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Fifi

By: Hornyman69WithU



Back in the early '90s I worked for a major corporation owned by a French holding company. Although we were expected to pinch pennies (Post-It Notes were not an approved expense!) we were REQUIRED to stay at the $250 per night Sofitel O'Hare when on business in Chicago. That was a total waste of money, as all we did was sleep and shower in the hotel room, and we were gone all day and well into the evening elsewhere. Funny thing, Sofitel is a French hotel company. Hmmmm.

Anyway, I'd been there all week and our business wrapped up early by mid morning on Friday, but my flight didn't depart until like 6:00 PM, so I requested a late checkout to have a luxury hotel lunch, use the fancy health facilities, and in just a few hours generally try to derive some of the benefits of this fancy hotel my company was paying for.

My colleagues were all able to get earlier flights, so I was just there on my own entertaining myself. I drank a bottle of expensive wine with a giant lunch, none of which I could pronounce but all of which was delicious, then headed back to my room to change into trunks. Only then did I fully realize what a fancy room I had: fruit wood furniture, nice oil paintings NOT bolted to the wall, and a small frij full of complimentary snacks, imported beers, and a bottle of French wine.

I stuck the beers in my gym bag and headed to the health club to enjoy a cycle of steam room, Jacuzzi, and sauna over and over as I downed the beers. I was pretty tipsy, but bored as hell, as I was the only person in the whole health club, and still had 3 hours to kill before needing to catch the shuttle bus to O'Hare.

A drunk prune, I finally left the health club and wandered about the huge but nearly devoid-of-all-people hotel. Craving some sort of excitement and noticing that the elevators were particularly fast, I rode them up and down like a carnival ride. A grown man has to be pretty bored to do that.

I'm the kind of guy who never met a stranger, so I was trying to socialize with some of the hotel staff, but they were all French and seemed to be just bothered by me, so I gave up on that.

I figured the airport would be a more interesting place than here--at least there are people there to watch--so I went back to my room to shower, dress, and pack. 

As I stepped out of the enormous bath, it was uncomfortably warm in there from my scalding hot shower, so I stepped around into the room to crank up the A/C. And there was the maid making the bed, though she did not notice me right away. 

She had on a, well, French Maid's uniform, a doily-looking thing in her hair, short black skirt, tight bodice with white see-through lace up the front, and white stockings held up with a black garter belt, the clips of which were quite visible as she bent over to pull up the sheet. 

Damn, she was so cute, too! With a bottle of merlot and 4 large Grolsh beers in me, I did not even remember I was buck naked as I stared at this young beauty. She noticed me, blushed big time, smiled, and said something in French.

Then I realized I was naked and semi-erect, becoming less and less semi with each moment, so I started to apologize and cover up with a towel, but she just stared back at me and said, "No, no, no, nice man, nice man!" Bored, drunk, and horny, I needed no further invitation. 

In my best imitation of the old TV private eye Mannix, I rolled across the bed like a car hood towards "Fifi" and clasped her with my legs in a tight scissors, hiking her skirt up in the process. To my delightful surprise, I found the black garter belt but no panties and just a thin stripe of pubes. Knowing next to no French but struggling to say something she'd understand, I pointed at it and blurted out, "Maginot line!" This utterly stupid joke amused me so that I was laughing uncontrollably, and she did not get my trench warfare reference, but began giggling anyway just from the contagious effect.

Wasting no time, I twisted her around into a 69, buried my face in that beautiful bare twat, and licked her wet as the Seine, pausing only to shout, "Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite!" in yet another ludicrous comment that amused me to no end. (You gotta remember I'd had pretty much to drink and been in steam, sauna, jacuzzi, and a hot shower for a total of about 2 hours--which has a way of softening the brain.)

Totally into my pussy eating, she wriggled out of the tight bodice to reveal two luscious peaches to caress my stomach as she licked and sucked what she generously nicknamed "Eifel Tower," which cracked me up. Her pussy was so wet that I made some gurgling sounds on it with my mouth, then said, "Jacques Cousteau." Well, she got that dumb joke and started laughing, which caused her super-soft titties to dance about on "Eifel," a wonderful sensation, and patriotic only in a way the French would understand. 

Well, over the next 2 hours we fucked and sucked in most positions on most of the furniture and the maid's cart, chock full of neat things to insert in her orifi, such as the toothbrushes. Just because I'm a devil, I inserted the handle of each one individually in her pooper, then carefully replaced them back in the nice ceramic container on the cart. I mean I wouldn't want them to fall on the floor or anything!

The first time I came I was pounding her missionary while we were on top of the big desk, which was thankfully sturdy, though we broke the lamp, paper holder, and phone. Not to worry, the room had a ridiculous 3 MORE PHONES. "Fifi" had the tightest little pussy, too tight, but I was fortunate that I had drunk so much that I could go the distance.

We took a break, cracked open the last bottle of wine in the mini-frij, and scarfed down the remaining snacks before she sucked the tower back up and rode me as smooth and soft as a Peugot presidential limo. Gazing up at her and playing with her bouncing boobies, I started my Pidgen French routine of nonsense, "Oui, oui, Fifi, frere a jaqua dorme vous Charles de Galle? You had to be there, but it was funny.

Finally, I took a notion that I wanted her on the balcony. Only it wasn't a real balcony, more like a ledge, and for safety reasons, the window would not open more than a few inches. I tried to open it further but it would not budge. Then "Fifi" fished a strange looking tool out of her cart, made a few twists and turns here and there, and the whole large window turned loose. 

Perfect, now we stepped out onto the ledge naked. Woe, we were way up high, and the motherfuckin' March Chicago wind must have been blowing 40 MPH. I bent her way over the ledge and did her doggy. It was so damn cold my scrotum drew up tight as a golf ball and her nips hard as nails, but that just made the warm, wet fuckin' feel that much better. 

Gazing about, I noticed a guy in the nearby high rise watching us. "Fifi" saw him, too. Great, we had an audience, so we would perform. And perform we did, adding much more movement and exaggerated facial expressions than we would have had we been alone. Down deep, that's why I'd wanted to come out on this ledge in the first place, a way of saying, "Look everybody, look at the cute young naked French maid I found, look at me fuck her! Extra, extra, read all about it!"

After a good while out there and getting the attention of several more men and one woman in that building, we came back in and she sucked me to climax and swallowed every drop as I sat in the big leather desk chair. Ahhh. Yes, I was at last getting the benefit of that $250 a night rate my crazy company was shelling out

Still enjoying her after-licks, my eyes focused on the clock. Shit!!! 4:55 PM. The hotel shuttle leaves at 5:00. My flight's at 6:00. I jumped in my clothes, smashed the rest of my stuff in the garment bag, gave "Fifi" a kiss and a smack on the butt, and flew out the door.

"Orovois, Eifel," I heard her say.

Fifi Fuchs? Possibly



Set in England

* * *

CHAPTER 1

The opening episode of the new BBC light drama called 'Department Store London' (DSL) ran for two hours and the advance publicity had been intense because some git in British Broadcasting reputedly with a first-class nose for picking 'winners' had read the script, knew the director intimately (more intimately than the director's husband suspected) and had sent his prognosis to everyone who mattered declaring, "DSL will be the runaway drama of this decade."

The Tuesday night it premiered was raining and Tuesday was the night rival channels including satellite TV ran crap. So virtually all of England, Scotland, Wales and parts of Ireland snuggled up to their loved one if they had one, a pillow if they didn't, and watched to see if the promo drivel had any semblance of truth.

Interestingly, DSL rocked the nation. Well most people like to shop and have no idea what goes on behind doors in stores out of sight of the public.

ACTION, CAMERA... time to chew crisps. Here's what viewers saw:

Fifi Fuchs fearfully entered Bradford & Johnston Department store. Normally she was cheerful and confident but arriving on her first day for cadet training thirty-five minutes late had left her on edge.

A junior from Reception took her to the training room. Ex Army sergeant Charles B. Thom swung around scowling at having his class diverted from his authoritative induction.

"Yes?"

"This is Miss Fuchs, your eighth inductee."

"She's late, she's out. Please leave, both of you."

Fifi was not leaving that easily. "Please sir? "

"Yes?"

"I have a valid excuse."

"There's no such thing as a valid excuse."

Fifi stood resolute. "I disagree."

The other inductees looked horrified at the thought of seeing this upstart squashed under Mr Thom's size 12 boot.

"Very well Miss Fucks."

"Miss Fuchs sir."

"Just get on to it."

Fifi explained how she was half a mile from a store when there was a collision between a car and a delivery van at the intersection she was waiting to cross. The impact deflected the van into the rear of a heavy truck. The van caught fire and the unconscious van driver was in peril.

"In peril?"

"Flames were in the cabin sir."

"Go on."

"Well I ran over, opened the door and dragged the driver out, burning my arms and singing my eyebrows. I fell back on to the street and there was an explosion just as the fire department arrived and they doused the flames and treated my arms and the face of the driver."

Everyone went 'Ooooh' at the sight of the scorch marks on Fifi's arms when she pulled up her sleeves.

"It will be on TV tonight sir."

"I still say that's not a valid excuse for lateness and there's no place in one of my classes or in this store for anyone called Fifi Fucks."

"Fifi Fuchs sir."

"Whatever -- away you go."

"It was a Bradford & Johnson delivery van sir."

"What?"

"It was a Bradford & Johnson delivery van sir."

Mr Thom strode over to Fifi. "My dear girl, what a terrible ordeal you have been through. Miss Jones, please take Fifi to sickbay and explain to Nurse Barry the circumstances and say this heroine is a Bradford & Johnson inductee."

"Yes sir. Come this way Miss Fuck."

Mr Thom pulled out his phone.

Nurse Barry was finishing bandaging Fifi's arms when the door open and in strode a man dressed magnificently in an expensive pinstriped suit with fob watch on a gold chain emphasizing his huge belly.

"Miss Fucks?"

"Miss Fuchs," Fifi and Nurse Barry said in unison.

"Er what's your first name sweetheart?"

The curvy blonde with a soft heart smiled sweetly and said, "Fifi sir."

"You mean Josephine?"

"No, my father said short names were coming into fashion so chose the Fifi alternative."

"I'm Mr Anthony Bradford, son of the co-founder of this illustrious store. You have done us proud Fifi, providing us marvellous publicity for our upcoming Early Summer Festival. The van and your filmed rescue will feature in on TV tonight and in the morning newspapers will report the van was carrying new season's swimwear for our festival. Our head of corporate promotions and publicity Sampson here has been advised that fact will be included in the report on TV news. Now, we can't have you being called an inductee -- that is just too lowbrow and common. So right now I am promoting you to assistant manager of corporate promotions and publicity. Sampson will take care of your induction and training."

"But sir, I know nothing about publicity and promotion."

"My dear, that's mere detail. We at Bradford & Johnston provide support for personnel second to none. I also point out we've never had a person engaged in the P&P department who ever thought of promoting one of our festivals with a selfless act of heroism. Thank you my dear and henceforth you shall be the only person on our payroll known exclusively by her first name for reasons of delicacy. Sampson send an email to that effect when announcing Fifi's promotion. And now Sampson, take Fifi to the dining hall for her press conference."

"Press conference Bradford?"

"Er my dear I'm known as Mr Anthony and my son is known as Mr Jason and Miss Johnson is known as Miss Elizabeth.

"How quaint."

Everyone looked aghast.

"Fifi, the word for it is 'tradition'."

"That sounds so much better sir. Lead on Sampson."

"Miss Sampson to you Fifi and don't you forget it." 

"Fifi, if anyone in our great store gives you a hard time I want to hear about it from you personally, do you understand?"

"Yes Mr Anthony. Do I get a key to the executive toilets and freedom to use the executive lunchroom? I know about that by watching movies."

"Yes of course dear. Action that Sampson."

"Yes Mr Anthony."

As Sampson and Fifi entered the elevator Sampson said, "Now let's get this straight you little bitch..."

"Excuse me for butting in Sampson but am I correct in figuring you talking to me like that comes under the definition of giving me a hard time?"

Sampson paused, and swallowed with difficulty. "Oh yes darling, how silly of me. Under stress as you can see. I apologize Fifi darling. From now on I treat you like my princess."

"Thank you my queen."

"Oooh."

The crowd of seventy journalists and TV and radio crews clapped as Sampson led Fifi into the room.

"Good morning everyone. I'm Miss Elizabeth Sampson, head of this illustrious store's promotions and publicity department and our heroine Fifi here is my assistant manager. Fifi would you please start by giving your potted history and then answer questions from these high profile journalists."

"Hello everyone. Thank you for wanting to hear from me. I'm twenty-five, youngest daughter of industrialist Lord Bacon-Flynn and Lady Anne Fuchs. My parents wanted me to study law and when I said no I wanted to study fashion they suggested after a terrible scene that I must abandon my residency at Cudhorn Estate. I now live with my former nanny, Nanny Smith, who paid for me to attend design school. I design all my friend's clothes, er my female friends that is, and some of them have won fashion awards. I am entitled to be called lady but have dropped the title since being kicked out of home. I don't have a boyfriend -- apparently I'm too competitive -- I'm big into horse riding, play a mean game of pool and was poor at schoolwork but was a champion swimmer at school. I chose to come to Bradford & Johnson Department Store because it clearly is at the cutting edge of women's fashion. That's it."

"Fifi what is your surname and how can we verify what you have just said?"

"Fuchs."

"Is that a snobbish way of saying fuck?"

"No, it's spelt F-U-C-H-S and pronounced FOOKS. Confirm what I have just said with my mother. She is listed in the phone book."

"How long have you been working at this store?"

Fifi heard the sharp intake of Sampson's breath, so said, "Well after this morning's dramatic incident it seems forever. I had my arms singed rather than deeply burned -- see." She held up her bandaged arms and people gasped. "I had been thinking of getting my eyebrows plucked but now don't have to worry -- they've gone?

"Oh you poor darling," cried a woman journalist and other females joined her.

A guy asked, "If you think you're a big into fashion, why are you in promotion and publicity?"

Sampson sucked in breath again. 

That cautioned Fifi to proceed carefully. "You're a guy so you wouldn't be aware that fashion lives and dies in a large part on the quality of its promotion and the publicity it receives. Guys are ignorant but at least they like the little black dress because it makes their girlfriend look cute and it's so easy to rip it off her that guys have make the LBD a fashion icon. I love you guys for doing that and all women with great legs and a great arse would agree with me."

"Fifi why didn't you wait for a guy to jump in to rescue the van driver?"

"By the time a guy got around to think what he should do the driver would have been caught in the explosion."

"Were you afraid?"

"I must have been. I wet my pants."

"Did you think of your own safety?"

"I was faced with attempting to save a van driver. No time to waste on frivolous thinking."

"Are you a heroine?"

"Hell no, anyone could have do what I did... they just didn't think about the need to move fast."

"Fifi, from his hospital bed the van driver is calling you a heroine."

"He could be expected to say that. There's probably not much he can remember about his day and you guys would have been asking him were I a heroine. We here at Bradford & Johnson regard something like that as depth of service. I bet that guy will now shop at Bradford & Johnson. Look, that's enough of this crap. Take your pictures and let's have something to eat and drink and then fuck off. We have a fashion fair to prepare. We do very much appreciate your attendance here this morning. Thank you."

Fifi looked across at the wings where Mr Anthony was surrounded by his executives. One guy stood out and she looked at him again -- tall, blonde with a magnificent chest. She murmured, "Could he be Mr Jason?" 

The chairman's entourage had obviously been aghast at her telling the media to fuck off soon but then they were looking in awe at the media laughing themselves legless. Fifi murmured, "Don't the silly twits know how to handle the media?"

Sampson hugged Fifi. "Except for the F-word and saying crap you were marvellous dear. The media was obviously impressed by you and you even managed to work in mention of the Early Summer Fair and the name of our illustrious store, more than once I seem to remember. Twice I was about to die when you were under questioning but you played above your weight and excelled. A truly remarkable performance my dear."

With the media largely ignoring the food to demolish the beer, wine, gin and whisky that tall blond guy brushed against Fifi. 

"Oh hello. I noticed you amongst the big wigs. Since you are by far the youngest guy I assume you are Mr Jason?"

"Yes Miss Fifi."

"Oooh."

"Was that the truth your father is Lord Bacon-Flynn?"

"Yes. Are you attempting to rub shoulders with the nobility?"

"You're too cute to be noble."

"Oh thank you squire. Are you attempting to bed me?"

"Fifi please."

"Okay -- in that case I've lost interest in you so shove off."

"Fifi, please."

"No you shove off."

A burly cameraman moved up to them. "Is this stuff-shirt annoying you Fifi?"

"No, but thanks for checking."

The cameraman said, "My wife has one of your dresses, given her by Lady Elsmere who found it about too racy for her -- she mainly lives in trousers."

"Ah yes, Susie Elsmere. She paid eleven hundred pounds at it at a charity auction. She shouldn't drink so much."

Fifi called, "Goodbye Mr Jason" to the departing son of the chairman but he appeared to have a hearing problem. 

* * *

Sampson had eight people working for her including the demoted assistant manager who had to make way for Fifi but by mid afternoon she had left, collecting her pay, crying.

"Fuck, I relied on Janice..."

"It's Fuchs."

"No Fifi, I was using the F-word. Janice was my graphics designer and we needed her to prepared the posters and..."

"I'm competent in computer graphics design. Here let me show you my website."

Sampson looked at the clothing fashions, many of them styled separately on creative computer-generated backgrounds and the graphics artistically arranged.

"It's all my own work Elizabeth."

"Oh fuck goodness we have Fuchs."

That evening on the way home Fifi called in on her occasional provider Timmy Worth. He obliged and they were underway when his mother walked into the dimly lit family room. Timmy was giving it to Fifi standing up and Fifi who'd been holding her skirt hem in her teeth, leaving her hands free to pull Timmy in hard against her by his butt let her skirt drop and that quickly covered most of the exposed bare flesh.

"Good gracious, what are you two doing," called Mrs Worth, her voice rising in panic infused with shame.

"Er...." Timmy said but halted helplessly.

"Looking at the tropical fish," Fifi said, looking at the backlit display in the fish tank beside them.

Timmy went to pocket Fifi's panties but too late.

"Are those Fifi's panties in your hand young man?"

"Er...."

"It's experimental Mrs Worth. I read today that Lycra is great for cleaning the exterior glass of a fish tank."

"Oh. Well hurry up and then I want you out here to be of some use to me Timmy."

"Oh I want him to hurry up too Mrs Worth. We need to ejaculate."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said we must do an immaculate job... meaning with the glass. You know, with Lycra."

"Oh yes, of course. Timmy you should have borrowed a pair of my panties from my underwear drawer."

"But you have forbidden me from going near that drawer again mother. Last time..."

"That's enough Timmy. Quickly finish what you're doing but do it properly."

"Yes mother."

A few minutes later Fifi, with a satisfied expression, left the Worth's home.

Fifi sat with Nanny Smith and watched the TV news. Nanny Smith was drinking sherry and of course had the perfect answer the time Fifi had challenged and said, "Yuk, no one drinks sherry these days."

"I do."

That taught Fifi it's impossible to change people's drinking habits when they are obstinate and defend themselves pragmatically.

"Oh, there you are on telly," said Nanny Smith.

"Yeah, had to help a guy out of the crap on my way to work this morning."

"Dear, crap is vulgar. Please say shit."

"Yes Nanny."

The next camera shot was at the press conference with Fifi identifying herself and then holding up her bandaged arms and the women journalists oohing sympathetically followed by a shot of a journalist asking, "Where you frightened?" and Fifi replying she'd wet her pants.

"The van driver is calling you a heroine."

"He could be expected to say that. You guys would have been asking him were I a heroine. We here at Bradford & Johnson regard something like that as depth of service. I bet that guy will now shop at Bradford & Johnson. Look, that's enough of this crap. Take your pictures and let's have something to eat and drink and then [bleep] off. We have a fashion fair to prepare. Thank you for coming."

Nanny Smith sighed. "Undoubtedly you were a brave girl but you spoilt it by your common manner of speaking. I always said you never would be a lady like your mother. She's not even aware of the existence of that F-word. But your employer will be pleased with you giving the upcoming fashion fair a plug on TV news. That will be a first for them."

Early next morning her father called. "I have just read about you in the Telegraph. Good show."

"Thank you daddy. How's mummy?"

"Still up herself. She wouldn't read any more of the story of your heroism after reading the quotation of you saying you wet your pants. Apparently it is shameful because all of England and Scotland and Wales know you pee."

"Oh daddy, how terrible for you to also be expected to bear that burden. I'll survive." 

"Have you found a decent man yet or are you still fucking anything on two legs?"

"I'm using discretion daddy."

"Good girl. Your attitude has cheered me up because today I'm sending eighty head of cattle off for slaughter."

"Just think of them being relieved of their monotonous diet and staid lifestyle daddy."

"Oh I say, that's the ticket. Thank you darling. I'll tell your mother you asked how was her garden, that you hope her other children were keeping in touch and that you love her."

"As you wish daddy."

When Fifi stepped through Nanny Smith's gate on to the footpath a blonde guy in an Aston Martin sports car called to her, "Get in."

"Oh good morning Mr Jason. No thank you, I don't ride with bossy strangers."

He leapt out of the car, or more correctly painfully extricated his long frame.

"Good morning sweet Fifi. I'm just off for coffee before heading on to the store and would be delighted if you'd accept my offer to join me."

"Why Mr Jason, how kind. Yes I will."

Jason wound back into his car and then used the F-word explosively, having to unwind and go around the car to hold the passenger door open for Fifi. "Or would you prefer to drive?" he asked facetiously.

"Oooh yes, thank you," Fifi said, rushing around, opening the driver's door and jumped in unassisted while Mr Jason was still standing at the passenger door gaping.

"This is the coupe with the 48 valve V12 engine isn't it?"

"Yes," said Mr Jason, belting in nervously. "It is recommended you undertake an advanced driving course before even sitting in the driver's seat of this vehicle. With a 470 horsepower engine bolted to such a lightweight body it goes like the clappers, taking only 4.6 seconds to go from zero to 60 mph."

"Frankly I don't believe it," Fifi said, moving the vehicle to the middle of the street and stopping. "Well, there's one way to find out."

"No!" screamed Mr Jason.

The car leapt forward under violent acceleration and Fifi yelled "Oh yeah" as they flashed up to 70mph in the suburban street before she de-accelerated. They were still doing 40 as she hurled the car to the right at a T-section, flicking past a cyclist and squeezed between two passing lorries. She then slowed to the speed limit.

"She's nicely tuned," Fifi said to the white-faced owner. "One of my brothers has this model. They are fucking useless going over anything but flat paddocks and are hopeless if the grass is damp."

"You take a car this expensive over paddocks?"

"Well only to race."

"Oh god."

"Obviously you don't have a tolerant and generous father Mr Jason?"

At the tearooms they conversed cheerfully, colour returning to Mr Jason's face. And then he said, "Father and I were talking about you last night.

"Oh for giving the store such a good plug on TV and in newspapers?"

"Well that too. It's just that we've never had the privilege of employing anyone like you before... you just don't appear to fit any know category of employee."

"I'm sorry."

"Please don't apologize. We are not absolutely certain you are a total misfit."

"Oh charming."

She was ignored. "Father wonders if you should be placed in charge of induction."

"Oh no, that would be a mistake. I'm too appealing as a person. Mr Thom is perfect there, scaring the shit out of inductees. He represents the worst that inductees will ever meet face to face with customers. If they can't stomach Mr Thom they never will cope with the vilest customer."

"God, that's brilliant. We've never thought of that."

"But isn't that why you employ him there?"

"No, he'd just retired from dad's old regiment and came looking for a job. Inducting new recruits was the only manager's position open at the time."

"Christ, no wonder England lost its Empire. No, leave me where I am for the moment. I'm young and need to acquire business experience. If you think about it promotion and publicity will give me business experience, a taste of business politics and experience in interacting with more senior people and demanding people."




Fifi Fuchs? Possibly



"Yes, I see what you mean. I hadn't thought about that."

"Exactly what do you think about Mr Jason, sex?"

He coloured and said she should call him Jason, even at work. "The word is already around that you are different and are already seen by my father as a rising star and are under his patronage."

"Is he aiming to fuck me?"

"Christ Fifi, back off. You can't say that about people in general conversation."

"But I just did?"

Jason groaned and covered his eyes with a hand.

"Exactly what is your position at the store Jason?"

"Chief operations officer."

"God, that's supposed to be high powered isn't it?"

"Meaning?" he said angrily.

"Oh nothing. Obviously you must have great support staff."

"I do," he said proudly but then looked at her suspiciously.

"You are handsome."

He beamed. "I like pretty women like you."

"Yes I bet you do. Are my tits to your satisfaction Jason?"

He choked and went off to pay the bill.

"I'll drive," he said forcibly, as they reached the car.

"Oooh, I like a man who knows his own mind."

Jason swaggered to his door and then hearing a tapping foot rushed around to open Fifi's door for her.

"Am I wearing panties?" she asked, conversationally, knowing she was showing heaps of legs as women do getting into low-slung vehicles.

"I... um... ah."

He ran around the vehicle and getting into his seat said, "I could never take you home. Mother is a strong-minded woman and you two would fight like two cats."

"In that case where will you fuck me?"

The astounded Jason turned out into the traffic flow without signalling right into the path of a police car. It's siren sounded.

"Oh Christ, what a way to start my day."

"Just say sorry officer and leave it to me. If he'd read a newspaper or watched TV he'll recognize me. They are trained to memorize faces."

An athletic-looking policewoman appeared at the window. "Good morning sir. I'm afraid you are in line to receive a ticket. You turned out of a parking area without looking and without signalling, right in front of our vehicle but the offence remains the same had it been any other motorist."

"I'm sorry officer."

Fifi leaned forward to look beyond the crestfallen driver. "Good morning ma'am."

"Good morning... oh heavens, Fifi the heroine from yesterday. Miss Fifi Fuchs isn't it?"

"Yes ma'am. You have a sharp memory. Do you shop at Bradford & Johnston's?"

"Oooh yes."

"Please give me your card and I'll post you two tickets to opening night of our Early Summer Fair. This is just courtesy for you recognizing me. Oh, this is my boss. It's only my second day at Bradford & Johnston's."

"Oh thank you Fifi. Look, we managed to stop in time without being shunted in the rear. I'll just write you out a warning ticket. And sir, please drive safely with Fifi aboard."

As they drove off, correctly, Jason said, "I can't believe what I've just witnessed. You bribed her and yet you made it very clear you were not bribing her, being so definite that if challenged the testimonies of you, the police officer and me would stand up in court. It was a superb exhibition of public relations."

"Well I grew up competing against two older brothers and even worst two older sisters and unlike them I opted to go to the village school for my early education instead of public school like my siblings, so it was Fuck as they called me initially -- Fuck against the entire school until I gradually earned respect and become Fifi to all but the anarchists."

"And that gave you your backbone?"

"No, that was Nanny Smith. She was a secret anarchist and remains so. That extended my skill in coping with opposing views of anarchists and republicans because I'm a conservative royalist. How did you find where I lived?"

"I screwed it out of Sampson."

"I bet you did -- she has big tits."

Jason turned scarlet.

It was time for a commercial break in the screening. Half of Britain raced to make a cup of tea and find new packets of crisps.

CHAPTER 2

Management had decided after an audition to allow Fifi to narrate the Young Ladies segment of the Early Summer Fashion Fair. To their horror she came on stage dressed in her own designs -- jeans covered indiscriminately in big plashes of paint, a high-neck top that finished just under her bra line and her blonde hair had black streaks through it. The thirty press and trade media cameras blinded everyone as the photographers caught what would within days become known as The Contemptuous Summer Look that would sweep Britain and the Continent. 

Fifi even named the look. "Hi everyone. I think young people are sick of being dictated to wear prissy fashion. I'm exaggerating what I mean by wearing a look that contemptuously bucks that trend. Sorry we haven't provided paper bags for you older people to vomit in. Right, here we go to present the best collection that Bradford & Johnston has searched the four corners to bring to fashionable young people. I can say I'll be wearing some of these high fashion garments and I'm sorry (she appeared to be lying) that prissy management pulled our bottomless bikini at the last moment. Well here comes Jennifer looking set to kill spring and stave off autumn in this stunning little number..."

At the end the audience, tired out laughing at Fifi saucy comments, managed a standing ovation for her session and as she walked off the fashion media went after her like baying hounds. Other sessions had ended with just polite clapping.

Next day management gloated over newspaper reports lauding the show and all contained a photo of Fifi in her outfit that was generally regarded as 'laudable' but all media missed the chance to brand it.

The hugely popular up-market Fashion Quarterly did that the following week with a cover photo of Fifi, obviously braless, wearing an even more colourful version of her outfit, the heading screaming, 'Launch of The Contemptuous Summer Look for Young Women'.

At Bradford & Johnston's Mr Anthony told Mr Jason he'd better get Fifi's Contemptuous fashion line into production PDQ so Mr Jason approached her to release the patterns to the store.

"Providing you take me to dinner and then do you know what."

"Okay, tonight but the patterns and assignment authority... we need them pretty damn quick."

"I have everything on my laptop with me. I'll go to the legal department now."

"Thank you. I'll look forward to tonight."

"I bet you will."

* * *

Jason narrated his life story to Fifi over coffee.

He'd grown up a bit of a mummy's boy. Penelope his mother, daughter of a long line of successful fishmongers, had a tyrannical streak. An assistant in the fine foods department, Penelope been caught with her pants down in the storeroom by Anthony's father with Anthony raising his head and braying while creaming her. His father forced his son to marry the damn girl who actually 'rose above her station' and went on to become became the best frock and underwear manager in the store's history.

Jason still lived at home and that was his problem. Every female he'd begun to court since his interest in sex began had been driven away by his mother who'd each time would decree the visitor as being unfit for her son. Now 30, Jason would warn each new female he was shagging to curb her desire to meet his mother. He'd patiently explain the danger but the each woman would optimistically believe she had what it would take to win over his mother but to no avail. Currently, to avoid wrecking the confidence of young women he often used his best friend's wives to satisfy his hormones whenever they raged, which at his age was fairly frequently.

The way in which Fifi had burst on to the scene had gripped Jason's imagination. Was this the woman he'd been searching for, one who'd drive the mummy's boy out of his persona and coax him into becoming the powerful force in retailing necessary to take the helm of Bradford & Johnston when the call came? He worried though because of one thing: he thought such a women would have to be about forty, not twenty. Well he'd appraise Fifi as the female lynchpin in his life to supersede his mother but no way would he allow Fifi to get within twenty feet of his mother.

"Oh you told that story beautifully Jason and updated it by including me impacting on your life. Kiss-kiss. I must go.

Mid-afternoon Jason Bradford took a call from Fifi. He asked, "How did you get my confidential phone number?"

"Oh Jason, don't be such a drip. I'm in promotions and publicity remember... I wouldn't be in this department without the guile to find out a fucking restricted phone number, would I?

The question forced Jason to reply. "I suppose not. Have you signed over your authorities?"

"Yes and I'm eighty miles away from you watching the computerized machine cutting the first batch of tops. They are working through the night to land the first consignment to our store by 7:00 tomorrow morning."

"Who authorized that? That damn Marks. That will involve penal rates. Put the damn woman on to me."

"She isn't here. She's home with influenza. I told the Fashion Department coordinator I'd fix it. With Fashion Quarterly in bookshops from this morning we'll have really big demand for those tops. I already have placed the order for jeans and that company's personnel are having a great time splashing paint. It will cost us though. Because of the rush they have had to hire special portable driers."

"And who authorized that? Oh don't tell me, Armstrong also has influenza so you volunteered to substitute?"

"God Jason, you do appear to have a brain after all. Yes, that's correct and delivery of those jeans is assured before we open in the morning."

"Please, please Fifi, tell me you haven't placed repeat orders."

"Come on Jason, you know I would. All up we have batch orders in for 50,000 jeans and a 150,000 tops because young women will buy two or three tops at a time."

"H-h-how many?"

"Don't panic. Just in case I'm wrong about demand in both instances orders can be adjusted or even cancelled but by no later than the end of business tomorrow. I predict at the peak of lunchtime tomorrow the street outside our store will be closed by police to ensure the safety of massing pedestrians."

"Fifi, I'm sorry but this whole thing has gone to your head. It's just not going to happen."

"Come on Jason. Have faith. You know I'm right as much as any person can in predicting consumer demand."

Jason sighed hugely. "I have the sneaking suspicion you'll be proven correct."

"Thank you Jason, that's very courageous of you. I hoped you had it in you. Oh, don't bother booking a restaurant. My PA has just called to say your mother has invited me to dinner tonight."

"No, no -- Fifi you can't...."

"Sorry Jason -- there's an urgent question for me to answer about women with breasts positioned lower on the chest. Bye." 

Jason muttered, "Well, it didn't matter if Fifi meets mother. I have no intention of running with Fifi; just the one spurge with her and I'm out of her for good. What the fuck is an assistant manager doing having a PA?"

He called Sampson in her sick bed. "Sampson who authorized a PA for Fifi?"

"You did sir."

"I fucking well did not."

"She said if you create a fuss I'm to say she'll get Mr Anthony to authorize it. She's quite a problem to handle sir."

"Yes Sampson. I am finding that out. But why does she need a PA?"

"It's actually a senior PA with a degree in management sir."

"What!"

"We are getting media calls running at four to six an hour wanting to arrange interviews with Fifi or requesting an illustrated article from her. BBC Business wants her all Thursday to do an extensive interview and to film around the store with her and RTÉ One from Dublin is sending across a team and..."

"Sampson, enough. I'm calling our contract shop-fitters now -- I'll want Fifi housed in your office with you. The office will be more than doubled in size and you'll both have your PAs sitting outside the office behind a proper enclosure with a gate and fittings and finish will be to the highest standard. You get out of bed and go out and select the new desks and furniture and fittings, all coordinated. I'll get the shop-fitters in to do the retrofitting tonight. If you have any ideas please advised me. Just remember TV cameras will be all over your department. I want everyone wearing smart fashion and looking sexy, even you Sampson."

"Yes Mr Jason."

* * *

Penelope Bradford stood on the steps of the 3-floor town house after pushing the release for a security gate leading into the handkerchief-size garden. Fifi came in off the street, looked up and waved and said, "Oh I say, a ground garden in the heart of London."

"Yes but my pride and joy is up on the roof Lady Fifi."

"Oh please call me Fifi and I daresay you wish me to call you Penelope."

Penelope was quite taken aback. "Penny will be quite sufficient Fifi. How lovely to have you visiting."

"It's my pleasure. I have met Mr Anthony and found him most impressive. And now I get to meet the power behind the home throne but already I have learned from senior staff when questioned you were an awesome store manager and remain a director of the company, specializing in finance."

"My, you have done your homework. Please come inside."

"Thank you. Oh god, mom has one of these, in the entrance hall just like this, a George 111 demi-lune sideboard, circa late 1700s."

"Oh how very interesting. Can you get closer with the date?"

"No, but does it matter? It's definitely Geo 3 late 18th century and that's good enough. Is it an heirloom?"

"In a manner of speaking. My mother left it to me. I treasure it as when I came into the family I was not welcomed but as she aged and I produced a grandson and granddaughter her attitude towards me softened considerably. I suppose you know about that?"

"No, not at all. It's not something people would speak about is it, after all those years ago?"

"I suppose not."

"We I must say a sight like that with a Turner original above it sets the tone of a lovely home, I should think."

"Thank you. You are very disarming for a young person."

"That's kind of you to say so Penny but you will be aware I was brought up to say the right thing."

They laughed and Penny said, "Come in and we'll have a gin or anything you wish. We don't have servants I'm afraid."

"For god sake Penny, relax. I live with my ex-Nanny whose Irish and an anarchist. The house is a mess and she's one of the nicest persons I ever known. She uses the word fuck more than I do."

"Fifi, oh dear."

Fifi laughed and said, "I did suggest you relax. It's far too soon for me to ask have you had lovers so what's your fix on today's fashion for women around your age?"

"Lovers?"

"Oh don't listen to me Penny. I'm just a big tease."

"Fifi I invited you an hour before the men arrive to attempt to learn something about you. In ten minutes I've learned a great deal. You are so open and so knowledgeable and, as Anthony told me when we were watching you on TV the other night, you are surprisingly provocative and you appear to bend at will from being high class to very down to earth."

Using a very low-brow accent Fifi said she went to a village school by choice for her early education where she learned the values of ordinary people and how they lived. She described how she'd won their respect eventually despite 'comin' from up there on the ' 'ill." Then adopting a public school accent she said, "And then I rubbed shoulders to complete my education with privileged people, so you see ma'am I have those two sides to me and feel I'm a better person for it."

"Rather like me."

"Pardon?"

"It doesn't matter."

The men arrived home almost together as they'd been to 'the club.'

"You know Fifi darling?"

"Yes, of course," Anthony said, striding over to her, hand outstretched. Fifi kept her hands to her side and held up her lips to be kissed, so Anthony kissed her.

Jason entered the room and kissed his mother. He then stood at her side and said, "Good evening Fifi."

"Don't you think he should be kissing me Penny? Half the day he's thinking of squeezing a hand down my dress front."

The men gaped, having just heard the upstart call Penelope Penny. Only family and her closest friends called her Penny.

"Go over and kiss Fifi darling and perhaps she's expecting a power kiss."

"Yes Jason and sneak a squeeze of a breast if you wish."

Jason crossed the room like a lamb and kissed Fifi sweetly, keeping his hands on her shoulders where everyone could see them.

"Welcome to our home Fifi."

"Thank you Jason. It's a lovely house. I was surprised to see pyjamas under your pillow."

"But I don't... There you go dad, see what I was telling you. She has no sense of propriety, is a rampant tease, swears, drove my car like a maniac..."

Jason stopped, aware his parents were staring at him.

"You allowed Fifi to drive your car, breaching your insurance conditions," his father frowned.

His mother snorted. "What is this I'm hearing? You allowed Fifi to drive that beast?"

"She tricked me."

"Yes but who was the safer driver," Fifi trilled. "You almost collided with a police car."

Jason's parents stared at him.

"It was nothing," Fifi said.

"The policewoman recognized our heroine beside me, Fifi used her silver tongue and I got off with a warning. Fifi drives superbly. Her brother has a similar model and they race it around a field doing time trials."

"Blonde, very attractive, great figure, accomplished sports women, drives superbly, great conversationalist, a heroine, making a huge impact at the store in her first week, knows how to keep my son out of jail... I think you are a very appropriate companion for my son Fifi. That is, if you can be bothered with him."

Father and son looked at Penny in disbelief.

"Thanks Penny. Does anyone know how to get a drink about here?"

"Oh apologies," Anthony the neglectful host said.

"See dad, see how she knows how to make men jump?"

"Just accept it son. In life you very occasionally come across a woman who has that special edge. Even your mother recognizes it in Fifi."

* * *

Jason arrived at the store at 8:15 next morning, displaying disappointment at not finding a line of people waiting for the doors to open at 9:00. He gritted, "I'd believed in Fifi."

From his office he checked inward goods and was told yes supplies of jeans and tops were already on the Trendy Fashion Floor.

Jason barked, "You are confused. You mean the Modern Miss Floor?"

The warehouse manager said, "The Trendy Fashion Floor. Fifi instructed the name be changed last yesterday including in all the directories. She said she was acting on your authority. Is that not correct sir?"

Jason sighed and with fingers opening and closing in strangulation mode said yes, he'd forgotten he'd authorized that.

He went to the Trendy Fashion Floor and the floor manager and all staff were mounting new displays and rearranging existing displays.

"Bishop who authorized this work at penal rates?"

"No one sir. Last evening Fifi explained the changes she wanted made to this floor and asked everyone to come in early to do the work but that she had no authority to authorize overtime pay."

"She must have had a pang of conscience. Email me Bishop and I'll authorize overtime pay." 

The manager sighed, "This is going to be a fucking disaster."

"Pardon me Bishop?"

"I apologize for swearing Mr Jason."

"No I didn't mean the F-word. I mean the reference to disaster. What do you mean by that?" 

"Young women will be piling into here today. You ought to have security on duty on this floor for crowd control -- stair access only."

"But how do you know that?"

"Brian cleaning the windows on the street just called to say there's about 200 young women lining up at the front doors and the number is building. My two daughters said they are their friends are sneaking out of school at midday to come in here."




Fifi Fuchs? Possibly



"Whatever for?"

"To be among the first to possess the Contemptuous Summer Fashion Look. I don't think we've ever had anyone on staff with the fashion edge Fifi possesses Mr Jason. She's ahead of the field."

"Should I make her head buyer?"

"Oh no sir, Fifi only focuses on the leading edge of fashion. As a store we have to cater for women whose focus is on all stages of fashion, even those with a retro-fashion mindset."

"Oh I see."

Jason entered the promotion and publicity department to find all the chic women in little black dresses and the heavier-build women in black trouser suits. They all wore flimsy red scarves with a gold toggle.

"Where is the mandatory store uniform," he said crossly to the first woman within hearing distance.

"Fifi ordered the change on your authority."

Jason grimaced. "But this uniform is dated."

"Fifi said we are utilitarian service support and not a fashion department but it's important that we look more professional than serving personnel because that's what we are and the media we deal with expect us to be a cut above. BBC film crews arrive soon to set up for filming tomorrow morning. Fifi says it's important we look classy when the film crews arrive and not suddenly appear tomorrow in a remarkable change like Cinderella."

"I see. Thank you Smart."

The executive offices were finished and the new furniture and fittings installed.

"This looks very impressive -- expensive but impressive."

"It is expensive, very expensive," said Sampson.

"Oh hi Jason," Fifi said. "I drank too much wine last night and now have a fucking sore head. How's yours?"

"Er, sustainable."

Fifi laughed. "Well what do you think of Sampson's department now?"

"Oh excellent. It will give us a high profile on TV, making the expenditure worthwhile."

"I think so too. I'll insist they don't edit out all the wide-angle shots. Don't I rate a kiss this morning."

The noise in the department ceased.

Jason kissed Fifi and after a few seconds the department was abuzz. He was slinking out when Fifi called, "Are you going to warn the police we'll need crowd control on the street -- they better make that noon to 2:30?"

"I'm thinking about that."

Jason hurried back to his office and made that call to the police. The policewoman laughed and said women in significant numbers wouldn't be interested in poncy fashion at Bradford & Johnson's."

"Could I please have your name and number constable? When the media investigates chaos in the streets I'll need to state I did warn the Met Police."

The woman gave her name and number and said she'd log the warning and send a copy to the chief superintendent. "What particular type of fashion are we talking about sir?

"The Contemptuous Summer Fashion Look."

"Oh good, that had a ring of anarchy to it. I'll alert our riot commander as well."

Jason then dictated a message about huge crowds expected to descend on the store during the business lunch-time as young women with an anarchist bent would join fashion conscious young women to be first in to buy the Contemptuous Summer Fashion Look. He added Met Police had alerted its riot units and added his signature to the memo. He instructed his PA to send it to all media.

An hour later his PA returned with a copy of the 10:00 radio news bulletin which ended with an item that riot police were on standby to control lunchtime crowds of young women racing to Bradford & Johnson's Department Store in London to be first to buy the trendy new Contemptuous Summer Fashion Look designed by 20-year-old fashion sensation Fifi Fuchs. The report said apparently parents hated the look and which made young women even more eager to start wearing the daring top and paint-splattered jeans.

Jason called the head of security to instruct all staff take early or late lunch. He checked the computer on store counters and muttered, "An estimated 852 people are currently in the store after deduction of staff numbers. Of that number 633 are on the Trendy Fashion Floor. The usual store numbers at that time of day was around 150 shoppers for the entire store. It must be a blip" but his PA said with almost religious fervour, "It's Fifi."

"What does that mean?"

"This is the second generation post-Beatles. Each generation of young people needs a guru. At present this generation only has tats -- or tattoos to you. It's exhibitionism as distinct to rising raw talent."

"Rising raw talent?" 

"Yes," she said, looking at Jason in admiration. "The young mass now have their guru but are not yet aware of that. For once it has been a pleasure talking to you Mr Jason."

Jason then rested back on his chair, and he visualized his hands being all over Fiji the previous night. She'd asked him not to fuck her because she feared she might vomit all over him, having had too much to drink. His mom had collapsed over the table and had to be carried to bed. Just how much gin those two had scoffed was anyone's guess. His mom had called drunkenly in the bedroom where was her darling, and his father had said, "Here, holding the basin for you", but his mother had cried, "No not you; where's my Fifi?" 

Jason couldn't believe it; his mom had found him a woman at last. At least that's how she'd view it.

Caught in a fog of bewilderment, Jason went to the Trendy Fashion Floor and found the manager.

"Bishop, where's Fifi?"

"Gone to the manufacturer Mr Jason with her new creation. Apparently seeing you in only your underpants last night inspired her no end."

"Inspired her no end. Is that a translation from ancient Egyptian?"

"You gave her a flash of out-of-brain insight sir. Apparently it's the next best thing to outright orgasm."

"Are you unwell Bishop? Should not you be heading for sickbay?"

"I'm fine Mr Jason; it's you who looks unwell as if, aw I find this hard to describe. I know; it's as if a cloud of bewilderment hangs over you."

"Damn right," Jason snorted. "And what is this latest creation?"

"It hasn't been named yet but Fifi is thinking the Crucible. Adult Nappies is the accurate description but that seems too utilitarian in terms of fashion marketing, if you get what we mean?"

"I understand," Jason said, but didn't. "Well I guess what people wear in the privacy of their own home is not the business of society."

"It's street wear sir and wearing to events such as riots and rock concerts. The image Fifi has is everyone wearing just their Crucible."

"You mean females would be topless?"

"Of course sir. The Crucible is a one-piece garment and will be in white reversible. The other side will be a random pattern in the new fashion colour mix of purple, lime green and orange."

Jason vomited over Bishop who stoically said, "Thank you sir."

Wiping his mouth with freshly laundered linen, Jason handed Bishop the handkerchief and asked her to trash it. "How many units is Fifi ordering?"

"Two million sir."

"Bloody hell," he grunted. "On whose authority?"

"Yours Mr Jason."

"Carry on Bishop," Jason said, now reeling under a cloud of depression.

The premiere screening of the back-to-back episodes of 'Department Store London' ended and the credits rolled.

CHAPTER 3

The feeling of being warm and cosy around his midsection and cold at the other extremities awoke Jason Rees who yawned drunkenly and grinned, "God I've peed my pants."

The unemployed actor continued to sprawl on his lounge chair, attempting to gain his bearings. Where was he and whom was he with? He looked around and cleared up the latter thought -- there was no one else in his rented room. A re-run of an idiotic comedy was playing on TV and an empty gin bottle beside him. It was almost 11:15 am.

The gin bottle, it had been almost full when he began watching that new TV program last night about a young blonde woman starting work at a department store, obvious Marks and Spencer but re-branded for TV as Bradford and Jones or whatever. The bimbo had been so stupid she and her fellow actors had him roaring with laughter and he'd become engrossed in the show. It was a good story line, nearing the end of an era for rich family dynasties holding on to the remnants of their trading past and the emergence of young people empowered by higher education even thought if they were like that bimbo, unable to spell the name of their degree.

After a shower and changing into dry clothes, Jason Smith peering into the mirror before shaving and grunted, "You're pissed you loser." He grinned pleased with himself for being able to reprimand himself although still drunk. As he lathered up he recalled he'd been dreaming, placing himself with that bimbo in a much more upmarket department store than the one in that TV show last night. But it hadn't gone right for him; the bimbo outsmarted him whichever way he'd turned. And how the fuck had she shot from trainee to a top-line executive in her first day at the store? Jason grinned knowing dreams couldn't be rationalized.

He headed across London to a film studio for an interview for a two-bit part in a film for Sunday Theatre about an ageing rock star attempting to get his old band together for a world tour, only it would all turn to custard. His agent had sold the idea that Jason was the right age to be the rock star's illegitimate son from an affair with a hugely successful woman Member of Parliament.

Nearing the studio in his Japanese clapped-out car mis-firing on one of its four cylinders -- at least Jason thought that was what it was -- he looked up for a street sign, his car went between two parked vehicles in the gap between then and mounted the footpath.

"Oh shit," he groaned, hitting the brakes and closing his eyes as he was about to hit a woman in a cloak. In a what? He opened his eyes and saw her terrified face through the hood of her cloak as the vehicle stopped, almost touching her. Who the hell wore a cloak these days? They'd been sent into redundancy by cheap hoodies.

"You fucking idiot. You almost ran me over. Footpaths are for people with feet, not road vehicles."

God if she called the cops," Jason reasoned, he'd be done for drunken driving. 

Jason shot out of the car like Jake-in-the-box. The complaining bitch opened her mouth to hurl more abuse but it stayed open and then she said, "Ohmigod."

Christ, she must be a religious weirdo waiting for her guru to materialize.

"Miss, it was all my fault. You were innocent. I'll tell the judge you were not jay-walking."

He was ignored.

"Ohmigod, if only you were an actor."

What? She wanted too much -- a guru with professional acting experience was a big call. Jason knew he had to do something.

"Miss, you've had a big shock. I'm not your guru but please allow me to take you to the nearest tearooms."

"Oh yes, that would be lovely. I'm Miss Sampson."

"You're Lady Fifi Fuchs," Jason said, remembering something from his dream of last night.

The young woman looked at him strangely. "How on earth did you know that? Oh I know, you saw me on TV last night."

"Yes and I had a big dream about you."

"A dry dream I would expect. I shall risk my life getting into this damn-awful looking vehicle. I should think it's knackered."

"Or very close to it Fifi. I'm Jason Rees."

"Oh hi Jason. Do you believe you can back on to the street without hitting anything?" Perhaps I should drive?"

"Are you a good driver?"

"No but I should think I'm heaps better at driving than you are, considering what I've just witnessed."

"That sounds much too optimistic. I'll drive." Jason drove immaculately to the tearooms a little way down the street. 

"We're not opened for another ten minutes," said the stern-faced woman who came to the entrance. Then she looked at Miss Sampson. "Oh goodness me, it's Fifi Fuchs. I watched you on TV last night. You were sensational."

Female waitresses came running to crowd around Mrs Stern or whatever her name was. Come in Fifi, is this your man?"

"No ma'am, Fifi has mistaken me for her guru."

Miss Sampson giggled and whispered, "That's original," and taking Jason's hand pulled him into the tearooms.

"Tea and toast or tea and muffins?" asked the waitress. "Kitchen's not open yet."

"Tea and toast with unsweetened marmalade please Buffy. "

"Ohmigod Miss Fuchs. You know me?"

"No, I read your name tag."

"Oh silly me."

"I was attempting to avoid thinking that Buffy. Place your order Jason. I'm paying as a reward for you giving me a big fright."

"Oh is Jason that big Miss?"

Miss Sampson almost fell out of her chair laughing while Jason felt a sense of unaccustomed pride.

"I'll have English breakfast tea with two eggs on one piece of toast and baked beans on the other piece."

"Yes Jason, you may have that even if I have to cook it myself. We must keep his pecker up, mustn't we Miss?"

Jason caught his companion as she fell out of her chair in near hysterics.

As Buffy walked off Jason said, "I apologize for giving you a big scare. What do I call you?"

"My name is Rose Sampson." Rose smiled sweetly and said she hadn't seen his pecker. 

"Oh, you're referring me mounting the pavement and attempting to mount you with my car?"

"Yes indeed," she giggled.

"I was looking for a street sign as I was heading for Simpson Brothers' Studios."

"Are you a plumber or an electrician, although you're not dressed like those guys. May I ask why would you be going to the studios?"

"To try to grab the part of an aged rocker's illegitimate son. I have an introduction."

"Who are you to see?"

"Mr Phelps."

"Oooh, you are a man of good connections. Jason, are you really a professional actor?"

"Yes of course. I work at nothing else. That is, when I'm in work."

He looked at Rose, wondering what her interest was, and saw the look of 'Behold, here is my guru' on her face.

"Can you do an American accent Jason?"

"I get by particularly with Texan and New England."

"We can rewrite the script, changing LA to Boston."

"What script? Actually I lived in Boston for two years. I went there as part of a small British troupe for a festival and was invited to stay on."

"Oh god, I can't believe this is happening," Rose said. "It's as if I'm living a dream."

"Sorry Rose, I have made allowances for you being blonde but I just can't get my mind around you want your guru to have acting experience."

"What guru? You are in the tearooms and your breakfast is ordered so why keep up with this guru pretence?"

"You confuse me Fifi I mean Rose."

"Well you must be short on brainpower. At least that suggests you'd be easy to direct. I want you to come with me after this to talk to some people. There will be test-screening to follow."

"I'm already being interviewed for a part."

"At what time?"

"At 7:45 because Mr Phelps had to leave for Scotland at 8:00."

"Oooh it's 8:05."

"Fuck!"

"No its Fuchs and please pronounce it correctly as FOOKS. Its Old German and means Fox."

"No I meant fuck. I've missed my appointment."

"Never mind, you have one with me. Ah, here comes that waitress with your plate piled high. She has an unhealthy interest in your pecker -- she must have a big cave and finds it difficult to get satisfied."

Understandably Jason did not reply.

At little later he found himself embarrassed again. Looking at the two lightly toasted piece of bread on Rose's plate he asked, "Is that really your breakfast?"

"Yes darling. I have to keep trim. However in my part in DSL Miss Fuchs eats big after being fucked."

Jason studied the ceiling.

* * *

Soon after they were sitting in a musty office that smelt of cigar smoke and stale sweat.

"Clay, I want Jason screen tested." Rose said after introducing Jason to the producer of 'Department Store London' Clay Fisher.

"Why are you becoming involved? You are asking me to direct the director and casting director."

"True, but you are aware there are misgivings about my romantic lead yet to appear, playing Larry who comes from Boston..."

"LA I think."

"... Boston to supervise his father's investment package to keep the store solvent."

"Sorry baby. You are a lovely face and certainly we are ecstatic about the rave reviews of you in this morning's press and on the breakfast show. Your first TV interview is in an hour's time so get out of my hair and..."

"Say Clay, you may be the big chief on set but give this baby a break will you? She's a rising star and going to make heaps of money for this outfit. Imagine her on BBC TV saying her producer Clay Athens is a cunt -- I think that's the English term for it. He doesn't understand her or give me due recognition for her burgeoning talent. If this doesn't stop I'll pull the show down single-handedly."

Clay and Rose gaped.

"That sounds to me like a genuine American accent," Clay said, nodding. "Can you really act young man?"

"I intercepted Jason on his way to meet Sidney Phelps for casting discussion."

Sidney Phelps -- Jesus. Off you go for that interview Rose. Meg will take you and brief you about possible questions and give you our replies. I'll look after Jason."

"Okay, I'm off."

Jason called, "Rose... I'll need to see you again."

"If your screen test scores highly you'll be seeing more of Rose as Fifi than you dared hope for young man."

"Clay, he wishes to date me. Here's my card Jason. Good luck -- give me a kiss."

The cool, soft and fleshy lips radiated to Jason's core and what she said almost melted him. She whispered, "Miss Fuchs fucks if she likes the guy; make me adore you Jason."

The screen test halted midday as everyone gathered around the big TV screen to watch Rose on mid-morning TV. She was sensational, so good she appeared to be acting but without a script, ignoring the studio's stock answers to questions. She had the attractive woman interviewer in fits of laughter especially when answering the question, "Rose, does it concern you playing a character called Fifi Fuchs?"

"No, I believe it will associate me with sex, giving my more frisky viewers a greater sense of identity with me. I should think I'll have men waiting in line to date me for the rest of my life, or in the unlikely event until I lose interest in sex."

"Is that all?"

"No, my hope is through that mantle of sex will rise the young woman acting as Fifi Fuchs that people will slowly come to realize is an actress of merit."

"I'm sure they will. May I ask, how did you get this part, being an unknown actress at this level?"

"They offered the part to 200 women before approaching me. None of those other women were prepared to be called Fifi Fuchs -- notice how I pronounce it correctly as FOOKS?"

"Two hundred?" gasped the interviewer.

"Well I might be exaggerating but it does prove there are many shy actresses out there and that must be the surprise of the year."

* * *

Five studio executives watched the replay of the screen test in silence. Clay looked at the company CEO who nodded. Clay said, "Jason describe in one word your reaction to that test."

"Convincing."

"The part is yours if you want it young man. We are planning on a 24-part series. Your arrival comes in episode eight due to be filmed soon. I'll call your agent when you leave. We want the signing by Friday and will have to shell out on this other guy no longer required."

"I feel sorry for him, but just mind you don't deduct that expense from my salary offer."

Clay grinned. "I think we'll like having you around Jason. Referring to what you've just said, you fit the part perfectly. I'll get the origins of Blake the character you'll play changed to Boston. You must do your best to relate to Fifi as in later episodes you two run a tumultuous love affair."

"I ought to be able to play that in my sleep Clay."

Everyone laughed.

Jason called Rose who immediately said congratulations.




Fifi Fuchs? Possibly



"You know?" he asked stupidly but she didn't tease and said Clay had called her.

"He required assurance that I was happy with you before you signed with the studio on Friday."

"Fair enough. I've been out of work so as you can imaged I'm over the moon."

"I can understand that and it suggests a little present for me when you pull your first pay check. Clay said Alice the director will probably call you later today to give you a time and place for readings before rehearsals start in earnest. You met Alice Green briefly but she was busy."

"Yeah. I notice that women on this project outnumber guys. Why's that?"

"God Jason. Do you have a brain? 'Department Store London' is centred on shopping."

"Oh yeah. Must remember that. You were great on TV, so funny. I could see that interviewer really like your on her show. I guess she was also been entertained."

"Now that's perceptive Jason. Good boy. When do we date?"

"Tonight?"

"Okay. Come around at 7:30 and I'll cook for you. You have my card."

Jason thought about dropping into a bar for a couple of drinks but then decided to drop into his gym and swim a few lengths. If he were on line to be fucking Rose he best tone up because she was pretty lively. Swimming a dozen lengths today would not influence fitness but it was starting the fitness regime and that would come in useful as the relationship developed. Initially Rose would get off fairly quickly due to initial excitement, if his knowledge of women were correct. Then the long grinds would cut in. Just as he thought: none of the people at the gym recognized him and so asked for ID when they read on-screen that his card hadn't been used for seven months.

He grinned thinking if he became the well-know face of Blake Harrison Junior from 'Department Store London' the girls in reception at the gym would be all over him when he arrived, as would the female members and female instructors. Big changes were in prospect for him. Of course last night had been only the first two episodes. The novelty could wear off by the third week and the show could fold by the sixth week and taken off air before the appearances of Blake Harrison. Oh no!

As he slipped into the pool, aware of tepid water curling around his balls, he smiled at a 40-something with her tits almost spilling out of her Lycra top. The bitch looked straight through him as if he were a blot on the landscape. Well once he'd gained fame as Blake Harrison she'd be all over him and he'd have pleasure telling her to divert her attention to some one who'd appreciate her. That would be more couth than simply telling her to fuck off as he'd have an image to nurture.

Jason rang the bell to Rose's apartment, wondering how many times he'd have to do that before he finally wore down her resistance and she allowed him to seduce her.

"Oh hi, lovely flowers," she said, taking them and saying, "I love the scent of roses as does my mom, hence my name." 

She wore only black stockings, black bikini panties and a black and red bustier.

"Excuse me for not dressing up but I thought you'd like to see how I relax. Do you want to fuck now or wait till our dinner settles?"

Jason visualized his white ass going up and down as he pumped into Rose.

"Er may I start with a white wine? You know Rose, I respect you greatly and know you'd not want me to rut you like a slut."

"Oh wouldn't I?" Rose said, as if caught by surprise. 

Three weeks later when they finally fucked, Rose told Jason what he'd said to her when he first came to dinner had been the most manly thing any guy who'd called on her had ever said. She told him it had 'stood him apart'. Jason was pleased about that but rued missing out all those potential fucks over twenty days. 

They'd gone to a TV awards dinner where Rose picked up a gong for best supporting actress in a major series, screened a year earlier. Newspaper gossip columnists and women's magazines had exposed Jason Rees as the new man in Rose Sampson's life and that the rumour was he'd become her American lover in 'Department Store London.' At the pre-awards cocktail party almost as many people had gathered around him as had grouped around Rose. People around Rose were quite sure they were talking to Fifi Fuchs.

On the drive home Jason said, "Grant Higgins is beginning to look at me darkly."

"Why would that be?" Rose asked, struggling to sound innocent.

"Well as your on-screen Jason he's your lover. I suspect he's becoming jealous that you will be two-timing him off-screen and opening you legs for me."

Cornered, Rose did the 'oh well' thing without actually admitting guilt "Well you can understand that, can't you?"

"What? Well ah yes Rose. And what about off-screen; are you opening your legs for him?"

Rose smiled cutely and patted her left breast. "Now don't become jealous darling but I really don't think that's a proper question to ask a lady."

Jason began to boil with jealousy.

Rose sensed the change in him so murmured, "I'd like to open my legs for you tonight Jason. Please stay-over. I haven't even seen your dick yet but I've felt it through your trousers a bit and have felt it poking into me when we kiss."

Jason's mind turned a full 360 and for the moment he'd forgotten all about lover boy Grant Higgins.

Rose sat Jason on the sofa and unzipped him, her cheeks burning. 

For am irrational moment Jason thought of her as almost virginal.

"Oh god Jason, it's like a big piece of beautifully sculptured steel."

The words, the way in which she emoted, almost hurled Jason into premature ejaculation. She stroked it; he thought about his darkest hours being out-of-work, alone and ready to become a truck driver like his dad. Then he had to grab a tit and squeeze it when he realized he was going limp in Rose's hand but it was Rose to the rescue.

"May I suck it?"

Mr Dick was back to being forged steel again.

"I'd prefer you squeezing my breasts hard like that only when you have me highly excited; I don't notice it then."

"I quite understand Rose. If you let me up I'll make a note in my diary."

"You'll get up in a few minutes," Rose snorted, laying her head over his groin, mouth opening wide.

Jason always found it awkward fucking any woman for the first time. There were so many things they could find disagreeable. To his astonishment Rose swallowed him to the hilt and when he worried that he was about to come she simply pulled away, feeling his mounting pressure and sprayed her clothes, Jason not having undressed her yet.

"I'm sorry -- should have had your belly and tits bared."

"No problem. Being sprayed with semen is about the only mess I can tolerate but I would appreciate it you keeping it out of my hair. Filling my eye sockets it quite okay -- they're easy to wipe and mom told me it's therapeutic and I always believe my mother."

And later came another surprise when Jason asked, "Do you want me to roll on a condom?"

"No, it like it bareback. Only use them if you go you know where."

She thrashed against him, she gushed over him, she bit him and she licked him including sinking her pointy tongue in his ear holes.

"Try not to think of me as a slut," she said after they were left panting heavily for the third time. "I simply adore sex and letting it all hang out."

"You are one of the most sexually compliant women I know?"

"Including your mother?"

"And so wicked," Jason grinned.

"Um when we get around to the hot sex scenes Alice will tell you it's quite all right for you to complete the job if we wish. Those film sessions will be closed apart from essential people with no monitors, no still photos and she'll call for the lights to be doused when she's cut the filming."

Jason was horrified. No way would he engage in semi public sex. But Rose said something that pulled Jason into another 360 turnaround.

"Grant completes on his sex scenes but since you came into my life I insist he wears a condom."

"If you wish me to complete I'll complete," Jason said smoothly. "I imagine we'll be rather worked up although having to comply with public screening standards."

Now they were having sex their affection for one another deepened and it showed in photos of them published in newspapers and magazines, taken mainly by the Paparazzi. The studio was building up the introduction into the series of the American and gave Rose a generous clothing allowance with the sole instruction, "Dress sexily."

Rose had great legs, quite slender thighs in fact, and she could get him off with her feet and was a hugely accomplish tit-fucker. Jason couldn't get enough of her although that was not entirely true. Rose would allow him to take her almost anywhere and at anytime... just when he felt the need and of course Jason had to lay off to rest. But then understandably the initial passion died and they fell into fucking routines just like most couples -- night and mornings and occasionally during the day when the mood took them. They went to the movies and theatre and gallery openings and walked through parks and malls and put up with the stares and photo and autograph hunters, knowing the success of 'Department Store London' would be their success as well. They even were invited to jointly open a new shopping mall north of London and extra police had to be called in for crowd control. That and the fact Rose was wearing an orange dress split down to her bellybutton and her breasts bulging in a demi-bra had them featured on TV news and in newspapers throughout the country.

Filming of the arrival of Blake Harrison in episode eight had been well completed by then and it screened on a wet night on a Tuesday night with mostly crap on competing TV stations. People at the studio were shown the completed arrival scene.

THE SNEAK PREVIEW

Anthony Bradford, dressed immaculately, strode to the arriving limo and opened the door.

"Welcome to Bradford & Johnston main department store Mr Harrison."

"Oh hi Andy or is it Ant?"

"Anthony will be fine."

"Great, call me Blake. I've seen your outfit on DVD so don't be upset if I don't go goo-goo over your store. It's not as large as our big stores in the US."

"It's all a matter of perspective Blake."

"Is that so?" Blake said, eyes narrowing. "And who might you be?"

Anthony chipped in, "This is my son Jason."

"Oh hi Jason. We must become pals. You look to be my age. We could grab a couple of broads tonight and sink a few whiskies and who knows where we'll go from there?"

"I'll have to ask mother."

"Oh in that case bring her along Jason. She'll know all the best places to go. I understand she sold fish before falling on her feet by marrying your father."

"Please come this way Blake," Anthony said stiffly. "Senior staff are lined up to greet you."

The introductions were made and then Blake said, "Hey where's this chick I've read about? He name rhymes with..."

"Fooks," hastened Anthony.

"Here I am," called Fifi riding down the escalator temporarily closed to the public. "I was too busy to join this exhibition of subservience but heard your damn loud voice I felt compelled to come and check you out Make; I think that rhymes with Blake."

"Ohmigod," drawled Blake, and the camera took his perspective, zooming in to Fifi, blonde hair piled high, barefoot and dressed in black leggings, black boy-shorts and what appeared to be a black lacy bra. She was filing her nails.

"Fifi," called Anthony hoarsely.

Fifi tossed the nail file into a litter basket, blew on her fingers and walked over to Blake.

"Hi, welcome to London Yank. You may kiss me if you wish; you appear wholesome."

"I'm all mom and apple pie baby," Blake grinned and kissed her soundly. "Now this is the London greeting I didn't expect. You give me a soft and fuzzy feeling inside."

"Well first of all, let's visit a genuine English pub," Fifi said, linking Blake's arm and catching Anthony's arm in the crook of her other arm. "Come with us Anthony to pay for the drinks and to act as chaperone. Blake looks a little too charged up for me to be on my own with him."

They walked to the great double doors between the two lines of gaping executives. 

END OF SCENE

Everyone stood and clapped and someone yelled, "You were terrific Rose take a bow and you Blake were sensational. I could see by posture and burning look you were mentally seducing Fifi on the spot."

"Yes hot-hot," called another woman and others agreed.

"I can honestly say that was one hell of a sizzling performance by my two stars," Alice the director said.

Looking smouldering, Grant Higgins (Jason Bradford) said, "After that final take I was ripped open with jealousy. Well done guys. Let's give them a big hand."

When that episode introducing Blake screened the TV critics of course panned it, saying no one in real life acts like Fifi and Blake did. Words such as 'blatantly over-directing' and 'outrageous over-acting' were used by critics as if in concert. 

That unleashed a huge backlash as viewers wrote letters to the editor and jumped in on Talkback Radio to slate the TV critics apart from one who wrote, "My mom, my wife, my sister and my two young teenage daughters were blown away with that welcome to Blake. I'm a coward so I'm saying it was out of this world TV entertainment. The reactions of the females I was with leave me with no option but it say it was magnificent TV. For the record, never have I seen a guy look at a woman as Blake did last night. I believe the look was carnivorous."

A tabloid newspaper published a huge front page picture of Jason Rees emerging from a bar toilet and checking his zip. The caption read, 'Heart-throb Jason Rees who plays 'Carnivorous Blake' on the sensational new TV series 'Department Store London' checks his gear before checking out the babes in London last night'.

Suddenly it was Blake appearing on TV chat shows and giving newspaper and magazine interviews and Jason Rees Fan Clubs sprang up overnight. It was noted Jason's preferred street wear was a striped suit jacket over a T-shirt of sweater and he wore jeans and scuffed boots. Mothers, wives and girlfriends in huge numbers wanted their men wearing similar clothing and 'The Blake Harrison Look' spread like wildfire.

Jason's success made Rose jealous and that deepened when she had to pull one of her friends off the protesting Jason who was attempting to unzipped the man whose emerging sexuality had driven her to become predatory.

"Jason," Rose moaned. "I don't know if I can put up with this. You are getting all this attention and now my friends are attempting to fuck you, not caring about me and my sensitivities."

"Oh darling, are you jealous."

The slammed door gave Jason his answer.

Jason was aware of the debt he owned Rose. She was responsible for pulling him into work that had catapulted him into minor stardom so he asked producer Clay Fisher to arrange a meeting so he could talk to Clay and director Alice Green. Clay, who'd only recently given Jason his second increase in pay in two months may have thought Jason was out to seek more on-screen time for himself looked rather surprised when Jason said he wondered if Rose could be given more on-screen time and pushed harder to perform."

"I guess we could look at it," said Alice. "I'm prepared to discuss it with the scriptwriter."

Clay said, "I'm intrigued about this approach, thinking it should be Rose asking for this rather than you?"

"I'm having an great relationship with Rose off-screen Clay and want it to continue. She is beginning to show signs of reacting adversely to all this attention I'm suddenly receiving."

"What signs?" Clay asked carefully and Alice chipped in, saying it was jealousy. She had noticed it appearing.

"Well I'll tell her to act professionally and take the good with the bad," Clay said, making a note.

"No, that won't help. I've told you the way to fix it."

That irritated Clay. "Now you listen to me young man. I advise you to allow this vein of success to go to your head. I'm experienced enough..."

"He's absolutely right Clay; stop posturing."

"Fuck you two. Is this a gang up?"

"I knew nothing about Jason's concern until five minutes ago," Alice said quietly. "Will you stop being so fucking defensive? Your throne is not under attack. Jason is simply asking us to stabilize Rose. Clay, if we don't the next thing we'll know is she'll be throwing tantrums and unsettling the entire crew."

"That's bullshit Alice and you..."

"I'm out of here," Jason said, walking to the door angrily until Clay called wait.

"It is worth coming back to my chair?"

"Yes Jason. You with Alice's unsolicited help have manipulated me deftly. Get the change in emphasis made Alice and try to keep the costs down. Push Rose and tell her you and I want to clearly establishment herself as star of the show. I don't want you pulling Jason back; just push her. Does she have in her?"

"Yes boss; no problem."

"Thank you Clay."

"Thank you son. I don't believe you have wasted out time. You're going great; keep it up."

CHAPTER 4

Carol Yates, feature writer for national newspaper, called Jason asking for an interview.

"Why me? I understand you interviewed Rose this morning."

"Well Rose asked why was I interviewing her instead of you and that put an idea into my head and the features editor has agreed. I've been given a page for each interview and they'll run side-by-side."

"Okay I'll cooperate but tell me this Carol, what was your reply to Rose when she said you ought to be interviewing me?"

"Nothing really and there was little I could say. I said I tend to interview females because females relate to me better and that produces a better result for me. She's jealous of you, isn't she?"

"Carol you can't expect me to answer that."

"Off the record then."

"Christ Carol, that's asking me to take a huge risk. All right. The extra attention I was getting, now dying off, had her showing her teeth a bit. We had words about it but it's settled down."

"Look, can you come now for late lunch?"

"Yes."

"In my apartment?"

"Okay, you're around forty and married so Rose shouldn't hit the roof if she learns where I lunched. Hubby won't be home will he?"

"No, but he'll come if I request it."

"No, it's fine."

The hard-faced brunette greeted Jason coolly but her face lit up when she unwrapped the small gift box and found it was high quality French perfume.

"You've splashing out. So you want me to do an uplifting interview of you, pushing you ahead of Rose?"

"No, I'm attempting a bribe. I'd like you to make Rose shine."

Carol looked at him. "Are you for real?"

"Rose has the looks and versatility to go on for the rest of her working life as a character actor in TV drama. She's fretting that I have been over-shadowing her in feedback from the public and attention from the media. Me, I'll probably manage to grind along without having to find alternative work."

"You underrate yourself buster. I don't think we've seen the best of you yet. Here, let me kiss you for this lovely present."

The kiss went on and on.

Jason he waited for Carol to break away, but she didn't. He then thought she kissed rather well and grabbled two handfuls of butt and pulled her in against him. She moaned and the next thing he knew was she'd pulled one of his hands off her ass and had lifted it on to her breast unrestrained by a bra. He tweaked a nipple and she groaned, "Fuck me."

So Jason gave Carol what she wanted and before it had finished he'd decided he'd also wanted to be fucked by her. She was lithe -- telling him later she was big into Pilates and Yoga -- and wriggled under him and over him with great strength and agility. She'd sucked him almost to boiling point and then eased him back but came over his face when she pulled his face into her crotch and purred, "Got to it tiger." He looked up and saw her eyes were closed and pleasure drenched her face so he went at it, like a, er, tiger.




Fifi Fuchs? Possibly



Her accolade when she yelled joyfully and squirted over his face and hand was simple: "You are a master with pussy."

The fuck was simple and, er, compelling, Jason thought afterwards. They sat on the floor, she between his legs, and after inserting him placed her legs around them and then instructed he should rock. And so they rocked. Initially Jason felt no friction -- his cock was barely moving within her but as their slow rocking movements lengthen he began to feel it was possible something could happen. Quite some time later that possibility felt more like a probability and then she clamped him, bit his nipple and rocked violently and they both screamed into a climax that was pretty much together.

Rather impressed Jason said. "That was delicious." Carol laughed and said she'd never heard a guy describe a fuck as being delicious. She produced a tray of food and a bottle of great French light white wine, switched on her recorder, and they ate and chatted like old friends.

At home over drinks Jason told Rose that Carol had interviewed him that afternoon, Carol saying Rose had suggested it."

"Well not really. I said why was she interviewing me rather than you?"

"That was kind of you Rose, a really nice thing to say. Rose has arranged for both interviews to run side by side tomorrow.

"I hope you don't overshine me too much," Rose murmured.

"Would that really matter?"

"No I suppose not. I feel my old confidence is coming back. I received a call this morning inviting me to speak to the senior students at drama school. It quite staggered me because they usually only invited big names."

"Perhaps your star is rising darling. I love you."

"You love me?"

"Yes, why the question?"

"You can have almost any woman you want."

"Exactly, and that's what I'm glad I have you. Come on, have the guts to say you love me too, if that's what you really think."

"I do, I do. I love you Jason. You are so patient and loving even when I'm being a temperamental bitch."

"Don't confuse temper with passion darling."

"That's just what my drama coach has been telling me. She is building my self-confidence as well. This truth is my confidence took a bit of a dive when you began receiving all of that attention. Actually it took a real dive. But during the last two weeks I was confident enough about you to write in my diary several times that I love you."

"That's lovely Rose. It confirms what a lovely person you are."

They kissed and the slow groping began.

Rose awoke first next morning so went out to buy two newspapers. She rushed into the apartment screaming, "You're interview is all about our relationship, nothing at all about your hopes and aspirations. The only thing about your acting ability is what Carol says about you, admitting she's a big fan of 'DSL'.

Rose tossed Jason one of the newspapers and said, "I can't believe you told her all about how we first met. You make yourself sound like an idiot and then later on you credit me for pulling you on to your feet and leading you into an acting opportunity way beyond your wildest dream. You say you owe me a debt you're never be able to adequately repay," Rose say, brushing aside streaming tears. "Jason, don't you see, people who read this who are fans of 'DSL' will love me for this."

Attempting to sound surprised, Jason said, "Oh will they?"

"Ohmigod," Rose said, catching his stupid grin. "You and Carol conspired to make me look good. And listen to this: 

 Jason: Rose is a rising star. I know this, our producer Clay Fisher knows it and our director Alice Green knows it. But I believe Rose is unaware of this. I see the admiration in the faces of crew when we're viewing unedited clips and they are watching Rose excel herself, yet again, and some of the script is being rewritten to allow Alice to push Rose to make even greater impact in the role of one of the most flamboyant and lovable characters on any TV show being screened today. My prediction is Rose has it all in terms of character, technique, versatility and the depth to increase her performances over time to take her to the top as one of our greatest actors in TV drama in this decade.

Interviewer: Are you guys just good bedfellows or is something flowing deeper?"

Jason: We are as yet uncommitted lovers but I'd like to see and feel commitment. Rose obviously more than likes me; she shares completely with me including coaching me to improve my career. But marriage? I honestly don't know. My fear is if I do propose Rose will reject it out of concern that I am only attempting to repay this debt I owe her and occasionally remind her of it."

Interviewer: Okay, having said that do you think true love will win through?"

Jason: "Yes."

Interviewer: Oooh, I hope so. Thank you for your time Mr Jason Rees, one of the leading principals in the hugely popular BBC series 'Department Store London.' Jason plays the role, in my opinion superbly, of the aggressive loud-mouth Blake Harrison.

Rose's voice shook: "Marriage?"

"Yes."

"Oh Jason," she said, rushing to him. The things you said about me were amazing, unbelievable. When can we talk wedding?"

* * *

Millions of Britons crowded around TV sets for the final episode of Series 1 of 'Department Store London'. The nation was agog because not only would American Blake Harrison marry the irrepressible Fifi Fuchs but the wedding would be the actual marriage of the two actors playing those parts, Jason Rees and Rose Sampson. The BBC had commissioned the second series. Series 1 had been purchased by TV networks in sixteen countries.

Episode 16, Final of Series 1

Twelve military versions of the Hummer and American Marines from the vehicles' unit in Eastern Europe had been flown into London and the escort took Blake Harrison, a Captain in the US Marine Corps Reserve, to Westminster Abbey for the wedding. The 7-mile route was closed to traffic and people lined the route to watch Blake journey to make an honest woman out of Fifi. The entire event was shown live on TV in Britain and taken live in America and seven other countries.

A huge crowd gathered outside the packed cathedral and watched Blake (aka Jason) being led in by the Dean of Westminster who would explain there would have to be two weddings run concurrently because he'd have to use the different names of the couple in their different roles.

Fifi (aka Rose) arrived in the first of two open horse-drawn coaches used in London on ceremonial occasions connected with royalty. With her was her screen father, industrialist Lord Bacon-Flynn of Brushton. Her four bridesmaids were in the following coach.

The TV wedding went without a hitch but for the real wedding Jason dropped the ring and there was a floor search for it. And then the Dean said, "Blake er Jason you may kiss the bride." 

Fifi/Rose and Blake/Jason walked out of the Abbey knowing who they were and that they'd had been legally married. They then left for the Venice on their honeymoon and had three weeks before they were required back to prepare for the filming of Episode 1 of the second series. 

THE END



Fifi La Femme: A Pansy at Last



I have written this story "Fifi La Femme-A Pansy at Last" mainly from personal experience as a mature homosexual transvestite who was a gay virgin until my early 40s. I hope that it will appeal both to extreme effeminates and the ultra-masculine men they ache to serve. Now divorced I've been living with my boyfriend Ron for three years as his gay wife and yes; Ron is as big as Frank!

Big Frank

*

I was quivering and shimmying with excitement dressed in my wife Doreen's black satin 36DD long-line brassiere with a pair of heavy silicone false titties wobbling inside the cups; her gorgeous deep six strap waist clinching suspender belt and flimsy see through panties that I'd bought for her; or rather me; from "Secrets in Lace." I sat on the edge of the bed and rolled on a pair of her ultra sheer barely black silky seamed nylons attached them to my garter straps stood up and stepped into a pair of strappy 5-inch heels. Oh I did feel gay.

My heart was racing as I sashayed across to the full length mirror and admired myself. I tossed a pink feather boa across my shoulders and they literally shimmied with pent up effeminacy at the sight before me. My face had been transformed by a big blond Drag Queen wig that I'd bought for myself along with my falsies; a pair of long false eyelashes eye-shadow mascara and pansy pink lip gloss. I wore my wife's diamante drop ear rings a pearl necklace bracelets and rings on my fingers with painted nails and lashings of perfume. I had been transformed from a 45 year old wimpy closet gay into a gorgeous sexy mincing queer wife and I was about to become a practicing homosexual with my new hubbie; my neighbour Big Frank; the "Man of my dreams!"

When I first met Frank my heart skipped a beat he was so butch and manly. Eight years older than me he stood at over 6'2"; really muscly with a shaved head tattoos from his time in the Merchant Navy and tanned. Then one day he started chatting across the fence wearing only a pair of skimpy swimming trunks that left nothing to the imagination and he had the most gorgeous rug of chest hair that went down across his belly and on to you know where. Oh I was in love!

Well we went for a drinky one evening and sensing my closet effeminacy he told me that he liked to go with queers who dressed up in ladies undies. I was open mouthed and blushed like a girl but eventually after a few too many Campari and soda's I confessed that I had always dreamed of being a butch man's cream=puff. We were perfectly matched both wanting queer sex me as a poof and him as a butch bisexual man.

A Man at Last!

We arranged to spend the weekend together when our wives Doreen and Shirley were away. I wasn't was really sure that I would like it but if I did a whole weekend of homosexuality with my dream hubbie lay ahead of me in my wife Doreen's boudoir.

Doreen and I no longer slept together as I was unable to satisfy her needs. She needed a real man but then so did I and Frank was certainly "all man!" The thought of slipping between Doreen's pink satin sheets with HIM gave me such a stiffie that I was quivering with excitement at the prospect of mincing for my Big Butch Hairy Man.

Frank arrived at 8-o-clock and as I tottered towards the door on my 5-inch heels my heart was racing. He was wearing a pair of shorts and a T shirt that clung to his manly torso like a second skin. His arms and thighs were like tree trunks and chest hair sprouted from his vest. "Shall we go to the bedroom?" he asked. I blushed and acquiesced wiggling my bottom as I climbed the stairs; Frank's hand fondling my bum cheeks as I sighed breathily at the thought of becoming a practising homosexual at last.

"You look such a pansy dressed like that" Frank said and with that he dropped his shorts and stood there in a skimpy pouch with his huge prick poking out. "Oooooo Frank! You have such a Big One!" I lisped as I licked my wet pouty lips in anticipation of sucking his hot meaty length into my virgin gay mouth. "Ten inches petal" he replied as I quivered with homosexual desire mincing and swooning like a faggot.

I realised at that moment that I really was a complete homosexual as I drooled over his manly hairy body and the prospect of mincing for him; sucking his cock and balls then bending over to take him up the arse-hole. I wanted nothing less than to be his queer bitch. 

"What shall I call you naughty knickers?" he asked in a deep Welsh masculine voice. "Oooooo call me Fifi Frank; Fifi La Femme and treat me as a pansy" I replied in a high pitched effeminate lisp holding my wrist limply to signify my eagerness to become a practicing effeminate homosexual at last. 

"Sit down on the bed you mincing little fairy and serve your Man!" he barked. "My Man!" I thought. "Oh Frank I want to be a mincing pansy tonight to kiss your hairy balls and wrap my wet red hungry lips around your horse cock. Do everything to me darling"

With that I sat down demurely on the pink satin eiderdown took a deep sniff of poppers and opened my ravenous gay mouth for him. The amyl nitrate hit me like a steam train inducing a homosexual rush of pure sissiness that quite overcame me. Oooooo the sight of his man-cock heavy balls and bush of pubic hair coming ever closer to my sissy mouth made me feel like a gay queen and as his bell end slipped through my wet pink prissy lips I surrendered totally to the pleasure of gay fellatio; my mouth full of hot meaty man-cock.

Being a poof

For any poof let alone a married man dressed up as a Drag Queen the sight of Frank's thick veiny prick all red and nearly 10-inches long would be enough to make her beg for a mouthful. But there was no need for me to beg as Frank was more than eager to see my sissy lips wrapped around his throbbing cannon.

At first I sucked only his bulbous helmet into my pansy mouth and held Frank's thick hot shaft in my delicate hands to prevent him from choking me with it. "Take your hand away Fifi!" he ordered. "You need a mouthful of man-meat you horny little cock-sucking faggot." 

I did as I was told and as soon as I did Frank grabbed my head and forced his horse cock right down my throat. I gagged as his mushroom head wedged itself in my oesophagus and let out a muffled "mmmnnnnggaaawww." "Relax and breathe through your nose you sissy cock-slurping homo slut! He barked. Oh how I loved being called a homo.

I began to relax and found that I could breathe even though Frank's massive phallus was tickling my tonsils. "Right now hold still!" Frank urged and then with one thrust his fat helmet slipped down my throat and I felt his bollocks against my chin. I had 10-inches of man-cock in my mouth and a thick bush of pubic hair pressed against my face. Oh I was a queer at last and loving it.

He began to thrust his manhood in and out fucking my mouth as if it were a cunt. I was in homo heaven so proud that I was being a good cream-puff for my man; my Master.

"Suck my Prick you mincing little faggot!" he grunted as I slurped and gobbled his engorged manly phallus. Oh to have my head between a virile masculine man's legs my face buried in testosterone flavoured pubic hair; swollen rampant pre-cum oozing cock and hairy balls was effeminate nirvana. I had a man's thick meaty penis down my gay throat. I was a practising homosexual at last and craved his spunk.

Frank didn't disappoint me. With a satisfying grunt he withdrew his massive prick as I poppered up again sniffing the gay aroma deep into my nostrils and slapped it across my face. He was wanking furiously his rolls of foreskin sliding back to expose his bulbous purple glans as he masturbated his cock stand in his manly fist. "Eat my bollocks you fucking poofter!" he barked. I chewed his ball bag and sucked his heavy swollen gonads as he tossed himself off; longing for him to spunk and give me a pearl necklace.

"Fuck I'm cumming!" he yelled. "Open your sissy mouth you dirty little slut!" "Oh spunk me Frank!" I whimpered and obeyed instantly as the first glob of semen erupted from his throbbing prong and splattered me across my face. I opened my mouth to receive the second arc of warm salty spunk then wrapped my lips tightly around his flagpole for the third and fourth. Mmm the taste of semen made me moan with pleasure; rolling the warm stringy ejaculate around my mouth as the fifth spurt erupted. He held my head again and rammed his spunking organ down my throat pumping three or four more creamy loads of man-sperm into me.

I was quivering with gay lust for him. What a man and I was now his queer bitch.

Frotted

I collapsed on the bed and savoured the taste of Frank's semen happy and so proud that I'd performed a homo blow job as a "he-she Danish pastry." Frank was simply gorgeous and I was in love; true homance and I knew then that I wanted to be his gay wife and have full homosexual intercourse with him.

I felt so ripe and fruity lying there dressed as a lady-man after eating a butch man's sexual organs like the flaming queen I'd always wanted to be. Frank's horsemeat was dangling down between his powerful manly thighs as he fell on top of me and inserted his penis inside my knickers and started humping me. Instinctively I opened my legs and wrapped them around his back as his third leg swelled and stiffened against my tiny hidden treasure.

Oh I acted as a squirming tender Lilly for him lying there beneath my hairy bear as he frotted his Anaconda forcefully against my pathetic little twitching pee pee. The afterglow of serving at the Phallic Altar had turned me into an outrageously camp mincing sissy swishing faggot eager to perform the full repertoire of homosexual acts for my virile randy neighbour.

Frank slipped his ten inch length of cock-meat inside my garter belt and began to rub it against my belly smearing silky cum against my skin. My tiny pricklet was now wedged between Frank's huge bollocks and he treated me to a clitty fuck; my stiff pansy squeezed between his massive balls. I felt almost like a woman as he fucked his trouser snake against my crotch longing to have a ladies cunt to feel his cock-stand deep inside my vagina spurting hot semen into my womb.

But then quite suddenly I became even more aroused by my true situation. I wasn't a woman I was a homosexual transvestite; a panty-waist; Frank's lisping whimpering limp-wristed cream-puff with a big fat hairy prick between my legs. I knew then that I wanted to take Frank up the arse-hole; to be a gay bender for him and feel his pile-driver forcing open my virgin sphincter and penetrating my tight queer bum tunnel up to his gonads. 

"Bugger me you Big Butch Hairy Brute! Sodomise your pansies willing queer arse!" "I want to be a pretty girlie-boy for you. I'll go and change Uncle!" 

I could have been a "bum- boy."

Ever since I was a young boy I had dreamed of being sodomised by a mature hairy man with a nice Big Knob. I started dressing up in ladies undies at the age of 8 or 9 and by 11 was already an effeminate little faggot wearing make up and frilly lingerie whenever I could and in dire need of a grown man. .

I frequently played truant from school and spent the whole day mincing like a pansy in mummy's frillies. I would slip between the sheets; open my legs and imagine that I was being poked by a Big Butch Hairy Arse Fucker usually with a large carrot inserted into my clenching well greased bum. 

I made myself a realistic 8-inch penis by rolling a pink durex onto a cucumber carefully sculpted with a mushroom head and another around the base with two potatoes inside for the balls. I would then make myself "a man" by stuffing pillows into a pair of navy blue overalls tie his "oh so manly" sex-tackle securely and then go to bed with him and have the queerest of sex with "my man." Oh I practiced performing oral sex with his legs over my shoulders gobbling and slurping on his manhood sucking his balls like a swishy little pansy-boy feeling ripe and fruity in my silky lingerie.

But nothing compared with the pleasure I felt when I sat on it; my anus lubricated with Vaseline as my tight gay sphincter stretched around his bell end and I squealed with homosexual delight as I lowered myself onto his hard 8-inch prick. To feel his bollocks pressed against my bum cheeks knowing that I had 8-inches of thick man-cock up my arse-hole was me the greatest homo pleasure of all. I'd bounce up and down on his phallus squealing like a pansy and rubbing my winkle until it milked into my hand and then swallow my boy-cum in a frenzy of poofy passion.

Now at the age of 45 I was about to have a man's Blue-Veined Throbber rammed up my gay love tunnel; a lifelong dream come true. To be Frank's mincing gay wife was my greatest wish and I certainly knew where I wanted to guide his ginormous phallic prong I can tell you.

But why did I deny myself the pleasure of queer sex for so long? Oh I had lots of opportunities. My first form-master; Homo Harry; used to touch me up and more than once placed my hand on his crotch to have a feel of his big rammer twitching inside his y-fronts. He gave me books to read about Ancient Greece and Rome where most boys were sucking off their Mentors and being buggered up their bum-holes by the age of 13 lucky boys.

Oh Homo Harry made it quite clear that I was more than welcome to slip between the sheets with him and his black boyfriend; Big Errol; wrap my sissy lips around a couple of big fat hairy man-cocks and then bend over and "take it up the arse." The thought of being the filling in a man-sandwich and allowing two practising homosexuals to fill my Gay boy-holes with man-meat and ejaculate inside me; hosing semen into my mouth and boy-cunt made me drool but I foolishly declined his offer to use me as a mincing homosexual pansy-boy.

I was a very pretty boy; especially dressed in lingerie and more than ready to worship at the Phallic Altar and offer my boy-buttocks to a big butch hairy man but was ashamed I suppose about being a pansy. So though my teens I dressed and wanked my little winkle impaled myself on vegetables and dreamed of the day that I'd have a real man with a huge prick to satisfy my homo needs. I ogled body building and wrestling mags and underwear catalogues for a glimpse of men's bulges longing to slip my hands inside a pair of y-fronts and pull out 9-inches of rampant hairy cock and a nice pair of balls but instead married Doreen and hoped to go straight. But for me there was no chance of that after 20 years of homosexual frustration until I met Frank.

Wedding Night Bliss

I wanted my first gay fuck to be memorable and had always dreamed of marrying a man like Frank who would deflower me on our wedding night with a 10-inch cock.

Frank was standing by the bed when I made my entrance wearing Doreen's taffeta and satin wedding dress complete with veil and I even carried a posy of lilies. Underneath I wore her white satin basque; white nylon and whispy lace panties; sheer white nylons a garter; satin 5" heels and a frilly petticoat. I wore blue eye shadow mascara and eye liner; blusher and pink lipstick lashings of perfume; diamante drop ear rings bracelets and even a wedding ring. I felt like the gayest boy-bride a man could have and wanted to leave it to my hubby to consummate the marriage.

Frank had showered and wore a white towelling robe. Oh he was "All Man" and had even brought along a gay porn video to get me sexed up for him. "I love you darling and want to please you" I sighed as I minced towards him fluttering my eyelashes like the demure and shy boy-bride I was knowing that I would soon be fucked by this beefy virile man and be a complete homosexual at last.

"Kneel down Fifi and fellate your husband like a queer!" How could I resist when Frank opened his robe and waved 10-inches of succulent man-cock and a pair of big dangly bollocks at me proudly sprouting from a thick bush of pubic hair? I knelt down demurely and submissively not daring to question my husband's orders and anxious to be an obedient gay wife. As I grasped hold of his manhood Frank opened two fresh bottles of poppers and placed a pillow case over my head. "I want you fully poppered up; to surrender to your Master as a prissy sissy homosexual cock-sucking lady-man you mincing little poofter."

As I breathed in the amyl nitrate my gay index hit the roof. My heart was racing head spinning swooning on gay aroma and moaning "I'm a QUEER! Oooooo I want PRICK! FUCK MY GAY MOUTH! FUCK ME UP THE ARSE!" Frank removed the pillow case and I was so high I could see three cocks and I literally devoured his throbbing cock-stand slurping and gobbling his delicious meaty length like a fairy possessed and pressed my face against his hairy bush until his balls were on my chin and his mushroom head right down my throat.

"BEND OVER AND SPREAD YOUR LEGS YOU QUEER FAGGOT! HUBBY'S GOING TO MOUNT YOU AND FUCK YOUR SISSY ARSE-HOLE WITH HIS 10-INCH RAMMER!"

"Oh BUGGER ME DARLING! I NEED A HOMO SHAFTING!" I was about to be deflowered; to become a bender and feel the power of Frank's massive Fuck-Cannon shagging my gay cunt.

BUGGERED

Oh I adored feeling Frank's oh so meaty trouser snake grow and stiffen in my willing gay mouth. Fluffing up her hubby with her wet pink lips is a gorgeous hors d'oeuvre but for any gay bride the main course is when she receives her first good hard arse-fucking.

I confess that I was apprehensive as Frank's enormous red throbbing prick slipped out of my hot wet lips and I gazed in awe at massive length and girth of my husband's manhood. I grasped hold of his stiff veiny erection planted a submissive wet kiss on his heavy balls and looked up at him demurely fluttering my false eyelashes. "Treat me gently darling. I do love you so" 

"Bend over and spread your legs" Frank barked. My wedding dress rustelled as I assumed the tradition position for a homosexual; kneeling on all fours head buried in the pillows legs spread with my bum in the air to achieve full penetration. Frank lifted the layers of satin and taffeta of my wedding gown and petticoat and pulled my frilly knickers to one side to expose my plump soft womanly buttocks and my tight little virgin cherry.

All my life I had dreamed about being sodomised by a man; buggered; fucked up the arse-hole by a big butch hairy man. My gay cunt was aching to be filled with thrusting prick; to lie there sobbing and squealing like a pansy as my man's massive weapon fucked me deep and hard and spurted its load of hot sperm inside me.

Frank mounted me from behind and fingered my tight arse with Vaselene. Pretty soon he had three then four fingers up my gay cunt and treated me to my first homo fist-fuck until my pussy was ready for a good hard arse-fucking. I minced and whimpered like a poof and lisped in a high-pitched pansy voice:

"FUCK MY HOMO CUNT-HOLE. I NEED YOUR 10-INCH PRICK!" What our wives would have had they seen us I dread to think. Me in Doreen's wedding dress lying on the bed begging Frank to stick his 10-inch penis right up my arse-hole and bugger me like a mincing homosexual virgin bride. 

Taking hubbies 10-inch battleship wasn't easy. My sphincter wouldn't stretch around his 8-inch girth but we were both determined to consummate our gay marriage by having full homosexual intercourse culminating with my hubby hosing great wads of hot semen deep inside my clenching gay cunt. 

Had it not been for the cucumbers that I had inserted into my rectum to simulate homo anal sex Frank would have split me in two when he forced his man-cock into my virgin queer cunt. As it was I shrieked like a faggot as his 10-inch length of rigid throbbing man-meat drove into my anus right up to his bollocks. I was stuffed with cock!

Being fucked up the cunt by my hubby; a big butch hairy masculine man was homo heaven. I was a gay wife dressed in frillies with a man's thrusting prick up my arse-hole and I was loving it. Oh my hubby was a wonderful fucker; driving his cock-stand in and out of my well-greased quim like a stallion serving a filly a real stud.