Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ï>¿Mailgirl And More by SimonDoom

   She was desperate for a job, but enough to be naked?

   "You could be a mailgirl."

   Shanaya's jaw dropped.  She couldn't believe what her best friend,
Kimmy, had just said to her.

   "What do you mean, I could be a mailgirl?  Are you crazy?  I didn't
graduate with an honors degree in accounting to be a mailgirl.  Come on,
Kimmy.  I'm desperate, but I'm not that desperate."

   Shanaya and Kimmy sat in front of Shanaya's computer in her apartment.
They'd spent the last hour searching the Internet for jobs for Shanaya. 
The economy was bad and job prospects were bleak.  Shanaya had been laid
off six weeks earlier from the accounting firm she'd worked at for the last
two years.  She'd been looking frantically for a new job ever since, but
with no luck.

   "I can't believe you suggested that," said Shanaya.  "You're not
serious, right?  I'm not the mailgirl type.  Look at me.  I'm sure they
want buxom, blond bimbos for that job.  That's not me."

   "From what I hear," said Kimmy, "That's not true.  They look for all
types, and right now they're looking for women who don't fit the usual
stereotypes.  You definitely do not fit the bimbo stereotype."

   That much was true.  Shanaya was no blond bimbo.  She was the daughter
of a half-Indian father and an Irish-American mother.  She got dusky skin
and long, luxurious black hair from her father, and piercing sky-blue eyes
from her mother.  The combination was arresting.  Shanaya didn't look like
anyone else she'd ever met, and even though she usually dressed modestly
she often got double-takes.

   "Come on, Kimmy," Shanaya said.  "Be serious.  I need a job.  I REALLY
need a job.  You know I've got tons of student loans and I'm way behind
paying them off.  I've gotten, like, three debt collection letters in the
last two weeks."

   Shanaya's debts were huge.  During her freshman year of college her
father, sued by an unscrupulous business partner, had lost everything. 
Shanaya had to scramble to get loans to pay for the rest of her education
at a prestigious, private university.  She worked several jobs, too, but it
wasn't enough.  The debt piled up, and by the time she graduated she was
buried under financial obligations to several creditors, some of whom were
now aggressively pursuing her to get paid.

   "Shanaya, you're my best friend," Kimmy said.  "You know I love you. 
You're one of the smartest people I know.  But you know something else?  I
know you don't believe this, but you're also beautiful.  You're hot.  Guys
stare at you.  You might not know that.  From what I hear, this company is
looking for mailgirls who are beautiful in a different way.  And that's
you.

   "I'm not saying it should be your career.  But the economy is bad and
there aren't a lot of jobs, and - who knows?  - it might be a way to make
some money while things are bad.  To get you through the bad time.  Until
you can get a better job.  I have a friend named Emily who has a friend who
did it for a while, and according to Emily she made a lot of money.  Like,
a LOT of money.  You'd be surprised."

   "Yeah, I would be surprised," said Shanaya.  She paused.  "So what do
you mean by a lot of money?"

   Kimmy gave her a number.

   Shanaya's eyes widened and her jaw dropped, again.  The number Emily
cited was comparable to what she'd been making as an associate with the
prestigious accounting firm she'd worked at before.  She wondered how that
was possible.

   Nothing made any sense.  Shanaya had worked her butt off her whole life,
always getting straight As.  She'd wanted to make her parents proud, and,
besides that, she always had high standards for herself.  From an early
age, she was a math whiz.  Accounting was a natural choice for a career. 
She earned her way into one of the best universities in the country, aced
its accounting program, and graduated with offers from some of the best
firms in the country.  Her family had beamed with pride when she accepted
an offer with Morton Leeds, one of the world's biggest and most prestigious
accounting firms.  For two years, things had gone great.

   And then the economy tanked.  Accounting firms like hers had been hit
hard.  Business dried up.  People were being laid off.  Shanaya had been a
good employee, always meeting her hours requirements and pleasing the
clients, but it did no good.  When the shit hit the fan, the youngest
employees bore the brunt of the shit.  And Shanaya was still young.  One
day, she got called into the office of a senior member to get the bad news.
She couldn't believe it.  All that education, and all that hard work, and
she was being shown the door.

   She cried that night, and for a few days afterward, but soon she
collected herself and looked for other opportunities.  The problem was,
there were no opportunities.  Accounting firms like her former employer
were firing, not hiring.  There were no jobs to be had.

   She widened the scope of her job search, sending letters to second-tier
and third-tier accounting firms.  No responses.  She sent emails and left
voice mail messages for different kinds of businesses, hoping they might
have a place for someone with her impressive background.  Still no
responses.  In the meantime, she earned no money.  But rent came due, and
bills piled up.  And the student debt holders began coming after her. 
Shanaya was in a tough spot, and it was getting more and more difficult to
see a way out of it.  Her family was no help.  Dad was broke and being
sued. Her friend Kimmy offered moral support, but she was an elementary
school teaching assistant and had no money to give.

   Kimmy tried to encourage Shanaya, telling her how talented she was and
how she was sure to succeed but that she had to think outside the box to
get through the hard times.  In the back of her mind, though, Shanaya
couldn't stop worrying about her dire predicament.  If she couldn't earn
some money and pay rent, she'd be evicted soon.  She couldn't imagine that.
Her only recourse would be to live with her parents.  To a smart, ambitious
young woman like Shanaya, that would be as good as admitting she'd been
defeated in life.  She couldn't bear the thought of that.

   Shanaya's reverie was interrupted when she realized Kimmy was saying
something.

   "What?" Shanaya asked.

   "I said, let's get some information," Kimmy said.  Kimmy's fingers
tapped at the computer keyboard.  She went online and researched
"mailgirls." Together, Shanaya and Kimmy gathered what information they
could about the mailgirl program.

   Shanaya discovered that the mailgirl program had started in Japan, the
brainchild of an offbeat entrepreneur named Yakuso Wakisame, a
self-proclaimed expert in the field of employee productivity.  He was
40-something, an out-of-the-box thinker looking to strike it rich with the
next big thing.  He came up with the idea that corporate productivity could
be enhanced by spicing up the work environment with erotic stimulation -
specifically, with attractive, skimpily dressed women delivering the mail
and performing other, assorted mundane office tasks that no one ever
noticed before.  He assembled a team of academics from elite universities
across Japan.  They conducted surveys and tests, and to everyone's surprise
the tests proved Wakisame was right: the presence of skimpily dressed women
carrying mail and performing similar tasks significantly raised office
productivity.  The mailgirl program caught on, and it was adopted by many
companies in Japan.  Wakisame became a rich man.

   The program was still new in America, and the results of the program
were still uncertain.  In Shanaya's city, the program was dominated by
Intex Corporation, a corporate personnel services firm with offices around
the country.  Intex hired mailgirls and contracted with companies
throughout the city to have their mailgirls perform their tasks while
dressed in outrageously skimpy outfits.

   It seemed weird to Shanaya that the program was even legal, let alone
tolerated.  She couldn't understand how the mailgirl program could survive
challenges from sexual harassment attorneys and feminist advocates.  But,
somehow, it had.  So far, anyway.  The bad economy had something to do with
it, no doubt.  With unemployment rising and jobs scarce and profits
falling, both business and political leaders were willing to adjust their
thinking to accommodate unusual programs to boost the economy in any way
possible.

   "Let's see if they have any job openings," said Kimmy.

   "Kimmy, come on," Shanaya said.  "There's no way they'd want me, and
there's no way I'd do it even if they did.  Which they don't.  This is
pointless."

   "You don't know unless you search," Kimmy said.

   Kimmy pulled up the intex.com web page.  She clicked on the page for
"employment opportunities." There it was: a subheading for "mailgirls."

   They scanned the web page in front of them.  Intex was hiring.  They had
a few slots open for new mailgirls.  The hiring page promised "outstanding
compensation", although it didn't say just how much that was.  At the
bottom of the page was a link to an online application form.

   "Let's fill it out," said Kimmy.  "Come on.  You have nothing to lose."

   Kimmy started filling out the form for Shanaya, inserting all the
information about her friend she knew: name, address, birthday, etc.  It
asked for her body measurements, too, something she'd never been asked for
before.

   "Kimmy, this is such a waste of time," Shanaya said.

   "Maybe, maybe not," Kimmy said.  "You might as well try."

   "If you like this idea so much, why don't you apply?" Shanaya asked her
friend.

   "Well, number one, I'm not as hot as you, and, number two, I'm a
teaching assistant, trying to become a full-time teacher at a Catholic
school.  They're not going to hire a mailgirl."

   That was a good point, Shanaya thought.  But, for that matter, she
worried that any future employer, including another accounting firm, might
look askance at seeing "mailgirl" on her resume.  What would it do to her
career?  Probably nothing good.

   At the moment, however, Shanaya had no options.

   Reluctantly, Shanaya worked with Kimmy to fill out the application form,
inputting information about herself.

   "It says we need to submit a photo of you," Kimmy said.  "Do you have a
sexy photo?"

   "Sexy?" Shanaya asked.  "What's sexy?  I don't think so."

   "Oh, come on," Kimmy said, trying to encourage her friend.  "How about
that photo of you at the Solstice party last summer?  Where's that?"

   Embarrassed, but feeling pressured by her friend, Shanaya opened a
folder of photos from the previous summer.  She clicked on the one she
thought Kimmy was referring to - a photo of her in a short, form-fitting
white dress, which showed a lot of leg.

   "They'll like that!" Kimmy said.  Kimmy uploaded the photo over
Shanaya's weak protests.

   They scrolled down to the bottom of the application form page.  Kimmy's
finger poised over the Enter button.

   "Here goes," Kimmy said.

   Shanaya almost called out to stop her, but she was too late.  Kimmy's
finger hit the keyboard button, and away the application went.

   There was nothing more to do.  Shanaya and Kimmy finished their glasses
of wine and conversation, and then Kimmy left.  It was late.

   Shanaya stared at her computer screen.

   "I can't believe I just did that," she said to herself.  "They're going
to laugh at me."

   Shanaya shook her head.

   "Me as a mailgirl," she said, out loud to the empty room.  "What a crazy
idea.  I'm sure they'll think it's a crazy idea too.  I probably won't hear
from them."

   She logged off her computer and headed to bed.  She thought to herself
that it would be fine with her - more comfortable, certainly - if Intext
Corporation never responded to her online application.  What a nutty idea.
Kimmy was high if she thought Shanaya could do that, Shanaya thought.  In
another minute she was in bed, under the covers, and soon she fell asleep.

   *****

   It was 9:30 am the next day when a "ping" sounded from Shanaya's phone.

   "Probably Kimmy," she thought.

   But it wasn't Kimmy.  The message was from an unknown number.  It said:
"Ms.  Reddy.  We received your application for the mailgirl program.  If
you are interested, please show up at 11 am at our offices tomorrow. 
Please send reply text to confirm.  Send a resume.  Sasha Bloomfield,
Personnel Manager, Intex."

   Shanaya stared at the text for a full minute without moving.  She
couldn't believe it.  They were interested!  She didn't know what to think
about that.  For six weeks no one had shown any interest in hiring her for
her expertise in accounting.  Now, in less than 24 hours, she'd gotten a
response from a company that wanted to hire her for showing off her body.

   Shanaya looked at her online calendar for the month.  It was blank.  No
work.  No appointments.  No interviews.  No nothing.  She had nothing to
lose.  It was short notice, insisting that she show up the next day.  But
Shanaya had nothing else to do.  What the hell.  She texted back, replying
and confirming that she would show up at the appointment at Intex's local
office.

   *****

   At 11:00 a.m., the next day, Shanaya stepped out from the elevator on
the 19th floor of a high-rise building downtown and into the large,
immaculately designed foyer of the Intex headquarters.  A perfectly coiffed
receptionist sat behind an enormous desk.

   Shanaya was nervous.  She had no idea what to expect.  She'd called
Kimmy as soon as she'd accepted the interview offer to get her advice.

   "That's so exciting!" Kimmy said on the phone.  "I knew they'd say
'yes.' I think it was the picture.  You look like a hottie in that
picture."

   "What do I do?  What do I wear?"

   "Just act natural.  Be yourself.  Wear something that makes you
comfortable, but that's a little sexy.  Wear your shortest work skirt. 
They'll want to see your legs."

   Act natural.  Shanaya had no idea how to do that, interviewing to be a
mailgirl.  She still couldn't believe she was here.  She wouldn't have come
without Kimmy's bubbly encouragement.

   On Kimmy's advice, Shanaya had chosen a creamy, long-sleeved blouse and
her shortest work skirt.  It was a pencil-style skirt that hugged her
figure and ended two inches above the knee.  She teetered on three-inch
heels, which were longer than she usually wore to the office.

   Shanaya gave her name to the receptionist.  Two minutes later a smart if
severely dressed woman in gray walked forward and held her hand out.

   "Ms.  Reddy?" she asked.  "Monica Stevenson.  Please follow me."

   Shanaya followed, timid and nervous.  She still couldn't believe she was
actually there, about to be interviewed for a job to be a mailgirl.  She
wondered what her parents would think.  They'd be even more mortified than
she was, she guessed.  She tried to imagine explaining it to them.  She
couldn't.

   Ms.  Stevenson ushered Shanaya into a conference room.  Two other people
sat at a long table.  All had black folders open in front of them, with
papers inside - printouts of her resume, application form, and picture.

   A video camera was perched on top of a tripod and pointed at her seat.

   When she sat down, they got down to business.

   One of the men, whose tag read "Bob," pushed a form across the table to
Shanaya.

   "What's this?" she asked.

   "Confidentiality and permission form," he said.  "You agree this
interview is confidential.  We agree to maintain the privacy and
confidentiality of your answers as well, although we may use the interview
and video for our own internal research and evaluation purposes."

   She signed the form.

   "So, Ms.  Reddy, what makes you want to be a mailgirl?" Stevenson asked.

   Shanaya shifted nervously in her chair.  She hadn't prepared much for
the interview - hadn't even known what to prepare for, since she knew so
little about what they wanted.

   Act natural, she told herself, repeating Kimmy's words.  Be yourself.

   "To be honest, Ms.  Stevenson, I need the money," she said.  She
regretted saying it immediately.  "Sorry!"

   "Call me Monica," the woman replied, smiling.  "Don't be sorry.  I
appreciate your honesty.  Not many of our applicants aspire to become
mailgirls.  Some do, but usually they're not the kind of girls we're
looking for.  Do you know what this job entails?"

   "Just a little.  I looked at your website."

   "Well, let me explain.  First, understand that it's a serious job.  We
don't hire bimbos.  Our job at Intex is to improve our clients'
productivity.  We work with Fortune 500 companies, large law firms, banks,
brokerage firms, and accounting firms like the one you used to work for. 
The mailgirl program has been scientifically proven to raise company morale
and to increase productivity.  Our girls absolutely must be good at what
they do.  The job description may not sound like much, but it's important
that our mailgirls must be efficient and professional."

   "How does it work, exactly?" Shanaya's voice was hoarse.  She had dry
mouth from nervousness.

   "Bob, could you get Shanaya some water?" Monica asked.

   "Sure thing." He poured water from a pitcher on a counter to the side of
the table and set it on a coaster in front of Shanaya.

   "Thanks," said Shanaya, drinking nervously from the glass.

   "It works like this," Monica said.  "A mailgirl is given an assignment -
usually one client or sometimes more than one.  It's a little bit like
Uber. You'll receive assignments on a company cell phone, which is strapped
to your arm.  You'll deliver mail, packages, and do other courier-related
tasks.  You may be given other, similar tasks, although the job does not
require any secretarial skills.

   "You will receive a regular salary, but most of your pay will be
task-driven.  You will be assigned an online Intex account that is hooked
up to the client's account.  When you complete a task, money transfers from
the client account to the Intex account, and you get a percentage.  A bonus
payment may be made if you get the assignment done within certain
parameters.  If the client likes your performance, the client can pay a
tip, which also gets divided between the Intex account and your account. 
The client is supposed to rate your performance as well, and you can
receive an extra monthly bonus if you exceed certain rating standards. 
Understand?"

   "I think so."

   "Good.  It says here on your resume that you were on the cross-country
team in college."

   "I was.  I was third on the team at 1500 meters."

   "That's good.  You'll be on the move a lot, and speed and stamina may be
important.  Understand, you're not supposed to be running through the
halls. You'll need to move with grace and efficiency.  Personality counts,
too.  Mailgirls are supposed to lift the spirits of those around them. 
Working in an office can be a grind, as you know."

   "I know," said Shanaya.  Secretly, though, she missed working in an
office.  She was bored out of her mind sitting around her apartment.

   "Can you tell me - "Shanaya began, but she knocked over her water glass
in her nervousness and didn't finish her thought.  "Oops!  Sorry."

   "It's OK, I'll get it," said the third interviewer, whose name tag said
"Dave."

   "Don't worry about it," said Monica, as Dave wiped up the spilled water
with a paper towel.  "Being nervous about this job is understandable.  Now
why don't you tell us some more about yourself."

   They talked for half an hour, which to Shanaya seemed like a
surprisingly long time to interview for a job with what seemed like such a
thin job description.  She tried to answer with as much verve and
personality as she could, since she guessed that's what they were looking
for, but it was difficult for her, an accountant by training, to keep up
the act.  "Bubbly" did not come naturally to her.  They were friendly, but
they asked pointed questions, too, about her interests, her work history,
likes and dislikes.  It wasn't an unpleasant experience, exactly, but it
didn't ease her nervousness.





   "OK, Shanaya, now for the next part of the interview.  Can you stand up,
away from the table, and turn around slowly so the camera can record you?"

   Shanaya stood up, more nervous than ever.  She'd never applied for a job
before that counted good looks as an explicit job criterion.  She knew she
was smart and could answer interview questions, but she had no confidence
about passing this part of the exam.  Her looks were unusual, and she
couldn't imagine that she was what they were looking for.

   After what seemed like an eternity, Monica stood up and cheerfully said,
"OK.  That's enough.  Now we need you to do one more thing.  You need to
try on the uniform.  We've selected one based on the measurements you gave
us online.  It's in the changing room right over there."

   Monica pointed to a door at the side of the conference room.

   Shanaya timidly entered the changing room.  It was not much bigger than
a closet, but it had full length mirrors on opposite sides of it and a
counter with some cosmetics and a hand mirror.  On one side of the counter
lay the uniform: a top and a bottom, and two shoes.

   Shanaya picked up the pieces of the uniform.  She recognized the colors
- green and blue and white - from the website.  She had known from the
website pictures that the uniform was skimpy, but it was a whole different
matter seeing the uniform close, in her hands.  It was tiny.  It appeared
to be made from a stretchy, shiny, breathable artificial fiber of some kind
she didn't recognize.  It didn't look much bigger than a bikini.

   She stifled the thought that after years of education and academic
honors she was trying on an outfit to get a job that would parade her
around like a bikini model.

   She took off her shoes and hung up her skirt and blouse on pegs on the
wall.  She looked at herself in the mirror, standing in her bra and
panties. I'm really doing this, she thought.

   She wasn't sure what to do next.  The outfit came with no bra, but it
was obvious that her bra would not work with the top - the top was so
skimpy that the straps of her bra would show, and she was sure they didn't
want that.  She took off her bra and hung it up.  Her full breasts stared
back at her in the mirror.  For some reason her breasts had always
embarrassed her, although she'd been told by boyfriends that they were
beautiful.  It might be that they were big for a runner with a thin frame.
She'd always needed a sturdy sports bra when she ran to prevent unwanted
jiggling.

   She pulled the top over her head.  It was something between a sports bra
and a crop top, as it stretched around her torso and ended a few inches
below her breasts.  What appeared to be an extra layer of thickness in the
material beneath her breasts provided some support, but not much. 
Fortunately, Shanaya's boobs were naturally firm, and stood high and pointy
with little sag.

   But, speaking of pointy - Shanaya audibly gasped at the way the tiny top
presented her breasts.  Her nipples were large and pointy, and the outlines
of them were clearly visible under the fabric, which almost seemed thinner
over her nipples than elsewhere.  She stood sideways to the mirror.  No
doubt about it, the profile of her nipples flared out conspicuously from
her body under the skin-tight top.

   She gritted her teeth, stopped looking, and picked up the bottoms.  She
pulled them up, over her legs, stretched them over her hips, over her
panties.  Fortunately, she'd picked skimpy, form-fitting panties, so the
bottoms stretched over them and over her hips without too much effort.

   The bottoms were skimpier than anything she'd seen anyone wear in
public, except perhaps at a cross-country meet, or at the beach.  The top
edge barely hit her hip bone.  The upper portion of the V of her inquinal
crease was exposed.  The inseam could not have been more than two inches.
She looked in the mirror behind her, and the bottoms of her ass cheeks were
exposed.  She was glad that years of running had given her a firm tush.

   Now, for the shoes.  She looked at them quizzically.  She'd never seen
shoes like them.  They were black, strappy, and high heeled.  The heels
must have been close to four inches.  But they were solid, and the heel
part gave a bit when she pushed her finger against it.

   It took her a minute to figure out how to strap them on.  When she
finished, she looked up, staring at herself in the mirror in the completed
ensemble.

   She could barely believe that the girl looking back at her was her.  To
Shanaya's eyes, she looked like a stripper.  She wobbled a little on the
heels.  Despite their height, they were more comfortable and more stable
than she would have guessed, probably because of their design.  Shanaya
stared, struck dumb by the image that greeted her.

   I can't believe I'm doing this, she thought.

   "Are you ready?" Monica's voice called out from the conference room.

   "Yes," said Shanaya, her voice thin and reedy.

   She blushed at the thought of other people seeing her like this.  She
didn't know if she could go through with it.  She put her hand on the
doorknob, but she didn't turn it for a while.

   I can turn back, she thought.  I don't have to do this.  I don't have to
make a spectacle of myself.

   But what else will you do?  she asked herself in reply.  You have no job
and no prospects.  You have bills to pay.  It's only temporary.  You'll do
this until you get a real job.

   She opened the door and walked back into the conference room, which
seemed much brighter than before for some reason.  She stumbled, almost, on
the unfamiliar heels, but righted herself before falling.  Monica and Dave
stood nearby, and Bob stood back with the video camera, now recording her.
Knowing that she was being recorded increased her nervousness.

   "You look great, dear," Monica said.  "Let's see you.  Turn around a few
times."

   Shanaya turned around, concentrating as hard as she could on staying
upright on the heels without stumbling again.

   "Shanaya, you look splendid, but there's one thing," Monica said.  "I
can tell you're wearing panties.  You'll need to take them off.  The shorts
are made to be worn without panties.  Go back, take them off, and we'll get
started then."

   No panties?  What?  Shanaya tried not to show her surprise and dismay.

   Back in the changing room, Shanaya shucked off the shorts, and then
pulled her panties down until they dropped to the floor, pooling at her
ankles.

   She caught her reflection in the mirror.  She was careful to keep her
dark bush in a well-trimmed triangle above her vulva.  It was her lips she
was concerned about.  She'd been told by lovers in the past that she'd had
a pretty pussy, but she always fretted about it.  Thin, wavy lips dangled
slightly at the gap between her legs.  She wondered whether they'd be
visible under the shorts if unobscured by panties.

   She'd have to find out.  She pulled the shorts back up her legs.

   The feeling of the form-fitting shorts against her pussy was arousing,
and nerve-wracking.  She stared hard in the mirror, and, while she couldn't
see her pussy through the fabric, she could make out some of its shape. 
There was no lining in the shorts.  They molded to her tightly enough that
a dimple formed where her labia bulged and framed her cleft.

   Her nervousness and embarrassment redoubled, she left the changing room
again.  Monica inspected her closely while the camera recorded her.

   "Perfect," Monica said.  "I know it may seem unusual, but it's supposed
to be a tight fit.  One other thing, though.  You don't need to deal with
it today, but if you get the job, you need to shave."

   "Shave?" Shanaya asked.

   "Shave.  I can tell you have a patch of pubic hair from the way the
fabric is raised slightly, here."

   Monica pointed, her finger an inch from Shanaya's pubis.

   "You need to shave that off, if you get the job.  We insist that our
mailgirls must shave all body hair except on their head.  Eyebrows must be
well manicured.  Leg hair, armpit hair, pubic hair - it's all got to come
off.  We prefer if you wax it, because it's closer and longer lasting, but
shaving is OK if you can do it well."

   Shanaya had never engaged in a group conversation about her pubic hair
before, especially one that was being recorded.  She didn't think she'd
ever been so embarrassed in her whole life.

   "Now, Shanaya, we need to have you walk around the conference room.  You
won't be sitting around as a mailgirl - you'll be on the go all the time.
Most of the time when people see you, you'll be walking briskly through the
hallway.  We need to see what you look like when you're walking.  So,
walk."

   Shanaya began walking, circling the conference room table.  She felt
ridiculously on display, which she was.  She concentrated on standing
straight, and on not falling on the heels.

   "I'm sure you've noticed the shoes by now," Monica said.  "They've been
specially designed for our mailgirls.  The heels are four inches, to
accentuate the calves and make them look sexy.  Our focus groups revealed
that this was the most desirable height in terms of appearances.  But, of
course, it's not easy getting around quickly on four-inch heels.  So, we
made them in a thick, wedge form, with a slight flare at the bottom.  The
heel is made of a special, reinforced rubber, not unlike what you'll find
in your running shoes.  The heel is thick enough to be stable, but the give
in the rubber provides support and comfort.  It takes a bit of training and
experience to get around them with ease, but if you get the job, you'll
find you get used to them."

   Shanaya found that hard to believe.  A four-inch heel was a four-inch
heel.  It was taller than she was accustomed to, and she didn't feel very
stable.  She tried to hide it as much as possible, but she feared that her
instability and discomfort would show to Monica and the other interviewers.

   She circled the table a few more times, the camera recording her the
whole time and her interviewers staring intently at her.  She noticed that
they scratched notes on pads of paper as she walked.

   "That's enough," Monica said at last.

   "You have one last task, and the interview is over," she said.

   "Task?"

   "Yes.  You're going to do a practice task.  We're going to time you and
record you."

   "Practice task?  What do you want me to do?"

   Monica handed Shanaya a phone and an arm band.

   "Put this on," she said.  Shanaya did.

   "This is a company phone, "said Monica, "like the one you would be
carrying as a mailgirl.  In a minute, you will get a message on the phone.
You will have to follow the instructions, pick up an item as it instructs
you, and deliver that item to a person in an office on this floor."

   "Wait - a person on this floor.  You mean, outside this conference
room?"

   "Yes, of course."

   "People are going to see me in this outfit?  Out there?" She gestured
toward the conference room door.  Her finger shook.

   "Of course they are.  That's the job, after all.  Everyone will see you
in this outfit.  Hundreds of people.  Maybe thousands.  If you're going to
do the job you need to show you can do it.  Now get ready.  The task should
be coming in."

   Shanaya, now in a near panic, heard the phone in her hand buzz.  She
looked at the screen.  She read the instructions: "Pull the Sharpie pen
from the pocket in Dave's shirt, and deliver it to Austin Appleby in Office
1914."

   Shanaya felt utterly flustered.  The instructions seemed simple enough,
but her body froze.  Her head felt cloudy.  At first, she couldn't move."

   "Better get going," Monica said, quietly.

   Shanaya got going.  She looked up from her phone, at Dave.  Behind Dave,
Bob's camera recorded her.  Shanaya teetered over to Dave and pulled the
black pen out of his pocket.  She looked back at her phone.  "1914."

   She knew it was on this floor, but she didn't know where.  She skittered
over to the conference room door.

   "Remember, Shanaya," Monica said.  "Walk fast, but don't run.  We don't
want you causing accidents in the hallway."

   The only accident I'm worried about is peeing in my shorts, Shanaya
thought.

   She opened the conference room door, and with a big nervous gulp of air
she stepped outside.

   She turned to the left and began to walk, not run.  Once, some years
ago, Shanaya had tried race-walking, and her experience now stood her in
good stead.  It wasn't easy to maintain form in the heels, but once she got
a rhythm going it was almost easier to maintain her balance if she kept
moving forward.  She scanned the office room numbers to her side.

   "1954."

   It was a big office, obviously, and she had a long way to go to get to
her destination.  At the next office she saw that the numbers were getting
smaller.

   Directly ahead of her, a man stood with a cup of coffee talking to a
secretary in a cubicle.  As Shanaya approached they looked up at her.  The
man smiled and his eyes ran up and down her body.  Shanaya felt her skin
flush with warmth and embarrassment.  She was keenly aware, moving quickly
down the hallway, that her breasts bounced and jiggled and swayed with
little restraint.  She saw the man glance at her chest and saw the lusty
appreciation in his eyes.  Obviously, he could see the prominence of her
nipples inside the thin top.

   She kept going.  The office numbers kept decreasing.

   I'm almost there, she thought.  Don't think about anything.  Just get
there and get it done.

   Her mind on the task ahead, Shanaya didn't notice a small rise in the
carpet ahead of her.  The toe of her shoe caught it, and she stumbled.  She
tried to catch herself, but she couldn't.  She went tumbling.

   She fell on her hands and knee, and one knee burned slightly where it
scraped along the carpet.  She hoped she hadn't skinned it.  But there was
no time to focus on that now.  She had to complete her task.

   She stood up and resumed walking.  She passed by many offices, some of
them occupied by men - and women - that looked up from their desks at her
with obvious interest.  She saw an older man pass her in the hallway.  He,
too, ran his eyes greedily over her body.  When she passed him, she
imagined him turning around and staring at her ass, sculpted in the tiny
shorts.

   At last, breathing nervously, she reached office number 1914.

   She stood at the door with a hand on the frame, the other hand holding
the pen.

   "Mr.  Appleby?"

   A friendly young face looked up from a desk.  The window behind him
revealed a view of other high-rise buildings.

   "That's me," he said.  "And you're -"

   "Shanaya," she said.  She held out the pen.  He took it, picked up his
phone, and pushed a button on it.

   "45 seconds," he said.  "That's pretty good."

   Shanaya couldn't believe it.  It felt like it had been 45 minutes, and a
lifetime of shame and embarrassment.

   "Thank you very much, Shanaya," said Austin.  "You better get back to
the conference room."

   Shanaya left Austin's office and walked back to the conference room.  On
the way, she noticed more people out and about than before - many more. 
Word had gotten out that a new girl was in the office, and everyone wanted
to see her.  Shanaya felt their eyes on her body.

   By the time she got back to the office, she was nearly a wreck, and she
didn't know if she could keep standing up.  She wanted to collapse in a
seat - anywhere to get off her wobbly feet.  But she couldn't.  Monica and
Dave were there, and Bob still held his camera.  She had to hold it
together for a little while longer.

   "You're back!" Monica said, smiling kindly at her.  "Good job.  You're
done.  You can get put your own clothes on again."

   Once in the dressing room, Shanaya sank to the floor, her head in her
hands.

   What had she done?  Who was she?  She could not believe that she had
just strutted her nearly nude body past so many people, all of whom were
staring at her.

   She heard voices, and looked up from the floor.  She hadn't completely
closed the door, and she could just barely hear Monica and her colleagues
talking.  They were talking about her.

   "She's cute, don't you think?" she heard Bob say.

   "She is," said Dave.  "Nice figure, too.  Fits the uniform well.  Her
calves looked good.  Probably from all that running."

   "She looks good," said Monica.  "But she seemed awfully nervous.  And
awkward.  I don't know about her.  Personality is such an important part of
this job.  I don't know if she can pull it off."

   "Well, we have more candidates coming in today and tomorrow," said Bob.
"We'll talk about it when all the interviews are done.  We'll see."

   Shanaya's heart sank.  All that embarrassment, and it was probably all
for nothing.  She wasn't right for the job.

   Dejected, she pulled the uniform off, tossed the shoes to the floor, and
dressed herself in the clothes she'd come in.

   She felt something below, and she touched herself.  She was damp.  Not
sopping, not wet, but damp.  A trace of moisture lay over her folds below
where none had been before.

   She was excited, she thought.  She was nervous and embarrassed and
ashamed, for sure, but she was excited, too.  She stood, still undressed,
and searched her body and her feelings with her mind.  It was true. 
Beneath all the trepidation she felt a tinge of excitement.  Shanaya had
never been much of an exhibitionist - or any kind of exhibitionist - and
she'd never done anything remotely like what she'd done today.  But today
was different.  She felt excited, and even a little bit aroused.

   Shanaya dressed quickly and left the changing room.  Only Monica
remained.  She held out her hand.

   "Thank you for coming, Shanaya," she said, with a cool smile.  "Your
interview is over.  You should hear from us in a few days."

   *****

   Back at her apartment, that evening, Shanaya was bummed.  She felt sure
she'd blown it, knocking over the water glass and acting too obviously
nervous and embarrassed in front of her interviewers.  She thought about
the other girls that would interview after her.  She thought for sure that
some of them would be closer to what Intex was looking for.

   She stared at her blank computer screen across the room.  She'd have to
log on and start looking for other jobs.  The thought depressed her.  She'd
been looking for jobs for over six weeks, and the Intex interview was the
closest she'd come yet to landing one.

   Her phone rang.  She didn't want to answer it, but she saw Kimmy's face
on the screen, and she knew Kimmy would want to hear all about the
interview.  She swiped the answer button.

   "Hey Kimmy," she said, glumly.

   Kimmy made Shanaya go over the entire interview, step by step.  It felt
strange telling someone how she'd gotten almost naked and shown her body
off to an office full of people.  She heard the words coming out of her
mouth and could scarcely believe she was talking about herself.

   "It was so embarrassing, Kimmy," she said.  "I can't believe I did
that."

   "But you did, girlfriend, you did.  I'm proud of you."

   "You are?" Kimmy asked.  She couldn't believe it.

   "I am.  You're beautiful and you don't know it.  You're too uptight.  I
think this was good for you."

   Shanaya didn't know about that.  She found that hard to believe.

   "I don't know," Shanaya said.  "You don't think what I did was kind of .
. .  like . . .  slutty?"

   "Hey, what's wrong with slutty?" Kimmy asked, laughing over the phone.
"I've been telling you for years you need to slut it up."

   Kimmy was right.  She had been telling Shanaya that.  For a long time.
Kimmy had never had a problem getting men, or having fun with them, and she
liked talking about her exploits with them with her best friend.  Shanaya's
love life had been nowhere near as prolific or entertaining, if even half
of Kimmy's stories were true.

   "Well, it doesn't matter," Shanaya said.  "I'm not going to get the job.
I'm not their type."

   "Don't get down," Kimmy said.  "I've got a good feeling about this. 
Wait a few days."

   *****

   Shanaya waited a few days.  She spent most of the time hanging around
her apartment.  Because of the absence of cash flow, she couldn't go
shopping, and she'd cancelled her gym membership.  The refrigerator was
starting to look a little bare.  She'd spent more time online, looking for
any kind of employment she could find, and she'd made phone calls.  But no
responses had come in.





   At 4 p.m., three days after her interview, the phone rang.  It was
Intex. Shanaya was reluctant to answer.  She braced herself for the
inevitable disappointment of being told she didn't get the job.  She sighed
and swiped her phone.

   "Hello?"

   "Shanaya?  This is Monica from Intex.  How are you?"

   "I'm fine, thanks."

   "Good.  Shanaya, I'm pleased to say that the evaluation of your
interview the other day went well, and we'd like to see you again, as soon
as possible."

   Shanaya was thunderstruck.

   "Does that mean . . .  does that mean I have the job?"

   Shanaya waited while Monica paused for a long time.

   "There's a bit more to it," she said.  "We want to work with you.  But
something new has come up, and we need to talk to you about it.  In person.
Not over the phone.  So, if possible, we'd like to have you come in
tomorrow.  Same place.  Same time - 11 a.m."

   Shanaya didn't know what to make of this news, but it was better than
anything else she'd heard.

   "Sure," she said.  "I'll be there."

   *****

   The next day, at 11:00 a.m.  sharp, Shanaya showed up for the next stage
of her interview.  She wore a pretty wool A-line dress that she'd often
worn to the office at Morton Leeds.  It was one of her favorites: simple,
elegant, professional.  While she was eager to be employed, she also wanted
to send Intex the message that she was a professional, not a bimbo.

   She had no idea what to expect from the next step of the interview.  No
one at Intex had told her anything.  In anticipation of being asked to wear
the uniform again, she had shaved herself completely bare down below
earlier that morning.

   She sat down in the same conference room as before.  Monica, Bob, and
Dave were there, as before, but so was another man, unfamiliar to her.  He
was dressed in a suit and tie, unlike the others, who were dressed in
business casual style.  He wore a more serious expression than the others.

   "Thanks for coming in, Shanaya," Monica said.  "I must tell you, in all
candor, that at the end of our interview the other day I had doubts.  Don't
get me wrong, we all liked you.  You're smart and personable.  And you're
very pretty.  But you seemed so nervous.  We weren't sure if your
personality was the right fit for our program."

   Shanaya watched Monica on pins and needles.  She hoped they hadn't
brought her all the way to their office to give her bad news.

   "But then," Monica said, "We showed the video of you to our focus
groups. And the results were off the charts.  They loved you.  Your shyness
and nervousness were endearing, not off-putting.  Here are some of the
comments our participants in the program made about you:

   "Awesome combo of girl-next-door charm and exotic allure."

   "Loved this girl.  Awesome."

   "Fantastic eyes."

   "Her shy demeanor and hot body were the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

   "Beautiful eyes."

   "Hot legs."

   "I could watch her all day."

   "Great tits."

   Monica looked up.

   "Oops.  Sorry.  I didn't mean to read that one to you."

   "It's OK," Shanaya said, but her voice sounded to her like it was coming
from someone else.  Monica continued.

   "Since our program started, we have never, ever, gotten such a positive
response from our focus groups as we have gotten for you.  You far outshone
all the other applicants for the position for the last few days.  Intex
wants to extend you an offer of employment to be our next mailgirl.  But .
. ."

   "But?" Shanaya asked.

   "Yes, but," Monica said.  "Since your interview, the company has decided
to enter a new phase of the program.  We've done some testing and some
research, and we feel highly confident that with this next phase we will be
able to provide even higher levels of client service, and achieve even
higher levels of profitability, both for our clients and for us.  And that
means more income for the mailgirls, too.  We're very excited about this
next step, but we need someone to lead the way.  We need someone to be a
test figure in the next phase of the mailgirl program, to make sure it's
going to work.  We'd like that person to be you."

   Shanaya didn't know what to say.  She was still reeling from the fact
that they actually wanted to give her a job.  She was excited about the
possibility of working on something new, and she was flattered that they
wanted her to do it.

   "What is this new phase?" she asked.  "What will I have to do?"

   "Well," said Monica, hesitating.  "We're changing the uniform."

   "OK," said Shanaya.  She was so excited about the prospect of earning
income she could barely concentrate on Monica's words.  "How are you
changing it?"

   "We're getting rid of it."

   Shanaya stared at Monica.  She didn't understand.

   "What . . .  what does that mean?"

   "I mean we're getting rid of the uniform," said Monica.  "You'll be
naked."

   "Naked?"

   "Naked," said Monica.  "You'll wear the shoes you wore before, and a
phone strapped to your arm.  But that's it.  Other than those two things,
you'll be completely naked.  You will spend the entire day doing your job
as a mailgirl in the nude."

   Shanaya's jaw dropped open, and she stared at Monica, and then at Bob
and Dave, like an idiot.  She had no idea what to say.  She'd barely
adjusted to the idea of running office errands in the brief Intex uniform,
and now they were talking about her being naked.

   Monica's words hit her like a ton of bricks.  What she said was
inconceivable.  Impossible.

   Shanaya had never been naked in public in her life, unless you counted
taking showers in the school gym with other women around.  She'd never
exposed her nude body to another man, other than to a boyfriend or doctor.
The idea of running around an office building naked - she couldn't even
imagine it.

   "I . . .  I don't even know what to say," she said.

   "I understand," said Monica.  "I know this is surprising.  This is new
for us too.  The executive committee has worked out this plan only very
recently.  We didn't even know about it in personnel when we talked to you
a few days ago.  But the company is determined to do it.  It's been tried
on a limited scale in Japan, and the boost to productivity has been
amazing. We're convinced it can work here, and we're convinced you're the
right person to be our first.  Our first naked mailgirl.

   Naked mailgirl.  That's what they wanted her to be.  Shanaya couldn't
believe it.

   "Can't you get someone else to do that?" she asked.  "I could do it with
the uniform if you could get someone else to be naked.  Naked.  I just
don't -"

   "Unfortunately, no," said Monica.  "From this point forward, the
mailgirls will be naked, assuming the program goes according to plan.  We
really want to hire you, Shanaya.  But it's naked or no offer."

   "Is that even legal?" Shanaya asked.

   "Our legal department is working on that," Monica said.  "We think so.
The state supreme court recently legalized non-sexual nudity on public
property.  Besides, you'd be on private property.  We believe the studies
and evidence of enhanced productivity would be enough to show it's a sound,
legitimate business practice, enough to overcome any sexual harassment or
hostile work environment claims.  Our lobbyists are working with the
legislature to pass a bill.  The economy is so bad right now, they're
willing to push almost anything through."

   "I just can't believe it," said Shanaya.  "You want me to be naked.  You
want me to do this job - be a mailgirl - with no clothes."

   "Yes, we do, Shanaya," Monica said.  "We want you to be a naked
mailgirl. We are convinced, from everything that we've seen, that you'll do
a great job.  We want you to take it."

   Monica reached insider her black folder and pulled something out.  It
was a check.  Monica pushed it across the table.

   "In fact," she said, "we want you so much that we'll pay you this
signing bonus if you agree at the end of today's interview to do the job."

   Shanaya looked down at the check and the amount written.  She gasped. 
She couldn't believe the number.  With that much money, she'd immediately
be able to pay rent and utilities and restock her refrigerator and have a
little extra.

   "You're willing to pay me THAT to run around delivering letters in an
office naked?"

   "Yes, we are," Monica said.  "Shanaya, it's like we said: the potential
productivity and profit increases are significant.  This is a bold new step
into the future for Intex Corporation.  You would be leading the way.  We
want you to do this, and we want you to be successful.  If you get through
this interview and agree to do the job, we'll give you that check today."

   Shanaya's head was swimming.

   "Get through the interview?" she asked.  "Do I not have the job?"

   "Yes, you basically have the job," said Monica.  "But since the uniform
has changed, you need to do a test in the new uniform."

   Shanaya began to understand.

   "You mean -"

   "We need to see you naked, Shanaya," said Monica, interrupting her.

   Shanaya was flustered.

   "N . . .  now?" she asked.

   "Now," said Monica.  "Like I said, Shanaya, we really want you.  You're
our first choice.  But if you can't do it, we'll bring in someone else. 
The company wants to move aggressively forward with the new phase."

   "I don't know if I can do this," Shanaya said.

   "You can, Shanaya," Monica said, reaching across the table and patting
Shanaya's hand with her own.  "You can do it.  And if you do, whatever,
happens, we'll give you the check in front of you."

   It's just an interview, Shanaya thought.  It's just four people. 
They'll see me naked and it will be over.  And I'll have the money and I
can pay my rent and my bills and buy groceries.  No further commitments.

   "What . . .  what do I do?"

   "You can get undressed in the changing room," said Monica, pointing. 
"The shoes are in there."

   Shoes.  Just shoes.  No uniform.  They wanted her to get naked for them,
and they wanted to parade her naked body in front of them.  To find out if
it was good enough for them to hire her.

   Shanaya stood up, dazed and uncertain, and entered the changing room. 
It was the same as before, but this time there was no uniform on the
counter.  Only shoes.

   She tried not to think too hard about what she was doing.  She stripped
off her clothes, including her panties and bra, hanging them on the hooks
on the wall.  She strapped on the four-inch black heels again.

   Then she stared at herself in the mirror.

   A naked young woman, with long black hair and blue eyes, stared back at
her.  The young woman was scared.  She was out of her depth.  But she was
pretty, too, with shapely long legs and firm, full breasts.  Shanaya tried
to ignore the obvious labia puffing out between the young woman's legs.

   A couple of weeks ago, she could not possibly have imagined herself
doing what she was about to do.  But here she was.

   Better not to think too much about it, she told herself.

   Taking a deep breath, Shanaya walked out the door.

   The four people in the conference room stared at her, intently.  One of
them, Bob, again held a camera and recorded videotape of her.  She saw eyes
scanning her nude body.  She felt mortified, and it took every ounce of
self-control she could summon to stand tall and not cover herself with her
hands.  She kept her hands at her side.  She knew they'd need to see her
body.

   "You shaved," said Monica.  "Good."

   Monica came closer and inspected Shanaya's body carefully.

   "You look beautiful, Shanaya," she said.  "Even better than in the
uniform, I think.  Now, we need to take a good look at you, since your body
will be on display to our clients.  This may be a bit embarrassing, but
it's necessary.

   "Jump up and down," she said.

   "What?" Shanaya asked.  "Why?"

   "We need to see how your breasts look when you move around," Monica
said. "Jump."

   Reluctantly, Shanaya jumped in place.  It wasn't easy in the heels, but
she managed to keep her balance.  She was aware how much her full breasts
bobbed up and down as she jumped.  All eyes in the conference room were on
her chest.  The video camera lens was directed at her.  She was putting on
quite a show.

   "That's enough," said Monica.  "Now, come over here."

   She guided Shanaya to the conference table.

   "Put your hands on the tabletop, and bend over."

   "Bend over?" Shanaya asked, incredulous.  "Why?"

   "We need to see all of you, because our clients will see all of you. 
Sorry, but it's necessary."

   Out of the side of her eye Shanaya saw Bob, the camera man, move behind
her.  She was sure he was getting close-up videotape of her asshole. 
Shanaya was so far beyond being humiliated that she almost didn't care
anymore.  She'd already degraded herself beyond her imagination.  It
couldn't get worse.

   "OK," said Monica.  "I think we have enough video."

   "Am I done?" Shanaya asked.  "Can I get dressed?"

   "Almost," said Monica.  "There's one more thing."

   "What's that?"

   "You need to leave the conference room and walk down the hall until you
circle the entire perimeter of the building and then come back here to the
conference room."

   Shanaya's heart sank.  The embarrassment just kept getting worse.

   "Are you sure?" she asked.  "You can see me.  You've videotaped me.  Why
do you need me to do that?"

   "Shanaya," Monica said, with a kind face.  "I understand this is tough.
But if you do the job you are going to be exposing your naked body to
hundreds of people every single day.  We need to find out if you can do it.
Not everybody can.  Do you have what it takes to be a Phase 2 Intex
mailgirl?  We need to know.  We need to know now.  Can you do it?  Or not?
If not, I understand.  We'll have someone else do it.  Just let me know. 
If you can't, you can go home now."

   Monica put her hand on the check on the table.  The implication was
clear: it was Shanaya's choice, but if she said no she'd leave the office
with no check.

   Shanaya looked at the faces of the people in the conference room,
staring at her, waiting for her answer.  She took a deep breath.

   "OK," she said.  "I'll do it."

   Monica clapped her hands together.

   "Excellent!" she said.  "Bob, are you getting this?"

   "I've got it all, Monica," he said, continuing to videotape Shanaya's
naked body.

   "One time around, Shanaya," Monica said.  "Just one time.  Go ahead. 
We'll see you back here in a minute or so.  Remember: walk fast, but don't
run."

   Shanaya tentatively, timidly approached the conference room door.  She
hoped few people would be milling about the hallway.  Maybe she could
encircle the building without drawing much attention.

   She opened the door.

   Her mouth formed a big "O" and her heart rose up in her throat when she
saw a dozen people outside the conference room, watching and awaiting her
exit.  They clapped as she emerged from the conference room.  It took every
bit of strength and discipline in her to stop her hands from covering her
tits and pussy.  For a moment, she did nothing, standing in front of the
crowd with her hands at her side and putting her naked, shaved body on
display for them.  She hid nothing.  She saw their eyes running all over
her.

   Then she remembered what she was supposed to do and got started.  She
turned left, past the crowd, and began power-walking her way down the
hallway, past secretary cubicles and executive offices.  Unlike last time,
people were everywhere, eager to see the new, naked mailgirl.  Shanaya was
keenly aware of the way her breasts bobbed and jiggled as she walked.  She
was aware that the bare slit of her pussy was on display to everyone.

   Never in her life had she felt so exposed and so vulnerable.

   People were supportive, at least.  A naked mailgirl was new to them as
well, and people clapped and cheered as she walked by them.  A few people
whistled.  Though mortified, she took a little bit of solace in the fact
that everyone seemed to enjoy seeing her naked body.  It boosted her
confidence, just a tiny bit.

   At least, after what seemed like an eternity, she completed the circuit
around the office building.  She entered the conference room and shut the
door behind her.

   "Great job, Shanaya!" Monica said.  "I knew you could do it." The video
recording by Bob didn't stop.

   "You can get dressed now," Monica said.

   Shanaya quickly dressed in the tiny changing room.  She was glad to be
dressed and covered when she reemerged into the conference room.

   "Do you want the job?" Monica asked.  "You've got it if you want it."

   "I . . ..  I . . ..  Can you give me a little time to decide?" she
asked.

   "You can have until tomorrow," Monica asked.  "Text me and let me know
what you decide."

   "OK," Shanaya said in a tiny voice, barely her own.

   A few minutes later she sunk into the seat of her car.  She was stressed
out and exhausted.

   Everything seemed surreal.

   Everything, that is, but the check she held in her hand.  She'd deposit
it in the bank on the way home.

   *****

   Hours later, Shanaya sat on the balcony of her apartment with a glass of
chardonnay in her hand.  She'd already downed one glass, and the half-empty
bottle sat on a small side table to her left.  It was a warm, summer
evening.  Her apartment stood on the gentle slope of a hill, and she looked
down on the lights of the city below.  She'd turned off all the lights in
her apartment, and now she sat in the dark, pleasantly buzzed, recovering
from the insanity of the day.  An hour earlier she had finished a long
conversation with Kimmy, who coaxed every detail out of Shanaya of her
experience at Intex.

   "You're going to do it, aren't you?" she asked.

   "I don't know," Shanaya said.  "Would you?"

   "If I were you, yes."

   "Easy for you to say.  You're not me."

   "I know.  You're right.  But think about it, Shanaya.  Think about the
money they're going to pay you.  You'll be able to pay off your debts.  You
don't have to do it, like, forever.  And it's so . . .  hot!  Oh my god, it
almost makes me wet just thinking about it."

   "Well, it terrifies me.  I still can't imagine doing it.  But the money
is great.  I admit."

   "Let me know what you decide," said Kimmy.  "But girlfriend, if you take
my advice, do it.  I know it seems crazy.  But do it."

   "I'll let you know," Shanaya said, noncommittal.

   They hung up and Shanaya took her wine to the balcony to relax.

   She'd been sitting there, ever since.

   A gentle breeze washed over Shanaya.  She still wore the dress she'd
worn to her Intex interview.  Her feet were up, on the balcony railing, and
the breeze kissed the skin of her thighs under her dress.

   She was aroused.  The events of the day, the wine in her belly, and
seductive touch of the summer wind made her horny.  It had been a long time
since she'd had sex.

   Her phone pinged.  She had a text message.

   It was Kimmy.

   < Have you decided?

   > No.

   < What are you doing?

   > Hanging out on my balcony.  In the dark.  Drinking wine.

   < Are you naked?

   > No, of course not!  Why would you ask that?

   < It might help you to decide.  Can anyone see you?

   Shanaya scanned the scene before her.  There were other apartment
buildings around her, not far away, but the windows she saw were either
dark or obscured by blinds.  She texted back.

   > I don't think so.  I'm in the dark and I don't see anyone.

   < Get naked.

   > Why would I do that?

   < If you take the job, you're going to be naked all the time.  Get naked
and see how it feels.  Make your decision when you're naked.

   > I love you but you are a nut.

   < Love you too.  Good luck with your decision.  Got 2 run.  Bye bye.

   > Bye Kimmy.

   Shanaya put her phone down, on the table, and sat quietly on her
balcony. A feeling of peace and calm came over her, the first she'd felt in
a long time.  But peace wasn't all she felt.  She felt a tingle of arousal,
coming from between her legs, spreading over her body.

   It had been a long time since she'd had relief.  She needed it, now,
more than ever.

   Shanaya thought about what Kimmy had said.  She looked around.  No one
was in sight.  Many apartment windows faced her, but most were dark, and
she saw no sign of anyone.  Besides, her balcony was in the dark.





   She lifted off her chair and grabbed her dress, pulling it up, off her
body, over her head.  She sat on the balcony in her panties and bra.

   She had never undressed on her balcony before.  It had never occurred to
her to do so.  She wasn't an exhibitionist and she had no innate desire to
get naked in front of other people.  But the weird events of the day left
her agitated and horny.  Many people - how many?  She didn't know - had
seen her completely naked, cantering through the Intex office hallway.

   Naked.  She'd been naked.  In front of so many people.  It seemed like a
dream.

   The wine helped calm her down.  She took another gulp and set the glass
on the little table.

   She unhooked the bra and let it fall to the balcony floor.  Then she
rose off the chair, hooked her fingers around her panties, and pulled them
down and off her legs.

   Shanaya was completely naked again, this time in solitude, in the dark.
She'd never done this before.  But after the day's activities, sitting
naked on her balcony in the dark seemed like a mild thing to do.

   She put a hand over her breast, caressing it.  A quarter moon overhead
bathed her body in pale light - not enough, she thought, to make her
visible to anyone around her, but enough that her body was visible to her
own eyes.  The soft touch of her hand on her skin felt good.  Her hand
snaked down her torso, over belly, and down between her legs.  She traced a
finger up and down the length of her slit.  She was wet already.

   A window in an apartment building across from her lit up.  The blinds
were open, and she could see inside what appeared to be a living room.  A
figure entered the room.  She couldn't see the figure's features clearly,
from the distance, but it clearly was a man - seemingly young, tall, and
with blond hair.  He was staring at mail in his hand.  She guessed he'd
just come home.

   There was no way that the man, in a well-lit room, could see her from
his vantage point.  But it aroused Shanaya to know that she was nude and
that he was in view.  She opened her legs and put her feet up on the
balcony rail.  Had he been able to see her, he would have seen directly to
the junction of her legs, where her fingers moved at an increasing pace up
and down the folds of her pussy.

   Her pussy was on fire.  Pent up frustration and nervousness and arousal
from the day's events left her surprisingly horny.  After picking up
wetness from her insides, Shanaya moved two fingers over her clit and
rubbed it in small circles.  She considered going inside to get a toy, but
she didn't want to interrupt the fun she was having.  Besides, she didn't
want to take her eyes off the man in the apartment.  He was seated on a
sofa now, with a beer in his hand, evidently watching television.

   She imagined herself putting on a show for him, and it aroused her more.
Her fingers, pressed together, stroked her clit in fast, tight circles, and
her body responded.  It shivered, and she raised her butt off the seat of
the chair, pushing her clit against her fingers in response to the movement
of her fingers.

   If only Kimmy could see me, she thought.  I can't believe what's gotten
into me.

   It was a turn-on to stare through her open legs at the man across the
way, watching TV, oblivious to her lewd show.  She began to moan softly.

   She threw her head back and stared at the pale moon.  She spread her
legs farther apart and moved her fingers down, again.  Now she hooked them
inside her wetness, deeper and deeper, until two fingertips, pressed
tightly together, contacted the spongy mass of her G-spot.  She pulled up
with her fingers and pressed against it, simultaneously maintaining
pressure on her clit with her thumb.

   It felt good.  She hadn't tried a combination of pressure quite like it
before, and it was delicious.  Keeping up the pressure on her clit with her
thumb, she began stroking in and out of her pussy with her two fingers. 
Every time the fingers contacted her G-spot, she let out a moan.  The moans
started low and soft, but they gained in pitch and volume as she stroked
her fingers inside herself.

   "Unh . . .  Unh . . .  Unh."

   Reveling in her masturbation, Shanaya almost felt detached from herself.
After all she'd gone through that day, all the things she'd done that
previously she could never have imagined doing, she felt like a changed
person.  She didn't recognize herself.  And, to cap it off, here she was,
jilling herself while naked on her balcony in the moonlight, legs spread to
the world.  It was a strange - but delicious - end to the weirdest day of
her life.

   She kept stroking herself, thumb encircling her clit and fingers
urgently fucking her pussy to its depths.

   Soon she felt the orgasm coming.  She couldn't remember her last orgasm.
Her unemployment and financial distress had dampened her sex drive, and
most of the time she was too stressed out to think about getting herself
off.  But it was all she could think about now.

   The orgasm came.  Her body bucked against her hand.  She squealed with
pleasure.

   And then she felt an unfamiliar sensation - a gush of wetness over her
fingers, and a spray of drops on the inside of her thighs.

   She'd squirted!  She couldn't believe it.  She'd never done it before,
and was half convinced it was a myth.  But it wasn't.  She looked down at
her hand, soaked and dripping, and the drops of her girl cum gleaming in
the moonlight on her open legs.

   Her eyes refocused, and she looked at the apartment window across from
her again.  The light was still on, but the man was gone.  She wondered if
he'd gone to bed.  She wondered what he would think if he saw her.  She
wondered when she would see him again.

   And then she saw him - in the dark, on his own balcony, to the side of
the lit window.  He stood at the balcony rail, his face in silhouette,
turned to the sky.  He stared at the moon.

   He's a romantic, she thought.

   Her legs were still open, and if he looked her way he might, she
thought, be able to see her, through the slats of the balcony railing.  But
she didn't move.  She was too aroused and too curious to cover up.

   She didn't know what made her do it, but she stood up, away from her
chair, at the edge of the balcony, bracing her hands on the rail to either
side of her.  She said nothing and made no sound.

   After another minute of moon-gazing the man looked away from the sky, up
and across the way, to Shanaya.  She couldn't see his face clearly in the
dark - couldn't see his eyes - but she knew without doubt that he saw her.
She quelled the instinct to cover herself, instead gripping the rail
tightly with her hands to steady herself and keep herself on display for
her neighbor.  She was sure that in the moonlight he could see her full
breasts and bare torso, and if he looked carefully, he probably could see
her hairless pussy through the wood slats in the balcony rail.

   They stood quietly for a long time, looking at each other.

   Finally, Shanaya turned away.  She grabbed the wine bottle and glass and
re-entered her apartment.  She closed the blinds and turned on the light.

   Still naked, she fetched her phone from the kitchen counter.  She pulled
up Monica Stevenson's phone number and entered a text message.

   > I'll do it.