Making a Scene

Burt was wondering how ridiculous this video was going to get. There normally wasn't QUITE this many sex acts in these videos. In fact, there were usually none. Most of the models felt like walking around naked was an inconvenience, as though they couldn't find a closer spot to park. A few teased or touched themselves, and maybe one or two who were actually thrilled by the exhibitionism would orgasm, but there had never had... proof.

Dorothy had a giant penis. She'd proved it mathematically. It was one that would hypnotize all the women who gazed upon it. Those that didn't run from it in fear would limp away. And here she was... making love to exotic fruit.

None of this seemed to concern Dorothy. Parts of this stunt had been planned in advance, but this was spontaneous. She'd seen pictures of papayas sliced lengthwise, and that little pink center looked so inviting. The fruit squished and expelled juice and mushed pulp with every thrust. The hollow of the papaya clung to her, sucking wetly until the flesh gave way. A split in the skin of the fruit began to form, so Dorothy sped up, her ass bobbing back and forth quickly until she moaned, dumping her seed into the center of the fruit.

Dorothy removed the papaya from her knob. Her cock and legs were soaked in sweet, sticky liquid. The papaya was filled with juice and her own contributions, partially mixed into a concoction tinged with white.

She brought the punctured papaya over to Ollie. He still holding the end she had removed, but he was no longer eating it.

"Would you like some?" She offered with a smile that terrified Ollie.

"No, I would not." He told the smaller woman flatly.

Dorothy rocked the fruit back and sipped her cocktail. "Yeah, it's not for everyone." She dropped the papaya in the supplied refuse bin where customers disposed of their corn husks. She spun off, away from the produce section.

Ollie looked at his little slice of tropical fruit, untouched by Dorothy.

He dropped it in the trash without another bite.

Finally, Dorothy decided to make her way to checkout.

She chose Tom's aisle.

Tom's lips were curled into a concerned grimace. His hands were folded together before him. His face was red. It looked like there was something Tom couldn't be ready for after all. But based on something poking up through his fly... he looked ready for something.

Dorothy couldn't help but glance at it.

VERY ready, she thought.

"Hey, Tom. How's the grind?" Dorothy said, tipping her sunglasses up to her forehead.

"Are you OK?" He immediately asked. "You haven't relapsed, have you?"

"I feel amazing, and I'm 100% drug-free." Dorothy answered honestly. "In fact, I don't think I'll ever even think about trying them again, because nothing has been as thrilling or got my heart beating like this..." She giggled involuntarily. It really did feel different standing in front of Tom, one of the only workers she might voluntarily spend time with outside of Lyman's.

Her fingers wiggled as her hand approached one of Tom's. "Would you like to feel?"

Tom allowed her to grasp one finger and bring his fingertips to her sternum. His palm hovered off her chest, avoiding contact with her breasts.

"That is really fast." Tom confirmed this, taking back his fingers.

"Aw, you didn't take the chance to touch 'em."

They stared at each other.

"Are you... going to buy anything?"

"Yeah..." She said as slowly as a single-syllable word had ever been said.

From the impulse aisle, Dorothy selected a single roll of breath mints. She set them at the very end of the conveyor and watched as it slowly advanced up the line towards Tom. Dorothy set a plastic grocery divider behind it, despite the fact that no customers were behind her.

Tom picked up the mints and passed them over his scanner. "That'll be fifty-five cents."

"I think you've forgotten my employee discount."

"OK, I'll-"

"My name is Dorothy Mercia."

"I know who-"

"That's M-E-R-"

"You don't need to say..." Tom typed in the discount, weakly trying to stop her from somehow revealing even more of herself on this video.

"C-I-A. MERR-SEE-YAHH."

"OK, Miss Mercia." He tapped a few more keys. "It's now... forty-four cents."

Dorothy produced a five-dollar bill from somewhere, the way cartoon characters pull mallets from behind their backs and hide their entire bodies behind slender trees and lamp posts. Tom looked down to his till to make the correct change. As he looked up, Dorothy had unwrapped the mints and popped one in her mouth.

"Would you like one?" She offered.

Tom looked at her. If this stunt was actually the result of some newfound instability... he really didn't want to tell her no.

She passed him a mint. He popped the small disc in his mouth and sucked it.

Jumping up to the taller man, Dorothy put both hands behind his head and pulled him forward for a kiss. She chuckled as their tongues slid across each other, Tom's hands falling on Dorothy's bare shoulders.

Dorothy pulled away, wiping her lip with her thumb. "I knew you'd be a good kisser."

Still dazed, Tom watched Dorothy and the camera crew leave, only then noticing the cucumber she'd stuffed into her ass. Nobody had caught her do that, not even the camera guy.

From the office window, Frank was trying to undo the screws holding the window closed, so he could get the red bolt cutter in the office out the window, down into the hands of one of the employees, to hopefully cut that new lock off.

He rang up the cucumber and paid for it with Dorothy's abandoned change. Only then did he notice something else Dorothy had left behind.

Her name tag.

Normally, leaving the name tag behind would be an indication that someone had quit. But Dorothy always left her name tag in the office anyway, since she didn't need it anywhere else.

Tom took the name tag and put it in one of his many pockets, unsure if she'd ever be back to retrieve it.

--

There was more, quite a bit more of the video. There was Dorothy jerking off the edge of the bridge and scattering her sperm down to the river below, her spinning around some thin trees, her tightrope-walking a narrow bit of brickwork in front of the entrance to the marina, her walking while sliding the cucumber in and out of her ass... Dorothy had really given them so much more than they could have envisioned at the start of the day. This one was twice as long as they normally ran. The segment in Lyman's ran almost as long as their normal video.

But finally, they reached the finish line. They returned to their secluded parking spot between the two buildings. Rae urged Dorothy to put her coat back on...

But she wasn't done yet.

Dorothy was on the ground, ass and legs in the air, leaning against the building. She kept jerking off, spraying her seed all over her face and tits. And when her orgasm faded, she just kept jerking it until it happened again... and again... and again...

Her cries of orgasm got louder and more hysterical. Lots of cries of 'oh my god,' 'I'm gonna come,' and the short but ever-effective 'yes!'

And she kept jerking, gnashing her teeth, teasing her pussy with her other hand, rocking her ass against the wall to spear the cucumber into her ass, rubbing her balls rather roughly... and her jizz kept flowing, she kept coming and coming...

Until she finally released her cock and slid off the wall, clutching her lower arm. Her cock kept a few errant spurts as she rolled on her side. Rae helped to her feet. Dorothy insisted that she only stopped because her arm gave out, not her cock. She wanted to keep it up with her left, but the video had to end somehow. Dorothy stumbled into the van and collapsed on the backseat.

--

Unknown time later, she was woken by someone tossing a paper bag at her. She started up, having briefly forgotten where she was, or that there was anything to life other than jerking off upside-down. She'd have to try that one at home. That was fun.

The door to the van was open again. They had stopped in the parking lot of a fast food restaurant.

"We didn't manage to rouse you to get your order." Rae said. "I got you a hamburger and... we guessed you might be dehydrated, so I got you a Powerade."

Dorothy smacked her lips. "I feel fine." She still took a sip from the cup, taking a seat in the open van door, her legs hanging out the side... and her cock hanging between them.

Burt appeared to be reviewing footage on the flip-out LCD screen on the camera. She noticed Dorothy's nudity and responded as he hadn't before. "Maybe you shouldn't have it out around here." He suggested. "I don't know if they appreciate public nudity at the golden arches."

Dorothy looked up from the large drink she was holding. She looked down to her unorthodox body. What really was wrong with this? It was the perfect balance of the genders: the powerful and turgid meat of the penis, the tree of life itself, and the... everything else of the woman.

Nevertheless, Dorothy set her drink down in her lap, obscuring her hanging member from view, in the way privates were once covered with fig leaves.

"I bet nobody will complain, so long as this is hidden." She fished in her bag for her hamburger and took a bite. As she gathered herself, she began to realize she was famished. "How did I do?"

"I always say thank you to the models." Burt said. "I don't always take them for food afterwards. You were outstanding. Thanks for being our first."

Dorothy chewed a bite of hamburger. "Your first what?"

"Our first futa model."

Dorothy stopped chewing.

That couldn't be. The very reason Dorothy had even thought to do this, to know that it was POSSIBLE for someone to want to see someone like her naked in public... was because she saw that blonde futa walking through town with her thing out. How could she be the first if...

"I thought you had one before me." She asked.

"Nope. I'd never even met a futa before you." Burt corrected. "But if this goes over well, I'll have to start looking for more. Unless you feel like taking a second walk."

Dorothy could barely hear him, over the whoosh of blood rising in her face. "That sounds like fun." She croaked.

Jack came back from inside the restaurant. "Is it that hard to not put cheese on it? Jeez..." He griped as he came back to the van and sat down in the open door bay. He was about to bite the sandwich he had fought so hard for, but he noticed something.

"Where'd she go?" Jack asked.

Burt looked into the back seat. Dorothy was gone. The large drink was still there.

So was her coat.

He darted his eyes about, looking around the surrounding landscape, the nearby used car lot... in the far distance, he swore he saw a tiny fleshy thing running about...

Burt could only chuckle. I'll do it for free, he remembered her saying. Had she really not gotten enough excitement for one day?

--

Two weeks later...

Dorothy was right back where she had been. She was in Lyman's, standing at her register, watching old people count pennies and helping poverty-stricken rednecks work their SNAP cards. She was back to the minimum-wage grind, as if nothing had happened.

Those that witnessed the spectacle first-hand still hadn't quite lost their shell-shocked gaze when they saw her. They looked at her like she was the strangest thing they'd ever seen. What was so strange about a giant penis? It's what everyone wanted, wasn't it?

Most of her coworkers were surprised that Dorothy hadn't taken this theatrical opportunity to quit. But they had no explanation as to how she hadn't been fired. This was the subject of a private conversation between Frank and Dorothy.

Frank was slouching more than normal in his chair as he silently stared at Dorothy.

"Do you... have an explanation for what happened last week?" Frank asked quietly.

Dorothy looked forward, past him. The explanation, as it were, kept changing shape in her mind. It felt like there were dozens of excellent reasons to streak through her place of work. And then again, there was no reason to do it except to do it.

"I think... if you were quitting in an extravagant way and wanted to cause us inconvenience or harm, you would have just stuck your arm out and knocked everything onto the floor like it was Supermarket Sweep." Frank reasoned. "You didn't break anything or cause any permanent damage. You didn't even steal anything. So... I have to assume that you didn't do this to hurt us or get back at us, but because it was something you wanted to do."

Dorothy certainly didn't feel like she did what she did to 'get back' at Lyman's. To hold something as worthy of revenge was to hold it in high value. She could leave her job at Lyman's and never see any of these un-promotable retail drones and never give them another thought. In her calm and rational mind, this was the fundamental mistake made by workplace shooters. They assigned more value to the lives of the coworkers that they did their own. (Those that killed random strangers were obviously just lunatics.)

"Was the money THAT good?"

It wasn't. Dorothy had disclaimed any right to be paid for her little show. Burt insisted she'd get paid somehow, but nothing had materialized yet.

"It was that good." Dorothy answered flatly.

"Enough to have THAT be on the Internet... forever?"

That wouldn't happen. A few days after they made the video, the website was shut down, erased from the Internet. The email links all went dead. The video they'd made, the work she spent months preparing for... never hit the Internet.

Not only had she debased and humiliated herself in front of her co-workers for free... there wouldn't be any record of it. No legions of porn-hungry goblins would fap their little wieners at her nudity and shame. Nobody would admire the large cock she'd kept hidden for so long. Nobody would know her secret... only the co-workers who were there, all of whom she didn't really give the first shit about.

Nothing had moved in one direction or another. If her move into porn would have pushed her out of this rut, or into a deeper one, at least something would have been DIFFERENT. But the cruel hand of fate had brushed this aside.

"I'm OK with that." Dorothy lied again. "I'm not... ashamed."

There was a very long silence.

Frank inhaled deeply. "I... erased the security tapes from that day."

Dorothy clenched her teeth. She almost jumped up from the chair and strangled him. That was her only other way to get the footage from that day! It wouldn't be good quality, but it would help her believe that she really DID do this. It was as if the world itself twisted and conspired to keep her from having any concrete evidence that what happened was even real.

"Why?" She clenched the armrest.

"To cover for you." Frank answered. "I just replaced it with a different day from a few weeks ago. If someone asks, we'll show them that. There's no embedded date on the tapes. It should keep you out of trouble."

"You're not... firing me?"

"If you're even back here, facing all of us... then I'm willing to forget this whole thing."

"You're not even going to write me up?"

"What's the point?" Frank shrugged. "What punishment would be worse than what you did to yourself?"

It was like Frank was trying to be nice by doing exactly everything she didn't want. All Dorothy wanted to hear was 'if you do it again, I'll call the police.' Then she could just do it all again and get banned from the premises, maybe arrested, maybe to that halfway house... none of it sounded GOOD, but at least it would be different. Punish me, you fat, bald bastard! At least make me pay for that bolt cutter they broke unlocking the office door!

"It's not important that I know or understand why you decided to do this." Frank said. "That's your business, not mine."

A few nights ago, Dorothy was cleaning up some papers in her apartment. She rediscovered that Xerox the doctor gave her that listed the possible side effects of the hydrocortisone injection she received in response to her rash. One side effect that she didn't see until that very moment...

Corticosteroid-induced mania.

A small percent of those who got hydrocortisone injections experienced mood swings, deepening depression, or conversely, intense mania... where someone might even do things they weren't normally inclined to do.

Was that it? All this incredible positive feeling she got from finally revealing her body to the world? Was that rich vein of dopamine all a chemical response, rather than emotional? Could she have been doing anything and her pessimistic brain would have been tricked into only processing the positive, like someone eating the marshmallows out of their bowl of cereal?

Dorothy thought she was using her body to fashion some great revelation about sexuality and gender, to reveal some deeper societal truth about the injustice about how she was left alone and peerless in a world that forced her to hide her identity. But maybe...

Maybe she was just fucking crazy.

It would be hard to deflect the latter. After reading the article about corticosteroid-induced mania, she was wracked with hysterical uncontrollable laughter for what felt like days. Her face cramped, her tears flowed copiously, and her abs ached like they were being pulled apart by monster trucks driving in opposite directions. She laughed for so long that she threw up... and still couldn't stop laughing.

A neighbor called her up and asked if anything was wrong. They had heard her laughing nonstop for a troubling length of time.

"Do you have the Comedy Channel?" Dorothy moaned, holding an ice pack to her abdomen.

"Yeah, we all have the same cable provider."

"You should really watch this sometime."

After Dorothy hung up, the neighbor switched over to that channel.

"Come on now... You've Got Mail isn't THAT funny... sheesh."

--

So here she was. Dorothy was right back where she started. She had thrown a grenade at a delicate wedding cake, and when the smoke cleared... the damn thing was still intact, not a single blob of icing out of place.

She caught Tom's eye briefly. He immediately looked off.

Maybe one thing had changed. Maybe the little wax groom was turned away from the bride.

"How are you doing, Tom?" She asked.

The question seemed to confuse him. "Me? I'm fine. But... how are you?"

"I'm alright." Dorothy said. "Nobody's been rude to me today."

"Same." Tom said. "It's sad that that's all it takes to have a 'good' day anymore."

A few moments of quiet.

"The... walkers haven't been by lately." Tom noted.

"Mmm." She grunted.

"Maybe they thought they jumped the shark with you and couldn't top that."

Dorothy chuckled. "I'd believe that."

"Me, too."

Another long pause. Tom finally spoke up again.

"Dorothy... why did you kiss me?"

"I don't know. It felt like the thing to do at that moment."

"It's not... because... you're attracted to me?"

Dorothy slipped out of her little cubicle and stood close to Tom.

"When I came up to the register, you asked me if I had relapsed. You were the only one that wondered if I was OK."

She felt a swelling in her heart, a fraction of the excitement she'd had in this building two weeks before. She took hold of Tom's wrist and move in for a kiss.

And Tom dodged it.

"I'm... not really interested in you like that." He confessed.

"What? Are you gay?" Dorothy said without really meaning to. She was processing the emotional whiplash of getting denied.

Tom took this in stride. "If I were... would that make me like it more or less? I really don't know. Seeing you naked would normally be a thrill, but doing out in public where EVERYONE can see it... I don't like that. And the big... thing... I'm glad you're not hiding anymore, but... to do it like that? I don't understand. I'm glad YOU liked it, I'm glad YOU're making money doing it, but... it's not my thing. I'm sorry."