling. 

Cheryl nodded. 

"When was the last time you checked it?" 

"I don't remember," she admitted.  "It beeps when the battery is 
low, so...." 

"Tell it to the rubber glove when we get you downtown, sweet 
stuff," the officer said, as he spun Cheryl around.  "Hands 
against the wall, legs spread." 

Cheryl gasped as she found herself spread-eagled against the wall 
of her entry hall. 

"Wider," the officer said and he kicked Cheryl's feet.  First he 
moved them back, so she was leaning forward, and then he moved 
them apart, so she was widely exposed. 

She was able to watch through the hall mirror as the two grinning 
officers flipped to see who got to frisk her. 

Cheryl gasped as she felt Officer's Pete's ham-like hands squeeze 
and fondle her breasts through her clothes.  "I hope you're not 
shy, babe.  Because, as the arresting officers, my partner and I 
are going to watch the whole search.  There's a whole bunch of 
people who want to see you in the stirrups!" 

"Stop it, Pete," his partner said.  "You're making her blush!" 

"Can you believe that?" Pete said.  "She's as red as a fire 
engine." 

"And probably twice as hot!" his partner rejoined, wittily. 

She was indeed hot, a fact that was proved when Pete slowly ran 
his huge hand up her skirt and over the crotch of her soaking wet 
panties. 

She was still blushing when they led her out of her front door, to 
the waiting squad car, her hands cuffed tightly behind her back.  
To her horror, her kindly old neighbor, Mr. Lawson, was bringing 
in his groceries just in time to see her do her humiliating perp 
walk. 

Mr. Lawson had always been a bit of a flirt, but he was harmless 
enough, since he had to be close to 80. 

She was surprised when Mr. Lawson grinned broadly and waved to the 
officers.  "I'm glad you got out here so fast, Pete.  If you need 
someone to sign a statement, just let me know.  And don't start 
without me." 

"Don't worry.  You'll have a front row seat," Pete replied, placing 
his hand on Cheryl's head to make sure it didn't hit the door jamb 
of the cruiser. 

The bewildered woman could see her own astonished expression and 
the reflection of the flashing red lights as she stared through 
the window at her smiling neighbor. 

She knew it had to be a mistake.  Mr. Lawson was such a kindly old 
man.  He had teased her about asking her out on a date, and he 
always complimented her on her appearance.  But he wasn't the sort 
of man who would belong to the strip-search group, was he? 

What were the odds? 

END 


Edited by C. Lakewood