INTERVIEW WITH GOD
by virgosun (c) March 2004
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I really needed that secretarial job. Spent too long on 
unemployment benefits.

I showed up for the interview in neatly-pressed slacks. 
My job agency rep glanced at me in horror and stuck a 
fiver in my hand. "They're ultra-conservative! Run over 
to the supermarket and buy yourself some pantyhose while 
I find you a skirt!"

So I dash across the road to Yuck-Mart Ladieswear. 
Enraged, I can barely see for red mist as I search for 
cheap nylons. Isn't this the 21st Century? Didn't 
something called Women's Lib happen forty years ago?

Back at the office, my rep shuts me in a closet while I 
change with three minutes to spare. Drag on black skirt 
left over from the hospitality course, yank up nylons. 
They're all twisted, furry with static, poorly-fitting 
so the crotch makes it only halfway up my thighs. Time 
up.

I look acceptable. Middle-aged men in black suits ask 
all the usual questions about office procedures, 
experience, equal opportunities. They also ask some 
dreadfully archaic ones. Am I a regular churchgoer? How 
would I describe my relationship with God?

This is _not_ the way nylons should be worn. I wish I 
was wearing sheer, seamed stockings, suspenders and lacy 
split-crotch panties; that my legs were smoothly shaved, 
my pussy too. That I could sit and swivel on this chair 
in my shortest mini, cross my ankle over my knee, even 
slip a finger down and flip my clit while explaining 
that, if God had been so splendid as to create the 
orgasm, I'm sure I could have a wonderful relationship 
with Him.

Instead, trussed-up by cheap nylon, I prostitute myself 
to the barnacle-encrusted values of sixty years ago.

I got the job.


  
interview