I work for a politician. I know! Right away that makes me suspect, but career wise it's a good move for me. One of the things I have to do is surveys. That doesn't mean I go from door to door asking people questions. Not if I can bloody help it. Ending your working day footsore, abused and unthanked is not for me, thank you very much.
No, I write the things. It takes quite a bit of skill to slant the questions to get the right answers. You have to remember, when we go out with these questionnaires we're not looking for your opinion. We want you to agree with our opinion so we can document it and present it as grass roots support.
Now being a conscientious type, I feel that before I send the worker ants trudging around from door to door I need to get out there and knock on a few doors myself, just to see how the voters really react to the questions and what the current hostility level is.
So this bright sunny day I'd reluctantly hit the road to start off the new survey. I knocked on a few doors, getting the standard refusals to answer the door, the slamming of the door in my face, hysterical laughter, hysterical crying, threats, etc...
Occasionally, I'd find a civic minded citizen who was willing to sit down for half an hour and go through the list as I presented the questions.
By lunchtime I'd had several responses and filled in some questionnaires, all of them saying, depressingly, that we were idiots and shouldn't be allowed to run a kindergarten, let alone a country. I could see that I was going to have to rephrase the questions, possibly along the lines of how hopeless the other mob were rather than how good we were.
I decided I'd get myself one more sucker to answer and then head back to the office and consult with the boss.
I knock on a door and redheaded breasts answered. That was my first impression, bright red hair and wonderful breasts that were really straining the buttons on her blouse.
Managing to widen the focus of my vision, it rather quickly registered that I was actually facing a young woman of about twenty five, lovely face, the aforesaid bright red hair, breasts that were somehow jammed into a blouse two sizes too small and daisy dukes that had to have been sewn on.
I trod firmly on my first inclination, swallowed my second and moved onto my spiel.
"Good morning," I said smoothly and warmly, smiling politely. "I'm Ronald and I'm conducting a survey on our political parties. Would you have time to go through the questionnaire with me?"
The young lady smiled at me and said "Certainly. I'm Beth. If you'll just show me some ID?"
That was a tick for her. I gave her my card and showed my driver's license. I told her she could ring the office and they would vouch for me. Also, if she cared to check the phone book, she'd see that the number I gave her did actually belong to a politician's office.
She just grinned, picked up a smart phone, shot me with it and messaged it to someone. She says that's an easy way to keep tabs on visitors.
We sat on a couch in the front room and started on the questionnaire, and she had fun giving me answers that she knew I wouldn't like. She could see through the spin on the questions and was able to come up with some pretty devastating comments, all of which I noted down. They'd give the boss something to consider.
She was also having a pretty devastating effect on my libido. She was actively flirting with me and giving me the come-on, but I soldiered on and got to the last page on the questionnaire. Then I asked her if she might have time for a few supplementary questions.
She was having fun with her teasing and agreed, so now it was my time to have some fun. I told her the first question was about the clothing industry. We had received complaints from a number of people about manufacturing standards. Apparently, the thrust of the complaints seem to be weak cottons, with buttons and seams bursting at inopportune moments.
As I said this I flicked the top button of her blouse with my pen, smiling as I did it. The results were spectacular. The button popped undone, and there was an immediate cascade effect, with those lovely breasts bursting forth as all the buttons yielded to the strain.
Did I mention that I had suspected she was braless? It was now blatantly obvious that my suspicions were correct. We both sort of sat back startled, and Beth may an attempt to bring the sides of her blouse together. Not a concerted effort, more like a feeble grab that sort of held the edges together while not hiding anything.
"I'll put that down as you've noticed some problems, will I?" I suggested, receiving an amused nod.
"Another question that has been concerned is whether breast implants should be covered my medical insurance. There is some argument as to whether they are purely cosmetic or if there is a psychological component to their use."
Beth shook her head. "It's not something that has ever concerned me," she said. "You may have noticed that I have been reasonably well treated by nature in that area."
I gave a flickering glance at her breasts and a dubious nod. Beth laughed at me.
"Really, Ron, if you want to check you should just ask. Not give me doubtful looks." She released her hold on her blouse and let her puppies swing free. "Feel them," she insisted. "You can tell that they're all natural."
With her insisting, I'd look timid if I refused, which is something a surveyor can't afford. Act timid and the interviewees will walk all over you. Act confident in all things. That's the shot.
So, at her insistence I careful checked out her breasts, and I had to admit that they were all her. Every luscious mouthful.
Don't get the wrong idea from that. I did not test her breasts by biting them. I just felt them very carefully, palpitating to ensure that there were no implants, and I didn't even notice that her nipples twitched and stood erect.
"OK," I said, "I'll put you down as no opinion for that question."
I paused, considering. "I had another question about hair dyes, but if that's your natural colour it would be a waste of time." I lifted an eyebrow inquiringly.
Beth laughed. "It's my natural colour," she admitted. "It's a bit startling I admit, and I've no real way to prove it."
"I assume by that remark you mean you shave, but it would have been most unprofessional of me to ask to check. I think I'll accept your answer as is."
"Now, my last question is about the prevalence of tattoos in society. Do you have any?"
