Tiffany's Timidities Ch. 02

"Well... does it feel safe?"

"Um... yeah. Sort of. They're just, like, dirty old men, you know? Not axe-murderers. I mean, they're doctors. How bad could it be?"

"Uh-huh... But you can't let them grope you," Anabelle said, rolling her skinny body over to gaze at the ceiling of her bedroom. She held the phone to her cheek and tried to imagine her friend's circumstances. "That is like, so wrong."

"I know," Tiffany answered. "But... I'll talk to them. Maybe they just don't realize it or something."

"Pfff! Yeah, now you really ARE high. And you're totally crushing on that one dude. Don't deny it."

"Well... so?"

"So it's not a game. You don't know anybody out there except your grandma. What's she gonna do? Swoop in an' save you the minute one of these geezers sticks a hand up your skirt? Not likely."

"Well duh, Captain Obvious. But I... I just- What do you think about one more day? Just to see if it gets better?"

"And then what? If nothing happens tomorrow are you gonna keep working there?"

"Maybe. If nothing happens... then sure. I mean, that's the whole point, right?"

"They're gonna keep hitting on you. Isn't that all you need to know?"

"Ugh! I know, it's just... just lemme try. I can handle it."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I'll talk to them. Let them know it's not okay. And tomorrow I'll be more prepared."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. I think so. Anyway, I gotta finish my lunch and get back. I can't be late. You'd die if I told you what happens then."

"What?!"

"Nothing. Forget I said that."

"Jesus. Okay. Well... call me tonight. I'll be around."

"Okay. Thanks 'Bella. Love you!"

"You too. Be safe."

"Yeah-yeah I will. Bye!"

"Bye!"

SCENE 7

Tiffany found herself back at the clinic a short while later, having received a helpful ride up the hill from Doctor Grisholm. He had recognized her pedaling along, pulled over and loaded her bike into his white pick-up to save her the trouble.

He had not said much during the five minutes they'd shared in his truck's cab and she was unsure what to make of his comparative reserve. Perhaps, she hoped, he was just embarrassed by his partners' behavior and was trying to be extra professional to compensate. Whatever the reason, his reticence seemed scarily perceptive. She sensed he was absorbing Terabytes of information about her without even trying. She tried to make small-talk but became increasingly self-conscious and clumsy about it, tugging at her fingers and laughing without reason. His dense, un-athletic build revealed nothing and a receding hairline made his pale face resemble the moon.

She felt relieved when he retreated to his office and left her alone in the lobby.

At precisely two o'clock Ian unlocked the front door.

The appointment calendar for the afternoon was nearly empty. Tiffany got the first two patients sorted and then found herself with nothing to do. She wiped down the credenza and straightened the lobby chairs, sprayed some air freshener and disinfectant in the lavatory and then washed her hands.

Once atop her stool again, she scratched her fingers through her hair and thought about her conversation with Annabelle. She knew she needed to stand up for herself; but how? Perhaps at the end of the day, she thought, she could get some time alone with Doctor Mitchell. He seemed to be the one most directly responsible for her. Perhaps if she explained very clearly why the rule about spanking her was unnecessary and silly, and also abusive and illegal... maybe he would understand.

Her fingernails dug into her scalp, telegraphing her stress. The very idea of that conversation made her anxious. She recalled her initial interview with him; how he had said her job was to cheer-up the clinic by being playful, approachable and flirtatious... and to keep the four doctors happy and relaxed. She had agreed to all that quite readily, she remembered, and now felt loathe to complain on her very first day.

She sighed and dropped her hands to her neck, discovering that her dress' halter-top was still tied in place. Hastily she undid the bow and tucked the two straps down her front, folding the dress until it ended just above her bra the way Doctor Mitchell wanted.

"Skimpy clothes I can handle," she reassured herself in a whisper. "I just need to convince them not to spank me and..."

She could not bring herself to finish that sentence, wincing at the memory of her own pleasure. She exhaled a shaky breath, trying to keep calm.

"Stop the spankings," she rehearsed quietly, "then everything else will calm down too."

This vague plan gleamed in her mind like a distant tunnel exit but the craving she felt for Doctor Adams was still there, hobbling her psychological headway. She clenched her teeth and rubbed her face with both hands, feeling unready to deal with such a spontaneous fascination. The more she thought about it, the more she realized she had an acute, deep infatuation. It was like he was meant for her.

"God!" she quietly scolded herself. "I can't fall for this guy. I can't! I can't!"

She abandoned her plan to confront Doctor Mitchell that afternoon, too afraid of the upbraiding it might involve. Anyway her memory of his cheerful, off-hand groping didn't inspire much confidence that he might change his views. She promised herself to advocate that cause another time, another way, somehow.

She looked around the empty room again, searching for a useful task.

Wanting to appear pro-active, she phoned Doctor Mitchell and asked about the special project he had mentioned earlier.

Within a minute he was at her side, helping her navigate deep into the clinic's file-server on her touchscreen podium. He leaned his left hand on the back of her stool. The inside of his wrist was against her tailbone.

She straightened, unintentionally brushing her bare shoulder against his pectoral.

"Sorry sir," she mumbled, slouching a bit to keep some distance between them. He snugged his wrist more firmly against her backside.

"Here they are," he said, double-clicking a Windows folder named 'Unsorted.'

Inside that directory, a vast number of .wmv, .avi and .RAR files appeared. All had random alphanumeric names.

"What are those?" she asked.

"Porn scenes. One of my patients lent me an external hard drive full of this stuff a while back, with the idea that we would make them available in the donor room."

Her face blanched.

"Don't look so shocked. We used to keep some dirty magazines around for the guys to use, but everyone seems to want video now."

"Who everyone—Sorry, what's the donor room, sir?"

"For our sperm donors."

"S—wha?"

"We don't have as many as I'd like, but yeah. I thought I mentioned it during your interview. My specialty is reproductive health, so donors that meet certain criteria are highly valuable as far as building a larger practice goes. But we haven't had much luck getting new ones these past few years and most of our regulars are sub-optimal."

"Sub-optimal?"

"Low counts and poor motility."

She blinked.

"Anyway, the problem with this video collection is, as you can see, it's a mess. I already ran a virus scan on the whole thing, but I need you to extract the ones that are still compressed and then rename and categorize them all."

"Uhh..."

"I have an idea of how you should do it, but you'll probably find better ways as you get deeper in."

"Um... yeah, so... Sorry but, categorize?"

"Organize them by content. You know; gay, straight, lesbian, transsexual or solo. Then within those, make subfolders by more specific things like oral, anal, interracial, toys and so on; whatever the main highlight is. Got it?"

"Doctor Mitchell I... I think, um... Are you sure there's no other project I could do for you? This seems—"

"This is important. Right now the guys have nothing to watch in there."

"But... you really want me to look at... ALL these? Out here in the lobby?"

"No one can see your screen. There's a headphone jack. I have some earbuds you can borrow if you don't have yours with you today. Unless someone is standing up here they won't know what you're watching."

"But, sir... I mean... seriously?"

"This is your job. I'd like you to take it seriously. Now, obviously your normal duties still have priority so you'll need to keep an eye on the phones. But when it's quiet, like now, you can just plug in and start plowing through these."

"It's just, I wasn't expecting to have to... watch..." her voice trailed off.

"Pornography? Don't be afraid of the word, Tiffany. You're an adult. It won't bite you."

"Yes, sir, I understand. I just haven't... the idea of—"

"Oh hush. They're actors... and probably well-paid too. You might even learn something."

"Yes, but I—"

"Tiffany, I thought you'd find this fun. It's certainly easier than cleaning out our biohazard bins... though if you'd prefer I could train you to do that instead."

She closed her mouth. Her skin suddenly felt itchy.

Doctor Mitchell continued: "So; as you go through these, add something descriptive to the filename and re-save it to new folders by category. Any files that are corrupted or have quality issues or whatever, just delete. I don't want any junk like that on our server, okay?"

Tiffany's eyes scanned the columns on her screen. The scroll bar to the right of the window was tiny.

"There must be over a thousand," she whispered.

"Well, like I said, feel free to delete the bad ones. No point keeping anything that's not really good."

"Yes but... but how um, how will I know?"

"Use your judgment. If it turns you on, keep it. If it's stupid, boring, or the soundtrack is bad or whatever... just throw it out."

She touched the edge of the screen and scrolled through the list, blinking rapidly. Eventually she looked up and nodded in assent, mostly because she wanted Doctor Mitchell to leave so she could recover from shock. Having him so close-by while she imagined her task was more than mortifying.

"I'll be in my office if you have any questions," he said.

He straightened to his full height, sliding his hand to the bare part of her back.

"Okay, sir."

He traced his fingers between her shoulder blades until she flinched.

"Good luck," he grinned, retreating into the hallway.

She glanced back once to make sure he was gone, then huddled over the screen and double-clicked the first file.

Ian chuckled to himself in his private office as he resumed his computer work. He expected Tiffany to appear in his doorway at any moment to borrow some earbuds. When she failed to do so after about fifteen minutes, he grabbed his extra pair and crept back toward the lobby.

At first he just peeked around the corner to observe her from behind. She was still alone in the room. Her skinny heels were hooked over the stool's chrome foot rail and her head was motionless. Her forearms clutched the bezel of the podium, apparently transfixed by whatever action was unfolding upon its screen.

From where he stood he could only discern that flesh-tones were sawing back and forth across the width of the monitor. A soft, oversized shadow of Tiffany's upper body waggled on the ceiling.

He crept up behind her. Her screen was filled edge-to-edge with a high-resolution shot of an erection plunging in and out of a lipsticked mouth. Each time the big cock withdrew, glistening saliva stretched along its full length, gloriously detailed.

Tiffany's jaw hung slack. Her long eyelashes were unblinking.

"Making progress?" he asked.

She jumped and screamed, simultaneously striking her knee on the podium and slapping both hands on the touchscreen in an attempt to hide the movie. This accidentally un-muted the volume, causing loud moans and slurps to fill the air.

"N-N-NO! Shit!" she squealed. Her petite body hovered above the stool, its every muscle tense. Her lips formed an 'O' of terror. She stabbed at the screen, fruitlessly searching for any sort of 'Off' button.

"Jesus," Ian said, trying not to laugh. "You need to relax."

He reached over and prodded the Mute and Pause icons in sequence and then dropped his neatly-coiled earbuds onto the glass, saying: "I brought you these."

"For gosh sakes Doctor Mitchell!" she panted. "Don't sneak up like that!"

"I wasn't sneaking," he lied. "You just didn't hear me. Find a good one?"

"I—I don't know, I was just, um... they're so graphic. I mean... I've never seen it... like that."

"Tiffany honey, you can spare me the fake innocence, okay?"

"Sir, I—"

"I bet you've seen oodles of BJs close-up like that. Or do you close your eyes?"

"N— I just meant I—"

"It's okay to like it."

"Um, wha—?"

"The movie. Just file it away under straight/oral and move on."

"Oh. Right."

"And don't forget to check the sound quality."

She looked away from him and nervously tucked her hair behind her ears. Then she returned her hands to her lap, fidgeting.

He smiled, touched her bare shoulder and turned to leave.

"Have fun!" he said.

Tiffany watched him disappear around the corner and then refocused on her screen. She sat quietly for a minute, trying to recover some sense of normalcy, but an irresistible urge beckoned her to start the video again. She plugged the earbuds' cord into the audio-out jack on the side of her podium and looked around the room.

By using only one earbud she kept an ear open for the phone and approaching footsteps. In that way she hoped to avoid further embarrassment.

Over the course of the afternoon she saw hours of raunchy striptease, intercourse and ejaculations. Her only interruptions were a handful of patients and a dozen phone calls. Most of the scenes were straight or girl-on-girl, and they seemed to have been collected by someone with a penchant for juxtaposing thin women and large toys. They often involved light bondage too. And, contrary to Ian's assertion, she had never seen such intense fellatio. Many of the actresses appeared to have no gag reflex at all.

Most surprisingly, she found herself fascinated by cum play, skipping back to re-watch each time a man dramatically soaked his partner with semen. Those videos she re-saved to what she began to think of as the 'good' directory.

This avalanche of hardcore erotica left her feeling dazed and inadequate. Her visual and aural senses were fried. Her thin stool was humid. So extreme was her overstimulation that whenever she blinked, unbidden flashbacks popped into her mind.

At five-thirty that afternoon, Doctor Grisholm was the first to emerge from the offices. He strolled out into the lobby with a relaxed, slightly heavy gait and locked the front door. The day's final patient had been his, a clinically depressed man who spent an hour on his counseling chaise.

Tiffany watched as he returned from locking the door. He was the shortest of the four doctors and, as it had earlier, his face appeared receptive and calm. Given his job as the clinic's only mental-health professional, she guessed he was a good listener. She noticed his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his wide pants.

She pulled the earbud from her ear and said: "Hi sir."

"Hello there Tiffany," he answered. "How's your first day been?"

She straightened her spine and crossed her legs, consciously trying to shake her porn-induced torpor. She was stoned on the persistence of her own arousal.

"Uh... it's been interesting."

"Good. Glad to hear it. I've received compliments on you already."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. Everyone thinks you're a great addition."

"Aww, thanks sir!" she smiled with instinctive politeness. "That's sweet."

"Listen... I was just thinking. I've got to drive across town to pick up some supplies for the office. Any chance you'd like to come along? It might give us a chance to actually get to know each other. I've been so focused on patients all day I feel like we've barely exchanged two words."

"Oh. Um, sure! That'd be nice, but I'd better check with Doctor Mitchell first... to see if it's okay."

"Alright. You do that. I won't be ready for a few minutes anyway. Tell him I can bring you back here afterwards, if he wants, or drop you at your grandmother's."

"Oh wow. Okay. Lemme check."

As Tiffany dismounted her warm stool and walked to the office corridor she quickly imagined that a ride with Doctor Grisholm might be a perfect opportunity to express her concerns about the spanking rule. Depending on how that went, she might also mention the touching and outfit modifications too. He suddenly seemed like the right person to talk to.

She knocked on Ian's door.

"Tiffany!" he called out as soon as she went inside. "How's Rifle's newest celebrity?"

"Ha! Fine I guess. Thank you. Um, Doctor Grisholm is going into town to run some errands and he asked me to go with him. Is that okay?"

"Well... how many scenes did you get through so far?"

"I... I don't know exactly, sir. But it seemed like a lot."

"Any favorites?"

"Uh... um, no... No favorites yet, sir."

"Hm. Too bad. Well, anyway... it's fine to go with Grisholm. You can return to that project later in the week."

"Would you like me to come back here afterward, sir? 'Cause he offered to drop me at home if you don't need me."

"Do you have your cell on you?"

"Yes."

"Uh-huh. Well, keep it on. I'll call you if I need you but otherwise just go home. There will be plenty of occasions to work late but tonight probably isn't one of them."

"Thanks, sir." Her brain wondered what he meant by that.

"Oh, and Tiffany?"

"Yes sir?"

"Tomorrow try to make your outfit a little more playful, okay? That was our deal, remember?"

"Oh. Yes. I remember. Sorry about that, sir."

"Not a problem. It was your first day, after all. But tomorrow I expect you to look amazing."

"Well... I don't know about 'amazing,' sir, but I'll try."

"That's all I ask. See you bright and early then."

"Sure. Good night, sir." She smiled, then added: "And thanks again... you know, for the job I mean!"

"My pleasure. G'night."

SCENE 8

Tiffany and Doctor Grisholm entered the local Walmart Supercenter at a quarter past six. The round-faced doctor pulled a shopping list from his pocket and scanned the endless aisles. Tiffany volunteered to tear his list in half and split up, but he declined.

She followed him around politely at first, but eventually got bored and spoke up: "Doctor Grisholm?"

"Yes?"

"Do you mind if I check-out some clothes? I can meet you by the registers in like, however many minutes you think you'll need?"

"Sure, make it twenty. That's about my limit in these big stores."

She smiled and bolted toward the women's apparel racks. She knew better than to buy anything, given her financial straits, but having a look was too tempting to resist.

Before long Doctor Grisholm had collected everything he needed. He made his way to the long row of check-out lanes, checked his watch when he saw no sign of Tiffany there, and then backtracked to the clothing area. Not finding her there either, he asked an associate to page her via the public address system.

Moments later the nearest floor-manager keyed her microphone to begin the announcement. A piercing squawk of distortion erupted from the store's forty-seven in-ceiling loudspeakers.

"Tiffany Topper! Tiffany Topper!" the system blared. "Please return to Women's Intimates! Your party is waiting!"

There was a short pause before the ceiling yelled again: "Repeat: Tiffany Topper, your party is waiting in Women's Intimates! Thank you!"

Grisholm turned toward the approaching 'slap-slap-slap' of bare feet running across the linoleum-clad concrete floor. Tiffany appeared at a full sprint; face tomato-red and hair disheveled.

"Here I am!" she called out, almost colliding with him in her haste. She was wearing white short-shorts and a black tank top. Her purse and shoes dangled from one hand.