stupid all next day, that it would probably happen again before morning. Maybe she ought to see a doctor.
A doctor with an eight-inch cock?
It was so exhausting to try to stay angry with the whole world, with herself, with a creator who gave her a body with certain instincts and then dumped her in a society where… It was, she decided with a certain accuracy, a pain in the ass.
And having delivered herself of this prosaic opinion, Paula finally dropped once more into confused sleep where she toyed with rape, with venery, with lust and perversions of infinite variety until she was interrupted in a mountain-climbing expedition, interrupted halfway up the slopes of Mount Orgasm by the tearing, jarring, tinkle of an indefatigable alarm clock.
'God damn it!' she greeted the new day. As she came fully awake her disposition was not improved by the memory of what she had to do that morning. Muttering curses like an angry Druid, she got her hair up in a chignon so tight it threatened to pull her eyes into a slant. Remembering the creases from bra and bikini panties, she got into the long-sleeved, floor length formal and began hanging the too-tight garment about her full-cut body, using pins and brooches wherever the endless rows of buttons refused to meet.
Goddam, eye balling assholes that surrounded Hizzonner the Mayor would probably think the ancient dress was designed to go on her this way, with a gap here and there to make things interesting.
She glanced at the clock and-shit! She had less than fifteen minutes. Hastily, she gave herself a final mirror check and decided it was good enough. She rushed about the house looking at window latches and spring locks. She got in the Datsun, touched the garage door opener gadget, backed out, and was on her way full speed ahead and damn the fuzz.
It was three minutes of eight when she surrendered her Datsun to the underground parking attendant at City Hall. The goddam long skirt caught in the automatic elevator door and she had to push the red emergency button, which cost her another thirty seconds before she could make the goddam door close again and the elevator start moving. She had to present a smiling, trouble-free countenance to Hizzonner and the TV crew. How could she manage to conceal the fact that she was boiling inside? Goddam chauvinist pigs! Why did she have to wear this silly thing? If they wanted sex appeal why not get a pretty boy? After all, that kind of swinger voted too.
It felt funny to be hurrying along without any panties. It felt funny without any pantyhose either-striding across the marble first floor of City Hall and feeling her bare inner thighs rub gently against each other with each step, feel the labia of her blond-furred vulva move back and forth past each other with a sensation very like something-hot, hard, and male coursing in and out of her with every step.
This early in the morning there was nobody much in City Hall except the regulars. It would be another hour before the endless stream of citizens, losers, and politicos began wheeling and dealing. The janitor and the crippled woman at the news and candy stand looked at a woman in evening dress at eight ay emm with glazed eyes that had seen everything.
Paula tried not to think about the odd feeling in her crotch as she hurried across the marble atrium toward the escalator. The goddam dress was like a hobble and she couldn't make any time. She picked up the skirt with one hand and it tangled slightly less with each hurried step. There was one longhair on the escalator ahead of her. He glanced back and suddenly began running up the escalator. She wondered if she was that frightening and then saw the minicam. He was one of the TV crews who were here to film Hizzonner getting this goddam plaque.
Plaque-what plaque? It was one minute of eight. She hoped somebody up on the next floor at the head of the escalator would have remembered the damned thing. As if Hizzonner needed another plaque. Must have enough to shingle his hunting lodge already.
The escalator gave a slight boggle and she nearly lost her balance. All she needed was for this damned thing to quit now so she could arrive completely breathless. Damn her itching pussy! Shouldn't have pulled her chignon quite so tight. It was stretching her eyes clear out of shape.
The escalator glitched again and she dropped her skirt as she grabbed at the handrail. Quit fussing, she told herself. Nobody in this town's ever on time. You'll be the first one here and you'll have coffee and a cigarette with the newsmen and the TV people who've all seen it more times than you have and you'll all laugh at Hizzonner's latest stupidity and finally an hour and forty minutes from now when he does arrive with booze on his breath you'll get on with this goddam presentation and it'll last all of seven seconds on the evening news and then you can forget this chauvinistic crap and get back to your own office and get some work done.
God damn her burning, itching, flowing pussy! Would there ever be a minute in her life when she could turn it off and think about something else apart from how nice it would be to have a man's muffin-stabber coursing valiantly in and out of her brimming cunt?
God damn this gimping escalator! It glitched again and she nearly fell. Maintenance company was probably owned and operated by Hizzonner's brother-in-law. If ever she got enough clout and if ever she got off the city payroll where Hizzonner couldn't fire her at the first hint of rebellion Paula resolved to put a bug in the ear of the next grand jury. It was time somebody put a mousetrap in the till for Hizzonner's hand and his grasping family.
She was nearly to the top now and the escalator was still stuttering but-to hell with it. If it quit she could walk the last few steps and emerge with a simulacrum of a smile on her face, give her mid-thirtyish best imitation of some mindless sex object. She wondered if Playboy bunnies in those absurd costumes were ever troubled with itching, burning, fuck-hungry cunts.
Her face came up level with the second floor where she was supposed to make the presentation and Paula's worst suspicions were realized. Her watch must be wrong or else somebody had made sure everybody in city government was on time for once. The second floor lobby was full of councilmen, ward heelers, TV crews, every damn thing. Aha! Why hadn't she remembered Hizzonner was off and running again? He needed all the free publicity he could get and Paula, stuck in a city job and doubly skewered by the bar association, Paula was struggling to put a smile on her face and help elect the old bastard again even if she hated him like homemade sin.
As her head came up past the floor level the escalator gave another slight tremor. She struggled to ignore it, to ignore the mayor and all the leering chauvinistic faces as she peered into the TV cameras. What would happen, she wondered, if she were to grab a microphone and call the mayor a thieving bastard and announce her own candidacy?
Fat chance. It would be her first and last appearance on TV. It would also be the final appearance of her paycheck. She struggled to grin and bear it, make the best of a male chauvinist world. She peeled back her lips in a smile and the goddam escalator did its best to dump her in a sprawling heap before the TV cameras, before Hizzonner the mayor.
She kicked wildly and caught her balance and then realized with sudden horror what was really happening. She had forgotten about that goddam long-skirted evening gown. Halfway up the escalator she had let go of the skirt. Now the worn out escalator had snagged it, had gotten it thoroughly entangled, and the idiot machine was doing its mindless mechanical best to pull her to the floor, pull her through the floor, turn her into legal-educated mincemeat as it passed through the mesh on its return trip downstairs and upstairs down.
She was squatting already. In another minute she'd be down. She felt the skirt rip, remembered irrelevantly that she had nothing on underneath-no bra, no panties, no nothing except the blond ringlets of her pubic patch. As if it made any difference when this miserable machine was trying to kill her!
She reacted instinctively, threw her arms and shoulders back and straightened her legs. There was a magnificent rending, ripping sound. The escalator groaned for an instant and then she saw her long-sleeved evening dress go crunching through the grating, still in more or less of a piece as the escalator treads bore it down through the plating into the unseen Freudian underside of the machine, into some dark nether region inhabited only by maintenance company gnomes.
Paula straightened, shaking, her arms and shoulders still back and her full firm tits thrust forward like twin headlights, pointing straight into the impassive eyes of a half dozen TV cameras. She was so frightened by her near escape that for an instant she didn't realize the full significance of all those goggling male eyes, those TV lenses, the startled and absolute silence that filled the second story of city hall.
From the corner of her eye she saw the smart-ass fellow law student who had gotten her into this. He was staring as silent and wide-eyed as all the others. Hizzonner's slightly bourbon-focused eyes were attempting to put it all together. And Paula finally did.
The goddam evening dress was gone forever. She stood here before Hizzonner, before the bar association, before the city council, before six TV cameras, and before Smart-ass and she wasn't fully dressed. She had on a pair
