SAMPLE THE STORY BY READING CHAPTER ONE

There’s nothing like a vacation, even if it’s in your own apartment. A girl can take just so much.

For the past six months I’ve been all over the world, pitting my intelligence and not inconsiderable charm (I hope you won’t mind this uncharacteristic bit of immodesty, but I am tired) against the weirdest things the human mind can conceive. In Greece there was a centaur, in Scotland a monster who preyed on innocent folk who happened to be on the moors at night, in Hong Kong a renegade Kung Fu master was killing his enemies long distance with mind control, in London there was a sex pervert who entered ladies’ bedrooms by walking through walls (he wasn’t a bad looking fellow, actually), and in Paris there was a fruitcake who thought himself a reincarnation of the great Cagliostro, but thanks to me he wound up in the same place: jail.

My name’s Cherry Delight. It’s not my real name, but do I ask you what your real name is? I work for D.U.E., the Department of Unusual Events, which is linked to Interpol, the C.I.A., and various other tricky organizations. I made my reputation (my professional reputation, that is) fighting organized crime, but when all the big crooks started going legit, I had to find something new to do. A girl has to keep busy, otherwise she gets in trouble. Actually I get in trouble no matter what I’m doing, but I like to keep it to a minimum.

So I wound up with D.U.E. Whenever strange crimes are committed, crimes that are beyond the capabilities of regular law enforcement agencies, they call D.U.E. And if they’re lucky, they get me.

My credentials are rather impressive for one so young (I’m only twenty-eight). I have an I.Q. of 180 (on the Stanford-Binet scale), and hold a PhD from the Sorbonne. My doctoral dissertation was on the theories of Immanuel Kant, whom most people can’t understand at all. I held that he was a blithering idiot, and managed to convince my examiners. Of course, they were all men and I wasn’t wearing a bra that day, but all’s fair in love, war, and academia.

I am a six-degree black belt in Karate, having studied under the great master Kamizaki. Whenever I was in his dojo he made me wear a bra, but of course it was a different matter when he entertained me in his apartment. He had the most marvelous sukiyaki. And his sushi wasn’t bad either.

I’ve got lots of vices, but no weaknesses that I know of. Basically I guess I’m just your wholesome all-American girl who’s got her thing together.

Actually I have one minor quirk: I like to do piggy things once in a while. Some people have called me a sex freak, but of course that’s an exaggeration. It’s just that your standard missionary position isn’t enough for me. I mean, the human body is capable of so many twists and turns, it’d be gross neglect not to put them to good use.

If you’d ask me what quality I like most in a man, I’d have to say in all candor: ten inches. Of course, he should be handsome and personable, and be able to talk about more than his favorite football team and his car, but when you get right down to brass tacks on the bedspread, ten inches are awfully nice.

You can’t always get what you want, but if you try, sometimes you get what you need. That’s from a Mick Jagger song, and he should know.

Anyway, on that hot August night that I entered my Park Avenue apartment, it was good to be home. The first thing I did was turn on the air conditioning, and the second thing was take off my clothes. There wasn’t much to take off, actually. Just my little Halston dress, because I don’t like to wear underpants. Being loose as a goose is the name of my game.

Then I went into the bathroom and drew water for a nice hot bath. There’s nothing like a nice hot bath to wash your cares away. Kamizaki taught me all about the therapeutic value of baths, as well as a few other things that have nothing to do with karate.

When the tub was filled I slid in and just lay there soaking and feeling good. My rather fulsome breasts bobbled at the surface, and the heat made my nipples stand up and say howdy. It would’ve been nice if a decent fellow were on hand to wash them for me, but I was all alone unfortunately and had to do it myself. Reaching down, I washed that part of my body known in polite circles as a pudendum. There’s a point where innocent scrubbing becomes masturbation, and let’s say I crossed that line one or two times. I told you I like to do piggy things once in a while. Maybe more than once in a while.

After an hour of leisurely washing and soaking, I got out of the tub and dried myself off in front of the full-length mirror, turning around ever so slowly to see if I could detect any signs of creeping old age. I was pleased to note that there were no wrinkles, no bulges, no ripples, and no flab. My skin everywhere was smooth as the marble on the Venus de Milo’s shoulder, although I like to lie in the sun and am in possession of a golden tan. It goes well with my red hair I think, and many decent fellows had been kind enough to tell me this.

The favorite part of my bod, however, is my... um... hindquarters. To be blunt, and although they say comparisons are odious, in all fairness it must be admitted that some women have fat asses, skinny asses, flat asses, and asses encased in pounds of cellulite, while my hindquarters, are round, firm, and in perfect proportion to the rest of my perfectly proportioned body. Well, maybe my breasts are a little too big, but I’ve had lots of compliments and no complaints whatsoever on that score.

Speaking of scoring, which I’m sure you’ll agree is a fascinating subject, there was once a gentleman from Stockholm who was a great admirer of my hindquarters. A student of the Greek arts, he really opened me up, so to speak, in that regard. He had constructed with his own two talented hands the most marvelous mechanical apparatus that sort of doubled up a lady and exposed her bottom to his manipulations, which were revolutionary to my mind, and quite enlightening. He didn’t have ten inches, but in this particular instance I think that was fortunate.

He was a gynecologist, and one could say that his profession wasn’t far removed from his hobby.

While musing on these matters, my phone rang. I have a wall extension in my bathroom, and lifted the receiver off the hook.

“Cherry Delight here,” I said, wondering who could possibly know that I was home.

“This is Derek. I want to see you right away.”

Derek was director of the New York field office of D.U.E. More or less, he was my supervisor.

“How did you know I was home?”

“I know where you are every hour of the day and night, you little harlot. How soon can you get here?”

“How dare you call me a little harlot, you old geezer,” I said playfully. “And if you know where I am every hour of the day and night, I’ll never be able to speak to you without blushing again.”

“You haven’t blushed since you were twelve years old, you sexual chimpanzee. My question was and still is: how soon can you get here?”

“I’m on vacation, Derek. Haven’t you heard?”

“You were on vacation. Now you’re back to work. For the third time: how soon can you get here?”

“You can’t just revoke my vacation just like that!” I said, growing perturbed.

“I already did. I’m the boss and you’re the underling, remember? This time I’m not asking you—I’m telling you: get over here as soon as you can.”

“But Derek, I need a vacation desperately.”

“So do I and so does everyone else in this country. But this is an emergency.”

“Oh Derek, everything is an emergency with you. What is it this time: a vampire terrorizing the good people of Peoria? Or has a sea monster been sighted off Sumatra?”

“If that’s all it was, I’d let you stay on your stupid lascivious vacation. Listen to me, you selfish little pervert: the economy of a great American city is in grave danger. Thousands of people may be thrown out of work. Revolutions get started this way, and we can all do without a revolution right now. Now are you getting a glimmer of what I’m talking about?”

“Can’t you send somebody else?”

“Everybody else is busy with various other disasters.”

“But economics isn’t my field, Derek. My degree is in Kantian Logic, and my specialty are vampires, sea monsters, and the like.”

“I’ve given you a direct order. Are you going to willfully disobey a direct order?”

“But Derek ...”

“No buts. If you’re not down here in fifteen minutes, I’m coming after you.”

“Well, if you insist.”

“I insist.”

“In that case...”

“GET YOUR LITTLE ASS DOWN HERE!”

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