Making a Scene

Maybe that was mean. This woman had been perfectly polite in her interaction with her. But... wasn't her time worth more than this? How could it be worth the extra thirty seconds this sorting was taking? Why not get an old mason jar and keep her change in there, like Dorothy did? (She used to keep them in an old soda bottle, but they corroded from the moisture and had to soak them in Kaboom before she could roll them up.)

Was it really that this old lady had made it to the ripe old age of one billion and was going to make all these people wait behind her while she did something that society inexplicably sees as polite?

Oh well, she thought. At least she wasn't asking for a refund.

--

"I want to trade these in for a different flavor."

Dorothy looked down at the box.

"Miss, we don't sell Green Apple Fruit by the Foot."

"Sure you do. I got this here the other day."

Dorothy did something brave. She pressed the price inquiry button and scanned the barcode on the box.

"See? It didn't come up."

"I have the receipt."

Dorothy looked at it.

"That's a Wal-Mart receipt."

"Ohhhhh..."

They left.

"Glad I could translate that for you..." She muttered.

--

"Can I return this?"

The woman summoned a twenty-four pack of toilet paper, the largest pack that Lyman's carried.

Dorothy stared at the package. "Is there... something wrong with it?" She felt stupid even asking the question, as if she had a silicone baking sheet and was asking where to plug it into the wall.

"No, I just have too much." The woman answered.

Was there really such a thing as too much toilet paper? Maybe if it filled your entire closet from floor to ceiling, but even then... it's not like this woman's career would take her to a place where she would just decide to stop defecating.

Dorothy visually inspected the package for any damage or obvious missing rolls. The plastic holding the two dozen rolls together was taut and undamaged. It looked just like it did when it left the store the first time.

"Is there a problem?" The woman asked with an edge of impatience.

"I've just never seen anyone return toilet paper before."

"I obviously haven't used any of it."

"I know, I know." Dorothy said. "I guess I can accept this return. Let's find the barcode on there..."

Dorothy flipped the pack over and found the barcode... where someone's thoughtless thumb had pierced the plastic and ruined the bar code.

"That was like that when I bought it." The woman pointed with a pre-emptive defensiveness that Dorothy actually believed. "Someone grabbed another pack off the counter and they scanned that bar code when I bought it."

"Ollie?" Dorothy called to a nearby stock boy. "Can you help me out with this?"

The sturdily-built Ollie hoisted the not-very-heavy toilet paper and carried it on top of his head, as he usually did with large objects. Dorothy was left with the customer and the slowly growing line.

"He's pretty fast." Dorothy assured the customer.

They were left there, waiting for Ollie's return.

A new customer walked up to Dorothy's line.

Dorothy gently gestured them to maybe enter a different line.

Sigh.

--

"I want to return this."

Was there a sign above her register that said: Returns Wanted? Dorothy hadn't noticed it.

"That's fine. Do you have the receipt?"

She did. Everything seemed to be in order. Dorothy began to process the refund.

And then the woman took the item out of the plastic bag.

It was a can of soup with an endorsement deal from a family movie that had come out a long, long time ago. It wasn't Beauty and the Beast, but it almost could have been. There were tiny flecks of grime, maybe rust, on the edges of the can. The label was slightly faded, like it has sat on a windowsill for some time.

"What the hell is this?" Dorothy leaned back from the can.

"Excuse me?" The woman shifted her weight.

Dorothy could feel the impotent rage percolating from this woman, and the future tongue-lashing she would get for daring to impede this nonsense.

"Did you find this on the shelf like this?" She pointed to the can. "This is super old. I'd be surprised if any of the stock boys didn't notice it before they put it out."

"I bought it today! I don't see what the problem is."

"I'm going to get the manager, before you ask for one." Dorothy said. "Frank!"

Frank made his way down from the office and was appraised of the situation.

"I doubt that anyone would have put this on the shelf without realizing it." Frank said. "But I'll process it, just in case."

Rather than write up the refund, Frank hit the No Sale button and withdrew seventy-eight cents from the till. As he handed it to her, Dorothy was inspired to say something.

"You said you bought this today?"

"I did." The woman insisted.

Dorothy skipped pressing the Price Inquiry button and ran the can across her scanner.

The computer could not summon the product based on the ancient bar code.

"Then why doesn't the register recognize it?"

The woman's shocked expression turned into a glower. But she was now in possession of the seventy-eight cents, so she left without another word.

Frank turned off Dorothy's lit aisle number. "Can we talk for a second?"

That was a euphemism Dorothy had heard throughout her career. What was the point of dancing around it? Just get the tongue-lashing over with. She knew the times when it was her mistake, and the times when it was the customers being bitches. Luckily, Frank wasn't the type to raise his voice, and he never, NEVER scolded people in front of other workers.

In the office, Frank took a seat with his classic old-man grunt. She steeled herself for another classic scolding.

"Dorothy..." He began. "Do you know what the Lyman's policy is for returns?"

"If they have the receipt, take it. If not, store credit only." She parroted the official handbook's description.

"That's correct. Do you know what MY return policy is?"

Dorothy hesitated. "YOUR policy?"

"Give people whatever they want so that they get out of my face."

"What?"

"I knew she was trying to pull a fast one. We don't stock that much canned soup, and we always run out around flu season and have to wait for the truck for a resupply. There's no way that a can of Chicken Noodle Soup stayed on the shelf, or in the back, for that long. She dug that out of her basement and pulled a switcheroo."

"But why let her get away with it?"

"If she was pulling that trick with a big-screen TV or something expensive, then I wouldn't be so permissive. This woman is decieving her fellow citizens to get... less than a dollar. If I fight her for it, even if I'm morally correct and it's rightfully our money... that makes ME the one fighting over spare change. If she got that far into her life and still pulls tricks like this, she will never learn, and it's not our job to improve anyone's behavior. Call me down, and I'll give her whatever gets her out the darn door."

It was rare to have a private meeting with her boss and wind up with a more positive feeling about her job, or her boss. But knowing that her boss was not operating under any corporate illusions and had the same opinion of customers that she did... it made this whole situation seem not so bad.

It wouldn't last. One of the stock boys came up and asked Frank what to do when he found an empty plastic bag of cheap T-shirts in the trash in the men's lavatory, almost certainly stolen.

Dorothy went back to her register and counted down the seconds.

Wednesday could not come soon enough.

--

Before he left on Tuesday, Tom looked at the upcoming schedule hung up on the cork board. She noticed a few days were grayed out on Dorothy's line.

"Dorothy took Wednesday off, too?" He said aloud, to nobody in particular. "She's going to miss the walker!"

She very rarely took time off at all. Whatever she was up to today and tomorrow... it must have been very important.

--

She'd done it. She'd really, really done it.

The day before her big premiere, the excitement was too much. She had to have a real practice run. An 'undress rehearsal,' so to speak.

Dorothy had entered the nearby shoe store and flashed the one person there that she knew. As exhilarating as it might be to march around naked in front of strangers, they were still people that she didn't know and would never see again. To do it to someone who actually knew her name and where she worked...

The pieces were falling into place. She practiced streaking when nobody was around. She practiced going out in public with nothing but a coat on. And now... she flashed someone for real. The only thing left to do was to put it all together.

Dorothy writhed in bed, edging herself despite the major discomfort in her balls. She hadn't come for three days now, and she was seriously backed up. She didn't believe that the pain associated with blue balls was a real thing until now. She simply hadn't been given a reason to refrain from orgasm for this long. The discomfort radiated into her hips. She swore she felt it in her kidneys, stretching down into her legs like sciatica

She often had trouble going to sleep. She considered herself a night owl, and getting up early to piss away her time at Lyman's was not her idea of a good morning. Some nights, she simply got less sleep because she had to waste some time on the Internet before her bad mood let her sleep without her replaying everything that happened at work, of customer interaction and shelves and pressing buttons... she sometimes closed her eyes and could still see it, like someone who played too much Tetris.

Tonight... it felt like trying to sleep on Christmas Eve, wondering what Santa would bring her in that big sack.

The only sack here was Dorothy's. And that's what was keeping her awake. Just don't think about it. Just try to sleep. Don't worry that it's already technically morning. Get some beauty rest. Tomorrow's the big day...

--

Burt drove the van with the rest of the crew hanging in the back. Dorothy had never been in the back of a van like this. She had a seat belt, but just didn't feel very secure. It might have been because she was sitting on the old seat without pants on. Maybe she should have brought some clothes under this raincoat after all, or at least a skirt.

During the drive, Dorothy asked, "What was your Plan A?"

"You talking to me?" Burt answered from the driver's seat.

"Yeah." Dorothy said. "You said porn wasn't anyone's Plan A. What was your Plan A?"

Burt looked back to the road. "How many MALE Asian porn stars can you think of?"

Dorothy didn't watch much porn with men in it, but the sudden realization of their absence struck her as obvious as a sports mascot standing in the back of a wedding photograph.

"Yeah, that's the reaction I normally get when I say that." Burt said. "And despite nasty regional stereotypes, I was qualified. Doesn't seem to matter. Couldn't get in. There is no place for me in American porn in front of a camera... so I went behind it. Made the stuff I like, that I want to see."

"So... porn WAS your Plan A?"

"I'm a guy. Getting laid was Plan A. Challenging stereotypes was Plan A...2."

Dorothy looked out the window. They were getting close... it was the first time she was approaching her workplace and felt anything other than detached resignation.

"You really think there are people who want to see me naked?"

"If I didn't think there were... why would we be doing this?" Burt said. "I figure... I wish I had met someone in my position when I was where you are now. Wish someone had opened the door for me."

--

She stepped out of the back of the van, parked in the secluded alley where she'd first met this unusual crew.

It was now overcast. If it was a hair darker, they'd cancel any nearby tennis match or golf tournament. It looked like it could start raining at any time.

"We lost the sun." Burt said, looking up. "I didn't think it was supposed to rain today."

Dorothy frowned. After waiting months to do this, were they going to chicken out because of a little rain? Could she really keep waiting past this day? The time between the audition and today felt like decades.

"If it IS supposed to rain, then let's get rolling and try to do this before it starts." She announced bravely.

"You're not worried about walking in the rain?"

"Like my nana used to say..." Dorothy said. "I'm not made of sugar. I won't melt."

Burt looked to the silent support of his team. He chewed his gum once and pinched it in his teeth. "Alright. Let's get started."

--

The video began as most did, with the background of the huge concrete steps leading up to some office buildings that rose above the river. Some of the models dramatically walked down the steps maximizing the jiggle in any relevant soft body parts. Dorothy wasn't so sure she could descend them in her heels with less than a day of practice, so she didn't risk it.

Dorothy waved and smiled. She wore a slightly oversized blue windbreaker that barely went halfway down her thighs. She wished she could have found one of those fashionable women's trench coats, but she wasn't about to take a chance on being allergic to something else. The camera panned down to her bare legs and her fashionable high heels. Dorothy's hair was tied into a ponytail, and her eyes were hidden by her huge white oval sunglasses.

"Hello, everyone." Dorothy introduced herself. "My name is Dorothy, and I'm super excited to be doing this today. I've got something that some of you are going to love."

She turned away from the camera. This was it. No turning back now. If she stopped here, she'd never forgive herself.

Dorothy unzipped the windbreaker and threw it off one shoulder, into the unseen arms of Rae, the producer. Her entire nude back, butt and legs were plainly visible on camera.

She spun around, and revealed her full self to the camera. She was flaccid, for the moment, and now entirely nude and unprotected. She could see so much of the shopping center before her, the shops, the walking paths, the courtyards, the cyclists, the bridge in the distance...

Dorothy grinned wide. "What do you think? That's right. I'm a futa. I'll bet some of you have never seen something like me before. You might never have even met one. Well, you have now. If you don't like it, turn it off, because this is me."

And she started walking. Burt let her pass him to get a shot of her walking rear, then hustled to get back in front of her.

In that ten second interval, Dorothy was already erect and blushing.

Burt tried never to talk during his videos. He didn't consider it to be as annoying as hearing the director say something in a video that was meant to be two women alone in bed, but he knew that their general website clientele didn't want to hear a dude's voice while watching a naked woman walk around.

Burt thought to himself, "That didn't take long."

Dorothy's smile was huge and wide. Most of the other models seemed to keep their chill and pretended that they were walking around an empty parking lot. Dorothy's head turned slightly to each side, showing her as she looked at the many people standing around her, staring at her unique body.

Burt passed a tree on one side. He'd walked this part of the shopping plaza so often, he knew where everything behind him would be except a careless pedestrian. Dorothy got to the tree and put one hand on its thick trunk, as if she was leaning due to exhaustion.

Instead, Dorothy's other hand wrapped around her cock and she jerked herself off to a quick, loud orgasm, splattering a generous amount of come across the trunk and onto the concrete walkway.

Burt sniffed as quietly as he could. "That REALLY didn't take long." He was unsure if this was the end of the video, if there was a huge buildup leading to a disappointing but definitive end, like Tyson Vs McNeely.

At least he'd gotten some good shots of it, some closeups of the jerking, the jizz spraying out her huge cock, her red face twisted into an orgasmic grimace. If it was all he would get, it was alright, like a steakhouse that served a really good filet instead of a giant slab of beef.

In truth, Dorothy just wanted her balls to stop aching. She'd held back for days, longer than she'd ever done recently. Her exposure to Ruby had given her the taste for this, and now that she had it... she couldn't resist. It was just as good as she'd hoped.

And yet... it didn't quell the storm in her balls. Her body shimmered with sweat, even though it was a temperate day. Her hand was slick with her jizz, so she looked at the camera and licked the little webs of her come from between her hand, moaning with every slurp and lick.

"Don't worry..." She assured the future audience and Burt. "There's lots more where that came from."

--

To see the entire entry, one might have to sign up for a membership to the website. But like all good paysites, there were samples that everyone could see.

--

Dorothy walked in front of a bookstore she'd passed many times before. Inside, a skinny gentleman about her age was organizing a display of books in their huge picture window. When he looked up, he saw the naked blonde with the huge erection standing there. She'd hoped he would have dropped the books, but he somehow kept grip of them as Dorothy pressed her breasts against the glass, her cock just barely touching the glass below it.

She wasn't much of a reader, unless you counted pornographic magazines as 'reading.' What a crisis this poor bookworm must be having, unable to look for an answer to his predicament in any of those big brainy books. There was no answer for inadequacy if the self-help section, and no fantasy as sweet as this in even the most salacious bodice-rippers.

Dorothy wanted to grab herself again and jerk off until the whole picture window was opaque with her thick slime... and yet, she didn't. As much as she could barely control her impulses while frolicking nude and erect... she would NOT create a mess that someone else had to clean up. She had that much self-control, at least.

--

A man stood outside a deli, puffing a cigarette while looking at his watch, standing by an ashtray that Dorothy always thought looked like a giant chess piece. She didn't know which one. The man coughed at the sight of her.

Dorothy approached the man. "I'll fuck you if you quit smoking."

The smoker seemed to consider the strange woman's extension. "Uh... not sure that's what I want, anyway."

"Well, you should quit anyway. Trust me, drugs are bad."

"I know."

--

Burt gestured with his free hand towards the nearby fountain, one of the most distinct features of this walking area. This was where the shop directories were located, as everyone could find the fountain, and thus everything else.

Dorothy looked to the old, moss-saturated concrete structure. She pointed towards the water, tinged gray from all the dirty coins that had been thrown in by desperate people making fruitless wishes.

Burt gave her a thumbs-up with his free hand.

"I ain't getting in that water!" Dorothy refused, speaking directly to Burt, rather than the audience of the future. "I just got these shoes, and I also don't want to catch Legionnaire's Disease."

She jumped up to the wide rim around the fountain, where people sat if they wanted to get misted with gross fountain water. There were short plates screwed into the stone to discourage skateboarders from grinding and damaging this valued... ugly, crumbling, moss-covered eyesore.

"We can do this one!" She pointed her cock down towards the water and took a pose similar to classical statues posed over their basins, scattering water across rock for eternity...

Except Dorothy knew quite well that urinating with an erection was difficult, but having another orgasm would not be. She tugged herself and scattered a new volley of seed into the gross fountain water, the strings of come swirling about like tadpoles.