Accessibility Compliance

Ingredients list (mild spoilers)

1 cup voyeurism

1 cup cis-male/cis-female sexting

1/2 cup cis-male/non-binary mutual masturbation

1/4 cup gratuitous HTML

Extra special thanks to both

YmaOHyd

and

SinclairGroupLLP

for beta-reading and brainstorming on this weird little excursion!

I love receiving comments, feedback, ratings and favorites, they motivate me to keep writing!

Log into AccessPro

Content Management System

Login: Scout.Harris

Password: **********

Explaining my job is a pain in the ass. It's my second-least-favorite topic of conversation, after trying to explain being non-binary to someone who doesn't believe in pronouns.

The average neighbor, relative, or hair stylist doesn't know what web accessibility is. I have a little elevator pitch memorized, sufficient explanation to satisfy most people such that they stop asking and move to a different topic of small talk. So:

Not everyone experiences the internet in the same way. Some people are colorblind. Some people have physical impairments and can't use a mouse. Some people are deaf or hard of hearing. Some have low vision, or are completely blind. They might use assistive technology like a screen reader, which literally reads the content of a website out loud to them.

Web accessibility means making online content more usable for more people. My job is to write alt text. Alternative text is a brief description attached to an image and graphic, and it's one of the tools we use to make the Internet more accessible.

AccessPro provides on-demand accessibility compliance for hundreds of schools, businesses, and governmental organizations. Any time one of our clients' users records a video, uploads a picture, builds a fucking pivot table, we're here to create captioning, write alt-text, or put a header row tag on it.

Is it an exciting job? No. But does it pay well? Also no. But it's easy for me. I'm good at it. Fast, thorough, efficient. It's very meditative, very zen.

Madison: Heyyy Timmm 🥰 Good morning!!

Tim: Hello Maddy! How's the trip so far?

Madison: <img src="IMG_8782.heic">

The interaction pops up in my work queue. A private Teams conversation at a non-profit somewhere in Oregon, CascadiaTides. Their org pays for premium tier, maximum accessibility compliance, so even a DM between two employees gets checked and remediated by a human being. I see the HTML code of an uploaded image file. Then the image opens in a pop-up, along with a box for me to add alt text.

Writing good alt text is more of an art than a science. You have to be concise but descriptive. Specific and evocative, but dispassionate and analytical.

You need to know what's important about an image in the context in which it's presented. The alt text for a picture of a sailboat is going to be very different depending on if the picture belongs on a boat auction website, or an official.gov page for the Coast Guard, or a tumblr page full of inspirational memes about freedom and integrity.

AI can do some of this. It can distinguish an apple from a banana, a camel from a zebra. But when it comes to nuance and context and indexicality, it shits the bed. So I've still got a job, at least until the next version of ChatGPT comes out.

My practiced eye takes in the image, then I start typing.

<img src="IMG_8782.heic" alt="

A selfie of a young woman on a rocky beach, wearing a wetsuit.

">

I click Submit.

She's cute, short and athletic like a gymnast. I clock her at early twenties, maybe a little younger than me. Tanned, short brown hair in a tomboyish pixie cut, a killer smile. She's wearing a wetsuit that exposes her toned forearms and legs.

Tim: Nice! Looks amazing there.

Who did you go with?

Madison: Me, Myself and I,

the beach was totally empty!

I did some skinny dipping 😈

Tim: Oh really! Prove it.

Madison: <img src="IMG_8793.heic">

<img src="IMG_8793.heic" alt="

A selfie of a nude woman standing in waist-deep water.

">

Damn, she

is

cute. Her breasts are small, perky, firm. Her areolas are puffy and luscious, nipples small and pink and erect in the cold ocean water, goosebumps everywhere. Her exposed, intimate skin is pale and milky, with sharply contrasting tan lines in the intertidal zones of her arms and shoulders.

She really should not be sending this on a work channel.

I could click the Report button and flag it as inappropriate content. Their conversation would leave my queue, and their HR department would get a notification. I don't want to get this girl into trouble, though...

Tim: Oh fuck! That's so hot,

now you've got me hard at work.

Madison: prove it 😍

Tim: <img src="IMG_250721_001.jpg">

<img src="IMG_250721_001.jpg" alt="

A man's khaki pants with a noticeable bulge in the groin.

">

Shit. This is escalating. They're egging each other on. I don't have any way of communicating with them. I can't send them a message,

"Hello, human here, I'm seeing everything you're doing right now, please stop."

If I close the work queue, the job will just go to one of my coworkers. The activity log will show that I already processed three pictures in the job. I do not want to have that conversation with my teammates.

Looks like the only way out is through.

If I keep captioning their pictures until they finish the interaction, the ticket will close. It's not likely to get audited, nobody will ever know. Just another resolved ticket in my productivity stats, nothing wrong with that!

Madison: Mmm can I sit on your lap 🤤

well now you've got me going too,

my nipples are all hard

Tim: Prove it ;)

Madison: <img src="IMG_8894.heic">

<img src="IMG_8894.heic" alt="

A close-up of a woman's chest, wearing a green polo shirt. Her nipples are erect and pressing against the fabric.

">

The lighting in the picture makes me think sunlight. She must be outside. Field work of some kind? She looks like a Clean the Ocean, Save The Whales kind of girl. She isn't wearing a bra, probably never wears a bra. Probably has strong opinions about bras as a tool of the patriarchy.

I pop up from my desk and peek over my cubicle. It's Monday morning, nobody is in a chatty mood, everyone is head-down at their work. If I keep my earbuds out, I should be able to hear if anyone is coming my way and tab out of the work thread in time.

Tim: Damn girl, u r trouble :D

Madison: 😇 What are you going

to do about it, old man?

Tim: <img src="IMG_250721_002.jpg">

<img src="IMG_250721_002.jpg" alt="

A man standing in front of a bathroom mirror. His pants are unzipped and his erect penis is exposed.

">

Shit, Tim is a total DILF. A little old for me, I'm guessing early fifties? But he's in good shape, long and lean and a little muscly. A thick bush of soft-looking pubic hair, nothing wrong with that. His cock looks like a healthy size, not scary huge, not laughably small, but it is rock hard.

He's got kind eyes, a nice smile, a little bit of stubble, a generous pinch of salt in his pepper.

My heart is pounding hard in my chest.

Madison: Yessss daddy

will you stroke it for meeee

Tim: Could use some more inspiration ;)

Madison: <img src="IMG_8897.heic">

<img src="IMG_8897.heic" alt="

A woman's hand held up to the sky. A strand of clear, viscous fluid is stretched between the index and middle fingers.

">

My mouth floods with saliva, and I can't help but imagine licking this girl's fingers clean for her.

In my mind she's pushing them into my mouth, touching the back of my neck with her other hand, telling me to suck them.

Tim: God you tease

Madison: Touch it

Tim: <img src="IMG_250721_003.jpg">

<img src="IMG_250721_003.jpg" alt="

A man sitting in a bathroom stall, grasping his erect penis.

">

I can see his expensive-looking watch. No wedding band. His fingers are thick and strong... So is his cock. A little bead of precum is visible on the tip.

Now I'm imagining myself kneeling in the bathroom stall with him, licking his crown, polishing it attentively.

His strong fingers would grab a handful of my bright blue hair. The part that isn't shaved, anyway. Classic androgynous haircut, you know the type.

Maybe Madison is there too, watching me. Maybe she's commanding me, giving me directions.

I can feel a wet spot forming in my underwear. It's a good thing I'm wearing dark-colored jeans today.

Tim: Wish you were here...

Madison: two more weeks ♥️

are you missing this, daddy?

Madison: <img src="IMG_8902.heic">

<img src="IMG_8902.heic" alt="

A woman's vulva, spread open with two fingers.

">

It's an awkward angle, like she's leaning against a tree with her pants around her ankles. Her pussy is mostly hairless, just a patch of brown curls on her plump little mons. She's soaking wet, practically dripping.

Now I'm imagining myself on my knees in front of her, eagerly lapping up her nectar. Now Tim is the one watching, commanding. Maybe he calls me "Pet." I bet he's got a deep, reassuring voice, I bet he would give me goosebumps whispering orders into my ear.

A few of my friends teased me when I picked my new name. "Scout sounds like a dog's name."

Whatever. You try coming up with a good enby name that isn't just a tree or an herb or something. I don't feel like an Ash or a Basil. But the tomboy in To Kill a Mockingbird isn't the worst character in the world to latch onto when you're an angsty kid trying to figure themselves out.

Tim: Fuck maddy

ur going to make

me cum at work

Madison: 🥵🥵🥵

Do it, cum for me daddy!

Madison: <img src="IMG_8904.heic">

<img src="IMG_8904.heic" alt="

A woman's mouth with two fingers inserted.

">

Her lips are plump and glossy, her teeth are bright and white. One crooked little canine tooth gives her a cute roguish look. She's licking her fingers, the same ones that she was fingering herself with earlier.

I want to be in the middle of these two. I want to serve both of them at once, in whatever way they want. I want them to treat me like a toy, I want them to make love to each other while I sit on the floor next to them, ignored, watching, waiting to do whatever they command.

Tim: fuckk

Tim: <img src="IMG_250721_004.jpg">

<img src="IMG_250721_004.jpg" alt="

A splatter of pearly white fluid on a tiled floor.

">

Waste of a good cumshot, if you ask me. It could have landed in my mouth, on my face, on my glasses, on my ass...

Or on Madison, so I could lick it off of her. Or out of her.

Who am I kidding? I'd lick it off the tile floor if he told me to.

Madison: Wowww 😳

oops gotta run, breaks over!

Madison: <img src="IMG_8906.heic">

<img src="IMG_8906.heic" alt="

A young woman blowing a kiss.

">

What a little brat. What a daddy. I would let both of them do such terrible things to me.

In theory, at least. I've never actually been in the position to have terrible things done to me, never taken the chance to ask for what I want. Never wanted to freak out the handful of vanilla partners in my pathetic dating history.

The ticket closes. The thread and pictures disappear, automatically cleared from my computer's cache. All that exists now is an activity log on my end, alt text on their end, and a record that I closed a job.

Shit! I could have pulled out my phone, snapped some pictures of my monitor...

No, that would have been wrong, I don't have the right to save them. Probably would've been a huge legal liability, for that matter. I'll just have to keep it in the mental goon bank.

I get up and stretch, then casually saunter back toward the all-gender restroom down the hall. It's the single occupancy kind with a lock and a sliding Available/Occupied indicator. I've never rubbed one out at work before, never felt the need. But today...

"Hey Scout! Couldja come here a sec?" Stephanie pops her head up from her cubicle and waves me over. Stephanie's basically my work mom. Sweet Southern lady, gives me cookies sometimes, struggles with my pronouns a little but her heart is right. She stood up for me once when a former employee kept deadnaming me, so I'll love her forever.

Right now I just want to lock myself in the bathroom and tear my clothes off and take care of some business, but I can't say no to her. "Sure, Steph... what's up?"

"I'm having trouble with my queue... I swear, I have submitted alt text for this picture of a duck five times now, and it keeps kicking it back to me! I don't know whether to scream or... or quack!" She says with an exasperated chuckle.

"Sounds like a foul situation," I say. Stephanie loves bad puns, it's a little thing we do. "Did you try clearing your browser cache?"

"Yes, yes, you've drilled that one into me by now."

"Well done, my techie padawan. Can I try it, just to see what it's doing?"

"Knock yourself out, kid!"

She scoots back in her rolling chair to give me space to access her monitor. I get a whiff of her perfume, some kind of floral scent that I associate with older women. She's really rather pretty for her age. I've gotten glimpses of her generous cleavage a few times, and I do love her sweet calming voice with that little bit of Southern honey...

Shit! I'm so horny, I'm sexualizing Stephanie. I need to fix her computer problem and get to the bathroom. I look at her screen.

It's a picture of a duck. The context is a community newsletter for a township in Utah, advertising a spring concert series. I shrug and type in some appropriate alt text.

<img src="ducky&puddle.jpg" alt="

A cute duck standing in a puddle.

">

I click Submit. The job window disappears, and a new one pops up. It's the same duck.

"Huh. That's a weird one. Probably something going on in the CMS queue. I think you'll have to ask Jeremy in IT."

"Oh Lord... Bless his heart, I always feel like we're talking right past each other. Last time I had a problem it took, I kid you not, nine back and forth emails before I could get him to understand what I was asking for!"

She's not wrong. Jeremy is a nice guy, but he's the kind of IT guy who would probably prefer to live in the cavity between the walls of the building rather than talk to humans.

"Want me to go ask him? I speak a little IT, I can usually communicate successfully."

"Oh Scout, you make this stupid duck go away and I'll bring you a plate of chocolate no-bakes tomorrow!"

"Your offering is acceptable," I intone with a grin.

Shit, now I have to deal with this before I can get some relief. I walk through the cubicle maze, down the hall past the bathrooms -- so close, and yet so far -- into the IT den.

It's not that bad, as far as IT dens go. It's well lit, it doesn't stink. One wall is lined with wire shelves stacked with spare routers, keyboards, mice, gutted computer towers, and boxes of miscellaneous cables and adapters that might possibly some day be critically important, and so can never be thrown away.

Another wall is filled, floor to ceiling, with blinking humming server racks. It's the pulsing brain of AccessPro, without which we wouldn't have jobs. And Jeremy's the only person on-site who knows how it works, the shaman of the monolith.

I have to admit I find him rather cute. Tall, skinny, brown, awkward but in an endearing way. He looks gangly and uncoordinated, but his hands are graceful and strong and confident when he's typing or working on hardware. He usually wears a white Oxford button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his veiny arms.

I didn't think much of him when I first met him, but he's grown on me like an acquired taste, like the first time you taste black coffee. We eat lunch together sometimes in the break room, and talk about music and anime.

He's got some Emo Revival playing on his speakers, ironically self-aware songs about being lonely and midwestern, surprisingly catchy. Jeremy has a four-monitor battlestation behind the walk-up counter, angled so he can see when someone enters without the visitor seeing what's on his screen.

Unfortunately for Jeremy, I don't think he realizes that his big square glasses are highly reflective.

His eyes get wide when he sees me coming. "Oh! Um. Hey Scout!" He says hastily. He glances at one of his monitors. Reflected in his glasses, I see a flash of green fabric.

It's the same color as Madison's polo shirt from the sexting conversation. It's a very distinctive shade. Oh God he saw the pictures. He knows

I

saw the pictures. Shit.

I freeze in mid-stride, almost-but-not-quite up to the counter.

"Um... Hey, Scout! What's up?" He says, his voice cracking.

"Duck," my autonomic system manages to say, while my higher functions scramble to catch up.

"D- duck?"

"Stephanie's workstation is being weird she keeps getting served the same picture of a duck for alt text and no matter how many times she submits a caption the CMS gives her the same picture of a duck again," I blurt out like a terrified firehose. "She already cleared her browser cache."

Jeremy stares at me for a moment. "Did she try clearing her-- Right... Yes. Let me... look at her account log!"

The green of Madison's braless polo shirt selfie disappears from the reflection in his glasses, as he pulls up a different window and starts clicking around attentively.

Against my better judgement, I lean forward and peek over the counter, and I can see an obvious bulge in his pants. It's very noticeable. I find myself wondering how it compares to Oregon Tim's.

What do I do? We've both seen the CascadiaTides couple's

everything

. We both got turned on by them. We're both complicit, now.

I could kill him. No, that's no good. I could kill myself. No, I won't give my enemies the pleasure. Also I need to live long enough to acquire some enemies.

I could set the server room on fire. Break in at night and zero out the hard drives. Bribe Jeremy with all of the money I have in my savings account -- all 230 dollars. Seduce him and take pictures of our lovemaking to use as blackmail. Seduce and marry him so that he's bound by spousal privilege.

"Oh! Um, I see the problem! It's the ampersand."

I stare blankly at him, making an

'Okay, and?'

face until he realizes that more detail is required.

"'Ducky&Puddle.jpg.' There's an ampersand in the filename for the duck picture, and our database doesn't like ampersands. So instead of adding it to the bottom line of Stephanie's work log and moving to the next job, it throws up an error message and sends the duck back to her."

He opens a new window and starts typing swiftly, 80wpm at least. "I'm writing a quick little sanitising script to detect and remove ampersands in any incoming file names. Kind of surprised we didn't already have something like that already, I guess it just never came up... Okay, done! I'll send Stephanie a message in T- Teams letting her know it's been fixed."