The Changeling The Switch Pt. 05 Exhibitionist & Voyeur

The Changeling The Switch Pt. 05 DEBUT

It was a few minutes before 6 AM. I found myself in the gym, in the basement of the Puzzle Palace, face to face with Adrienne, the star of the studio’s flagship strip game show.

Lying on the deck next to the pool on her belly, Adrienne leaned on her elbows to prop her head and raise her back to send her naked breasts dangling before me. Her unshod feet danced in air, but the bare rounded halfmoons of her butt remained firmly planted, accentuating her sculpted, smooth contours. A dreamy look peered across her face as she slicked her shoulder length ashen brown hair back, darkened by her dip in the pool. “first time on stage is like the first step out on a walk on a freezing cold day,” Adrienne reflected, “the first few timid tiptoes are difficult, the strides that follow become easy when we enter upon playing a part.”

Lying naked facing Adrienne with my chest buried in the towel underneath me, I had to agree. “To succeed on the stage of life, you have to be determined to persevere where all else fails.”

As a new hire at TPP, I was assigned to grunt work in the laundry at night to learn the business from the bottom up. Ordinarily, at 6 am I would be coming off my shift and headed home, or,more accurately, at least the premises with Jim Dowd, the real Maggie Dowd’s husband. But today, I was pulling some unpaid ‘overtime’ at the star’s request. A lowly new hire, like Maggie Dowd, ought to regard this opportunity as a Command Performance, the lucky break leading to an appearance on stage.

For me Marge Keating, investigative reporter, I was already on the stage of my own creation. On a mission from my magazine to uncover the secret behind Puzzle Palace’s success in launching itself from an amateurish webcast in an attached garage to performances before a live, sophisticated studio audience in a glittering tower of glass and steel rising above the suburban sprawl o polis. I not only inserted myself in TPP’s apparatus, I was now interviewing its star. How did that happen? I was assigned to the laundry detail.

In the gym, Adrienne remarked, “The studio,” a sly smile pierced her lips, “with our CEO Richthat’s Mr Erickson to youin particular, believes for whatever reason that all aspiring starlets should understand every aspect of the operation, so that they will perform better on stage. To make an entrance, one must be capable of playing many roles.” A dreamy look came over Adrienne’s face as she thought aloud, “Richugh Mr Erickson often says, “everyumdrummer boy should have a field marshal’s baton in his rucksack.” Adrienne’s face was clouded by a quizzical expression. “You were in the Army whatever does that mean?”

I took a deep breath. Oh, yes I was on stage with an interesting set of props. With the real Maggie away, back in the Army incognito, on an unstated mission to parts unknown, I wore her clothes, drove her car, carried her pocketbook and even lived with her husband Jim in her house.

Like other couples working the night shift at The Puzzle Palace, Jim and I would ride to work at The Puzzle Palace together. Imitating other couples, we briefly embraced as we separated at the entrance to the lockers.

At home, Maggie’s home, although Jim and I occasionally ate together, little passed between us. For the most part, Jim kept to himself in his own room sketching. He would dress up in his special garb, an artist`s smock; sometimes he’d even sport a beret, ritually sharpening his pencils to start sketching.

Busy working on his sketches trying to get into the Puzzle Palace’s arts department, Jim paid me little mind. Occasionally, I wandered into his preserve to express polite interest. Although Jim claimed he needed a nude model to catch the reflection of light and the shadow, he didn’t ask me to disrobe; I didn’t volunteer.

Maggie put it right when she described Jim as harmless. “Posing nude for him as he sketches isn’t enough to stir his hormones. You have to attack him.”

As for Maggie, I absorbed her personality; I knew all her relevant dates but I did not live her life. I had to cautiously approach relating her real life experiences.

I stretched and flexed my back muscles launching my bare ass in the air before I sidestepped the question. “Most of my Army experience isn’t worth wasting breath repeating. The interesting parts, now, there are a few; none can afford to be relived, certainly not a one can be retold.” I congratulated myself. It was literally true.

On the laundry detail, Rachel in the midst of mindless babbling, blurted out, “Never volunteer, that’s an army expression, isn’t it?” Picking up a bag of laundry, Rachel suddenly realized, “You never talk about your days in the Army. What was it like for a woman with all those guys?”

“Nothing worth talking about, I replied, “What is, can’t be said.”

Throughout each night on the Laundry run, my partner Rachel blathered about the day she made it on stage in the Puzzle Palace flagship strip game. “In a magic moment the actress’ silver robe came to me.”

“You got selected when you were inspected prior to the shower,” I prodded Rachel

A dreamy look came over Rachel’s face as she explained, “Billy and meugh we was on the night crew. We decided to stick around and splash around in the pool in the gym, after work was over. At 6AM, I slapped Billy for studying the round butts clustered around Mr Ericksen competing for a slot.”

“You were beseeching Mr Ericksen for a spot on camera, weren’t you?” I suggested.

“Adrienne,” Rachel responded, “the star, standing nearby, butted in.decided, “`For you, I have a solution. For his wandering eyes, an apt conclusion, in the cock and ball jam, he’ll find absolution. For you, an on stage introduction.'”

“You understood all that?” I asked.

“No,” Rachel replied, “Not right away. I learned TPP turned up short a contestant. Next thing you know, I was flat on my back, legs in the stirrups spread, pubic hair plucked. Billy body hair shaved waterworks locked, Boy was he fucked! You know the rest. I got a fitting in a classy outfitI was unprepared and nervousI lost out in my performance, Billy’s joy stick remains subject to requirements. You all know…”

“Rachel…,” I assumed a reassuring voice. “You didn’t win the contest but turned in a performance ” I thought for a second, “likely considered endearing by some in your audience.”

“Well, now that’s quite a ..,” Rachel continue blabbering.

Rachel was a blabberer, but as a reporter, I had to try to harvest valuable information given up in senseless babble.

For an investigative reporter, my job in the laundry had not turned out to be an unmixed blessing. The assignment should have brought me everywhere in the silver steel and glass building through every floor from the 5th Floor Penthouse which housed the Executive Suites to the subbasement. In the Penthouse, where Rachel and I began dropping off and retrieving laundry, we’d find bags of clothing in the Executive offices. Rachel smirked, “The Executives are the only ones who don’t have to strip to enter or leave the building, but that doesn’t stop them from bringing in their dirty duds from home for us to wash.” Rachel strained as she picked up a heavy black plastic bag and tossed it in the cart and I placed clean clothes on hangars in a closet.

Hands on my hips, I sneered, “Rank has its privileges.”

“Like in the Army?” Rachel queried.

I looked around the room for scraps of paper or notes. I had come to the Puzzle Palace determined to succeed where all else failed. The Puzzle Palace didn’t grant interviews. “If you need to know about the show, subscribe to the service or apply for a job.” Even those former employees who could be located said nothing bad or informative. “It was a steady check. They wouldn’t take pros or junkies. Everybody hired was kept busy at something. To know more, the only way to make the webcast as contestant is apply for a job there.”

My initial soundings led me to doubt I’d find the sordid tale of , humiliation and abuse my editor believed lurked behind TPP’s glittering steel and glass tower that overlooked the suburban sprawl o polis.

Previous journalists who tried couldn’t survive the initial interview. Cover stories were too flimsy. With a better structured cover, I had made it past the interview but to date what I had learned would probably never make it into print. Indeed, if ‘the truth’ I had found out did wind up in print, it could bring the Puzzle Palace more applicants.

While Rachel blithered, I did get a chance to nose across desktops and credenzas. As much as Rachel ceaselessly babbled, she took notice of my activity. “Yeah,” Rachel shouted, “look under the desk. They sometimes hide bags of clothes there too.” As much as Rachel was a font of information, anything I came across in the offices might prove important in determining how the Puzzle Palace rose so fast so quickly. Yet, I had not been out of Rachel’s sight long enough to dare going through the desks or trash. To dig, I had to be in a position where I was working independently.

“And Adrienne?” I asked.

“When we get to the medical office,” Rachel promised as we wheeled the cart into the elevator, “I’ll show you.”

Down in the gym, I had asked, “Adrienne, your time is split between your job as a nurse where, you, a subordinate, bow to the dictates of a looney doctor, but at every turn try to soften the blow of his excesses and your presence on stage where you’re the undisputed star of the show.”

“Perhaps, never having set out to be a star,” Adrienne replied, “I came to realize how playing a part can put you in control of the script. Whether I return to the daily melodrama of medicine or perfect my stage presence I am simply acting out a part. Do you understand?”

At work on the laundry, Rachel and I wheeled the carts into the fourth floor medical office. “A Hollywood set masquerading as a real medical office,” Rachel declared as we entered the medical office, “When Billy and I came in for our pre employment physicals, everything looked normal, the nurse’s reception station, with a telephone and a computor hook up, and the typical bank of plastic chairs resting on linoleum floors beyond.”

“Superficial normality,” I snickered, “Offices laid out like you might expect to find in any medical facility. The larger office for the doctor with diplomas and awards. A cubbyhole for the nurse with a sweater hung over the back of a chair.”

“There usually isn’t much here,” Rachel commented as we looked around the private offices, “A few soiled lab coats, Adrienne’s nursing get up, sometimes Adrienne’s costumes, a towel or two. But look back here,” Rachel opened a door in Adrienne’s office that seemingly led to a closet. Behind the door was a dressing room with a lighted mirror and a private shower.

“It’s a little different than the shower we take at the beginning of the shift,” I exclaimed, thinking of the assembly line to the automated shower, spigot first hot water, move along doused with soap, and scrub a dubdub for a cold rinse off.

“You mean the car wash?” Rachel laughed.

Rachel pointed to even more splendors. In an alcove there was a rack of dark gowns, a few sheer silver robes, and a couple of nurse`s uniforms. Atop on a rack, there were a collection of heels and a couple of pairs of white sneakers. “Adrienne is very smart. When she zoomed the show up in its ratings, she negotiated a deal for a private changing room. There’s even a stairway down to the stage. But when she’s not on stage or away on a tour, she’s still the nurse here. There’s some kind of attachment with that doctor, goes back to his getting the boot from the hospital.” Rachel looked up and rhetorically asked, “Or was it a college?”

I looked around in amazement. I wished I had a notebook to keep track of everything Rachel said, but here in the Puzzle Palace, I had to rely on memory.

Rachel tapped me on the gut. “We still have to check the examination room.” When I shuddered, Rachel added, “that place gives me the willies too.” As we passed into the examination room, Rachel pointed to the examination table under an operating room lamp, “It’s more like being on stage than examined by a real doctor.”

“That operating room lamp overhead,” I looked up, “is brighter than the sun, I’m sure.”

“Doc made me and hubby strip together in front of each other and him,” Rachel tensed as she spoke. “Doc had me in the chair getting blood pressure and pulse measured by Adrienne and hubby bent over and Doc rammed up the ass.”

“Hardly a pleasurable experiencer.” I added as I touched the examination table.

“Oh yeah, Billy, laying on his back as the Doctor yanked his projectile and says, `In the old days they’d castrate males by cutting off the entire genitalia,’ then an evil smile crossed Doc’s lips, `that’s your cock and balls` Doc roared; `today, a simple incision,’ Doc use his fingers like they were scissors, `just a little snip snip opens the scrotum,’ old doc leaned over to say, `that’s the ball sack to you, son and excise the testicles,` Doc hesitated then yelled `that meansyank out your balls.`”

In the gym, Adrienne, waving her legs in the air, alluded to the Doc’s peculiar examination. “Doctor Kendrick is a brilliant researcher and dedicated scientist but a little too eccentric for conventional medicine.”

Upstairs in the examining room with Rachel clearing out clothing for the laundry, I quipped, “This little gnome certainly did have quite the bedside manner.”

Nervously laughing, Rachel shivered so hard her body shook. “Billy’s legs are locked in the stirrups. Doc leans over Billy scrooching Billy’s balls with one hand and holding Billy’s shoulders down with the other.”

Yes I did recall Dr Kendrick’s examination of Maggie’s husband Jim. The doctor began his examination by holding Jim’s penis between thumb and forefinger and massaging it, gently stretching it. “Don’t be embarrassed if you erect during this procedure.” Releasing Jim’s bloated penis, Dr Kendrick threw Adrienne a sly smile as he carefully kneaded Jim’s scrotum, rolling Jim’s nuts between two fingers.

“Looking Billy,” Rachel continued, “right in the eye, Doc asks, `How much are these worth to you? How much would you take to give them up? How much would you pay to keep them?'”

“Dr Kendrick,” I grunted, “follows the same script all the time, plays on male castration anxiety.” In front of Dr Kendrick’s examining table with Rachel, I chuckled nervously as I thought of Dr Kendrick, “Do you remember what the doc said next, `Theoretically we should be able to transplant testes, ie balls, like we do any other body part. It might provide if successful a natural testosterone level to the recipient, better than hormonal replacement, but would a child conceived have the genetic makeup of the donor or the recipient?'”

“Man! It’s good I have no idea what you just said,” Rachel shook her head. “Then it was my turn on the slab.” Rachel shuddered. “Face up to witness the crazy doc’s,” Rachel spoke slowly, “`bimanual manipulation of the cervix and the anus.`” Rachel thundered, “With one hand pushing down on my stomach, Doc stuck his thumb up my love socket and his pointer in my asshole.”

“Why didn’t we just run away?” I asked rhetorically with a nervous chuckle.

In the gym, Adrienne would have answered that question. “It has to do with commitment and determination. A contestant is expected on stage to perform ually charged acts. Most people require privacy. Doctor Kendrick has to eliminate people too inhibited to put themselves on display in front of total strangers. People pay big bucks to sit in that live audience and watch women get stripped as their husbandsboyfriend or a stand in, cuckolded in chastity belts, functionally gelded like a useless eunuch.”

Even Dr Kendrick, as weird as he was, wouldn’t make much of a , unless my editor needed to fill some space. To be sure I signed consent forms for the exam. What could we say, the doctor lacked a good bedside manner?

In the examining room, Rachel explained her reasons for submitting to the exam. “I was afraid not to stay after hubby took it in the ass for me.” Rachel replied blushing and looking down.

I sighed. Was it worse for Rachel who witnessed a degrading examination of her husband or for me who witnessed the humiliating exam of Jim?

I lived in the real Maggie’s house ostensibly cohabitating with Maggie’s husband Jim. In this charade, while in Maggie’s absence, I wore her clothes and carried her pocketbook and identification and even used her husband Jim as a prop. Jim wasn’t promoting my career. Why had Jim put up with the abuse? Was the promise of a job and avoiding National Service sufficient?

“But the worst was to come, the sperm sample taken with me in the stirrups and hubby rubbing his peace pipe against my love port.” Rachel shrugged with feigned disinterest. “At least the crazy doc let us shower off afterwards. In the shower, Adrienne stood by laughing as Billy did me there. And we did it again at home. How about you?”

I shook my head and smiled. “We drove off in silence. Then suddenly we both started talking at once.”

“So you pulled over and did it on the side of the road?” Rachel giggled.

I smiled and winked. Actually, the truth was the erotic medical exam had not prompted Jim to expect from me.

Rachel sighed, “Back then, Billy could complain about unloading his torpedoes. Today after the disaster on stage, cock remains cased while the people upstairs decide what to do.”

In the gym lounging on the pool deck with Adrienne, I mentioned Rachel’s concern that her Billy was getting blue balls with his `pistol permanently holstered.’ Laughing, Adrienne remarked, “up on the fifth floor, the execs are unsure what to do with Rachel. They like to present the strip game as art, a challenging intellectual experience. Rachel showed the audience what it is a strip tease.”

“On the webcast, you yourself advertise a tease and denial,” I recalled.

“The interested public enjoys a touch of kinkiness, of course,” Adrienne smiled, “with a pretense that extended denial stretches out the lovin’ and intensifies intercourse.”

On my rounds with Rachel picking up and delivering laundry, I pointed to a door. “Where does that lead to? Do we need to get anything out of there?”

“Nope,” Rachel replied, “the door is usually locked. The Mad scientist probably keeps Godzilla and his other experiments caged up back there. We’re running late. Let’s get down to the stage on three.”

I made a mental note.

On three, Rachel and I inspected the guest reception area to pick up formal clothing that had been issued to applicants allowed to watch a part of the filming. “I remember my trip here and the nasty lady sending me into the back to change into formal wear,” Rachel spoke, “`you can’t bring anything,’ the crone yelled `into the auditorium that isn’t issued by me.’ At least, the old witch separated us to undress. How did your husband take it when the bitch wanted to take his shorts?”

“I came alone,” I replied.

“Someday,” Rachel declared, “We’re going to roll our wagons in here and find a woman’s complete ensemble was left behind after she ran off stark naked and raving mad.”

“Making an exit before the entrance,” I chuckled.

Passing into alcoves lined with book shelves, we found some researchers already at work reading the tomes preparing the questions for the contestants. I glanced briefly at them all uniformly dressed in starched dungarees, an un collared cotton shirt open at the top button over a vest.

Rachel smirked as she counted the half dozen men and women sitting around on the benches. “Hmm,” Rachel muttered under her breath, “Twice as much work for us. TPP should make the researchers work in the nude when they have to come in early to prepare scripts for a webcast.”

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