Blue Cross Sale

It was my birthday - five, no six years ago. For almost a week Michael, my husband had been dropping hints about my 'special present' without giving me the slightest idea what it might be.

We drove into town late that afternoon, parking in the multi-storey behind one of the many huge department stores the city supported. I would usually only window shop here as the prices of the designer labels were prohibitively high for the likes of me. Still Michael and I often came to dress up in clothes we couldn't afford and I would emerge from the dressing room, looking and feeling a million dollars and my husband would shake his head and tell me that the outfit did nothing for me. We even once played our game at an exclusive wedding boutique; Michael posed as my gay friend and I tried on a dozen dresses, much to the frustration of the very attentive assistant and we eventually told her that we couldn't find anything suitable.

Michael glanced at his watch as I methodically rummaged through a hanger of dresses in the 'blue cross sale' -- 70% off everything, making them almost as realistic as normal high street prices. "The bank will be closing soon." He said matter-of-factly. "And we need to make that cash transfer before close of business." I'd already picked out a couple of dresses -- after all it was my birthday and he must have seen the disappointment on my face. "Why don't you finish off here and I'll meet you in the coffee shop down the street in, say an hour."

I smiled my gratitude and watched him being quickly consumed by the crowd before I returned to my quest for bargains. I found nothing else of any note and lingered around the handbags, knowing that I already had far too many to consider buying another. I meandered through shoes and boots, trying on several pairs, including a pair of thigh high boots of impossibly soft leather that a fetishist might choose without any intention of buying. But that's okay, I enjoy looking and trying on clothing far more than owning something that will probably be worn once or twice and spend the rest of its life hanging in a wardrobe.

I checked my watch -- 45 minutes gone, that gave me just enough time to walk to the little bistro and order our coffees, confident that Michael would, as always, be on time.

I paid for my dresses and stepped outside and the September breeze whipped around my ankles making my waxed and tanned legs sing and I felt a hand on my shoulder. I smiled assuming that my husband had intercepted me on the way to the café, but as I turned I was met by a stranger's face, a short, stocky man of about twenty five wearing a light grey suit and pimples that seemed ready to burst -- no it was a grey uniform.

"Excuse me miss, would you mind stepping back inside the store?"

I looked quizzically at him and seeing my confusion he continued. "I believe you have items in your bag that haven't been paid for."

"I'm sorry?" I laughed, scarcely able to believe my ears.

"If you'd step back inside I'm sure we can clear this up in a few minutes. Just a misunderstanding I'm sure, but I have to follow procedure." He recited from the security guards handbook.

I nodded, still somewhat confused. "Of course." Nothing of this kind had ever happened to me before and I allowed him to gently take my arm and lead me back inside, through a door marked private, along a narrow dimly lit corridor and into a small interview room. The cell (for that's how it felt) was clinical, with plastic cladded walls and a beige carpet with coffee and other stains evident upon it. Six spotlights were sunk into a polystyrene ceiling and despite their numbers, gave scant light or warmth. A desk stood near the centre of the room with a chair, plain and uncomfortable tucked beneath it and large mirror almost entirely covered one wall, through which I assumed interviews would be watched from without.

"If you would empty you bag on the desk please miss..." The young man asked officially and he took out the dresses and checked them against the receipt I'd offered him, and despite my reservations, I found myself soon afterwards turning out the contents of my handbag. A purse, sunglasses, a few coins a handful of receipts...

"What are you looking for, if you don't mind my asking?" I enquired as I paced around the floor nervously.

He opened my purse and took out my store card, reading the name on it. "A valuable ring has been stolen Mrs Brychan and you were seen at the jewellery counter. Of course, I'm sure you're not the culprit, but we have to check everyone."

"But I've not been to the jewellery section." I assured him

The man began to rummage through the contents of my bag and he smiled nervously in response.

"Satisfied?" I asked curtly when he straightened up empty handed.

"Would you excuse me for a moment?"

I packed my belongings back into my handbag and looked up as the man returned looking rather embarrassed.

"I'm afraid we need to search you. Of course we'll wait for a female store detective to become available, but that may take an hour or so."

"An hour! But I'm meeting my husband in 10 minutes."

"We can call him for you, explain that you'll be late..."

"He doesn't carry a phone." I shook my head. "Is there no way this can be done any quicker? It's my birthday and he's taking me for dinner."

"Well, I could search you, but you would need to sign a consent form."

"Anything." I snapped impatiently.

The man reached into the desk drawer and searched through various papers before finding the appropriate form. "You sign here and here." He pointed to the dotted lines on page 1 and 3 and I hurriedly signed without reading.

"If you would kindly undress to your underwear..."

"You're kidding right?"

But the young man remained stoic and stood in silent expectation.

Angrily I unzipped my short red dress and stepped out of it, laying it on the table and stepping back with my hands on my hips and my feet defiantly apart. I was rightly proud of my figure and the man's eyes remained fixed on me as his hands fumbled through my warm dress.

"Happy?" I asked incredulous.

He frowned and shook his head. "We're looking for a diamond ring. It could be hidden anywhere."

I felt my face burning, but a thought came to me. Michael was behind this; it was my special birthday present.

"Would you open your mouth please?" he said pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves.

I barely moved my lips but his thick fingers prised my jaws open, reaching inside to search every corner, without considering that I might have swallowed anything hidden in there.

"Would you remove your bra please?" He added. "And your shoes and panties."

I tried to look through the mirror to my husband's eyes beyond and considered that perhaps he had invited some of our friends to complete my humiliation and I must confess I found the idea incredibly arousing

I undressed, slowly handing my clothes to the young man who inspected each garment thoroughly.

"If you would lie on the desk." He said rather timidly and I lay back and spread my legs to save him the embarrassment of asking. The man lubricated his gloves with thick gel. A heavy finger entered me, searching for hidden contraband and when it came out empty, he moved to my anus, pushing his finger deep and painfully into me. I held my breath and closed my eyes.

His hand withdrew and I heard the snap of rubber gloves being removed and discarded. Looking first to the mirror and then to me he managed a weak smile and stammered. "You can get dressed and leave now Mrs Brychan."

I dressed quickly and hurried from the store -- thirty minutes late for my coffee with Michael. Of course I knew that if I hurried, I'd likely arrive before him as he'd not dream of leaving the security area without enjoying every last moment of my ordeal. I carried my high shoes so that I could run the few hundred yards to the coffee shop -- hoping to catch him in his duplicity.

I entered the café and quickly scanned the seated customers; there was no sign of Michael. No Damn --there he was at a table in the far corner, sitting and casually flicking through a newspaper that had been discarded by an earlier customer. I crossed the café and took my seat with a broad smile on my face.

"Thank you... " I said brightly. "... For my present."

"But I've not given it to you yet."

I grinned. "No? Are you sure about that?" I knew how he liked to play games with my mind. "I know you were behind the mirror."

"Mirror?"

"Ok I'll spell it out." I leaned closer so that no one might overhear. "You bribed one of the security guards and watched from behind a glass screen. Is that close enough?"

"When?"

"Come on Michael -- don't fuck with me. I know you too well. You've just had store security strip search me -- did you tell them I'd stolen something or perhaps that it was my birthday?"

A wicked grin crossed his face. "I walked across town to pick this up and came straight here." He placed a crimson velvet box on the table. And look -- my coffee is empty. I've been here 45 minutes."

I opened the box to find the most beautiful necklace of diamonds and Whitby jet and he showed me a receipt to prove he'd bought it while I was being searched. But even now, years later I cannot help but think he somehow orchestrated the entire thing. But to this day he has not confessed his guilt, letting me enjoy the memory of my adventure alone.