Making a Scene

Tom's prediction of the nude model's behavior was fairly accurate. Almost every Wednesday, between 1:00 and 2:00, they would pass by as part of their 'route.' They sometimes appeared later in the afternoon, but never before 1:00. They hypothesized that the lunch crowds getting out of the nearby restaurants before 1:00 might be TOO dense for such silliness. One time, they passed on Tuesday when the weathermen accurately predicted that there would be rain on Wednesday. They were probably more worried about getting the camera wet than the poor model catching a cold.

Having been previously unable to discuss them with coworkers, he had not come up with a name for these events. Tom now called them 'walkers.' It was not a reference to the 'street walkers' euphemism for prostitution. It was just a shorthand name he came up with and it stuck.

The presence of the 'walkers' actually raised Dorothy's spirits on those days. Knowing that something so odd could still happen with such regularity was fascinating. Even better, she got to see a new set of luscious breasts and a round bum walk by each week.

For a few months, this is how it stood.

And one Wednesday, Dorothy saw something she was not prepared for.

Another lovely woman walked past the window, her baps lovingly jiggling as she marched past the window. But this time... she had a long flaccid cock between her thighs, bouncing like a pony's tail as she trotted down the street.

Dorothy gasped through her teeth, the same noise she might if she whacked her elbow on something. It couldn't be. They got a FUTA to do it? There are people who want to see a futa walk down the street naked, dong out for all to see? There are people who would PAY for it?

With an urgency never shown before at this job, Dorothy did something management discouraged. She burst out from her station and ran towards the door. She didn't even turn her numbered light off. She scrambled out the automatic doors and to the front of the store. She spun in place, looking for the crew, for the cute naked futa... or even the cameraman that she'd never gotten a great look at, because his face was always buried in the eyepiece of his video camera.

Nothing. Just the usual crowds of disinterested shoppers and the saxophone busker across the street.

Dorothy walked back into Lyman's, slowly trying to catch her breath.

"What happened?" Tom asked, standing at his register and trying to keep Dorothy's line from marching through with unpaid merchandise.

"I'm sorry..." She said. "I... thought I saw someone fall."

Billy, one of the carriage attendants came back in with a line of five or six carts lashed together, slamming them into their designated alcove like he thought he was Buffalo Bill. "What's wrong, Dotty?" He somehow smiled and sneered at time. "You seeing things again?"

Dorothy stiffened her back at that comment, and then blushed, walking back to her register.

Tom slipped away from his register for a moment and pointed his finger at Billy's chest. "You look her up on Yahoo or something? What sort of fun stuff would come up about if I did that to you?"

Billy's smile vanished, and he excused himself out the door to collect all the carts that weren't outside.

Tom got back to his post, giving Dorothy a glance before getting back to work.

Even though it was asked of her every day, with banners hung on the office wall, printed out on white-and-green continuous printer paper... this was the first time today that Dorothy smiled.

And then her next customer approached. She had a plastic bag and pulled out a ribbon and a single towel with a dark stain in the middle.

"I want to return this. It's got something on it."

Dorothy sighed through her nose. She knew it was a return when the customer already had a plastic bag with them. She found the paper pad of return forms, something else that Lyman's hadn't updated since the 80's. Lyman's punch clock somehow was more modern than actual paper cards and an oversized steam whistle. With how old-fashioned Lyman's was, she wouldn't be surprised if a man pulled on a bird's tail to indicate quitting time.

She looked at the towel, trying to find the UPC code. There was a circular tag on the loose ribbon.

"Miss, this is a five-pack of towels. Where are the others?"

The other four were fine. I just want to return this one."

Dorothy dropped her pen. Whatever positive feelings she had from seeing that spectacle were gone.

--

She'd managed to keep herself composed at work, for the most part. But the idea of a futa walking for this porn site would simply not leave her mind. This aroused her much more deeply than than random women doing this. Even thinking about it threatened to rip apart her pants.

Dorothy sat at her computer, searching through all the public nudity websites she could find. Most of them were pay sites. She was not prepared to join any of them unless she knew it was the right one. But most of them had samples, or at least free photographs. If she could find the one with Lyman's in the background somewhere, she'd know she was in the right place.

But of course... she was tired. Tired and very horny. Looking through hundreds of naked female specimens certainly didn't help the latter. Large and small bosoms, shapely asses, flat stomachs, naked thighs that wobbled with just a little fat...

Like most times she browsed Internet porn, Dorothy ended this night by blowing her load into today's T-shirt. She could have held back, but she wanted to feel good at least once today, and it was already almost midnight.

Squeezing the shirt with her left hand, she heard the jizz squish wetly in the fabric, soaking through and getting her fingers sticky. She could even smell it. She really loved the smell of come, but she wished it came from someone else for once. If she knew even one other futa, she'd probably break her 'no relationships' rule.

Dorothy tossed her used T-shirt into the hamper and fell into bed. Not much longer now before she had to wake up anyway...

--

A few weeks later, Dorothy scheduled some time off on Wednesday. Taking time off from Lyman's was a nuisance, as the request had to be put in over two weeks ahead of time. This meant two whole weeks passed by, where she stood at her register and she watched two different nude models stroll past Lyman's on two different Wednesdays. It used to be fun, but now it was just like watching someone else play on a playground that you weren't allowed to visit. Why did they get to have all the fun?

Today, she was at a cafe within sight of Lyman's entrance. She could see Lyman's famous big window, but those inside could not see her. She sipped on a coffee slowly, waiting to catch the walkers as they pass.

On her second coffee refill, Dorothy turned over her wrist and looked at her watch. It was just past two. They were late. What unprofessional behavior from these pornographers. If she knew their email address, she would be writing them a letter.

The coffee and nerves were making her heart beat harder. Her stomach knotted from a light lunch and too much coffee afterwards. The sunlight was starting to get in her eyes as it passed over the other buildings. She could not be bothered to learn how the crank mechanism on the umbrella over her seat worked. If she took her eyes off the window for a moment, she could miss it.

There! There they were! A slender African-American woman was traipsing nude past the window, and she was being followed by a cameraman and another clothed woman of unidentified purpose. The woman wasn't wearing headphones, so she doubted she was the sound engineer. It looked like she was just carrying the model's stuff.

Dorothy didn't stand up just yet. She didn't want to spook them. If she followed the last woman on the line, even if she lost sight of the beautiful brown butt bouncing down the street, she still had them.

She calmly... calmly let them walk past her before she moved, leaving her coffee behind and began her pursuit.

--

Dorothy stalked several feet behind the group, trying not to make it look obvious that she was following. If she could have found the video online, she'd already know where she was going and would simply wait for them there. They took a circuitous course around the city, going where it was crowded, but not so jam-packed with people where their group might not get through easily. Perhaps they avoided the denser crowds so nobody could try to take a pass as their model without it being obvious who did it. That was very conscientious of these pornographers.

They turned a few more corners and went across a bridge that stretched over the river. This act seemed to inspire lots of honking from passing cars. Dorothy knew that idiots inside cars would honk at her when she was fully dressed. This reaction to the site of a nude woman didn't surprise her at all.

Down a set of metal stairs, crossing under the bridge, and through a small park that Dorothy had no idea existed... the model, cameraman and PA disappeared around a corner and down a brick alley between two buildings. Dorothy skip-walked up to the entrance, trying to keep her movements quiet as she turned into the alley.

Just as she breached the edge of the alley, a hand the size of a catcher's mitt fell onto her shoulder and twirled her in place, pressing her into the alley wall. Dorothy squealed, pinching her eyes shut and pulling her arms in to protect herself. Filled with coffee as she was, she very nearly pissed herself in fright.

The man pinning her to the wall was huge. He had a scruffy beard, but an immaculately shaved head. He wore a white work shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Around his neck, rather than a tie... there was a DSLR camera with a long lens.

Of course. The still photos that get released parallel to the video release, in the same spirit of those banks that used to give away toasters when you opened a bank account. She had made a crucial mistake in miscounting how many were on this team.

The man immediately released the cowering woman. "Shit, I'm sorry." He apologized. "I didn't mean to scare ya, but why you following us? You're all over all my shots!"

Dorothy was breathing much too fast to form words. She felt like she might faint. Get it together, Dorothy.

The photographer pulled out something from his breast pocket: a folded brown paper bag. He whipped it open and gave it to her. She covered her mouth with the opening and continued breathing down into the bag.

Dorothy whipped her head away from the bag and started coughing.

"What? What's wrong?" The photographer asked.

Dorothy cleared her throat, her breath still slightly ragged. "I just inhaled a bunch of powdered sugar."

--

A minute of calming breaths later, the photographer brought Dorothy through the alley. The alley led to a small parking area, which contained only a featureless white van. The videographer was checking something on the camera, and Dorothy could finally get a good look at him: a lean Asian-Ameican man in a muscle shirt and heavy gelled hair pointed upwards into spikes. The production assistant, a short and bespectacled woman with dark hair, was directing the now-dressed model fill out a form, probably a release.

"Who's this, Jack?" The videographer asked, turning his head to the side.

"She was following us." The photographer answered. "She's in half of my shots."

The videographer stood from the open door of the unmarked van. He looked her up and down. "Are you a cop?"

"No." Dorothy answered. "In fact, I've got a record."

The videographer chewed his gum once and then pinched it between his teeth again. "Alright. I believe you." He said. "What's your name?"

"Dorothy."

"Can I call you Dot for short?"

"Please don't."

"Alright, I won't. I'm Burt." He introduced himself with a short nod. "So... why were you following us?"

Dorothy lost her voice for a moment. How would she explain this? That she'd seen them walking past her store for months on end and she just wanted to know where she could find these videos so she could jerk off like a normal futa?

"I want to do it." Dorothy blurted out, barely thinking about it before she said it.

Burt looked at her sideways. "You want to do a video with us?"

"Yes. I'm a big fan of these videos. I want to do it."

Burt's eyebrows twitched momentarily. "Alright. Email us and we'll set up an audition, we'll see if we can't work it out."

"Could I get a business card?" Dorothy asked. She needed some way to find out this website's name. She had already lied and she was a fan of their videos. She certainly was a fan. "I... emailed you before and didn't hear a response."

Burt patted his pants pockets, deep in thought. He found one in his back pocket. "It's probably the same email address. Just make the subject line 'Dorothy the stalker' and one of us will pick it out of the crowd."

Dorothy took the business card and made her exit. It had the website name on it and everything. Now she could see these videos as they were meant to be seen... through the glass of her monitor rather than the glass window at Lyman's.

Now Dorothy skipped away, in a desperate search for a nearby bathroom.

Not to do that. She just really had to pee.

--

Back to work. Cha-ching.

"These were supposed to ring up as buy-one-get-one, but I didn't know that. Can I get another one?"

Dorothy poured over the tiny print of the circular like it was a treasure map in a language she didn't speak, from a country that wasn't real. "I can't let you just... walk off with a second one. The only way we could possibly do this is to refund this and run the transaction again."

"Whatever we need to do." The customer nodded.

"Frank, I need your help with a refund." She called up to the office.

"I'm on the phone! It'll be a bit." He called back down.

"You'll have to wait, I'm afraid." Dorothy said. "Why not find the second one of those while I help the other people in line?"

The customer went off to do just that.

Dorothy sighed. If this customer got paid the insultingly small minimum wage that she got... then the six minutes this woman would wait for this refund and re-purchasing silliness was worth about one dollar. Dorothy would gladly give up that dollar to have those six minutes of her life to do something else.

All to get one dollar and forty-nine cents of budget deodorant.

Two more customers went by with relative ease, and Frank and the frugal customer were finally united. They processed the refund and rang in the pair of deodorant bars.

They rang up at full price.

Only then, when Frank looked at the circular that was brought in, did they determine that this sale was only offered at the OTHER Lyman's on Paramount Boulevard, not this one.

Frank still rang both sticks at 50% off, the lowest discretionary discount he could provide, so the result was the same.

This was NOT the worst customer interaction she had ever had. In fact, it wasn't the worst one she had that day. The woman thanked them both and expressed her sincere appreciation for Lyman's and its staff. She was pleasant, and despite her bulk purchasing, she didn't even smell bad.

But CHRIST... Dorothy would rather light a twenty-dollar bill on fire than have to make some poor bastard who made as much per hour as she did go through all that rigmarole... all because she misread a circular.

She really hoped this audition would go well.

--

Dorothy sat in an empty office in front of the three people she met a few weeks back. Burt, the main videographer and video creator, Jack, the still photographer, and Rae, the producer and all-around helping hand whom Dorothy had mistakenly thought was a production assistant. Since the three of them were all sitting on the couch, and Dorothy was sitting on a plastic folding chair... she doubted this would evolve into the kind of audition she was fearing.

"I feel silly asking this, but... you've never done porn before?" Burt asked.

Unlike the other job interviews Dorothy had experienced, Burt didn't have anything to look at. Not a copy of Dorothy's CV, not a clipboard with a checklist of questions, not even a superfluous headshot. Dorothy felt like she was in a fishbowl, stared at so intensely by the trio of pornographers.

"I have not." Dorothy confessed. "Not even dirty Polaroids or home movies. Never had the urge."

"Then why do you want to do this?" Burt asked. "Most of the women who get into porn do it earlier than you. And those who start at your age are unemployable messes who have no alternatives other than prostitution. That really doesn't seem like you. So... why do you want to do this?"

"I wouldn't want to go into porn if it meant having sex with strangers." Dorothy confessed. "But being naked in front of strangers... the more I think of it, the more it feels like a thrill. Having it recorded and posted on the Internet... it's like doing it to the entire world all at once. I don't know if the women who you get to do this feel the same way."

"Some of them express their excitement, but most don't seem to care either way." Burt said. "Those that would be embarrassed by it don't get that far."

He paused. Burt looked meaningfully to a piece of paper.

Dorothy took in a tense breath.

"Since you don't work in porn... what DO you do?"

"I don't want to say what I do for a living. It's a little embarrassing."

"If you're easily embarrassed, this might be not the right career move."

"No, it's just... it's normal entry-level work. I thought I'd be past it by now. I can't accrue a savings to take a chance and move somewhere else, so I'm sort of stuck until something happens."

"You're waiting to find that shiny new penny?"

That phrase stuck out to Dorothy.

"Sorry, that was something my dad said." Burt said.

"You know..." Dorothy began. "if I find a quarter on the floor at the place where I work... I am not allowed to keep it. I have to put it in the little jar for the charity thing that they run. So... I don't bother picking them up anymore. It won't make a difference to my bills anyway. If I'm sweeping, which I sometimes get asked to do... I just sweep it up. Sweep it into my little dustpan like it was a bottle cap and throw it away. Nobody gets that quarter ever again.

"Do you ever feel like that quarter? Swept up and thrown away by something that doesn't appreciate your worth? Or maybe they do, and they just don't care, or can't care for reasons outside their control?"

"We've all had bad jobs, Dorothy." Burt looked unimpressed. "Jobs where we aren't appreciated. And still... porn isn't anyone's Plan A. It wasn't my Plan A. If it's someone's Plan A, something went wrong before they made their plans and they put Plan F into Plan A's folder."

He leaned forward. "So... what happened to you that made you have to go to Plan B or C?"

Dorothy leaned to her side, retrieved something out of her purse and flicked it at Burt. He caught it, immediately recognizing it as a coin. Rolling it over to see where it had come from, the words "1 Year Anniversary" was printed on one side.

"I went to college for two years, but I had some emotional stuff I didn't deal with properly. I started drinking, and I started taking pills. I dropped out, wasted some time, got arrested for possession, got probation, and my counselor got me a job to keep me out of the halfway house. So now, not only do I work minimum wage... I get to pay off two years of student loans that didn't result in a degree.

"So I go to my job and spend most of my free time making money to pay for something I don't have, at a job I don't like... essentially forever. I am Sisyphus at the bottom of the hill with the big boulder. If you were in that position, do you think you might do something silly to try to get ahead of all this? Would it be worth it getting naked in front of strangers? Is that any more humiliating than perpetually subjugating myself to old shoppers and jerks?"