Date: Sun, 8 May 2005 10:10:05 EDT
From: Buckr0ger6@aol.com
Subject: The Interview

THE INTERVIEW
by
Buck Rogers

       The Interviewer looked over his spectacles as the slightly
flushed, clearly nervous interviewee. He liked what he saw. The fresh
faced young man in smart suit and red tie dripping like blood down a
crisp white shirt would do nicely, very nicely, thank you.
"Why, exactly, do you wish to attach yourself to my firm?" asked the
Interviewer from his swivel chair.
       "Who wouldn't? It's big, expanding and has a reputation for
delivering the goods," responded the interviewee from a sumptuous leather
chair.
       "True. So you think you fill the person specification do you?"
       "I do, yes."
       "In what way?"
       "I'm willing, experienced and what I don't already know I'd be
happy to learn. I'm a quick learner." the interviewee added with a
confident thrusting forward of the jaw and a brushing of full, sensual
lips with a pink tongue."
       "I'm sure you are..." murmured the Interviewer. "Why not take off
your jacket and relax? I like to be informal."
       The interviewee gladly removed his jacket and darped it over the
back of his chair. Instantly, he felt cooler and more relaxed although
slightly disconcerted by the way a pair of green eyes proceeded to
practically undress him with a long, penetrative look. He smiled,
tremulously. Without averting his gaze, the Interviewer smiled back,
licking his lips. The interviewee was reminded of his tomcat, Huggles,
who wore much the same expression around mealtimes.
       "Your trousers are nicely creased," commented the Interviewer.
       "Err, thank you."
       "Take them off."
       "Pardon me?"
       "Thighs, man, let's see your thighs. Some people say you can tell
a lot about a man by his handshake. Bugger, that, it's thighs that do it
for me."
       "But thighs aren't in the person specification," protested the
interviewee.
       "So? Can't be expected to dot ever i and cross every t - can I?
Come on, don't be shy, off with 'em."
       "I can't," wailed the interviewee.
       "Oh, and why not?"
       "I'm not wearing underpants."
       "So? Underpants aren't part of the job description."
       Somewhat reassured that his promotion prospects would not be
compromised by a lack of foresight, the interviewee kicked off his shoes
and removed his trousers. All the time, a pair of green eyes across the
table strayed from the knot of his necktie to its point, hovering like
the sword of Damocles over what remained of his modesty. He felt a slight
stirring in the nether regions of his shirt, blushed involuntarily and
went to sit down again.
       "Nice thighs," commented the Interviewer.
       "Thank you," gulped the interviewee.
       "Don't sit down. Take off your shirt and tie."
       "What?" the interviewee spluttered.
       "Si I can get some idea as to whether you can fulfil your
potential," explained the Interviewer leaning forward, elbows on the
table, "even the best thighs can be misleading."
       With trembling hands, the interviewee battled bravely with the
knot of his tie then tore at shirt buttons that appeared to have
developed a too-close relationship with the mat of hair on his chest.
Peeling off the shirt, he could not help but feel the green eyes making
an indelible imprint on his body, from the tips of his ear lobes to the
odd socks on his feet - one blue, one white with a red stripes.
       "You certainly have potential," commented the Interviewer, "Pity
about the socks."
       "I got up late," the interviewee tried to explain.
       "As far as I can make out, you're still getting up..." murmured
the Interviewer dryly and let his appraising linger on the interviewee's
bush. That's a fair jungle you've got there," he commented approvingly.
       "Thank you," mumbled the interviewee, encouraged.
       "Interesting, jungles, I'll say...full of surprises. One minute
you're scoffing a banana like one of Darwin's favourite species, the next
some damn rhino's getting its horn up your curriculum vitae...if you get
my meaning..."
       "I'm not sure that I do," the interviewee swallowed nervously.
       "There's something about a horn, don't you think? Only a complete
idiot believes that clothes maketh the man. I mean, what use is a crease
in the trousers when they're on the bloody floor? Icing on the cake is
all very well but proof of potential lies in getting stuck in, right?"
       "Errr...did you take up my references?" asked the interviewee
       "I'm about to," the Interviewer confirmed with a wicked grin.
       "Oh? Am I what you want then?"
       "I'll say!" declared the Interviewer and came round to the
interviewee's side of the desk. The interviewee took several deep
breaths. Below the sharp suit jacket, snappy shirt and tie, the
Interviewer was naked. Moreover, as horns go, this rhino was in a class
all of its own. "Teamwork," that's what makes a business boom or bust,
"Plenty of give and take..."
       "Yes," the interviewee gulped.
       "So recline your ass over the arm of that leather chair and let's
see how well you confirm to our Missionary Statement."
       Startled, the interviewee shook his head.
       "You want the job don't you?" The interviewee nodded, "So spread
your ass. How do you think I got to be president, licking lollipops?"
       The interviewee performed an adroit belly flop into the chair,
chin resting on one arm, tummy on a cushion, legs in the air.  He watched
as the Interviewer went to a wall cupboard and retrieved several items;
his eyes boggled at the handcuffs, near popped out of their sockets at
the sight of a bullwhip. But, oh, he so wanted to be president one day.
Hypnotised by a star spangled bandana unfolding before his eyes, he made
no protest as the gag was applied, followed with indecent haste by the
handcuffs. A sharp crack of the whip caused his whole body to buck
although the Interviewer was but testing the cut of it before getting
down to a spot of thrusting.
       For the umpteenth time, the interviewee congratulated himself on
finding a boyfriend who appreciated the finer art of role-play.


the end