I pushed the door and felt a wet slap on the back of my neck. I jumped nervously and, with trepidation, felt for the item that had struck me. The tomato was still there clinging to me. Wiping it off I turned to angrily regard the row of scantily clothed women with placards, one of whom was staring at me defiantly. The woman, in leopard skin leggings, a tight purple skirt and a bikini top carried a board with the legend 'Real love is the only love.' Her companions' boards said 'HOR' and 'Hookers Opposing Robots.' The leopard skinned hooker leered at me as I, mustering a small modicum of dignity, cleaned my neck with a tissue and entered the building. Cabbages and further vegetables rained onto the other side of the glass door behind me.
The receptionist regarded me sympathetically from behind her desk and over her spectacles. "You poor thing," she said, then laughed. Feeling humiliated, and almost beginning to regret coming, I strode as confidently as I could to the desk, my feet tripping on a mat on the way and almost sending me headlong into the desk counter. Recovering quickly I gave my name and asked for the bathroom. I was given a quiet moment to clean up before my Personal Product Liaison Officer, as he was called, Mr Priest, came to collect me.
In the bathroom I washed my face and neck, brushed my thick auburn hair and examined myself a little. The stress from the encounter showed on my round, pale face. The make up seemed to be doing little that day to disguise my forty years. Mind you, I was still slim and my small breasts were still reasonably pert. My nipples poked perkily against my pink top. I was already feeling a little horny, knowing what I was about to do.
Mr Priest, "Call me Jim," a handsome, slim, debonair man in his sixties was already waiting for me and he took me down a quiet corridor, through the airy, white walled building to his office towards the rear of the building, away from the noise of the protesters. "Miss Huppert tells me you had an unfortunate experience just outside," said Jim as we walked.
"What?" I asked. "Oh yes, you could call it that."
"Dreadfully sorry you had to put up with that," he said and seemed genuinely concerned. He looked like an ageing pimp in his silver buckled shoes, his faux diamond belt buckle and ear stud and his pencil moustache. Either a pimp or a ballroom dancer, I thought. He flashed me a blinding white grin, showing me how sincerely concerned he was.
His office's enormous window looked onto the beautiful lush garden with its multi tiered fountain, flower beds and marble statues of naked men and women. A huge swimming pool and patio could be seen to the left where a couple were lying together in a small inflatable raft. That made me slightly nervous. I ain't doing it out there, I thought, for this pimp and his cronies to gauge my customer satisfaction.
