“Hold it right there, girlie!” A uniformed policeman with his gun drawn pointed it at Xenobia and took the stairs two at a time. “This is a raid!” he announced.
“This is a raid!” The policeman repeated it for the Professor’s benefit as he backed Xenobia through the bedroom door. “You’re under arrest! Pull up your pants and come along, old-timer.”
Dazed by the suddenness of it, the Professor did as he was told. Then he put on his shirt, tucked it in, and reached for his suit jacket. “Excuse me,” he said to the officer. “I wonder if —?”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“I wonder if I might wash my hands first?”
CHAPTER TWO
“Availability being the determining factor in selection of the subject group at the inception of the program, it was deemed pragmatic to enlist cooperation from females and males of the prostitute population. (The presumption was that cooperation among members of the non-prostitute population would not be forthcoming. Results of later recruitment drives were to demonstrate the fallacy of this presumption.) Obstacles too complex to detail here had to be overcome in establishing a working arrangement with the leaders in control of this societal sub-stratum. Help in this endeavor was elicited from a volunteer intermediary not directly employed by the project. His contribution was vital and commands our gratitude. He did not hesitate to set aside personal concerns and pleasures when his services were required . . .”
Introduction to Survey of Bio-Erotic
Behavior Patterns in Human Beings,
by Woocheck & Peerloin
“You twin.” The redheaded girl in the belted black cashmere coat stood in the hallway just outside the opened door to Frank Po1lener’s bachelor apartment and put an exclamation point to her statement with green eyes that melted into surrender as they gazed into his. “I can’t stand not seeing you. The past two months have been hell. I give up.” Her hands dropped to the belt of the coat and opened it. The folds of the coat fell away from her full-bodied figure. She was completely nude under the garment. “I’m yours,” she panted. “Take me!” she demanded.
Frank Pollener’s horn-rimmed reading glasses slid down to the tip of his nose. He was still holding the book he’d been reading when the door chimes sounded, but now, stunned by the impact of the charms so unexpectedly displayed before him, the opened tome slipped from his fingers to the floor. He let it lay there as he quickly peered up and down the hallway of the luxury apartment house, distressed at the thought of one of his neighbors being privy to the scene.
The hallway was empty, but his anxiety was only partly assuaged. Hastily, he grabbed the redhead by the arm and tugged her inside the apartment. It was only after he’d closed and locked the door behind her that he found the words to respond to her greeting.
“Gloria! What are you doing here?”
“You don’t sound very glad to see me.”
“Oh, I am. I am. Only maybe not quite so much of you. Would you mind -?” His gesture asked her to close the coat.
“Don’t you like it?” She made no move to comply.
“Yes. Of course. It’s lovely. Lovely. Only a wee bit disconcerting, know what I mean? Sort of makes it hard to keep my mind on the conversation.”
“I didn’t come to talk,” Gloria emphasized. “I came to surrender myself, all of me, holding nothing back, to your ardor.”
“That’s very nicely put, Gloria. And I appreciate your sacrifice more than I can say. Better than anybody, I know how you must have struggled with yourself before coming to this decision. But let’s not do anything hasty. You close your coat and come on inside and I’ll fix you a drink and we’ll talk first.” Frank tried to usher her from the foyer to the living room.
She balked. She craned her head forward and peered at him until the tip of her nose almost grazed“ the tip of his nose. “Frank Pollener?” It was a question. Then she turned around and opened the door to the outside hallway again. She studied the nameplate on the door. “Frank Pollener,” she repeated, reading it. “For a minute there,”. she added, “I thought maybe I had the wrong apartment. You don’t have a twin brother or anything, do you?”
“No,” Frank assured her, quickly closing the door again - “Now will you come inside?”
“All right.” Gloria followed him into the living room. “Then you are the same Frank Pollener who tried to tear my clothes off on alternate weekends during the months of January, February and March of this fiscal year, aren’t you?” she inquired, a slight edge to her voice.
“I’m afraid so.”
“The same Frank Pollener who ripped six pairs of my nylons and mangled three brassieres and mined my one and only pleated black cocktail dress because he was carried away by a passion to which I inspired him during each and every one of our bi-monthly encounters?”
“I remember.” Frank sighed.
“The same Frank Pollener, attorney-at-law, who pleaded his case with murmurs and moans in an all-out effort to have me set aside the precedent of three unfortunate amorous experiences and share his bed with him? A bed, I might point out, of which he was rarely the sole occupant during the interim periods of fourteen days each which separated our meetings. The same Frank Pollener famed throughout the legal world for winning more cases in bedchambers than judicial chambers, for being more successful courting than in court, for practicing more in the temples of Eros than ever in the temples of justice? The same Frank Pollener who told me that outlook was the determining factor in sex, that his outlook was healthy which was why his partners always received maximum gratification from him, such testimonials cited, I believe, to convince me that lovemaking with Frank Pollener would be to my three unfortunate past experiences as ambrosia is to vinegar? It is that same Frank Pollener before whom I now stand getting goose pimples, is it not?”
“Well yes, but--”
“I rest my case. Take me!”
“You are getting goose-pimply,” Frank observed. “If you’d just button up—”
“Button up! There’s only one answer then! It must be me!” Gloria cupped her hand under her mouth, exhaled and sniffed. “My best friends can’t get close enough to tell me,” she sighed.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Gloria. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s--”
“Maybe my depilatory let me down.” Gloria bent over and scrutinized one naked thigh.
“It’s -”
“Greasy kid stuff!” She snapped her fingers. “I’ll never buy another cheap lipstick.”
“Will you stop? Please!”
“Well let’s face it, Frank, something must be wrong. Or, is it that I just don’t appeal to you any more?”
“Of course you appeal to me,” he assured her. “You’re beautiful. You’re voluptuous. You’re sexy as hell—-”
“If you feel that way, then what are we talking about? The bedroom’s in there, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But-—”
“But what? Oh!” Gloria was struck by a sudden suspicion. “You have someone else in there!” she accused him. “Is that it?” "
“No.”
“Well, we’ll just see!” Gloria marched over to the bedroom door, flung it open and flicked the wall-switch, turning on the lights. The room was empty. “Oh—” she said. “Then why—?”
“I’m trying to explain. I will if you’ll just relax and give me a chance.”
“Have you had some kind of accident, Frank?” Gloria was genuinely concerned.
“No. I’m fine. It’s just--”