The warm smell of coffee and baked goods and the low murmur of conversation fed my delusions of being a writer in the mold of Hemingway during his Parisian days. That, truth be known, is why I worked in a café. It may also have been why, despite the fact that my laptop was always up and running, I was as often as not scratching out ideas with a fine tip pen into a journal rather than typing. The sounds of silver clinking on china and cups wobbling on saucers were lacking, but otherwise my local Starbucks was at least a simulacrum of Hemingway's Pré aux Clercs. Of course, in Hemingway's day, two or more people would have sat down at a table and talked across it, but today, except for the baristas and the customers at the counter, no one was actually talking to anyone else on the premises. They were all talking to and texting with others, via cell phones and PDAs, who were miles away.
I wrote the preceding diatribe for two reasons. First, I was sitting in just such a café outlining a story on my scratch pad when I saw the little pop-up box out of the corner of my eye that indicated that I had a new email. Said email was the starting point for this little tale. Second, it is useful for the reader to note that I am not precisely one who practices the wild and crazy lifestyle exhibited by many of my characters. Instead, I might best be described as bookish and cerebral, but with a mischievous streak and a borderline disturbing sense of humor. I was just a daydreamer with an overactive imagination who was trying to work the defects out of his writing. That is the necessary context for the events that followed.
I checked my email, and there was an unusual message in my inbox. It read: "I loved your story entitled 'Stern Task Master'. I've been hoping to be taken by a master like the one you describe. I don't ever do this, but I was wondering if you knew of someone who was looking for a sub. I noticed in your profile that you are from Indianapolis too, and figured you might be in contact with others who follow the lifestyle. Do you have a sub? I'm sorry if this is too forward. As I said, I've never done anything like this before, but am desperate."
The little devil in me began to type a reply.
"I only consider subs who show some commitment. If you want to be considered, you need to get a shirt that has just six little letters and an apostrophe on it. You can make it or have it made, but it should say, simply, 'I'm A Toy.' It needs to be in big print so it can easily be read and should take up most of the front of the shirt.
"Next, you need to go to the big mall downtown on Saturday for two hours from 3:00pm to 5:00pm. You need to walk all floors and go in at least twenty shops." I continued typing my directions.
"Now if at any point during that two hours any adult approaches you and asks about, or comments on, the shirt, you are to recite the following poem: 'I'm a toy for fucking; For spanking and sucking; Oh, if you should take me; Just please do not break me; But bend me and breach me; And punish and teach me'"
I then hit "Send", confident that this would be the last that I heard from this person.
Two days later, it was on a Thursday, I got an email from the same address. By now I had almost forgotten about this person, and was certain that she had concluded that I was daft and moved on with her lives. Hopefully, she would not be too tormented by my sadistic humor. I figured she, like me and nearly everyone else, were just in it for the thrill. Who would go to a popular shopping mall in early December- right before Christmas- at one of the busiest shopping times of the week wearing a shirt proclaiming to the world that she was an amusement device? Particularly, who would do it if an inquiry by any adult, of either sex, would result in her having to recite an embarrassing dirty little rhyme? It was her hometown, and the probability of running into someone she knew in this medium-sized city could not be inconsequential. It was madness.
And yet... When I opened the email there was a file attachment. It was a photo. The text of the email said simply: "Is this OK?" I opened the file to see it was a photograph of a white T-shirt laid out on a colorful stripped bedspread that had a simple declarative sentence on it. In bold black block letters arranged in three lines of one word each, it said: "I'm A Toy."
Was she calling my bluff, or was she really planning on playing this out? I wondered. If it was a game of chicken, I couldn't very well swerve first. Against my better judgment, I wrote a response that said: "It's fine, just make sure you don't cover it up with another garment. Of course, you'll need to wear a skirt that is above the knee and no panties. I'll be watching you."
A one word reply came almost immediately. "Understood."
Saturday came soon enough, and it was a beautiful day. Azure skies streaked with high wispy white cirrus clouds were clear and vivid. The air was crisp. It was more like a mid-autumn day than winter. By December, Indiana winter weather could easily be freezing and snowy, and so this was a nice respite.
I decided that I had to make a trip to the mall out of severe curiosity - though I really doubted the woman would have the nerve to go through with the entire exercise. After about an hour, at almost 4:00pm, I saw a woman ambling my way with a white shirt with black block letters that said "I'm A Toy." She had a green sweater on that was long in the back, but it did not close across the front and left the message unobstructed.
She was a bosomy soccer-mom of about 40 years old. She had auburn hair worn shoulder length and styled in a comely manner. She was definitely prettier than I expected, and I found myself getting aroused as I watcher her. Not one to be put off by a few curves, I tried to imagine the pendulous orbs and round buns obscured by her clothes.
At first I had an irrational fear that she would pick me right out of the crowd, but then I realized that she was trying to avoid eye-contact. It was, therefore, relatively easy to observe her without a risk of being observed. I was able to trail her for almost an hour. She did exactly as I requested walking the entire mall, and frequently going into stores. Despite seeming a little nervous, she did precisely as she had been told.
In fact, I followed her around until about five minutes before 5:00pm arrived, and brought with it the end of her commitment to spend time in the mall. She had worked her way around such that she was getting closer to the parking deck as 5:00pm approached. The woman was in the home stretch when I tapped her on the shoulder and startled her. I hadn't planned on contacting her, but after seeing her, and the attendant arousal resulting from my strange attraction to busty red-headed motherly types, I couldn't help myself.
