Mailgirl and More Ch. 01

"OK, Shanaya, now for the next part of the interview. Can you stand up, away from the table, and turn around slowly so the camera can record you?"

Shanaya stood up, more nervous than ever. She'd never applied for a job before that counted good looks as an explicit job criterion. She knew she was smart and could answer interview questions, but she had no confidence about passing this part of the exam. Her looks were unusual, and she couldn't imagine that she was what they were looking for.

After what seemed like an eternity, Monica stood up and cheerfully said, "OK. That's enough. Now we need you to do one more thing. You need to try on the uniform. We've selected one based on the measurements you gave us online. It's in the changing room right over there."

Monica pointed to a door at the side of the conference room.

Shanaya timidly entered the changing room. It was not much bigger than a closet, but it had full length mirrors on opposite sides of it and a counter with some cosmetics and a hand mirror. On one side of the counter lay the uniform: a top and a bottom, and two shoes.

Shanaya picked up the pieces of the uniform. She recognized the colors - green and blue and white - from the website. She had known from the website pictures that the uniform was skimpy, but it was a whole different matter seeing the uniform close, in her hands. It was tiny. It appeared to be made from a stretchy, shiny, breathable artificial fiber of some kind she didn't recognize. It didn't look much bigger than a bikini.

She stifled the thought that after years of education and academic honors she was trying on an outfit to get a job that would parade her around like a bikini model.

She took off her shoes and hung up her skirt and blouse on pegs on the wall. She looked at herself in the mirror, standing in her bra and panties. I'm really doing this, she thought.

She wasn't sure what to do next. The outfit came with no bra, but it was obvious that her bra would not work with the top - the top was so skimpy that the straps of her bra would show, and she was sure they didn't want that. She took off her bra and hung it up. Her full breasts stared back at her in the mirror. For some reason her breasts had always embarrassed her, although she'd been told by boyfriends that they were beautiful. It might be that they were big for a runner with a thin frame. She'd always needed a sturdy sports bra when she ran to prevent unwanted jiggling.

She pulled the top over her head. It was something between a sports bra and a crop top, as it stretched around her torso and ended a few inches below her breasts. What appeared to be an extra layer of thickness in the material beneath her breasts provided some support, but not much. Fortunately, Shanaya's boobs were naturally firm, and stood high and pointy with little sag.

But, speaking of pointy - Shanaya audibly gasped at the way the tiny top presented her breasts. Her nipples were large and pointy, and the outlines of them were clearly visible under the fabric, which almost seemed thinner over her nipples than elsewhere. She stood sideways to the mirror. No doubt about it, the profile of her nipples flared out conspicuously from her body under the skin-tight top.

She gritted her teeth, stopped looking, and picked up the bottoms. She pulled them up, over her legs, stretched them over her hips, over her panties. Fortunately, she'd picked skimpy, form-fitting panties, so the bottoms stretched over them and over her hips without too much effort.

The bottoms were skimpier than anything she'd seen anyone wear in public, except perhaps at a cross-country meet, or at the beach. The top edge barely hit her hip bone. The upper portion of the V of her inquinal crease was exposed. The inseam could not have been more than two inches. She looked in the mirror behind her, and the bottoms of her ass cheeks were exposed. She was glad that years of running had given her a firm tush.

Now, for the shoes. She looked at them quizzically. She'd never seen shoes like them. They were black, strappy, and high heeled. The heels must have been close to four inches. But they were solid, and the heel part gave a bit when she pushed her finger against it.

It took her a minute to figure out how to strap them on. When she finished, she looked up, staring at herself in the mirror in the completed ensemble.

She could barely believe that the girl looking back at her was her. To Shanaya's eyes, she looked like a stripper. She wobbled a little on the heels. Despite their height, they were more comfortable and more stable than she would have guessed, probably because of their design. Shanaya stared, struck dumb by the image that greeted her.

I can't believe I'm doing this, she thought.

"Are you ready?" Monica's voice called out from the conference room.

"Yes," said Shanaya, her voice thin and reedy.

She blushed at the thought of other people seeing her like this. She didn't know if she could go through with it. She put her hand on the doorknob, but she didn't turn it for a while.

I can turn back, she thought. I don't have to do this. I don't have to make a spectacle of myself.

But what else will you do? she asked herself in reply. You have no job and no prospects. You have bills to pay. It's only temporary. You'll do this until you get a real job.

She opened the door and walked back into the conference room, which seemed much brighter than before for some reason. She stumbled, almost, on the unfamiliar heels, but righted herself before falling. Monica and Dave stood nearby, and Bob stood back with the video camera, now recording her. Knowing that she was being recorded increased her nervousness.

"You look great, dear," Monica said. "Let's see you. Turn around a few times."

Shanaya turned around, concentrating as hard as she could on staying upright on the heels without stumbling again.

"Shanaya, you look splendid, but there's one thing," Monica said. "I can tell you're wearing panties. You'll need to take them off. The shorts are made to be worn without panties. Go back, take them off, and we'll get started then."

No panties? What? Shanaya tried not to show her surprise and dismay.

Back in the changing room, Shanaya shucked off the shorts, and then pulled her panties down until they dropped to the floor, pooling at her ankles.

She caught her reflection in the mirror. She was careful to keep her dark bush in a well-trimmed triangle above her vulva. It was her lips she was concerned about. She'd been told by lovers in the past that she'd had a pretty pussy, but she always fretted about it. Thin, wavy lips dangled slightly at the gap between her legs. She wondered whether they'd be visible under the shorts if unobscured by panties.

She'd have to find out. She pulled the shorts back up her legs.

The feeling of the form-fitting shorts against her pussy was arousing, and nerve-wracking. She stared hard in the mirror, and, while she couldn't see her pussy through the fabric, she could make out some of its shape. There was no lining in the shorts. They molded to her tightly enough that a dimple formed where her labia bulged and framed her cleft.

Her nervousness and embarrassment redoubled, she left the changing room again. Monica inspected her closely while the camera recorded her.

"Perfect," Monica said. "I know it may seem unusual, but it's supposed to be a tight fit. One other thing, though. You don't need to deal with it today, but if you get the job, you need to shave."

"Shave?" Shanaya asked.

"Shave. I can tell you have a patch of pubic hair from the way the fabric is raised slightly, here."

Monica pointed, her finger an inch from Shanaya's pubis.

"You need to shave that off, if you get the job. We insist that our mailgirls must shave all body hair except on their head. Eyebrows must be well manicured. Leg hair, armpit hair, pubic hair - it's all got to come off. We prefer if you wax it, because it's closer and longer lasting, but shaving is OK if you can do it well."

Shanaya had never engaged in a group conversation about her pubic hair before, especially one that was being recorded. She didn't think she'd ever been so embarrassed in her whole life.

"Now, Shanaya, we need to have you walk around the conference room. You won't be sitting around as a mailgirl - you'll be on the go all the time. Most of the time when people see you, you'll be walking briskly through the hallway. We need to see what you look like when you're walking. So, walk."

Shanaya began walking, circling the conference room table. She felt ridiculously on display, which she was. She concentrated on standing straight, and on not falling on the heels.

"I'm sure you've noticed the shoes by now," Monica said. "They've been specially designed for our mailgirls. The heels are four inches, to accentuate the calves and make them look sexy. Our focus groups revealed that this was the most desirable height in terms of appearances. But, of course, it's not easy getting around quickly on four-inch heels. So, we made them in a thick, wedge form, with a slight flare at the bottom. The heel is made of a special, reinforced rubber, not unlike what you'll find in your running shoes. The heel is thick enough to be stable, but the give in the rubber provides support and comfort. It takes a bit of training and experience to get around them with ease, but if you get the job, you'll find you get used to them."

Shanaya found that hard to believe. A four-inch heel was a four-inch heel. It was taller than she was accustomed to, and she didn't feel very stable. She tried to hide it as much as possible, but she feared that her instability and discomfort would show to Monica and the other interviewers.

She circled the table a few more times, the camera recording her the whole time and her interviewers staring intently at her. She noticed that they scratched notes on pads of paper as she walked.

"That's enough," Monica said at last.

"You have one last task, and the interview is over," she said.

"Task?"

"Yes. You're going to do a practice task. We're going to time you and record you."

"Practice task? What do you want me to do?"

Monica handed Shanaya a phone and an arm band.

"Put this on," she said. Shanaya did.

"This is a company phone, "said Monica, "like the one you would be carrying as a mailgirl. In a minute, you will get a message on the phone. You will have to follow the instructions, pick up an item as it instructs you, and deliver that item to a person in an office on this floor."

"Wait - a person on this floor. You mean, outside this conference room?"

"Yes, of course."

"People are going to see me in this outfit? Out there?" She gestured toward the conference room door. Her finger shook.

"Of course they are. That's the job, after all. Everyone will see you in this outfit. Hundreds of people. Maybe thousands. If you're going to do the job you need to show you can do it. Now get ready. The task should be coming in."

Shanaya, now in a near panic, heard the phone in her hand buzz. She looked at the screen. She read the instructions: "Pull the Sharpie pen from the pocket in Dave's shirt, and deliver it to Austin Appleby in Office 1914."

Shanaya felt utterly flustered. The instructions seemed simple enough, but her body froze. Her head felt cloudy. At first, she couldn't move."

"Better get going," Monica said, quietly.

Shanaya got going. She looked up from her phone, at Dave. Behind Dave, Bob's camera recorded her. Shanaya teetered over to Dave and pulled the black pen out of his pocket. She looked back at her phone. "1914."

She knew it was on this floor, but she didn't know where. She skittered over to the conference room door.

"Remember, Shanaya," Monica said. "Walk fast, but don't run. We don't want you causing accidents in the hallway."

The only accident I'm worried about is peeing in my shorts, Shanaya thought.

She opened the conference room door, and with a big nervous gulp of air she stepped outside.

She turned to the left and began to walk, not run. Once, some years ago, Shanaya had tried race-walking, and her experience now stood her in good stead. It wasn't easy to maintain form in the heels, but once she got a rhythm going it was almost easier to maintain her balance if she kept moving forward. She scanned the office room numbers to her side.

"1954."

It was a big office, obviously, and she had a long way to go to get to her destination. At the next office she saw that the numbers were getting smaller.

Directly ahead of her, a man stood with a cup of coffee talking to a secretary in a cubicle. As Shanaya approached they looked up at her. The man smiled and his eyes ran up and down her body. Shanaya felt her skin flush with warmth and embarrassment. She was keenly aware, moving quickly down the hallway, that her breasts bounced and jiggled and swayed with little restraint. She saw the man glance at her chest and saw the lusty appreciation in his eyes. Obviously, he could see the prominence of her nipples inside the thin top.

She kept going. The office numbers kept decreasing.

I'm almost there, she thought. Don't think about anything. Just get there and get it done.

Her mind on the task ahead, Shanaya didn't notice a small rise in the carpet ahead of her. The toe of her shoe caught it, and she stumbled. She tried to catch herself, but she couldn't. She went tumbling.

She fell on her hands and knee, and one knee burned slightly where it scraped along the carpet. She hoped she hadn't skinned it. But there was no time to focus on that now. She had to complete her task.

She stood up and resumed walking. She passed by many offices, some of them occupied by men - and women - that looked up from their desks at her with obvious interest. She saw an older man pass her in the hallway. He, too, ran his eyes greedily over her body. When she passed him, she imagined him turning around and staring at her ass, sculpted in the tiny shorts.

At last, breathing nervously, she reached office number 1914.

She stood at the door with a hand on the frame, the other hand holding the pen.

"Mr. Appleby?"

A friendly young face looked up from a desk. The window behind him revealed a view of other high-rise buildings.

"That's me," he said. "And you're -"

"Shanaya," she said. She held out the pen. He took it, picked up his phone, and pushed a button on it.

"45 seconds," he said. "That's pretty good."

Shanaya couldn't believe it. It felt like it had been 45 minutes, and a lifetime of shame and embarrassment.

"Thank you very much, Shanaya," said Austin. "You better get back to the conference room."

Shanaya left Austin's office and walked back to the conference room. On the way, she noticed more people out and about than before - many more. Word had gotten out that a new girl was in the office, and everyone wanted to see her. Shanaya felt their eyes on her body.

By the time she got back to the office, she was nearly a wreck, and she didn't know if she could keep standing up. She wanted to collapse in a seat - anywhere to get off her wobbly feet. But she couldn't. Monica and Dave were there, and Bob still held his camera. She had to hold it together for a little while longer.

"You're back!" Monica said, smiling kindly at her. "Good job. You're done. You can get put your own clothes on again."

Once in the dressing room, Shanaya sank to the floor, her head in her hands.

What had she done? Who was she? She could not believe that she had just strutted her nearly nude body past so many people, all of whom were staring at her.

She heard voices, and looked up from the floor. She hadn't completely closed the door, and she could just barely hear Monica and her colleagues talking. They were talking about her.

"She's cute, don't you think?" she heard Bob say.

"She is," said Dave. "Nice figure, too. Fits the uniform well. Her calves looked good. Probably from all that running."

"She looks good," said Monica. "But she seemed awfully nervous. And awkward. I don't know about her. Personality is such an important part of this job. I don't know if she can pull it off."

"Well, we have more candidates coming in today and tomorrow," said Bob. "We'll talk about it when all the interviews are done. We'll see."

Shanaya's heart sank. All that embarrassment, and it was probably all for nothing. She wasn't right for the job.

Dejected, she pulled the uniform off, tossed the shoes to the floor, and dressed herself in the clothes she'd come in.

She felt something below, and she touched herself. She was damp. Not sopping, not wet, but damp. A trace of moisture lay over her folds below where none had been before.

She was excited, she thought. She was nervous and embarrassed and ashamed, for sure, but she was excited, too. She stood, still undressed, and searched her body and her feelings with her mind. It was true. Beneath all the trepidation she felt a tinge of excitement. Shanaya had never been much of an exhibitionist - or any kind of exhibitionist - and she'd never done anything remotely like what she'd done today. But today was different. She felt excited, and even a little bit aroused.

Shanaya dressed quickly and left the changing room. Only Monica remained. She held out her hand.

"Thank you for coming, Shanaya," she said, with a cool smile. "Your interview is over. You should hear from us in a few days."

x x x x

Back at her apartment, that evening, Shanaya was bummed. She felt sure she'd blown it, knocking over the water glass and acting too obviously nervous and embarrassed in front of her interviewers. She thought about the other girls that would interview after her. She thought for sure that some of them would be closer to what Intex was looking for.

She stared at her blank computer screen across the room. She'd have to log on and start looking for other jobs. The thought depressed her. She'd been looking for jobs for over six weeks, and the Intex interview was the closest she'd come yet to landing one.

Her phone rang. She didn't want to answer it, but she saw Kimmy's face on the screen, and she knew Kimmy would want to hear all about the interview. She swiped the answer button.

"Hey Kimmy," she said, glumly.

Kimmy made Shanaya go over the entire interview, step by step. It felt strange telling someone how she'd gotten almost naked and shown her body off to an office full of people. She heard the words coming out of her mouth and could scarcely believe she was talking about herself.

"It was so embarrassing, Kimmy," she said. "I can't believe I did that."

"But you did, girlfriend, you did. I'm proud of you."

"You are?" Kimmy asked. She couldn't believe it.

"I am. You're beautiful and you don't know it. You're too uptight. I think this was good for you."

Shanaya didn't know about that. She found that hard to believe.

"I don't know," Shanaya said. "You don't think what I did was kind of . . . like . . . slutty?"

"Hey, what's wrong with slutty?" Kimmy asked, laughing over the phone. "I've been telling you for years you need to slut it up."

Kimmy was right. She had been telling Shanaya that. For a long time. Kimmy had never had a problem getting men, or having fun with them, and she liked talking about her exploits with them with her best friend. Shanaya's love life had been nowhere near as prolific or entertaining, if even half of Kimmy's stories were true.

"Well, it doesn't matter," Shanaya said. "I'm not going to get the job. I'm not their type."

"Don't get down," Kimmy said. "I've got a good feeling about this. Wait a few days."

x x x x

Shanaya waited a few days. She spent most of the time hanging around her apartment. Because of the absence of cash flow, she couldn't go shopping, and she'd cancelled her gym membership. The refrigerator was starting to look a little bare. She'd spent more time online, looking for any kind of employment she could find, and she'd made phone calls. But no responses had come in.