Dr Woohoo and the Sonic Pussy Probe

On my way through the door I bump into an Imperial Storm Trooper in full uniform. White body armour, sharply moulded pectorals, battle helmet with black downturned mouth and intimidating demon eyes. He looks like he has just finished a shift on the Death Star marching-around-looking-bossy.

As soon as he claps eyes on me, though, he lets out a girlish squeal, holsters his blaster and skips to give me an affectionate hug, lifting one foot from the floor as he does.

"Hiya Nick!"

I brush away the bead screen and step inside the shop.

The Storm Trooper takes my hands in his gauntlets and gives me a kiss on the cheek, although the unwieldiness of the helmet hampers his underlying tenderness. When Vader and the Emperor were designing those outfits they obviously didn't put enough thought into how easy it was going to be to kiss in them. When it comes to conveying human warmth they are a terrible handicap.

"Hello Gumdrop", I tell him, returning the peck on the cheek. "You off for a sandwich?"

"You betcha!" he gushes, "It's been absolutely fucking crazy in here this morning!" I can hear from his voice that behind those sinister triangle eyes he is rolling his own theatrically. "I don't know what's been going on! We had a rush of Star Trek people before coffee, and they didn't let up until nearly half eleven. It's been worse than fucking Star Fleet Command around here. Ridiculous!"

Gumdrop's body language is always effervescent, an his unashamedly camp mannerisms seem all the more incongruous from inside Storm Trooper battle garb. The Galactic Empire would certainly not approve.

"Stephanie in?" I enquire.

He taps me playfully on the chest.

"You know she is", he teases, "Because she wasted twenty fucking minutes swapping kissy-kissy texts with you when she should have been helping me do a costume fitting for some Klingons"

"Sorry about that", I shrug. "Hey - I still owe you a latte, don't I?"

"Don't worry Nicholas, I hadn't forgotten. Are you around on Friday?"

"Yep", I tell him. "I've only got one lecture, and that'll be finished by twelve"

"Well, you can pay me back then. Anyway - got to fly - the queues at that vegan place are a fucking nightmare, and I've got to be back here by two"

He skips away, turning briefly to give me a two-handed wave.

The interior of the shop is a science fiction fantasy. Running from right to left around the walls, and subdivided according to specific cult (Star Trek, Star Wars, Terminator, Doctor Who, etc.), the shelves run in multicoloured bands of merchandising that graduate from the mainstream to the serious investment:

1. Toys (for the kids, casual fans and seekers after novelty gifts. Action figures, mugs, pencil cases, lunch boxes, etc.)

2. Collectibles (toys for the grown-ups. Limited edition busts, rare figurines, prop replicas)

3. Graphic novels

4. DVDs

5. Clothing (mainstream - mostly t-shirts, but a few logo'd baseball caps)

6. Clothing (more extravagant - for fancy dress party-goers and amateur fetishists)

7. Deluxe costumes (licensed reproductions of iconic movie and TV outfits - stupidly expensive and within reach only of the most discerning and well-financed convention junkies. Or serious fetishists)

It is the deluxe costumes that get my attention. I remember seeing Stephanie pull this same trick the first time I set foot in the shop, and never tire of watching her signature stunt.

A couple of students come in and make a beeline for the costume mannequins standing to attention along the left wall. They gaze up at a full-size latex Batman, browse their way past Han Solo, the Joker, and stop to gawp at Neo's cassock-of-cool from the Matrix Reloaded.

It is a shame the Princess-Leia-in-Jabba's-Palace-bikini has been sold. Still I bet some lucky fucker is living the dream every night with his girlfriend tarted up in that. Fuck only knows - I would be. Actually, so would any heterosexual male or lesbian who ever watched 'Return of the Jedi'. Some fantasies are universal.

The students obviously aren't here to buy anything - they have just come in to admire the models: like a free trip to Madame Tussauds but featuring only cool characters you recognize. And let's be honest, who in their right mind would pay to see Liza Minnelli and Yasser Arafat, when they could pay homage in person to Captain Picard or Boba Fett for nothing?

My favourite bit coming up. Drum roll!

The last figure they get to takes their breath away, although they clearly can't quite place the costume. Stunning. Suicidally sexy. Her face revealing the ghost of Asiatic ancestry, neon pink hair cut into a sharp bob. An expression of unblinking come-on in her eyes, the irises of which are also day-glo pink. A ragged white t-shirt that looks to have been slashed and bloodied in some maniac attack falling over small breasts, draped with a fluorescent stringy top. A wide belt atop a PVC mini skirt that slicks to the hips like illuminous green oil. Then fishnets - strategically ripped in all the most mouth watering places to reveal glimpses of tattoos on ivory flesh. Culminating in patent leather Doc Martens in mock-crocodile.

"Whoa", breathes one of the students, "Who the fuck is this? What fucking movie is she in?"

The other can't tear his eyes from her body.

"Fuck only knows, my fellow", he replies, "But I am sure as fuck going to find that film and watch it until my fucking pause button caves in"

"Fuck me" The first guy looks like he needs to sit down, catch his breath and adjust his underpants, "This bitch is hotter than Princess fucking Leia in that slave girl bikini"

"Shit"

"Wow. Fuck fuck, fuckety-fuck"

"Man"

Thoughtful pause.

"Hey!" Eureka moment! "I tell you what - she looks a bit like that chick Hit Girl out of Kick Ass"

"Whoa - yeah! But, like, she had purple hair, didn't she?"

He gives his companion a frustrated poke to the shoulder.

"I didn't say she was Hit Girl, did I, twat? Just that she looks like her"

Nodding. "Yeah, yeah"

"Cool and beautiful. Tight costume. Looks like she could kick ass big time"

"Oh fuck yeah. She is welcome to kick my fucking ass any time"

A sudden look of misgiving passes over his face.

"No, wait!" he snaps, hitting his friend again, "But, Hit Girl was, like only fucking eleven years old!"

"Oh, fuck, yeah". Blundering into dangerous waters here, gentlemen. In need of an exit strategy.

"So this one is, like, as hot as Hit Girl is going to be when she grows up"

"Oh yeah". Close escape. "Fucking hot"

As always Stephanie chooses her moment to perfection. One minute the ass-kicking mannequin with the pink hair is motionless plastic, and the next it has sprung to life and stabbed a finger into one of the student's chests.

"I only think it fair to warn you", she says, "that you ought to exercise greater caution when sexualizing a pubescent girl in a public place"

Bill and Ted jump back electrocuted.

"Oh fuck!" they blurt in stereo.

I always love it when she does this. Stephanie has the astonishing talent to freeze herself solid for minutes on end, unblinking and without any sign of life. It is her favourite trick in the shop. Whenever there are no customers to serve she solidifies herself amid the costume models and waits to scare some unsuspecting customer out of his skin.

She steps forwards and links an arm through both boys.

"I accept that Hit Girl's costume is more adult in its tailoring than I would usually approve of for an eleven year old"

The students don't know what has hit them. I lean back against the counter enjoying the free show.

"And I certainly don't approve of your reactions to her outfit. However, I am prepared to concede that Hit Girl is inarguably precocious in many ways - ahead of her years in large part owing to her exceptional upbringing"

The students are trying to back away towards the door. Stephanie doesn't release her hold on them, but walks elegantly into their stumbling retreat.

"Her mother savagely murdered by gangsters, leaving the child to be raised alone by her embittered father, himself a delusional fantasist and super hero. You must understand, I am referring to the cinematic interpretation of the character as opposed to the graphic novel original, in which her mother is eventually revealed to be alive and well"

The slack-jawed boys are nodding confusedly.

"Against the backdrop of extreme martial arts and heavy-duty weaponry that characterized her upbringing, Mindy Macready's childhood could hardly be expected to follow mainstream developmental patterns for a young girl. And, furthermore, you could argue that her Hit Girl costume is obliged to be overtly stylized to reinforce her role as a super hero"

The boys have reached the door, and bumble backwards through it. Chuckle Chuckle Vision!

"Because, let us not forget, every hero needs their costume. Irrespective of the medium - film, novel, TV - the hero characters need their signature style. They have to be immediately recognizable - from any distance and in any lighting. Distinctive, and utterly unmistakable"

The students make a run from the onslaught of the neon apparition, as aroused as they are intimidated.

"And the same principles apply equally to the design of costume for the villains"

Stephanie gives them a cheery wave with a fingerless spider web glove.

"Be sure to come back next Tuesday - if our delivery is on schedule we ought to have a rubber Catwoman suit and an original 1960's Cyberman helmet"

She closes the door, flips the bolt shut, and leans back against the glass. Then she flashes me a delicious wink and blows a kiss that takes my breath away.

"Let's shut up shop for lunch", she says.

She clicks over to me, gently strokes my cheek with a finger and gives me a tempting kiss on the lips.

"Have I got a treat in store for you, Doctor!"

That's certainly what I'd been hoping for.

I ought to point out that I am not really a Doctor. This whole 'Doctor' business is a game that we have taken to playing. More will be revealed - but suffice to say it turns Stephanie on like a drooling psychopath, so I have no complaints.

A lunchtime with Stephanie can never disappoint, but today my expectations are blown out of the water by the surprise that she has lined up for me.

"Close your eyes", she instructs.

She doesn't have to tell me twice. Eyes shut.

I hear her move behind the counter and bustle around with what sounds like paper or card. There is a rip of packing tape, and for a moment it crosses my mind that she is planning to truss me up somewhere like a Sci Fi gimp. I wouldn't put bondage tape past her, but in a shop window over the lunch period? That would be a tricky one to explain to my wife when it came out on the local news.

My throat tightens in anticipation and it takes that extra bit of willpower to keep my eyes closed.

More rustling around over to my left, and a mischievous giggle. What is she cooking up? Certainly nothing I could tell my wife about, that is for sure. Well, I hope not anyway.

Click click click. Slowly and deliberately she moves back towards me. I can sense the tease in her pace; visualize that mini skirt creasing as she catwalks towards her blinded prey. My mental camera angle swoops up and around, hovering a few feet behind the back of her head and giving me a gorgeous view of that ass as it makes taut reflections across the latex of the skirt.

Slow and commanding. Feline. The intensity of those pink eyes prickles my face as she draws closer. I can practically see them blazing through my eyelids. When Stephanie talks of alluring screen villains she certainly knows her stuff.

A sudden kiss on my throat takes me off guard and I give a startled jolt. I hadn't realized how close she was. A cunning stalker, this one. Beautiful kitten. Playful but deadly.

She caresses my throat again, brushing my ear lobe and following the jaw line down to my chest with a tender series of feathery tickles. I shiver with each kiss, and in the increased perception of the darkness hear the sharp intakes of my own breath.

She brushes against my hair as she starts to lift something over my head. A blindfold? My stomach flutters with a sensation like schoolboy nerves, while my cock rouses in more adult anticipation.

She definitely has something material in her hands. I feel its weight as it tickles the back of my head and comes to rest against the back of my neck. Not a usual blindfold. Thicker, longer. Much longer, actually, as I can actually feel its weight falling against my knees, then my ankles, while at the same time coiling against my belly.

A moment of revelation. Surely it couldn't be?

"Now Doctor", she purrs, "I am going to let you open your eyes and see what I have for you"

I refrain from snapping my eyes open - instead allowing myself to savour the anticipation. I can't stop the smile spreading across my face, though, as I have a pretty good idea of what I am going to see when I ease my lids apart.

And what I see when my eyes are finally wide open surpasses my happiest expectations.

It is a Doctor Who scarf.

But not just a Doctor Who scarf! Not the original fourteen-foot pattern worn by Tom Baker in seasons twelve and thirteen. No, no! Nor the ten-foot duplicate introduced in season fourteen and worn intermittently through season fifteen. Nor even the masterpiece of seasons sixteen and seventeen - which saw the glorious return of the original scarf, this time sewn onto its duplicate and coming in at twenty feet.

No indeed. For what I currently have around my neck is the radical redesign of season seventeen, knitted in three shades of burgundy and the longest model worn during the tenure of Tom Baker, surpassing all predecessors at a mighty twenty-six feet.

My God! Literally. If I think back to being ten years old there was only one figure worthy of religious worship, and he had a demented mass of curls, a smile that lit up the universe, and a magnificent long scarf.

Stephanie knows me well. She doesn't take the comfortable route. She knows this scarf represents a profound artistic conflict in my soul. You see, although for me the burgundy scarf is the pinnacle of Dr Who scarf designs, I can never overcome the sadness that the quality of the episodes in season seventeen itself was actually pretty ropey.

"Well", I laugh, "Looks like a lunch break with a Time Lord for you"

She lowers her eyes in mock coyness.

"Just what I was hoping for"

I look down at the scarf. Mighty fine! I can hardly resist myself.

"Well, young lady", I tell her, casting my eyes around the shop at the countless Science Fiction artifacts, and dropping into character, "You are fortunate indeed that I happened upon you when I did"

The game playing begins. Stephanie is always a sucker for role-play.

"Fortunate?" she drops into wide-eyed innocence, "Whatever can you mean?"

"Miss, today you have blundered into a situation of the deadliest peril. If you look around this place". I sweep my hand in the direction of the costume mannequins, "you will see that you are surrounded by lethal enemies".

She glances about in mock horror and raises her hands to her cheeks.

"Behold", I say, indicating the full-size Dalek that dominates the window display, "No less than my deadliest foes have you in their targets"

She gasps.

"And furthermore", I point to a shelf arrayed with rubber masks from a hotchpotch of sci fi, horror and fantasy. "This Dalek vanguard has brought with it an army of malevolent associates. There you will see, ranged against us, the forces of Jason Vorhees, Michael Myers, the Penguin, Pennywise the Clown and even - if I am not mistaken - a Tyrannosaurus Rex"

She flings herself into my arms, and I envelope her confidently in the scarf.

"But, what can we do?" She gives a wonderful squeal and a sexy hop. "We are hopelessly outnumbered!"

I reassure her with a protective kiss to the forehead.

"Have no fear", I scoff, "For I am the scourge of each and every one of these creatures - be they of extraterrestrial or Earthly origin. I have encountered all of these wretches before time and time again. On every occasion I have emerged victorious, while their evil schemes lie in tatters around them like wet toilet tissue. Towards me, each and every one of these creatures harbours a profound terror. A few minutes at my hands and they find themselves brushing the dust off their backsides and grovelling for First Aid kits"

"But who are you who can strike such awe into such a legion of Hell?'

I pause for effect.

"I am known only as Doctor WooHoo - brilliant-yet-quirky intergalactic hero and kicker of alien bottoms!"

She looks again at the host of enemies that surround us. "What do you suggest we do, Doctor? How can we extricate ourselves from this peril?"

"Hmmmmm". I point to the door that leads through to the office. "My centuries of time travel experience tell me that we should seek refuge behind the protective defenses of that door"

And without further ado I sweep her up in and carry her through to the office, kicking the door shut behind us.

I sweep a pile of graphic novels off the desk, elbow the PC keyboard out of the way, and deposit Stephanie sprawling over the tabletop. She is not wearing any knickers under her tights, and the Doctor gets a delicious glimpse of pussy through the black mesh that sets his mouth watering and stiffens his cock further.

"But Doctor! Won't that Dalek and its evil forces work out how to operate the door handle and pursue us in here?"

"Under normal circumstances you would be correct. That door would usually afford us a stupidly inadequate level of protection. However, I have a tool here in my trousers that that will offer us extraordinary protection"

She is all ears.

I reach into my pocket and flourish out a long metallic object.

"What these scary monsters do not know is that I possess a powerful sonic device"

Stephanie eyes the device with considerable interest, for a moment forgetting to stay in character.

"What's that?"

She didn't know this was coming, and I relish her feeling of surprise as I start to steal away her upper hand.

"This, my dear companion, is my trusty sonic probe"

Actually it is a new G Spot vibrator with clitoral stimulator that I ordered online:

1. Because Stephanie guarantees the most intense of screaming orgasms when I bring out the sex toys.

2. Because it's slim metallic design and scarlet tip reminded me of the 1970s design of sonic screwdriver.

"Ooh - Doctor!"

Ooh la la, Doctor!

"Doctor - what do we do now? I'm afraid to look"

Inspiration strikes.

I uncoil the scarf from my collar and wrap it twice over Stephanie's eyes.

"Here - this improvised blindfold will prevent you from seeing anything that might cause you unnecessary distress"

As she wriggles herself comfortable against the wood, her skirt rides up, teasing me with the ghost of her slit through the tights. I press my hand flat on her pubis and begin to stroke between her legs with my thumb.

She gives a deep sigh as I trace the line of her cunt, and the taut muscles of her stomach contract as she rolls her hips.

"But, Doctor, what are you doing?"

"Fear not. On my extensive travels through time and space I have become adept at physiology. By manipulating this completely natural pressure point on the human body I aim to reduce the anxiety you are experiencing under these hazardous circumstances"

She is already soaking through the fishnet, and with each stroke I run my thumb deeper into her flesh, first encircling her clitoris, and then softly criss-crossing its warm luxury.

Stephanie is always unashamedly vocal about her pleasure, and by now is already mewing loudly.

I pull my palms back to her knees and start to stroke the undersides of her legs, like a masseur pushing deeper and harder with each fluid movement, the balls of my hands kneading into the firmness of her thighs. I gently pull her towards me, so that my cock catches the thrill of her cunt even through our clothing.