Girls under Glass (the Professor’s secret) Eleven

Eternal Prom Night, part 2

by Zapped!

Some new acquaintances?

Beaumont University: Classroom 108, Friday 4:56pm:

  A Chemical Engineering Professor looks out over the room full of mostly bored students: his hands are clasped tightly together behind his back; and his patience is starting to wear thin. The man wipes a line of perspiration from his forehead and exhales his breath in noted disappointment . . .

   Professor Claussen takes a few steps to the left and asks, “Does anyone have the answer to the question? . . . Anybody?”

. . . The professor carefully scans the sea of dumbfounded expressions and silently thinks to himself, “. . . And this is the generation that’s going to provide my social security?”

   The old man slowly walks past his desk to the opposite side of the classroom and resembles an actor on Broadway that’s working the stage . . .

   “Does anybody even care to take a wild guess?” asks the man in desperation. (The room remains silent, with the exception of somebody clearing their throat somewhere in the back, and the constant drone of the air-conditioning, which is barely working at this point).

   Jack Claussen shakes his head in disbelief and returns to his desk to finally collapse upon his chair. The professor leans forward on his desk for effect, before addressing the room in a suggestive tone . . .

   “Alright people, listen up: the assignment for Monday . . . if I may remind you, is to state Heisenberg’s uncertainty principal, and explain why it resolves the collapsing atom paradox.” The fifty-something year old pauses for a moment and then decides to add, “In one thousand words and no less.”

   A collective sigh rises from the apathetic young faces seated in front of the teacher. Finals, after all, are only a few weeks away, and one assignment like this could mean the difference between returning to the University for another semester in the fall . . . or heading back home and flipping burgers in a sweaty kitchen!

   Suddenly out of nowhere, the dismissal bell rings, signaling the conclusion of seventh period; and putting a temporary end to the discontented mumblings of irritated students. Immediately there is a mass stampede towards the door, as anxious faces stream by the professor’s desk. (As they leave, the students don’t pay Claussen any mind, especially when his last lecture of the day is all that stood between them and the weekend ahead!)

   In the back row of the classroom, Mariela Carmen Mendes squirms nervously in her chair, before standing up to slide the seat beneath her desk. (The girl’s heart was beating so fast at the thought of what she was about to do, that she thought she was going to faint!) The young girl takes a deep breath and cracks open her best smile . . .

   Professor Claussen looks up and then quickly does a double take in surprise when he sees the usually shy girl from the back of the class approaching . . . (He briefly reflects back to the day when Mariela arrived at room 108, with her course schedule and the necessary paperwork to enter his class as a transfer student . . . Damn did she look good!)

   The Cuban born American walks up with her gorgeous white smile and turns in profile to show off her sexy lines to the teacher. Then she takes a step closer and brushes her thick auburn hair up over her ear (out of habit), before finally linking her forearms over her chest.

   The hot Latino says, “Hello there, Professor Claussen,” while anxiously rocking her feet up out of her sandals. “Do you have a minute?” (When she spoke, her voice was low and somewhat smoky… like a phone sex operator’s!) 

   “Let’s see; can I spare a minute for a beautiful girl with a thirst for knowledge? Um, I think I can fit you in darling! So what can I help you with today Miss Mendes?” asks the professor. (Before he even finishes his sentence, the man can’t help but notice how good the girl smells: Fresh . . . just like a meadow in the spring after a light rain shower!)

   “With finals coming up so soon, and the course load that I have,”. . . (Mariela stalls out for a moment, and bites her lower lip in hesitation). She finally shrugs her shoulders in frustration and confesses, “Well I don’t know, maybe I feel like . . . Well like I’m starting to fall behind and I could use some help. I was hoping maybe you could  . . . you know, possibly tutor me?”

   The professor asks, “Well what is it that you’re having problems with?”

   As Mariela goes into a full-blown explanation, the professor’s thoughts begin to wander just a bit . . .

   God must have blessed this young lady’s parents the night she was conceived, for Miss Mendes was an exquisite beauty! She had a darker appearance than most Latinos, and her skin had a healthy tone, (undoubtedly a result of spending most of her summer lying out in the sun somewhere). Mariela had a slightly athletic figure (tight, but not overly skinny), sparkling light brown eyes, a photogenic face and perfectly juicy lips. She had long, auburn colored hair that built up in waves and hung about her shoulders. And then of course, there was that sexy little beauty mark in the middle of her cheek . . .

   As the girl continues to ramble on, Claussen constantly nods his head in agreement. However, his eyes briefly glance down at her recently shaven legs. They actually have a noticeable sheen to them, as if they were oiled up or even airbrushed with . . . “Oh Christ what the hell am I doing!”

   The professor looks up once again and assures, “Yep, absolutely. . . Yes, I see your point!” But his eyes soon wander down to the hem at the bottom of her denim skirt. “Damn that skirt is short! That thing’s only an inch and a half beyond her panties . . . maybe two inches at most!”… (It doesn’t take long before he starts to imagine what style she might be wearing, if any).

  Mariela drops her arms to her sides, then props a hand on her hip and makes gestures with the other while continuing to carry on . . .

   “Damn she’s so close…I mean my face is practically even with her . . . I mean it’s right there in front of me, just covered with a layer of denim!” thinks the old man.

   “. . . So what do you think?” asks the girl, now waiting for an answer.

   “. . . Ah yeah sure, why not?” replies the professor.

   Mariela: “So Saturday’s is ok then?”

   Claussen finally snaps out of fantasyland, and quickly changes his answer. “Oh, Saturday, as in tomorrow…like this Saturday? . . . No I’m afraid I can’t arrange it this Saturday.”

  The bronzed beauty gets a confused expression, and asks, “Well why not?”

   “Ah . . . I have some old friends coming over from my college days to visit. Haven’t seen them in a couple months . . . I mean years! There’s really nothing I can do tomorrow.” replies the professor, (whose cheeks are starting to turn red).

   “Professor Claussen, I transferred all the way up here from Miami and I can’t afford to mess around! Are you going to help me out or what?” asks Mariela in an urgent tone.

  “Yes of course I will, just not this weekend. Uh… (Scrambles for a scrap piece of paper), why don’t you just leave your number and I promise I’ll meet up with you next week or maybe even this Sunday if they take off early, ok?”

   Mariela sighs, then pulls a pen out of her book bag and leans in close to write down her number on her teacher’s desk. As she does so, the fullness of her breasts gathers up the material of her top, allowing Claussen a clear shot of her abundant cleavage! The Latino cracks a knowing smirk while writing on the paper, and draws a heart next to her phone number . . .

* * * * * *

   Meanwhile, the harsh “clacking” sound of a woman’s heeled shoes echoes down one of the university’s hallways. The female walks with purpose and at a brisk enough pace that her wispy summer dress is twisting and turning with each step forward. All around her, students wander in different directions and pay very little attention to the woman, (aside from a few rubbernecking males who dare to glance at the blonde’s ample cleavage!)

. . . Classes for the week were over, and the students’ laughter and excited smiles only seemed to darken the sensitive woman’s mood. It was beginning to look like she’d spend yet another weekend all alone . . .

   Ms. Feeney felt the butterflies fluttering in her stomach as she neared classroom 108. The shapely blonde teacher smoothed her skirt and then checked her cleavage, before taking another deep breath. The woman nervously exhaled, before leaning in the doorframe to knock . . .

   “Ohhhh darn it, somebody’s here!” the woman thinks silently to herself, just before Professor Claussen looks up and sees her.

   Claussen, startled by the unexpected blonde that stands inside the doorframe, cuts his conversation with Mariela short . . .

   Now a brighter shade of red, the professor sputters out, “Yes, well . . . I’m sure we’ll ah, get that all sorted out in time! So, I’ll be seeing you next week then . . . Ah in class of course my dear!”

   Mariela gives the man a quick wink, and then turns to saunter her way on out of his classroom. (Claussen has all he can do to not stare at the Latino’s incredible ass, as the girl’s sandals scuff away across the floor!)

. . . Ms. Feeney remains at the door with her hands clasped behind her back, and looks the girl over with a suspicious expression as she’s leaving.

Mariela:  “Hi Ms. Feeney, how’s it going?”

Ms. Feeney:  “Jest fiiine Mariela, and how are things with ya‘ll?”

   “Oh you know, just trying to keep up with the rest of the class,” replies the attractive girl, before she complements, “That’s a cute “country style” dress by the way.”

   “Well thaank yew!” returns the teacher, in her southern accent. “But I bought it mostly ‘cause it’s comfortable to wear in the heat . . . especially when a breeze comes round and hits me jest riight!”

Mariela cracks a knowing smile and says, “Well, see ya around Ms. Feeney,” before she walks off down the hall.

   Ms. Feeney continues to watch the girl from afar for a moment, before turning to focus on Claussen . . . “Did I come at a bad time Professor?”

   “Absolutely not my dear, please… come on in!” invites the old man.

   As Ms. Feeney approaches, ole’ Jack can’t help but take in her graceful beauty . . .

   If the good Lord blessed Mariela’s parents when she was conceived, then he must have come around to personally bless this angel! Pembrook Feeney was made in the mold of a true southern belle: with silk spun light golden locks that were pulled tight to the back of her head; she was surprisingly tall and leggy - standing at 5 foot 11 inches without her high heels! She had an adorable face that featured finely chiseled cheeks as well as a nose that was upturned, pointy and cute. Her skin had a healthy tone as well, (only lightly tanned, but enough to blend perfectly in contrast to her natural, light blonde hair). And those incredible eyes: they were large and expressive, almost like the overly drawn eyes of Bambi or some other cute animal from a children’s cartoon.

. . . But without a doubt, the first thing anyone would notice was her big tits. They were firm, sat up high and quite monstrous by any standards. She had tits that would stop traffic . . . (they nearly made Professor Claussen’s heart stop as well!) The blouse Ms. Feeney had on could barely contain her, and it was nearly bursting at the seams. (The plunging neckline left even less to the imagination). And although the woman was facing towards him, the professor already knew her ass was in a perfectly round form inside her tight little skirt. (He’d followed her numerous times between classes, and held up the flow of hallway traffic behind him, just as numerous male students had done over the last year or so). Yessiree; for a 42-year-old woman, she was still truly blessed with a stunning figure!

   “So, ya’ll been robbing the cradle I see,” says Ms. Feeney in an accusatory fashion.

   “Oh stop…she just needs some extra help.” defends Claussen. “Chemical property lectures are bad enough, but this late in the summer semester can be particularly hard . . . for anybody!”

   Ms. Feeney replies with a doubtful, “Mmm . . . I suppose,” before studying some of the diagrams that Claussen has drawn on the chalkboard.

Claussen: “So Ms. Feeney, how are things going in the performing arts department?”

   “Perfectly fiiine,” states the woman in her southern drawl. “We’re jest finishin’ up a study of a romantic ballet known as “Copelia”. . . Have ya’ll ever heard of it Mr. Claussen?”

   “Oh, absolutely!” assures the professor. “It was based upon a story by Hoffman that was entitled “Der Sandmann” . . . It dates back to the 1800’s.”

Ms. Feeney cocks her pretty head off to the side and emits a “Wow!” in total surprise!

   Claussen goes on to explain, “An inventor by the name of Doctor Coppelius creates a life-size dancing doll. Franz, a local suitor, is so taken by the doll’s realism, that he loses interest in Swanilde: the sole object of his desires. Swanilde becomes jealous and dresses up as the doll, before pretending to come to life in order to win over the interest of Franz once again.”

   The statuesque teacher quickly admits, “Well . . . I’m certainly impressed Mr. Claussen! You didn’t quite strike me as being a fan of the arts.”

   Claussen leans back in his chair with a sense of pride and kicks his feet up onto his desk in a relaxed manner. He then goes on to confess, “Well, I suppose I might know a thing or two. . . But I am a bit curious as to why you chose Copelia?”

   “Mmm, I guess it was a neat little story containing: romance; jealousy; a bit of longing; and all that good stuff,” admits the blonde, before showing off her brilliant smile. She then adds, “Besides, I thought it would be a fun project to end the summer semester with: you know . . . with the cute costumes and all.”

   The professor feels a familiar stirring inside his trousers: not only from the beautiful woman that’s standing before him; but also from the vision of her impressionable female students . . . standing perfectly still as life-sized dolls within the dimly lit workshop of Dr. Coppelius!

. . . Claussen quickly leans forward to hide his growing erection and decides to change the subject by asking, “So how are you adjusting to life in a new city?”

   “Well for one thing: the traffic isn’t as bad as it was in Cincinnati; or in Atlanta for that matter!” the teacher readily admits. The woman then tucks a stray lock of golden hair up over her ear, before confessing, “Unfortunately, I still manage to get myself lost around town every now and then.”

   “Yeah, but that will change in time,” assures the professor.

   “There are times when I sure could use a friend to show me around,” reveals the teacher with a sense of loneliness. “It seems like it’s so hard to meet people around here . . . and I’ve never really been the hang-around-the-bar type.”

   The forty-two year old paused for a moment, as if carefully considering what she was about to say. The woman had practiced every word, (on several occasions in fact!), but her mind had suddenly gone blank. Ms. Feeney felt her heart start to race and she found herself beginning to blush!

   Professor Claussen sensed the woman’s sudden nervousness, but waited in silence. He also noticed her nipples beginning to harden against the material of her blouse! . . . (The man swallows hard, and there’s an actual “gulp” noise that emits from inside his throat!)

   Ms. Feeney finally gathers up the courage to ask, “Look Jack, I was wondering . . . (Don’t stall out now old girl or he’ll think you’re a flake!) . . . Um, I was wondering if we could possibly get together sometime: either for a cup of coffee; or just to chat it up; or maybe we could even have dinner together? . . . I could even cook ya’ll up some chickin’ -n- dumplings if you’d like!”

   The blonde anxiously rocks back and forth upon her heels like a nervous schoolgirl would, before revealing her irresistible smile once again. She then crosses her arms over, just below her chest while waiting for an answer. (The squeezing position of her limbs causes her glorious tits to thrust out even further!)

   The professor, (now trying his best not to stare), is completely taken aback by the request. The old man quickly replies, “I would absolutely be delighted to take you out sometime Ms. Feeney!”

   The woman spreads her smile even further, before shrugging her shoulders and asking, “Great! So how about this weekend?”

   Claussen frowns and confesses, “Mmm . . . I’m afraid I couldn’t this weekend: I actually have some old buddies from college coming to visit. But maybe some other time?”

   Ms. Feeney, (now beaming), suggests in an accepting manner, “Ok, so maybe next week then?”

   “Next week is perfectly fine,” says Claussen. “Why don’t I stop by your classroom, and we can make plans then?”

   “That sounds like a plan to me Mr. Claussen! . . . And by the way: you can call me Pembrook,” reveals the blonde. A moment later, she turns and walks back towards the doorway with her shoes making a sexy “click-clack” noise with each step.

   The professor watches her impressive derriere shift back and forth against the clingy material of her skirt, until the woman stops short and quickly turns around. The woman then tilts her head in a seductive manner to say, “. . . And by the way professor: some girls actually improve with age!”

   “Touché’!” replies Claussen, as he watches the leggy blonde strut beyond his classroom door.

. . . A short time later, Jack Claussen gathers up his belongings for the drive home. As he does so, the professor can’t help but think that there’s no expiration date on truly natural beauty!

A Long Awaited Tour

Saturday 3 pm, Binghamton New York:

   On a rainy afternoon in August, a black Lexus LS 430 pulls into the driveway at 119 Pine Hollow road. The yellow Ford rental van that’s been following the Lexus closely pulls in directly behind it. The two men driving the vehicles, Stanley Pitt in the luxury sedan and Maxwell Abner in the rental - quickly climb from their vehicles in anticipation of the day’s activities. The pair had been waiting for quite sometime for an invite to Jack Claussen’s place. . .

   The professor had spent nearly the last six months remodeling the downstairs family room, (with the help of contractors of course), and the room that had existed untouched since the seventies . . . was no more. As a result, Claussen had spent nearly as much time avoiding his old college buddies and repeatedly delaying the promised tour of his collection. Well, the day of the tour had finally arrived . . .

   Dressed in a navy blue Callaway golf shirt and tan pleated Dockers, the professor greets the two men out front and eagerly escorts them into his home. After giving a brief tour of the upstairs area and the showing off the various forms of art contained within, the professor seats his two guests inside his study. Claussen, (being the good host that he is), pours his guests a round of their preferred spirits, before he settles in behind his large oak desk.

   “So, how was the drive over from Connecticut, Maxwell?” the professor asks, before taking a drink from his rock glass full of Captain Morgan.

   Maxwell replies, “Except for the left nut that I had to leave behind at the gas station, it wasn’t a bad trip at all. Although I did have a bit of trouble finding Stanley’s place in the city. . .”

   “One of the biggest bloody buildings in the whole damned city, and this chump drives clear past it - twice!” criticizes Pitt, before letting out a snickering laugh.

   “Hey, my eyesight isn’t what it used to be!” admits Abner.

   “I’ll say: your memory isn’t that great either!” yells Pitt, before outturning his thumb and aiming it towards Max. “This twit didn’t even remember the bloody card game!”

   Jack Claussen immediately nods his head up and down in recognition, before cracking a smile at the memory . . .

   “Yeah, I sure remember those card games! I can also recall the time when this sneaky bastard right here (points at Pitt) got caught holding a card up his sleeve,” reveals Claussen. “I thought for sure they’d kill him before he got out of there!”

   The other two men break out in laughter, until Stanley admits, “The Ace of Spades! . . . God I miss that old frat house!”

   Maxwell admits, “I remember the card games going on, but the “Ace of Spades incident” must have happened before I was enrolled there. Besides, a lot of time has passed since then.”

   Mr.Pitt explains, “Those ninnies used the same deck of cards for every poker game. So I took me a walk down to the campus store one day and bought me self the same exact deck. For the next couple of games, I kept the Ace of Spades clipped to the cufflinks inside my shirtsleeve just for “emergency” purposes. I remember having to take the worst tinkle, and those bastards would have counted me out of the game if I got up from the table, so this was an emergency of sorts!”

   Professor Claussen adds, “There was something like five or six thousand on the table in that game.”

   “Yes, at least six grand! Those little rich punks kept tossing greenbacks on the pile, and the entire time I gotta use the friggin’ loo!” barks Pitt. “Six grand in those days was a lotta green!”

Abner:  “So did you use the card?”

Pitt:  “Oh hell yes; not only did I use it, I won the entire fucking pot!”

Abner:  “So what happened, did they find out?”

Pitt:  “Hell yes, they found out!”

Abner:  “How?”

   “I don’t know. I finally got up to use the loo, and when I came back, they were all giving me that look . . . Saying something about how the deck looks heavy. So the bastards counted the cards and came up with an extra one!” says Stanley, now looking down dejectedly and swirling his glass of vodka.

   Claussen looks over at Maxwell and reports, “We never did find out how they knew about the card. (The professor winks) . . . I guess ole’ lady luck just wasn’t with him on that night!”

   Maxwell gives back an acknowledged nod to Claussen, and then asks, “So then what happened?”

   Pitt yells, “I had to give all the friggin’ loot back, that’s what happened!”

   There’s a moment of silence before Claussen instigates, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

   Mr. Pitt flashes a dirty look at the professor, before admitting, “I got banned from playing poker for a bit.”

   Claussen nudges, “. . . And?”

   Mr. Pitt ashamedly confesses, “When I was allowed to come back, I had to tape the Ace of Spades card to me forehead and play in me britches.”

   Maxwell nearly spits out his drink as he breaks out in laughter. In between laughing, he says, “Now that’s pretty damned funny!”

   Claussen nods his head in agreement and says, “. . . True story!”

   “Ah . . . Those guys always cracked me up!” reflects Abner, (now leaning back in his chair with one hand clasped behind his head and his drink in the other). “I’d love to show up at the next fraternal order meeting.”

   “There’s a meeting coming up next spring,” reminds Claussen.

Pitt:  “You’ve been to prison mate, there’s not a chance in hell they’d let you in a council meeting.”

   “Why not? . . . As long as he’s been keeping up his dues, he should be allowed in.” states Claussen in Abner’s defense.

Abner:  “Well that’s the problem; I haven’t kept my dues up to date. But I would be willing to make a healthy donation.”

  “I don’t know, you’d have to look into it,” suggests the professor. “ . . . But I have been watching the mail for my little black velvet envelope and I haven’t seen anything yet.”

Pitt:  “Yeah, I haven’t gotten one either.”

   “Speaking of the jail thing Max: what ever happened to all that stuff from the Magic Mountain exhibit?” asks the professor.

   “Well, I toiled on the park project for years and pretty much by myself . . . I mean think of it; could you imagine me training a park employee on how to convert a human into an animatronic dummy?” asks Abner.

   “Yeah, that would be something!” replies Claussen, before laughing.

   “So when I was finally caught, I was taken away so suddenly, I didn’t have time to hide any of my work,” Max admits regretfully. “The park goers that I turned into display pieces were all revived and sent free, while I took a bus ride to prison.”

   “So, the process wasn’t permanent?” asks Claussen.

   “Nah . . . I didn’t have that kind of technology at my disposal yet,” admits Abner. “So for twenty years, I sat in that cell reflecting back on my work. I had the ability to control the human body right there in my hands, but failed to find a way to sell it to the public.”

   “I see,” replies Claussen, (now getting caught up in the engineer’s story). “So what happened when you got out?”

Abner:  “Well, I got out and worked at a few odd jobs here and there; it was nice to have a clear conscience for a change.”

   Professor Claussen jokingly responds, “A clear conscience is usually just the result of a lousy memory.”

   “Right, a good point!” replies Max in agreement. “Anyway, I eventually got curious and returned to Magic Mountain. Unfortunately, the park had changed: the “magic” of the mountain had suffered in its own way - as I had mine. The creative spirit and the charm were gone. Tourists were no longer thrilled by animatronic displays and such; the advances in technology had made my hard work and dreams obsolete to them.”

Claussen:  “So did you ever find out they did with the stuff?”

   “Well, I heard that some of the animatronic creatures were auctioned off to private parties, while the rest were sold off for scrap. My haunted house attraction was torn down to be replaced by a video arcade,” says Abner with dejection. “However, I was gladly surprised to find that the old warehouse - where the owners had always dumped most of the outdated props - still remained intact! I managed to climb on top of a garbage dumpster and squeezed through an unlocked window to make my way inside.”

   As Maxwell stops to take another drink from his glass, Mr. Pitt asks, “What did you find?”

   “There . . . rolled up and tucked among the rafters, was the duplicate set of blueprints that I had made as a back up. Containing the diagrams of the circuitry for the control modules, everything; those blue prints somehow went undiscovered after all those years!” exclaimed Abner.

Claussen:  “So how did you end up in Connecticut?”

   “Well, I soon began working for the robotics Institute as an engineer. Eventually, I started bringing up the nanite idea as a possible use for the military and even built a few prototypes. But they thought I was a kook. Can you imagine trying to explain that kind of technology without people being able to actually witness it themselves?” asks Abner.

   “It’s hardly surprising!” admits Claussen, (while trying not to laugh!)

   Maxwell continues, “When I got my pink slip, it was the last straw. I knew it was time to find another place where I could hone my craft undisturbed, and I bought my place up in Stepwood. It was a quiet little town and the type of place where I could blend in easily. So I set up camp and I’ve been creating nanodolls for my elite clientele ever since.”

   “Yeah I must admit: your auction back in November was pretty interesting,” complements the professor. “Fulfilling your clients’ fantasies of having servile, semi-robotic women in the privacy of their own homes is certainly a novel idea. For you to be able to make a comfortable living at it as well is an added bonus!”

   “Yes, it is good money,” admits Abner.

   Claussen then points out, “But for me, it was never about money. This is why I’ve always kept my girls to myself . . . With exception of a sale to Stanley, and he paid dearly believe me!”

   “Hmm, well I can certainly respect that choice, Jack. But as far as selling my nanodolls goes; I do have a small collection of my own set aside of course . . . but if the price was right, I wouldn’t hesitate to sell one of those either! After all, it’s not like I can’t go out and find a replacement!” jokes Abner.

   “Well, I tend to get personally attached to my subjects, so I would never think of parting with any of them,” explains Claussen. “And in Stanley’s case, I more or less traded up for Josephine.”

   “I’ll tell you what mate: I’ll trade a high school cheerleader for a nagging wife any day!” bursts Stanley Pitt from behind his second glass of vodka.

   “I should also point out that I evaluate each one of the nanodolls within my shop, often interacting with them and considering how another adult would react with each model.” states Maxwell. “If I don’t enjoy her company after the conversion, then I surely wouldn’t expect anybody else to!”

   The professor agrees, “That’s probably not a bad idea . . . especially for that kind of money!”

   Maxwell makes a sour look after slamming down the rest of his drink, then manages to ask, “So what drives you, Jack?”

   “What drives me?” the professor replies, (slightly unsure of the point of Abner’s question).

   Maxwell clarifies, “Yeah, you know; what possessed you to start this “prized” collection that I’ve been hearing so much about?”

   “Instead of talking about it, lets just get this bloody show on the road and then you can see for yourself!” suggests an impatient Stanley Pitt.

   Professor Claussen raises his hand as a sign to be patient, and then reaches upon his desk for a pack of cigarettes and lights one up. A moment later, Jack blows off a hazy cloud into the air and explains, “Sometimes I feel like I live in isolation, but never in loneliness. I will admit that I’m a hopeless romantic though. I guess you could say that I’m a man who savors pleasure, instead of desperately hungering for it.”

   The professor takes another long drag from his cigarette, and then taps the tip on a nearby ashtray. The man blows off a second smoke cloud and leans in closer to the desk - as if he were about to expose some long held secret . . .

   “You know, one of my favorite things to do after a long day at the university is to come home and brew up a cup of coffee; or even pour myself a glass of wine. Then I take a walk down to my display room and gaze upon my girls. And as crazy this may sound, my girls really do love me back unconditionally; I can be having the most rotten of days and yet there they are . . . Patiently waiting for my admiration when I get home. I often find myself falling into vicarious enjoyment when seeing my subjects in all their splendid glory!”

. . . By this point, Stanley Pitt has become even more restless. Now out of his chair and milling about the room, the businessman soon approaches the grandfather clock that once housed his former wife Josephine. As soon as Pitt rudely attempts to pry the door open with his fingers, he’s unexpectedly beamed in the back of the head by a box pack of cigarettes - thrown with pinpoint accuracy!

   “Get away from the clock Stanley, she’s not even in there,” warns Claussen from behind his desk.

   “I just want to get a peek at her, Jack,” Pitt complains. “After all, she was my bloody wife!”

   “The keyword being was your wife. Josephine has been removed from the clock for the time being, so don’t waste your time,” assures Claussen.

   Maxwell suggests, “Maybe we should move things along Jack; I do have a long drive back to Stepwood tomorrow, and I would like to see all of your work before I leave.”

   The professor nods his head in agreement, and butts out his cigarette. A moment later, Jack lifts himself out of his out of his cushy den chair and says, “Ok gentlemen . . . Lets go for a walk.”

   Stepping up to the bookcase behind him, the professor pulls back on the spine of an obscure book appropriately titled, “Dollies” by Pat Graversen. Jack presses the button that’s hidden behind the novel, and the bookcase surprisingly swings away to reveal a hidden passageway beyond!

   One by one, the men enter the passageway and begin cautiously stepping down a wrought iron spiral staircase, as a single sixty watt bulb offers the only source of light into the darkness ahead . . .

   “Say Jack, I didn’t know you had an entranceway back here! Why aren’t we using the hidden entrance behind the bar?” asks Mr. Pitt.

   “Those are two very legitimate points there Stanley,” admits Claussen. “My father actually built this passageway in addition too the bomb shelter, just after the Cuban missile crisis. I guess this secret stairwell was meant to give us a head start in case the “reds” ever knocked on the front door!”

   All three men cracked up with laughter, until Pitt states, “Now that’s rich!”

   Claussen comes to the bottom of the stairway, where an old furnace and a hot water heater stand beside a heavy looking riveted steel door. He removes a set of keys from his pocket, unlocks the door, and then steps inside to flip on the room’s overhead lights.

   “Come on in guys,” says Claussen, now inviting the men inside with a sweep of his hand.

   Mr. Pitt walks in first with Maxwell Abner following close behind . . .

   “This is my workshop, as you can see,” jokes the professor. “This is where I produce my magic of course.”

   Abner steps into the middle of the room, quickly noticing that it’s clean, painted white and possesses a distinct smell; like the medicinal, sanitary smell one would notice when walking into a hospital . . .

   Scanning around even further, Maxwell takes up stock of the room’s contents: a sturdy looking wooden work bench; several rows of cabinets were mounted on the walls to provide storage space; a stainless steel embalmer’s table on wheels sat in the middle with a matching medical sink in the corner. Bellow the engineer’s feet was a black and white tiled floor done in checkerboard style. (The floors contrasting pattern creates a dramatic effect throughout the room in comparison to the sterile white cabinetry and the cold stainless steel that surrounds them).

   It’s only then that Abner notices an odd-looking chrome plated rack made from tubing and mounted in between two sturdy looking “A” frame braces. The engineer approaches the custom made piece that looms in the corner, and blurts out, “What in the hell is that thing?”

   Claussen cracks a smile as his old college mate inspects the mysterious contraption. He then states with pride, “This my friend, is what I call the “conversion rack” . . . I purchased the high tensile strength chrome moly tubing and welded it together myself!”

   “And what does it do, exactly?” asks Abner, now pressing on a leather cushion that appeared to be a headrest.

   The professor presses a power button that’s set among various other toggle switches, which adorn the face of a pedestal-mounted control box. There’s a slight humming sound that emits from the box before Claussen flips a second switch, causing the tubular framework to rotate 180 degrees . . .

   “Wow; a rotisserie! How cool is that?” chimes Maxwell, while looking on in wonder.

   “Well, it’s not so much a matter of being cool, but rather a matter of convenience,” says Claussen. “Using a rotisserie allows me to have access to the subject from the front and back, while I prepare them for what I refer to as “the process.”

   The professor lifts up the waist strap as well as the wrist, neck, and ankle restraints, and then explains, “These are all used to keep the body from falling to the floor when the framework is rotated.”

   “As well as keeping them from escaping right?” offers Stanley Pitt from the background.

   “No . . . by this point, they’ve already been injected with their first dose, so they aren’t going anywhere. After the subject has been initially injected and strapped to the rack, I then hook up those two I.V. bags that are on the stand in the corner,” states Claussen.

   The professor then points out a centrifugal pumping machine in the corner and reveals, “Here the blood is drained and my special serum is pumped into the subject . . . In effect, preserving them forever!”

   “I see,” observes Maxwell, before studying the contraption mounted to the ceiling above them . . .

   The professor looks up as well and further explains, “And that beast up there is my industrial lift. Claussen grabs the yellow control wand that hangs by its power cord, and presses the “down” button. A body sling made of heavy nylon strapping slowly lowers from the ceiling as the winch makes a mechanical “unwinding” noise. Once the sling lands upon the rack, the professor presses the “up” button, causing the sling to reverse and rise back towards the ceiling.

   “Wow! . . . No power lifting bodies here eh?” observes Maxwell with an impressed tone.

   “ . . . Ordered it from Harbor Freight and it was delivered to my door within two weeks!” states Claussen. He then walks over to a stainless steel door nearby, and says “Check this out.” As the man pulls on the handle and swings the door open, a noticeable rush of cool air tumbles out around them . . .

   The professor steps inside and pulls the cord of an old fluorescent light, and it slowly flickers to life, barely illuminating the chilly room.

   As Abner and Pitt step inside, fog can be seen coming from their breaths . . .

   “This is what I call the “cooler” . . . It’s where I store my subjects while I’m waiting for them to cure. Usually this happens after the serum conversion is complete. However, I sometimes store my subjects in here even after they’ve been clear coated; especially if I haven’t decided on how I will display them.” Jack then lowers his voice as if someone might over hear him and adds, “Plus: I like to keep my girls crisp before posing them!”

   The professor’s guests begin to laugh, before Stanley Pitt offers, “Well then what you have here is a crisper!”

   Claussen begins laughing himself, before agreeing, “Yes . . . I suppose it is!”

   With that said, the two guests follow their host back out of the cooler. The professor closes the door behind them, and then urges the men to follow him down a small hallway that leads to a room without a door. Jack turns on a light inside to reveal what appears to be a paint booth.

   The room contains an upright air compressor that’s attached to a single copper line that runs around the room at waist height. The purpose of the line is to supply each of the various fittings with needed air. There was a wooden workbench right next to the compressor that was spattered with various tones of flesh colored paint. On the surface of that bench, there was a single large spray gun, surrounded by various models of smaller airbrushes that would be used for detailing work.

   The centerpiece of the room would have to be the circular platform that appeared to be made of wood that was raised up off of the floor. The platform was illuminated by several halogen lamps that were mounted to the rafters above it, and looked to be three feet in diameter. Like the workbench that was a few feet away, the surface of the platform was also covered with more splotches of flesh-toned paint.

   In the opposite corner of the room was a large metal utility shelf with dozens of paint cans lining its shelves. The two bottom rows were reserved for several wooden crates that had “Flammable” and “clear coat enamel” generically painted with stencils across their surfaces.

   Claussen points at the wooden shipping crates and mentions, “As you can see, I go through a lot of enamel clear coat, so I recently started buying in bulk!”

   Abner replies, “Yes, I can see that! . . . So this is where you paint up your beauties eh?”

   Claussen confirms, “Yes, this is where I do any detailing work, such as facial makeup, airbrushing over unsightly tattoos or sun spotting; that sort of thing. I use the smaller airbrushes for detailing work, several fine-tipped paintbrushes of different gauges for intricate details, and the large spray gun primarily for the clear coat that I seal the bodies in. This is also where I usually pose their bodies.”

   Stanley Pitt points and asks, “What do you do with that barber’s chair over there?”

   Claussen continues to explain, “The barber’s chair is used for cutting and styling the hair if needed, and is also where I do the facial detailing . . . It’s a hell of a lot easier on my back that way!”

   Maxwell asks, “How in the hell did you get that heavy chair down here?”

   The professor replies, “The same way I get everything else down here: down the ramp in the bomb shelter by pallet jack, or piece by piece!”

   Abner raises an eyebrow and admits, “I’ll give you credit Jack; you’re one very determined individual!”

   Claussen confesses, “Well, if I go through the trouble of dragging something down here, it usually has to do with background props. But if a barber’s chair makes my work that much easier, then by all means . . . I’ll buy it; as you can clearly see.”

   With that said the professor escorts his guests out of the “pose room” and leads them down a second hallway; its floor covered in thick shag carpeting that was brilliant red in color. There were a few collectible paintings as well as various antiques that were mounted to the maroon walls that surrounded them. At the end of that hallway, the trio comes to a stop in front of another heavy steel door that is riveted together and left slightly open . . .

    The professor says, “Usually this is locked up, but I knew you two were coming,” before he tugs on the steel door to roll it open. With a strained voice, Claussen yells over his shoulder, “The minute you . . . uggggh! . . . Go through that door Max, errrruugh! . . . Your smile should get a bit laaaaarger ugggh. . . view!”

   From beside him, Mr. Pitt adds, “Yeah, that’s not the only thing that’s going to get larger!”

   Once the massive door has rolled completely open and receded beyond the doorframe, the professor wipes his brow and lets out a PHEEEEEEW! “Looks like I’m going to have to grease the tracks on that thing pretty soon!”

   The guests follow Claussen into the aisle way beyond with their heartbeats picking up in pace . . .

   Although the room was still under-lit, Maxwell is surprised at its size: only five feet wide by eight feet high to the drop ceiling. However, the aisle way did appear to go back at least fifty feet - it was hard to tell in the half-darkness! Maxwell then looked around in further detail, noticing the polished black marble tiled floor that was framed by plush maroon carpet. Even the walls are painted dark maroon and trimmed in the same fashion as the room they just came from . . .

   “Wow Jack, this is far more impressive than what I had imagined!” says the engineer in awe.

   Claussen laughs and warns, “Don’t get carried away just yet, I haven’t even turned the lights on!”

   Maxwell squints at the darkness of the vault, just before the professor flips the switch. The engineer’s eyes go wide once the glass enclosures begin illuminating in succession through the length of the vault.

. . . Even before he lets his buddies loose, the professor has already decided to let them wander around aimlessly for a bit just to see Abner’s initial reaction. With a noted sense of pride, Claussen announces, “Welcome to my little slice of heaven, gentlemen!”

   Maxwell immediately zeroes in on a chesty blonde that’s dressed in what appears to be a vintage movie hostess or even possibly a “cigarette girl” uniform . . .

   Standing in nothing more than her black tuxedo, tipped pillbox hat and a revealing g-string, the former truck stop waitress named Linda stares back glassily eyed at Max with her jubilant smile. Along with her suggestive attire, the greeter upheld a polished silver serving tray within her hands. Placed in the center of the tray was a placard that simply said, “Welcome!”

   “A hot blonde that’s dressed in a “cigarette girl” outfit: what an excellent choice to start things off with!” complements Abner excitedly!

   “Check this one out over here!” yells Stanley Pitt from just behind him. The real estate magnate was looking in at a fifties-era ‘bad’ girl featuring period correct clothes and a Bettie Page style haircut with razor sharp bangs! The woman herself was leaning over the front half of an old rat rod that was just across the aisle and behind the glass . . .

   These subjects, collected from 1974 to 2008, are Claussen’s sexual utopia; a visual record of the world he’s created within the privacy of his hidden studio. His collection now includes thirty-seven dolls: ranging from a girl in a rubber devil suit; a genuine “Hooters” waitress; and even a Dorothy Hamill look-alike. These are just some of the colorful characters that fill just less than two-dozen display booths and dioramas that line the sacred halls of the professor’s personal museum.

   The museum displays feature “true to life” living mannequins that were now both chemically and physically altered with the professor’s special serum and corresponding processes, before taking up permanent residence in his various reflective scenarios . . .

   As Maxwell walks among the first few display panels and views the contents within, he finds himself wondering, “Who were these women: artist’s models; friends; mistresses; prostitutes? . . . Where they involved in some sort of ongoing relationship with Claussen: be it personal or professional? . . . Did these encounters end in sex? (It surely seems possible that some of them may have, given Jack’s reputation!) . . . But then again, maybe not. Maybe voyeurism was Claussen’s fantasy, and these effigies are his visions of the unattainable ideal, rather than mementos of actual encounters.” Abner considers that because the professor built his collection for himself, rather than for a clientele, he was allowed to pursue his erotic ideal freely. What makes that ideal all the more erotic is that pursuit.

. . . But to say that Claussen pursued this project for the last thirty-four years simply for the “thrill of the hunt” would be a gross misunderstanding. Claussen’s intent was to show his appreciation of the female form as well as praise her sensuality; to delight in her mystery, rather than solve it; to prolong that pleasure, rather than hurry it. If there’s a sense of longing to these exhibits, it’s in Claussen’s attempt to freeze that moment; to capture an erotic eternity in an instant . . . As if he knew that moment could pass him by in the blink of an eye.

   Once the initial shock of seeing the displays settles a bit, Jack decides to step in and reveal a little about each of the subjects contained within, (most of which the reader is already familiar with). The professor briefly touches on such details as who they were; in some instances, how they were obtained; and the significance that each portrayed within the professor’s impressive collection. And like on his previous tour with Pitt, Claussen mixes deceptively light humor with his own personal observations about each subject that appears before them . . .

   Abner looks in on a brunette who stands with her backside facing the viewing panel; her facial features were undoubtedly European, and her body was nude. The attractive young lady appeared to be checking herself out in an unseen mirror. Behind the viewing panel beside her, was another frozen beauty that was equally attractive, but attired in a red, one-piece bathing suit . . .

   Maxwell analyzed the thick, feathered back hair of the young model in red, while at the same time wondering about the particularly odd pose she was in. (The female was seated upright with her legs pressed tight to her chest and with both of her arms wrapped around them as if in a fetal-like position). The man also noticed the girl’s exaggerated smile and that her body was noticeably tanned. It would take him a moment or two, but the engineer would eventually recognize where he had seen this particular scenario before . . .

   And then it suddenly hit him! Professor Claussen had recreated one of the most famous icons of the seventies in true pin-up style: a simple poster that not only altered the hairstyle of nearly every young American female during that era, but guaranteed Farrah Fawcett a prime spot on every teenaged boy’s bedroom wall! That swimsuit poster went on to sell a still-unrivaled 12 million copies and Farrah became known for her tousled mane, beautiful smile, and enviable figure . . .

   “Wow, nice job on the Farrah display!” exclaims Abner, (now appreciating the fine muscle tone in the figure’s legs!)

   “Mmm, well thank you! The young lady that’s sitting in for Farrah is Blaire,” says Claussen, while looking through the panel beside his guest. “Miss Warner joined me back in 1977 after having some fidelity issues with her boyfriend. I thought that I could offer her something that was a little more “stable” . . . if you will.”

   Stanley Pitt yells out from behind them, “That girl is bloody stable alright!”

   As the guests follow Jack to the next panel, Abner considers that if any “outsider” were to view the professor’s work, they might argue that it was cruel, degrading; and nothing more than three dimensional pornography. Max was certain that Claussen would dispute those allegations by pleading artistic license, and pointing out that his dolls are afforded their dignity. And it certainly was true; whether they were fully clothed or displayed in the nude, the women are shown in full view and always appear to be in command of themselves!

. . . Abner concludes that whatever Claussen’s guilty pleasures might be, degradation doesn’t appear to be among them.

   Meanwhile, Professor Claussen introduces the next subject that stands before them behind the glass, telling the tale of how she was acquired, “Back around seventy five or so . . . Hell, I can’t remember them all!”

. . . With her Dorothy Hamill styled hair, this beauty looked like the typical girl next door, and she may have even babysat you during that era. Unlike the others, this girl had her eyes closed and her head tilted towards her shoulder - as if she simply fell asleep while standing there! Dressed in a satin white corset with matching garters and stockings, Shawn Nichols looked at total peace while standing within the silence of her booth . . .

   Claussen concludes in telling Shawn’s story, then directs his guests across the aisle to present the next display piece . . .

   As Abner approaches the next panel, he looks in on a young Asian woman with silky black hair and wearing the uniform of a Catholic Schoolgirl. The engineer studies the Swan figure quite closely . . . In fact, more so than the others before her!

. . . “She looks so composed while standing there . . . Just fixed in place upon her small pedestal and staring sightlessly through her wire rimmed glasses,” thinks Abner to himself.

   The engineer is so taken by the Asian’s innocent beauty that he reaches towards the glass as if to invade the privacy of her silent world. But at the last second, the man finds himself getting caught up in the moment and he quickly turns away . . .

   “. . . They all look so peaceful and still just standing there,” says Maxwell with a hint of nervousness. He looks upward to find that the professor was observing him the entire time!

   “Yes . . . some more so than others,” replies Claussen, (knowing that the lovely Swan has just won over yet another admirer!)

   Meanwhile, Stanley Pitt props his double chin upon his raised arm and outturned thumb, as if he were considering Swan’s best angle . . .

   The host casually slips his hands into the pockets of his Dockers, and watches Pitt with a curious look before he asks, “What’s on your mind, Stanley?”

   “Jack, can you imagine this Asian girl . . . Or even this hot Latino in the booth next to her, (points to Maria in her Hooter’s uniform) . . . All juiced up on one of Maxwell’s little control modules? . . . Cause I mean to tell ya’ ole’ chap: It’s like having all of the fun of a lady friend, without having to deal with all the damned hassles and responsibilities!”

   “No, I don’t believe I’d be interested in seeing that at all,” says Claussen rather flatly.

   Pitt has a confused look and confesses, “But, I don’t get it Jack? . . . Why not?”

   The professor then turns to address both of his guests, “Gentlemen; I convinced myself a longtime ago, that the best, most pure explanation of any true artist’s work . . . Is in its silent exhibition.”

  Claussen’s guests nod their heads in agreement and continue to listen with undivided attention, as if another long lost secret is being revealed . . .

   The professor walks the men to the next panel, where a young brunette is tightly sealed within a shiny red devil suit. He then continues to explain, “Now with Maxwell here, that work involves turning perfectly normal, independent women into servile robots. His nanodolls fulfill the fantasy of having a beautiful woman at hand; to mindlessly serve cocktails, clean up spills, and be used as sex-toys that never say no.”

   Stanley Pitt quickly points out, “And they do those tasks quite well - time after time!”

   “Yes, I’m sure they do,” agrees Claussen. “But for me, the turn on is the fact that they are motionless; perfectly frozen in time and waiting to be viewed at my own leisure!”

   As Mr. Pitt stares at Velma’s glistening body, Maxwell Abner decides to speak up and defend his product and techniques. . .

   “I’ll be the first to admit: I never really saw my nanodolls as being passive, but rather interactive. When those sneaky little nanites do their work, they make my dolls a hands on experience, where yours are more imagination specific.” offers Maxwell.

   The professor proceeds onward with the tour, but complements, “Yes, that’s a very intelligent explanation Max. But again, the purpose of creating my displays isn’t just to showcase beautiful women . . .”

   At this point, the men enter a narrow corridor that seems to open up into a larger room beyond. There are two figures posted as sentries at either side; an Italian on the right and what appears to be a woman of Middle Eastern descent on the left. Both mirrored each other in pose and in dress: wearing transparently thin togas; open-toed sandals; and with a sash wrapped around their waistlines. The pair stared blindly across the aisle at one another, while tirelessly upholding antique candelabras . . .

   The professor steps up to the Indian girl first and finally explains, “Ideally, a good exhibition transports you to another world; making you see, feel, and inhale the energy of another time and place.”

. . . Claussen fusses with the Indian girl’s hair; primping at a few out of place ringlets here and there, before taking a step back to inspect his work. He then crosses over to the Italian woman and readjusts the top of her toga, lifting it up off of her shoulders a bit, until the magnificent swells of her breasts and the points of her nipples are seen more clearly . . .

   “I like my women real. Real eyes; real skin; real thighs; and really beautiful!” reveals the professor with a sly smile. The man walks around the frozen figure to look her over, and runs his hand along the female’s curvy waistline. Then in a sinister tone, he adds, “And as you can see . . . I don’t mind performing my work at all.”

   The entire time that Claussen is talking on the opposite side of the aisle, Mr. Pitt’s attention is focused elsewhere: studying the faint outline of the Indian woman’s shapely figure, namely the two cantaloupe sized breasts that press into the sheer white fabric that held them back!

   Stanley leans in closer to look into the vacuous stare of Sari’s dark eyes, but sees nothing more than his own mug reflecting back. The old man reaches out to gently touch her forearm and whispers, “My girl Elaine gives me that very same look too, honey!”

   Across the aisle, the professor steps around from the frozen form of Mia Fargnoli, and raises a hand towards the open area beyond and suggests, “Let’s go visit the showroom gentlemen.”

   Mr. Pitt quickly accepts the offer and walks onward into the under lit room, while Abner lingers around the doll for just a second . . .

   Maxwell’s hands frame the twenty-six-year-old’s breasts and he squeezes them lightly. The man had assumed that the Italian’s chest would be rock solid, yet they slightly gave beneath his steadily increasing grip. Her body was cool to the touch though, just as he had expected. A moment later, Max turns to catch up with the others, leaving Mia to stand obediently in frozen silence . . . with her candelabra conveniently raised to offer her admirer some guidance.

* * * * * *

   The showroom was also somewhat under lit, with only wall-mounted candles offering a sense of its contents. The room seemingly had an almost ominous atmosphere to it at first. But once the professor turned on an elaborate glass chandelier, the room immediately took on a classical, almost artsy feel, with handsomely decorated walls featuring pricey paintings and other forms of art. Vintage collectibles were shown in illuminated glass cabinets, like those seen in jewelry stores. There was even a genuine Persian rug that was squared up perfectly in the center of the room.

   Abner noticed a giant Plexiglas cube and what appeared to be a control panel for it, mounted upon a stand. The mysterious oddity dominated one entire corner of the showroom and surely looked out of place in comparison to the rest of the surrounding décor.

   . . . Maxwell finds himself wondering, “What in the hell is that thing?”

   But the real conversation pieces would be the sexily posed forms that stood in various frozen scenarios throughout the room! The guests are directed to a roped off platform, where three shapely silhouettes stood silently in the darkness, awaiting their debut . . .

   The professor announces, “I did a lot of research into the background of this next arrangement, which is a tribute to a movie which ironically . . . was a tribute itself. The movie focused on the lives of three young women who form an R&B singing trio in Detroit, back in the early sixties. They called themselves, “The Dreamettes” . . . and the movie was titled “Dream Girls.” This display pays homage to the girl groups of that era, as well as the actresses of that very movie.”

   With that said, Claussen flips a switch on a nearby stand and a series of overhead stage lights slowly illuminate the frozen figures before them . . .

   Before the professor’s guests even get a good close look at the figures themselves, a faint motorized sound begins to wind up and the entire round platform that the women are standing on begins to rotate around!

   Frozen in various “iconic” singing poses, were three African-American females - dressed in identical red sequined mini dresses that shimmered beneath the stage lights! (The light and clingy material of the outfits stretched out over each of the singer’s curvaceous bodies, leaving very little to the imagination!)

   Two of the women had identical beehive hairdos that were obviously wigs, while the lead singer had a perfect China doll “bob cut” with lengthy bangs.

   All three characters from the film were accurately represented by Lakeesha Jones (as Lorrell Robinson); Cherri Wilson (as Deena Jones); and the voluptuous Latoya “Missy” Perkins (as lead singer, Effie White).

   From his point of view, Stanley Pitt thought that all three women appeared confident and sexy, despite the uncomfortable-looking stabilizing rods that they were mounted on. As the shapely singers rotated around to face away from the men, the real-estate developer quickly notices that the bottom hem of each dress ends at the upper half of each thigh, dangerously coming within an inch of exposing each of their curvaceous African-American rumps! (Secretly, Pitt pictured in his own dirty mind how their ass cheeks must look when puckered upward beneath those tiny dresses, and imagined how “full” each would feel internally, if they were actually conscious!)

   Standing just beside Pitt, Maxwell watches with admiration, as the Deena character, (or Cherri Wilson,) revolves back around with one hand placed on her out-turned hip, while the other holds up a microphone to her erotically “O” shaped mouth! (Somewhat reminiscent of the position Cherri held when she unwittingly joined the ranks of Claussen’s collection on that cold and windy night, so many moons ago!)

   “The brilliant, exaggerated smiles of the trio sparkle as much as their sequined dresses!” thinks the engineer to himself. (A result that undoubtedly came from the professor’s application of bleach, which was simply used to remove the heavy nicotine stains that each of them had).

   “Where did you find all of this brown sugar?” asks Mr. Pitt, as he watches the row of rounded booties pass by once again . . .

   Professor Claussen reveals, “Believe it or not, these three were originally hookers that were working out near the industrial park . . . I brought them home, cleaned them up, and they turned out to be a sound investment in the end.”

   “I’ll agree with that!” admits Mr. Pitt, as the “big girl” out of the trio passes by. (Which isn’t to say that the woman was fat, but she certainly wasn’t thin either!) Regardless of Missy’s size, Stanley continues to look on, admiring the way that the thickness of the woman’s calves curve downward into her metallic red heels. “I’ll bet you could do some serious damage in the sack, to an old coot like me!” thinks the man to himself, before cracking a wicked grin . . .

   Once the onlookers move towards the next exhibit, the rotating stage slowly comes to a stop, and the sexy trio of soul sisters fades into the still darkness once again . . .

   Coming to a brief stop at the right of the sixties girl group display, the men set their eyes on yet another cocoa-skinned cutie standing upon a pedestal. Without complaint, the woman begins to rotate around in a titillating circle. As the shapely woman does so, the satiny sheen of her light brown skin reflects the rays of light that shine down upon her.

   Once Beyoncé completes her first revolution, she stares briefly at the onlookers, until her fixed eyes pass them by.

   From a few feet away, Maxwell admires the curves of Beyoncés protruding rear end before noticing that she is also mounted on one of the uncomfortable looking stabilizing rods. The intrusive device disappears under the short crocheted dress, leaving the woman’s tight booty exposed just beneath its lower hem!

   “Now, I noticed that you used those mounting rods in the last display as well Jack, but not in any of the others,” observes Maxwell.

   “That’s because I only use the stabilizing rods in the rotating displays, primarily to keep them from tipping over,” replies Claussen, before further explaining, “In the static displays, the models are stiff enough to hold their poses on their own.”

   “But how do you . . . You know, get the rod up in there?” inquires Abner.

   “KY jelly, some careful manipulation, and a whole lot of patience,” answers the professor, in a matter-of-fact tone. He then turns off the display and invites his guests to check out the diorama in the corner. As the trio approaches the giant clear cube, Professor Claussen announces, “Now this next one took quite a while to design . . . Not to mention all of the searching I did online to gather up all of the parts. But I feel it was well worth it, as I’m sure Stanley would attest to.”

   “Yes, it is magnificent indeed!” confirms Pitt. “It was friggin’ killing me not to tell him beforehand!”

   A moment later, the professor begins fiddling with some switches on a nearby control panel and suddenly there’s a mechanical winding noise emitting from beneath this contraption as well . . .

   As the cube illuminates, it begins to slowly rotate around, eventually picking up speed as the motor’s timing belt picks up the slack. The sound of pipe organ carnival music also winds up in unison with the grinding motor, further adding to the madness!

   Maxwell Abner watches in awe, as the cube’s contents are finally revealed while passing before his own eyes . . .

   Within the cube was a mock cutaway of a girl’s bedroom, complete with two single beds, pink furniture, and lots of stuffed animals. However, the main feature of the cube’s content wasn’t the feminine décor . . . It was the girls within that were frozen in their nightwear and posed in various positions inside! The slumber party participants were played by teens of varying ages; each engaged in a mock physical battle, and some were even utilizing pillows as weapons!

   Maxwell yells out in utter amazement, “Now this is totally insane!”

   But before the robotics engineer gets a chance to study the subjects in detail, the professor flips yet another toggle switch, activating the two fans that began blowing thousands of feathers throughout the cube!

   Abner begins clapping with approval and yells, “Just when I thought this couldn’t get any better, you go and toss pillow feathers into the mix!”

. . . Claussen looks over at Abner with a sinister looking smile and nods his head in recognition of the complement.

   Maxwell continues to look on with fascination, while at the same time asking himself, “Why hadn’t I thought of this? . . . This guy is truly a master of the craft!”

   Claussen’s guests enjoy the playful display for several minutes; still amazed that the characters that are circling around could appear as spirited and lively as they did without so much as moving a muscle!

   When the professor finally shuts the mechanical portion of the display down, the constant flurry of feathers that were blowing around begin to slowly drift downward; some of the feathers were landing on the furniture; while some more of them clung to the figure’s bodies, and the rest simply piled up on the floor bellow. . .

   As the music winds down and the rotating tableau finally grinds to a stop, a young blonde girl wearing a powder blue bra and brief set comes to a stop in front of the onlookers. Like some of the others in the previous revolving displays, she too was braced with one of the stabilizers . . .

   Maxwell studies the girl for a moment, and notices that her limbs looked awkward and out of proportion with the rest of her somewhat underdeveloped body . . . a physical trait that was shared with a couple of her co-conspirators. The man thinks to himself, “A bit too young for my tastes. But I’ll have to admit . . . she does have a cute little behind on her.”

   The professor clears his throat from beside the man, and as if he were reading his mind says, “. . . It’s a physical feature that she undoubtedly inherited from her mother; a woman you have met before, in fact.”

   Abner turns to the professor with a curious expression and asks, “I beg your pardon?”

   Jack Claussen steps up close to the cube and begins to explain, “This is Christie Fonda, the youngest daughter of an old peer of ours.”

. . . The professor then raises an arm and points out an older woman that stood in the mock doorway of the room, dressed in a sheer black full-length nightgown. She had both hands raised to her cheeks and her face held a shocked expression as if she had walked in on an actual pillow fight.

As if revealing the newest model of an automobile, Claussen announces, “I present to you, the recently refurbished . . . Kathy Lee Fonda!”

   Maxwell looks past Claussen’s raised hand in excited wonder, not quite recognizing the attractive former classmate at first. (After all, how many years had it been since he last saw her?) . . . But as the engineer stepped up to the Plexiglas cube and studied the woman’s features closer, a series of memories from Maxwell’s past quickly surfaced!

. . . Memories of Kathy Lee in a dotted bikini during spring break at the Jersey shore.

. . . Memories of Kathy Lee in her cheerleading uniform on homecoming weekend, and the time he innocently glanced over to see her picking her wedgie out of her perfect butt.

. . . Memories of Kathy Lee in those tight fuzzy sweaters, (like the one she was wearing when Maxwell saw her for the very first time as an incoming freshman).

   Unfortunately, most of those of those memories took place with the young business major that would soon marry her by her side. Coming into college as a freshman, when most of his newfound friends were about to graduate, put Max at a serious disadvantage; especially when it came to Kathy Lee. The young woman would graduate with her soon to be fiancé in the spring, and would surely forget that Maxwell ever existed! (Little did he know that Jack himself would suffer a similar fate in his own experience with the unobtainable woman!)

. . . And yet, here she was standing nearly naked before him: A former trophy wife now turned into one of Claussen’s own personal trophies!

   From behind him, the professor speaks out, “The impressive thing about Kathy Lee was she needed very little work when I finally caught up with her. Even after two kids, she managed to keep herself in respectable shape.”

   “Oh, really?” replies Abner, while still studying the woman.

   “Well, the woman is fifty years old, so obviously I had to tweak her boobs up a bit. But I’m very pleased with the results,” states Claussen, “And I’m fairly certain she is too.”

   “How did you manage to keep track of her after all of those years?” asks Maxwell, with almost a hint of jealousy in his voice.

   “I kept in touch with Peter all along,” admits Claussen. “We managed to get together every few years for a barbecue . . . even went to his oldest daughter’s graduation. So I was able to see Kathy Lee occasionally, (the professor looks through the Plexiglas with admiration for the woman) . . . but now I can see her whenever I want.”

   Abner mumbles, “So I’m sure,” beneath his breath, before he looks over and sees Jack giving him a suspicious look.

   Instead of bringing up the fact that Kathy Lee’s other daughter was also posed in front of them, (Bridget was an exact likeness to her mother back in her own college years), the professor decides to change the focus of the conversation to the mechanicals that ran the cube. For the next few minutes, Claussen explains how he came up with the entire idea, as well as where he accumulated the parts to build the monstrosity.

   Once the professor was finished, Maxwell reaches over and shakes Jack’s hand and spouts, “As an engineer, I applaud your inventiveness and I respect your ability to think outside the box!”

   Stanley Pitt decides to speak up and observes, “But in this case, I think it’s what’s inside the box that actually counts!”

   All three men begin to laugh loudly, as Jack reaches over and pulls the main “aviator” style handle downward, leaving Kathy Lee, as well as the slumbering teens in the darkness once again . . .

   As the trio walk towards the hallway at the end of the showroom, Jack Claussen asks, “So Max, what do you think of the collection so far?”

   Abner replies, “Well I must say that I truly respect your work. The presentation of each subject, along with your persistent attention to detail is unsurpassed; it seems like every time I turn my head, I see another feature that I might have missed at first glance. And as far as the quality of women goes . . . I mean come on – they are stunning!”

   “Well thank you!” replies the professor in acceptance. “I tend to collect women that evoke a certain level of voyeuristic pleasure inside of me . . . Women that I would never tire of looking at over time. Very few collectors would allow somebody else to view something so personal. However, I don’t mind watching somebody else enjoy the illusion; I certainly feed off that reaction, like any true artist would.”

* * * * * *

   Entering the second half of the hallway, the men are greeted by several more enticing displays, including a considerably tall redhead that’s dressed in an equally red teddy, an exotic Asian dancer with a g-string full of dollar bills while performing an eternal lap dance, and a heavenly blonde that’s spreading her angelic wings in true Victoria’s secret fashion!

   Claussen’s appreciative guests look at each of the enticing exhibits for several minutes.

 . . . Maxwell studies the construction and design of the displays, as well as the alluring beauties inside.

. . . Stanley Pitt proclaims, “Fresh meat!” Then he goes on to explain in graphic detail about what he would do with each of them, if given half a chance.

   The professor rolls his eyes, and leads the men to a recently constructed booth on the opposite side of the aisle way. Before illuminating the enclosure, Claussen predicts, “Now there’s a possible chance that Stanley may recognize this next girl . . .”

   The display booth suddenly lights up, and there is a noted gasp that emits from the onlookers!

. . . Posed before the men, was a lovely nude woman: seated upon what appears to be a small stool that had a satin red slip cover draped over it.

   Mr. Pitt presses up against the glass panel in excitement, as he immediately recognizes the figure as Sidra Holland: a close girlfriend of his former secretary-turned-object, Elaine Benes!

   “Oh my goodness!” exclaims Mr. Pitt. “You’re my bloody hero, Jack!”

   Sidra was posed with both arms raised behind her head where delicate hands upheld a pile of raven black hair above her barren shoulders. The woman’s upturned head allowed her rolling eyes to stare out longingly at her admirers, while her expression looked expectant and composed.

. . . Sidra’s back and shoulders are deeply arched, forcing her perfect and natural breasts to jut outward, while the incredible nook of her ass hung just off the outer edge of the stool, (further emphasizing just how firm it really was!)

   Mounted on the wall behind the figure, was an imported Italian painting with a nude woman that was seated and posed identically to the former fitness trainer. The painting was very graceful and in good taste, yet held a certain underlying sense of eroticism; much like the figure behind the glass that mimicked it.

   On the night that Miss Holland visited the professor’s home, she was quite impressed with the expressive painting, as well as the figure’s beauty. She would have never guessed that the painting would become her fate in the days that followed . . .

   As the next display booth illuminates to life, Claussen’s guests quickly realize that this exhibit would be like no other. The first clue was the purple strobe light now flickering erratically and casting a glow upon a painted background of dark and gloomy clouds. The other clue would be the chilling pipe organ music now playing through a small speaker mounted in a lower corner of the viewing panel.

   A second light, (placed at the bottom of the booth and turned upward at a 45 degree angle,) begins to illuminate a noticeably pale looking woman that’s dressed in a sheer vanilla gown. The awkward position of the lamp creates an eerie purple underglow, which highlights the figure’s most prominent features, while leaving the rest of her obscured by the darkness.

. . . As the creepy purple light glows considerably brighter, the ghostly body within the booth is finally revealed: a vampiress stands straight and proud; with both arms pressed close to her sides; while her fingers spread out over the dangerous curves of her thighs. Behind the seductive apparition was a menacing wooden cross, while various grave markers rise up from the ground below her.

   Abner lets out an unexpected, “Yowza!”

   From beside the engineer, Mr. Pitt remarks, “Nobody told me to bring me a garlic necklace and a bloody crucifix!”

   “Well, I think you’ll be safe, as long as you stay on this side of the glass,” assures the professor.

   The homeless skateboarder-turned-bloodsucker featured several gothic details, such as  black lipstick, three inch long “press on” nails that looked like claws (also painted black), and a threatening pair of fangs that hung noticeably from her deliciously evil smile. There was also a lacy white veil placed over her jet-black and blonde streaked hair, which seemed to be blowing off to the side from an unseen force of wind.

. . . But the single, most chilling detail of all was the obsessed look within her dark staring eyes . . .

   The top of the sexy vamp’s dress has been pulled down over her shoulders and bunched up beneath her exposed breasts, revealing a silver hoop in each pierced nipple. The rest of the runaway’s shapely body was also visible through the sheer material of her gown.

   The uncanny display truly reflected the combination of beauty, horror and eroticism that Claussen had hoped to capture. In fact: one might say that it was strangely beautiful and yet, beautifully strange . . .

   At this point, a mechanical bat with textured rubber skin and glowing red eyes suddenly comes to life; frantically flapping its boney wings, as if it were in flight just ten inches from the ground!

   Maxwell chuckles at the Halloween decoration’s cheap design, and then looks upward at the figure itself to study another illusion . . .

   “How did you manage to keep her hair and veil up in the air as if it were blowing in the wind?” asks Abner with curiosity.

   The professor replies, “With a few carefully placed fishing lines and a whole lotta’ hairspray!”

   Mr. Pitt criticizes, “Who cares about the bloody hair you ninny! What about the pair of impressive titties!”  The man then lets his eyes wander down to the dark thatch of pubic bush that can be seen through her gauzy gown and he decides to add, “ . . . among other delicacies!”

   Maxwell ignores Stanley’s comment, but out of further curiosity asks, “. . . And how in the world did you get that big wooden cross and those heavy gravestones up in there anyway?”

   The professor cracks a sly smile and reveals, “Painted Styrofoam isn’t all that heavy; even at my age.”

   “Touché . . .” replies Abner, with a slightly embarrassed look!

   “I was inspired by Vampirella . . . you know, the comic book character? But I wanted this girl to be my own creation, thus the title bellow,” states Claussen, (now pointing at the name plate with the words “American Gothic” engraved into it’s surface).

   The professor focuses back on the figure herself and says, “As far as those nipple rings go: I had originally planned to take those out. But those rings seemed to make her a little more edgy, which was exactly how she was in life. However, I did manage to change the purple streak in her hair to blonde, just so it would show up better under the dark lighting. I also sprayed her body with a lighter pigment that I mixed myself, just to give her that “living dead look” that any proper vampiress should have.”

   Abner cuts in and admits, “I kind of liked those big fangs she has.”

   “Well, those fangs are a story in their own right,” reveals Claussen. “I thought a pair of those store bought plastic fangs would be cheap looking, so I went online and found a pair of genuine wolf fangs. When they arrived, I drilled out the centers and super-glued the fangs over her real teeth like a pair of caps.”

   Mr. Pitt comments, “Well that sounds fairly permanent, don’t you think?”

   Claussen and Abner raise their eyebrows and give each other a look, before Maxwell suggests, “I think that was pretty much the idea, Stanley.”

   The professor begins to crack a smile, before flipping off the power switch, causing the organ music to stop and allowing the vampiress to recede back into the shadows.

. . . The former pickpocket and homeless skater chick now has a second chance at life; serving her penance in frozen solitude, among Claussen’s emotionless elite!

* * * * * *

   If the last booth transported its viewers to Transylvania, then the next panel took them back to the carefree times after World War I. It was an era when some women weren’t interested in being homemakers; they wanted to dance, drink, smoke, and chop off their hair. These same women wore thin flimsy dresses or pants, and “bandeau” style bras that flattened their chests, instead of lifting them. As a result, the “Flapper” was born!

   Dancing in such forms as the Charleston, the Foxtrot and the Tango, the flappers often got down and dirty to Jazz, (or at least a refined version of it), inside gaudy ballrooms, speakeasy’s or within their own homes.

   Professor Claussen paid homage to that bygone era with the next display, where a very slim Asian girl stands in a sequin-covered “tube style” dress that almost appeared to be chrome plated. In addition to the slinky dress, this doll featured several period correct details, including a beaded choker, a matching sequined headband that sported a single white feather, and even a typical 1920’s style “bob-cut” hairdo.

   The girl, named Nico Yano, looks back over her shoulder with a huge grin and a flirtatious expression now permanently etched onto her face. The former prom-goer stands with her bare back turned towards the viewing panel, with her shapely legs stiffly braced and spread about a foot-and-a-half away from each other.

   There was a six inch long cigarette holder held in one upraised hand, (as if Nico were about to take a drag), while her other pushed away a dapper looking male with slicked back hair. (He was looking for a dance perhaps?) The boy, named Brad, was dressed in equally impressive period correct clothing and stood by his girlfriend’s side, just as he had in a previous life . . .

   From the other side of the viewing panel, Claussen’s guests stare inward; admiring the Asian’s bare back, her cute facial profile, and the way the fringing hangs freely from the bottom hem of her flashy dress - just barely exposing the naked creases of her butt cheeks!

   “That’s quite an impressive dress that young lady is wearing,” complements Abner. “Is that a true vintage item?”

   The professor laughs and replies, “No, not exactly. I was so impressed with how good Nico looked in her prom dress that I sent it out to a custom alteration shop and had it considerably shortened. I also had them add the old style fringing to the bottom hem, to give the dress that classic “Flapper” look. . . . I must admit, I’m quite happy with the end results of the dress, including the way it hangs off her backside; just right, if you know what I mean.”

   The guests agree by nodding their heads in unison, before the romantically linked couple begins to fade off into the darkness . . .

   As the men cross the aisle way and approach what appears to be the last completed booth, Claussen turns and comments, “Now this next display might be a little more up your alley, Max.”

   The engineer raises a curious eyebrow and inquires, “Up my alley? Please . . . do tell Mr. Claussen!”

   The professor grins at Abner’s enthusiasm and then explains, “I recently attended a public auction down on Long Island, where some outdated display equipment was being sold off from Macy’s old warehouse.”

   “Ah yes . . .,” reflects Maxwell. “Macy’s was one of the first of the “big name” department stores to utilize animatronics in their imaginative displays.”

   “Yes, that’s true indeed,” admits Claussen. “Anyway, the bidding war was fast and furious, but I managed to come back with most of what I went looking for. Some of the equipment that I purchased that day has been utilized in this next display.”

   With that said: the professor flips on the light switch for the next booth, and two more shapely figures illuminate inside . . .

 . . . “Whoa!” exclaims Maxwell with gusto!

. . . “Meeeooww!” purrs Mr. Pitt, before asking, “What’s new pussycat?”

   The men’s expected excitement pertains to the sight of two of law enforcement’s most determined female investigators, now reduced to mere display pieces and helplessly posed side by side!

   The figure standing stiffly nearest to the viewing panel was dressed in a cat-woman costume that was straight out of the batman television series of the sixties!

   Sealed from her neck to her wrists, and then down to her ankles in flat black rubber, former C.S.I. Catherine Willow could surely pass for Julie Newmar at first glance. In addition too the body-adhering catsuit, the sexy feline’s costume also included other appropriate details, such as faux cat ears (held on by a hidden headband), an interlinked “grid-like” metal waist belt that accented the deep curves of her hips, overly long “press on” nails that were painted black and permanently adhered to each of her ten fingers to resemble claws, and a long black tail that appeared to be “wired” inside to make it stand “on end” behind her.

   Professor Claussen even remembered to use one of those vintage style “bullet bras” that made the investigator’s ample breasts thrust outward like two loaded torpedoes!

   The former strawberry blonde, (now a brunette, due to the professor’s recent dye-job), is teasingly bent over with both hands gripping a crowbar. The crowbar itself is wedged into the frame of a fake exterior window on the wall that Catherine is currently facing . . .

   The figure that approaches the cat burglar from behind is none other than Detective Emily Procton, now unwittingly portraying “Batgirl” in the sexy scenario!

   Emily stood firm in an imposing “legs spread” stance, with a spacey looking “Bat Stasis Ray” gripped within her hands, (which were currently positioned at length and hung just ahead of her lower waistline). The heroine’s body language, along with the serious look on her face, (partially hidden by her black and purple headgear) held a commanding sense of authority . . . Both were a result of Professor Claussen’s mastery of expressive manipulation!

   Emily’s petite but athletic body looked like it was vacuum sealed within her metallic purple bodysuit, which appeared to be made of ultra thin PVC latex. It also looked like the woman was equipped with a gravity defying “bullet bra” just like her former partner. Other details that made up the crime fighter’s costume included a purple cape (with a safety yellow colored inner liner), matching yellow knee high boots, glovettes, and the mandatory utility belt with enough gadgets to keep Gotham City’s criminal element respectfully in line.

   There was no doubt in the onlooker’s minds: this recreation was a tribute to the former detective’s somewhat understated beauty, as well as a faithful homage to Yvonne Craig herself!

   Mr. Pitt looks over Batgirl’s body closely, staring at her pretty (and somewhat disguised) face; then glancing briefly at the way her yellow and black “Bat” logo distorts between her uplifted breasts: before letting his eyes wander downward to focus on the imprint of her snatch and its latex molded crease . . .

   “Wow, that bloody latex really gets right up in there, eh?” observes Mr. Pitt.

   “Yes . . . it surely does.” confirms the professor.

   “It looks right and tight!” continues the real estate magnate.

   “Yes indeed, no room for any panties in there!” reveals the professor, before confessing, “But I did manage to locate a pair of vintage brasseries online, to achieve the ‘out front and straight ahead’ altitude that many of the well endowed actresses of that era possessed!”

   “I see that, and I sure as hell appreciate that look!” exclaims Pitt. “I’ll tell ya what; if it wasn’t for the logo on the chest of this one, I would almost swear that their bodies were painted!”

   “Well, they weren’t exactly painted on,” assures Claussen. “However, I did have to shave them down and then grease up their bodies to slide the suits on; much like I did with Velma Livingston.”

   The professor pauses in thought for a moment, reflecting back at the sight of the two women standing at idle beside each other; the look of their slick nude bodies and the way they glistened beneath the overhead lights in the pose room, as both stared glassily forward and waited to join their sisters . . .

   Maxwell suddenly breaks the professor’s train of thought when he comments, “I’ll be damned if I can spot any seams in those outfits.”

Claussen then discloses, “Both catsuits have zippers that are colored keyed with the color of the outfits. The zippers they use run from the back of the neck, down between the ass cheeks and end beneath the crotch . . . Believe me; it took a substantial effort, with a lot of tucking and pressing to squeeze everything inside. The result is the unbroken smoothness as seen in the front of the gal’s uniforms.”

   “It certainly looks like you tucked and squeezed everything they’ve got, into all the right places!” confirms Maxwell, while cracking an appreciative smile.

   The professor nods his head and says, “Well thank you! . . . But I can assure you that standing there and looking gorgeous, isn’t the only thing these ladies have to offer.”

. . . Claussen reaches outward to press a lighted green button just beside the viewing panel. The small button is one of two, (one green and one red), that can be seen on the topside of a perforated speaker plate that measures six inches square.

   Within seconds, the electric hum of a transformer could be heard, followed by the sound of chain driven gears slowly grinding up to speed . . .

   Abner and Pitt continue to look on with curiosity, as the strange cacophony of noises grows louder.

   Suddenly, the motionless heroines jerked in place as if receiving an electrical shock! Both women immediately began to go through a series of stiff, generic movements, while the guitar hook from the original Batman theme kicks in . . .

   Batgirl raises her weapon with both stiffened arms until it’s directly out in front of her and trained upon her rival. The former detective slightly wobbles as she’s pulled two feet forward, until the torque of the unseen chain drive catches up with the slack and jerks her to a stop. Emily’s jaw drops open unexpectedly, but her lips fail to move as the command of, “Freeze right there!” emits from the speaker in the panel.

. . . Caught by surprise, Catwoman releases the crowbar, (which remains lodged in the window frame), and she simultaneously bolts upright while raising her hands high above her head. Catherine’s jaw drops open in shock, but just like her pursuer, the villainess shows no emotion and her lips refuse to move . . .

   The professor’s guests are naturally astounded, as they watched the shapely figures lumbering back and forth: each slightly bobbling in place when they came to a stop, as if powered by a hydraulic piston. Each time the figure’s jaw closed, she would retract back into her original position to signal the end of the series. The figure would re-loop and start her routine all over again.

   Critiquing the professor’s handy work from his position outside the viewing panel, Maxwell thought the women’s slightly jerky movements were laughable and on the verge of being absurd . . . But at the same time, the engineer realized that it was in Claussen’s own genius that he had designed the awkward display pieces to look that way on purpose!

   Mr. Pitt recognizes this as well, as he appraises, “This is bloody stupendous, Jack!”

   “I would have to agree with that!” admits Abner out loud, before turning his attention to two slots that were cut out of the flooring inside the booth. The engineer began to study the various pegs that were pushing and pulling the makeshift marionettes that continue to seesaw back and forth. Within seconds, the knowledgeable robotics engineer recognizes the mechanicals of the contraption by their sound and movement alone . . .

   “That’s a Dolby/Richards model, judging by the sound of the chain drive,” observes Maxwell, “. . . Probably a two or two and a half horse motor.”

   “Yes, a Dolby/Richards E58-A . . . probably mid-seventies vintage I would guess,” answers Claussen. The professor goes on to explain, “I managed to combine some old school animatronic equipment, with your cutting edge product. As you can see, the E58-A unit actually moves Batgirl back and forth on her track. However, it’s the control modules on the backs of their necks that manipulate their bodies through their pre-programmed movement routines.”

   As Abner refocuses his eyes on the zombie-like girls, (now wobbling through yet another timed loop), he muses, “You’ve taken an ancient Dolby/Richards display piece, and with some ingenuity and a little imagination, turned it into something of an entirely different nature!”

. . . From beside the engineer, a beaming Stanley Pitt suggests, “He’s quite mad, you know!”

   Maxwell points out, “Yes . . . Mad, but resourceful, and I absolutely love it!”

   The three men watched intently as the former law enforcers bent, raised, turned, and generically bobbled back and forth like two drones; stretching their sleek outfits with each awkward movement.

   After accepting a few more minutes of praise, Claussen pressed the stop button, causing Batgirl and Catwoman to slowly grind to a halt. A moment later, Catherine and Emily fade into the darkness within the confinement of their booth. The striking pair would remain paused in standby; each sealed tightly within her restrictive outfit and waiting for the opportunity to perform her routine with her respective partner once again . . .

Professor Claussen then turns to face his guests and announces, “Now I have one last exhibit to show you gentlemen, and it’s a project that I have been piecing together for quite some time.”

   As the professor turns and leads his company back through the hallway, he goes on to explain, “This next display is a bit larger in scale, but I think you boys will enjoy it all the same.”

   While the guests walk onward, their heads turn from side to side to get one last look at the various beauties that would spend the rest of their days as Claussen’s frozen playthings.

   As Maxwell Abner looks in and reviews the now under-lit figures, he theorizes to himself that there is a hunger in these displays; a recurring desire to sample women in all their variety. But despite that variety, Claussen was still intent on visualizing a private, more intimate connection with each subject.

. . . Just the fact that Jack provided most of the clothing and accessories himself, suggests that he had very specific ideas of what he wanted from his girls. Perhaps it’s the professor’s personal touches; the formal compositions of the layouts, the rigorous consistency of the detailing, or their imaginative poses (whether reclining or standing straight at attention) . . . Claussen’s dolls often seduce the viewers with their beautifully haunting images, long before the disturbing implications of those images are fully realized.

* * * * * *

   Once the trio returned to the far end of the museum, Claussen guides the men back through the entranceway, and rolls the heavy steel door back on its tracks. The door eventually clanks closed with an ominous finality . . .

   The men then walk through a small hallway, until coming to a set of swinging louvered doors that looked like something one would see in an old western movie.

   Before opening the doors, the professor raises a hand to get the full attention of his old college mates. With a sense of showmanship, Claussen turns around and clasps his hands together to announce, “Gentlemen: what you are about to see, took me an entire winter and most of the summer to complete. Although a rather costly renovation, I do feel the results were well worth it in the end. I also believe that it has become the cornerstone of my collection.”

   Abner and Pitt look at each other with puzzled expressions, before turning back to face their host . . .

   “Well get on with it my good man!” orders Stanley Pitt, (now rubbing his pudgy hands together with anticipation).

   The professor politely smiles at the pushy man, and then proudly announces, “Gentlemen: Welcome to the rumpus room!”

   Before the last statement even registers with the two curious guests, the louvered doors are swung open to reveal the room beyond and the content within. As the three men step inside, they are immediately transported to another time and place in history . . .

   Maxwell lets out a whistle, immediately taken aback by what he sees . . .

   Mr. Pitt gasps from beside him and exclaims, “Well I’ll be damned!”

   Jack Claussen’s retro seventies family room had been miraculously transformed into a grand looking Wild Western saloon!

   Abner and Pitt looked around in awe: admiring the many furnishings that dated back to the 1800’s, in addition too the various dancing girls that were dressed in period correct clothing and posed throughout the room!

   Behind the excited onlookers, Claussen reaches for a switch just beside the bar, and flips it on.

   On the opposite side of the room, an upright player piano begins to wind up to speed, the keys now mysteriously playing by themselves and spewing out a constant loop of bawdy, “Old Timely” music in true “barrelhouse” style. The piano’s upbeat musical tempo immediately brings to mind Scott Joplin’s, “The Entertainer” . . . from 1973’s film, “The Sting!”

   Stanley Pitt suddenly turns around with a wide grin, and smacks the professor squarely on the back!

   “Jack, you truly are one crazy son of a bitch!” yells the real estate mogul. “You’ve somehow managed to outdo your own self in the very same afternoon!” he adds, before turning around to gawk at the dancing girls in their bright and flimsy costumes.

   In the meantime, Maxwell is the first to step forward and fully take in the experience of the unfamiliar surroundings . . .

   The robotics engineer approaches the first of the “dollyfied” dancehall gals, which was a chesty brunette that’s dressed in a bright purple corset tightly cinched at her waist.

   Maxwell lightly brushes his fingertips along the figure’s arm, which was wrapped in a full-length fishnet glove that left the girl’s fingers exposed. He then glances down at her matching thigh-high fishnet stockings, exposed garter belt, and the lacy purple panties that barely cover her undercarriage.

   “Well, hello there!” Max whispers softly to the girl, before leaving her standing there in silence, so he can get a panoramic view of the room.

   The family room-turned-Western Saloon was surely grand indeed, with many period correct details, ranging from: the gas lamps that flickered on the walls to the old iron pot-belly stove that sat in one corner. There were very old collectible glass bottles of all shapes and sizes on shelves, surrounded by a myriad of “Old Timey” beer, whiskey and tonic signs that advertised on the walls.

   Maxwell chuckles when he reads an old tin sign that warns:

                         NO spitting tobacco on the floors!

                                                                                   * * * * * *

                                                NO discharging firearms indoors!

. . . Another sign explained the rules of the joint:

             Bar Rules:  Rule #1. The bartender is always right!

                                            Rule #2. If the bartender is wrong, see Rule #1!

   Abner shakes his head, and then continues to look on . . .

   There was a long, majestic looking bar at the back of the room, which was made of mahogany wood and polished to a splendid shine. Encircling the bar, was a gleaming brass foot rail that was mounted about twelve inches up from the floor, in addition too four empty bar stools.

   Bottles of liquor were lined up in front of a giant mirror, (which was mounted behind the bar), and a bartender leaned with both hands on the counter as if waiting to serve a customer. He too was dressed in period correct clothing, from the black armband and suspenders, right down to the obviously fake handlebar mustache. Mounted above the unmoving figure, was an old wooden sign with elaborate scrollwork around the lettering that announced:

                                     -The Dry Gulch Saloon-

                                . . . Where you’ll find the “pertiest” dancing’ girls in town!

   Maxwell exhales deeply, then thinks to himself, “Man: Claussen pulled out all the stops, when he put this thing together!”

   While the antique furnishings and the continuous loop of “barrelhouse” piano music certainly created the atmosphere, it didn’t take long to remind Max that those weren’t the only elements that made the saloon authentic . . .

   Looking off to the right-hand side of the bar, Max sees the second of the dancehall dames, posed upright, with one hand leaning against an outturned hip, while her other rested on a fishnet covered leg. The same leg was erotically exposed and strategically planted atop a piano bench that was just beside her.

   The woman appeared to be older and lacked the crystal clear, youthful complexion that many of the other girl’s in Claussen’s collection had. However, that absence of physical youth was replaced by an air of wisdom and confidence. The woman was still quite attractive, and surely demanded attention, from her curvaceous body, to the fiery red hair that bundled up beneath the feathery headpiece that surrounded it. The woman’s head was turned to the side and stared into the distance with a noted sense of haughtiness as if to teasingly ignore her admirer!

   Although similarly dressed like the other women in the saloon, this dancehall diva had some small details that gave her a bit more sense of class, setting her apart from the rest. For instance, instead of having elbow-length fishnet patterned gloves, this woman wore full length ones made of smooth black silk; where the other gals had bare shoulders, this one had a delicate lace shawl draped over hers, along with a red boa which hung from the back of her neck and snaked down over the bumps of her uplifted chest. To top it off, she also wore true diamond earrings, which dangled beside the rhinestone-trimmed choker she had . . . (plucked sometime ago, from the ears of one of her younger co-workers!)

   Maxwell Abner steps back a few feet and crosses his arms over his chest for a minute, (simply just to admire the piece from afar). The engineer cracks a knowing and appreciative smile, once he sees the point that Claussen wanted to make . . .

   The professor’s clever choice of showing this woman with her head turned in profile, surely gives Max a sense of voyeurism, as if experiencing the tantalizing wait that every male has endured when spotting a beautiful stranger and hoping to make eye contact with her from across the room. (Abner’s member begins to rise with the thought that the aged beauty might turn her head and focus her haughty gaze upon the man himself!)

   “Absolutely brilliant!” thinks Maxwell.

   Peeling his eyes away from the redhead, Abner glances further to the right, coming to a brief stop at a large keg made of aged looking wood, and held together with several steel bands.

   Then continuing to turn his body, Max sets his eyes on an antique claw foot couch, that’s backed up against the rear wall of the room. The rose colored piece of furniture looks like it’s been painstakingly restored to pristine condition, and its color even matches the old fashioned velvet drapes that frame a window behind it.

. . . Although impressive from a monetary point of view, the couch isn’t the collectible that catches Maxwell’s attention the most; it’s the refurbished young lady that’s posed in a reclining position upon it!

   The leggy saloon dancer, (formerly known as Tiffany Taylor), was dressed in a pink corset that was made of satin. (This particular foundation was specifically chosen for its ability to lift and separate, while being able to blaze against the backdrop of the rose colored couch at the same time!)

. . . Despite her trampy attire, Miss Taylor was gracefully posed with her pretty head leaning against one tanned arm, while the other rose up and held an index finger that seductively lingered at the edge of her supple lips. The girl was lying on her side, with one hip raised against the back of the couch to show off her curvy waistline.

   By now, the rain had stopped and the clouds had cleared outside, allowing the warm rays of the sun to shine through the parted velvet drapes and down onto the young woman. Those rays highlighted Tiffany’s golden silk-spun hair, which was clipped into a tight bun in the back. (The sheen of the eighteen-year-old’s hair was slightly shinier than the enamel clear coat that sealed her skin).

   Maxwell hovers over the girl at first; studying the lean and hungry look on her face, then letting his eyes gradually wander downward to the impressively deep cleavage just bellow him. He then scans across her fishnet-covered legs and bare upper thighs. Max notices that Tiffany wore no garter belt like the other entertainers, but sported a pair of pink lacey panties, which offered the dancehall hussy at least some sort of privacy.

* * * * * *

   The entire time that Maxwell is inspecting the tenants on the far side of the room, Mr. Stanley Pitt was doing some inspection work of his own . . .

   Stanley had casually walked over to a round wooden table that sat just off to the right, as one walked through the swinging saloon doors. There was a deck of cards, as well as several stacks of poker chips sitting on top of the table, but from the looks of the empty chairs there weren’t any interested players.

   Like a restless child with A.D.D., Stanley couldn’t resist picking up the cards to sort out the deck. As the cards made a familiar flapping sound against each other, Pitt looks off to his side and sizes up the young lady that stands idle, just a few feet away. Now flipping the deck face up, the man fans the cards out between his hands to select one card with his fingers, and returns the rest to the surface of the table.

   Mr. Pitt turns and approaches the brunette who stands at rigid attention with heels together, head upturned, with one arm flat at her side while the other is bent at the elbow and extending forward. It was then that Stanley noticed the odd position of the girl’s hand; it was as if she was loosely gripping an unseen ski pole . . . or even something else of a more perverted nature!

   As he circles around the former prom girl-turned-barroom bombshell, Pitt asks himself in a lowered voice, “How in the hell could a bird look so bloody hot, while still wearing her knickers?”

   The figure, (formerly known as Emily Ross), had silky brown hair that draped smoothly down over her head, and then tumbled into a series of curls across her bare shoulders. There was a single red rose placed in her hair, as opposed to the feathered head bands that some of the other dancers had.

   As far as her attire went, Emily was tightly wrapped in a bright purple corset that was trimmed in black lace, along with a matching garter belt that held up another pair of fishnet stockings. Where two of the other figures sported short lacy dresses, this girl wore none . . . (In fact: Pitt had been staring at the young lady’s perky behind and admiring the way her garter straps framed the rounded sides of her tush, for almost an entire minute now!)

   “I wouldn’t mind “getting me oats” with this one!” thinks Pitt to himself, as he glances up to study the tight, criss-crossed pattern of lacing that travels up from the small of  the girl’s back, and ends just short of her bare shoulder blades.

   The real-estate magnate slowly steps around the motionless figure to look at her, face to face. As he does, Pitt drops his hand down to allow his fingers to lightly brush across the humps of the girl’s protruding fanny; they glide across the slippery satin material of her panties without resistance . . .

   Now coming to a stop in front of the young girl, Pitt is first confronted by a healthy pair of uplifted mounds. Emily’s breasts are so compressed by the reinforced cups of the corset, that they now have sink marks from where the stitched seam edging swoops out over her chest line!

   Stanley whispers in a lowered voice, “That’s certainly a lot of skin that you have packed away in there, honey!”

   The old man’s eyes wander upward, passing by a purple velvet choker and then coming to a stop at the young lady’s incredibly cute face. He thought she had many attractive features, ranging from a slightly upturned nose, rounded cheeks, and supple lips, which were parted - as if the frozen lass were about to expel her breath.

   Emily had always been naturally pretty, and rarely bothered to wear make-up while she was in high school. Even on her prom night, the girl was careful not to over do it, she never wanted to look like the overly made up tarts that she went to school with. Professor Claussen stayed true to that concept here, adding just a bit of red lipstick to her lips, while darkening her already incredibly long and flirtatious eyelashes.

   There was one noticeable thing that made Mr. Pitt feel a tad uneasy though, and it wasn’t the vacant look of the girl’s staring eyes; it was the physical texture of them. Normally a pretty light green, Emily’s eyes had developed a thin cloudy film and had turned a milky blue color.

. . . “What was it that Claussen had once called it?” wonders Pitt, “. . . Ocular gelling perhaps? . . . Regardless, this bird is still shagadellic!”

   Stanley glances over his shoulder to see if his mates are watching, but both had their backs turned to him and were preoccupied. Abner was just approaching a young blonde on a couch, while the professor was busy watching his guest’s reaction to the sexy doll.

. . . At that moment, Mr. Pitt reached into his coat pocket to retrieve something. As he does so, Stanley swallows hard within his throat and then slips his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in a creepy way . . .

   Now reaching down towards the girl’s knickers, Mr. Pitt dips the middle finger of his left hand just inside the waistband and stretches the garment back away from her hips. From within his right palm, Stanley produces a card that he stole from the deck back at the poker table just minutes ago . . . With his tongue still poking out from the corner of his mouth, the dirty old man deposits the “Ace of Spades” into the front of the girl’s panty! (The card lands squarely in place, and if she were conscious, Emily would surely feel the coolness of the printed cardboard leaning against her precious cunny!)

. . . Mr. Pitt slowly guides the lacy waistband back into place, and then cruelly rubs his chubby old fingers over Emily’s preserved pussy! Instead of feeling the cleft of her vagina, he feels a smooth, flat, generic square that barely implodes beneath his touch . . . (Although a very faint scratching sound can be heard, as the girl’s neatly trimmed pubic hair crunches against the glossy printed surface of the playing card!)

   Stanley cracks a mischievous smile, before leaning in close to whisper in the girl’s ear, “. . . And so the legend continues! Thanks for your help, my little darling!”

. . . The poor girl continues to stare forward: incapable of offering a response; or even aware of what she’s holding in her most intimate of hiding places.

   Just then, Jack Claussen turns around from the opposite side of the room, to see Stanley Pitt leaning in a bit too closely to his Emily doll, for longer than necessary . . .

   “Hey! What are you doing over there?” shouts the professor, (as if trying to compete with the upright piano that continues to play loudly).

   Pitt flinches a bit at the unexpected volume of Claussen’s voice, and nervously expels, “Uh . . . What’s that, Jack?”

   The professor raises a suspicious eyebrow, and then commands “Get your sorry ass over here where I can keep an eye on you!”

   “I was just admiring . . . Uh, the impressive detailing on this one!” replies Stanley, (with his chubby cheeks now turning noticeably red in color).

   Claussen waves a hand over towards his own direction and suggests, “Yeah, well why don’t you admire her from over here.”

   As Pitt’s hard-heeled shoes clump across the fresh hardwood floors of the Saloon, the man confesses, “I tell you what Jack: seeing all of this frozen flesh all at once, just makes me want to bend one of these birds over and give her a jolly good rogering!” . . . (The man then unexpectedly parts his sport jacket to reveal an obvious hard-on that’s poking up at the zipper of his slacks!)

   Jack winces in disgust, and raises a hand to his eyes as if blocking out the sun. The professor then immediately requests, “Alright; cover that shit up and try to keep it in your pants!”

   Stanley unashamedly adjusts his crotch like a baseball player would, and asks “So, just who is that bird anyway?”

   Jack continues to frown at his friend’s behavior, but eventually replies, “She’s a recent addition, and yes she is a very attractive young lady. In fact, I couldn’t believe our paths had crossed again, and I owe it all to you.”

   “Me?” asks Mr. Pitt in a confused manner . . .

   “Oh yes!” confirms Claussen. “When Emily approached the limo, I thought I recognized her, and unfortunately she was very sure that we had met before. I thought for sure that my cover was blown! . . . It wasn’t until days later that I got a hunch, and entered the girl’s name off of her driver’s license into our database at the college. I eventually located Emily’s profile and found that she had taken a pre-admissions tour of the campus, but had chosen to attend Michigan University instead.”

   “Wait a minute . . . ,” says Stanley Pitt, before looking back at the motionless Emily. “That girl was friends with Kimmy?”

   “Oh yes! In fact: everybody in this room except the madame over there, were in the limo that night, including the Asian flapper from back in the aisle way. The gentleman tending bar was actually Kimmy’s boyfriend.” The professor then pats his buddy on the back and adds, “Just think; if you had a closer relationship with your stepdaughter, all of those young, tight bodies would have probably been hanging around the pool at your house up in the Hamptons!”

   “Yes old chap, I suppose you’re right. I have been accused of putting my business ahead of my family before . . . Speaking of which, where is Kimmy anyway?” asks Pitt, before scanning over the other dolls in the room, and paying a bit closer attention this time around.

   Claussen cracks a smile and says, “I was wondering when you were going to ask about her. I mean after all; she is your stepdaughter . . .”

   “Yes, well . . .  you bloody wankers have been jawing away ever since we came downstairs, and I haven’t been hardly able to get a word in edgewise! . . . Now where in the hell is she?” barks Pitt in a more urgent tone.

   The professor waves his arm through the air before coming to a stop at a billiards table with spindled legs and elaborately carved woodwork that stood in the middle of the room.

. . . Pitt had followed Jack’s hand to where a lone figure was bent over a pool table, with her backside facing towards him. With a curious expression on his face, Stanley slowly approaches the silent figure and looks at her in profile. Eventually, the man makes his way around the table to a point where the girl is facing him directly, and his eyes immediately grew wider . . .

   “Well kick me in the goolies!” yells Pitt, now fully recognizing the stiffly posed figure as his stepdaughter Kimberly!

   Leaning over the billiard table and taking aim with a cue stick, was Kimberly Kardashingly, all done over with slightly gaudy facial makeup, dressed in her required period saloon girl attire and looking absolutely gorgeous!

   “I can’t believe – it’s actually her!” exclaims Pitt!

   “Kimmy” had always possessed a certain natural beauty, a gift she inherited through her mother’s good genes. But somehow through Claussen’s artistic vision, Stanley’s stepdaughter now packed beauty pageant looks; transformed from a spoiled young tart into a seductive woman. She’d surely be a welcome eyeful to any gambler, gold prospector, fur trapper, bounty hunter, or any horny outlaw that might enter the saloon’s swinging doors when coming off the dusty trail!

   Kimberly had dark mysterious eyes, which were surrounded by thick long lashes that gave her a glamorous look. Those dark eyes stared fixedly at the cue ball on the table in front of her, while her face held a determined expression. The girl’s jet-black hair was “upswept” into an elaborately feathered headband, (in true showgirl style), and held a healthy sheen beneath the light from the stained glass lamp above her.

   The young lady had been dressed like the other frozen females in the room, with a tightly cinched corset that was burgundy in color, a satin black ribbon choker, strapped high heels, and a trusty garter belt that held up her thigh-high stockings. However, where the other women were wearing fishnets, Kimberly’s stockings were somewhat nude and held a slightly black hue, particularly around the thresholds of the curves on her legs. Two flirty black seams raced up the backs of those supple legs, further enhancing their enticing curves . . .

   “She looks bloody terrific, Jack!” states Mr. Pitt, while still inspecting the frozen form that was once his stepdaughter. “Kimmy looks just like Josephine did when she was that age! . . . It’s almost a shame that she had to be put away like this, but I was afraid that she was asking too many damned questions for her own good.”

   “Well, you no longer have to worry about that problem,” assures Claussen, before rubbing Pitt’s shoulder in sympathy. “ . . . And I can certainly promise you that they both will always be handled with the greatest of care.”

   “Yes, but of course they will Jack. That’s why I suggested adding Kimmy to your collection in the first place: I figured I owed her at least that much . . .”

* * * * * *

   In the background, Maxwell has turned away from the reclining Tiffany figure, and walks up beside Claussen and Pitt. The two men are having a discussion about a dark-haired Italian girl that leans silently over a billiard table . . .

   The robotics engineer quickly notices that as the buxom young lady leans forward, she’s offering up a birds-eye-view of her glorious rack to anybody that’s passing by!

Abner winks at Claussen and then asks, “Now, who did you say this fine looking piece of ass was?”

   Stanley quickly chimes in and brags, “This happens to be my stepdaughter Kimmy; a product of my former wife’s first marriage.”

   Maxwell walks around the billiard table to view the female’s leaning body from a different angle . . .

Mr. Pitt:  “She was asking lot of questions and wasn’t particularly convinced that her mother would just “run off” with somebody, so she was dealt with accordingly.”

   Professor Claussen adds, “Yes . . . dealt with, but lovingly recreated in all her glory!”

   Abner steps in behind the immobilized girl, and then casually reaches down to lift up the back hem of Kimberly’s short, lacy skirt. (Max does this just to sneak a quick peak, but mostly to piss off Stanley Pitt!)

   Stanley gets a disgusted look and warns, “Hey, do you mind? That is my stepdaughter for Christ’s sake!”

   Maxwell pulls the dress up with both hands anyway, completely revealing Kimberly’s bent backside, (much like a dancer would, while doing the can-can!)

   The man briefly admires a pair of red panties and the series of layered ruffles that run across her fanny. He also likes the way her garter straps bow outward over her arched hips and then stretch down to clip to the bands of her thigh-high stockings.

. . . “Well from where I’m standing, it looks like she got all of her best genes from her mother’s side!” states Abner rather cruelly. The man drops the hem of the dress, straightens the garment so it hangs even off the girl’s ass, and then arrogantly walks back towards the fiery red head next to the piano!

   “Like I said: she’s a product of Josephine’s first marriage!” yells Pitt, before mumbling, “ya’ fricken’ asshole!”

. . . As Stanley continues to look at the motionless form of his stepdaughter in wonder, the professor walks over to where Abner is standing.

Claussen:  “So Maxwell, are you still impressed with my little “Frozen Paradise” that I’ve created here?”

   “Impressed isn’t the word for it,” admits Abner. “It’s more like completely blown away!”

   The robotics engineer then turns around to sweep his arm throughout the surroundings and admits, “This room truly is a step back in time; You’ve got the old tin signs, the gas lamp lighting, the gorgeous saloon girls . . . even this damned “old timey” music! You definitely went all out with this one!”

   From ten feet away, Mr. Pitt yells, “What about this billiard table? . . . I don’t recall seeing any old westerns with Clint Eastwood or the “Duke” shooting games of pool.”

   Claussen rolls his eyes and yells over his shoulder, “That’s a very good point Stanley. However, I always wanted a billiard table, so I bought the oldest one I could find and had it shipped in. So in this one instance, I chose function over form.”

   “Alright, I don’t care about the pool table. But I am a bit curious; exactly how did you come up with this idea on the saloon scene anyway?” asks Maxwell.

   “Well, I always wanted to do a “Western Saloon” theme,” reveals Claussen. “So I started buying up items here and there over the years, and stashed them away in my attic.”

   The professor walks up to the oldest of the four saloon dancers, who stands stiffly with her shapely leg firmly planted atop the piano bench. The old man arranges the woman’s furry boa, so that the cleavage of her recently uplifted breasts can be seen more clearly. There was an old fashioned ceiling fan slowly turning overhead, that lightly blew at the feathers of the woman’s headpiece, further emphasizing just how immobile she actually was . . .

   “The more pieces I collected, the more I began to visualize what might be going on in the scene . . . and one thing eventually led to another,” explains Claussen.

. . . The professor runs a finger beneath the tip of the redhead’s chin, and with some minor effort tilts her head up further. (The woman continues to stare blankly ahead, only a bit more proudly!) Jack continues, “. . . And then along came Marion here, and the saloon theme began to take on a life of its own.”

   The professor then looks over at the old girl in admiration for a moment, before he laughs and says, “The next thing you know; I’m tearing apart my entire family room!”

   Maxwell laughs in agreement and says, “Yes, I’m afraid we’ve all made considerable sacrifices for these so-called “hobbies” of ours!”

   “Yes, that’s certainly true,” admits Claussen. “But occasionally, a surprise still manages to come along, kind of like Marion here! I mean, who would have ever guessed that a normal housewife could so perfectly portray a dancehall madame whose only ambition is to brighten the evening of a stranger who’s starved for female companionship?”

   Maxwell agrees by saying, “Yes . . . she certainly plays the role very well.”

* * * * * *

   The entire time this conversation was taking place, Stanley Pitt remains at the billiards table unsupervised, and he continues to study the rigid effigy that was once his stepdaughter . . .

   Stanley was well aware that Kim attracted attention from males of all ages, and seeing her dressed in suggestive clothing from a bygone era only backed up that notion. The man considers that it would have been one thing to admire and even fantasize about the women he had seen throughout Jack’s private museum. But to see Kimberly herself - leaning silently forward and helplessly posed - certainly gave Mr. Pitt a different feeling altogether . . . like that of uneasiness.

   The eerie sight of Kimmy’s enamel-coated skin and eternal vow of silence, was bad enough. But the uninhabited stare of her once sparkling eyes is what disturbed Pitt the most. The man also thought that the girl looked almost too perfect - much like the young faces seen on the covers of magazines like Glamour or Seventeen - that appeared enhanced or airbrushed . . . (Which his stepdaughter was of course).

. . . For a brief moment, Stanley truly began to wonder if he’d made the right decision in requesting to have Josephine’s only daughter “pickled away” . . .

   Suddenly, Claussen yells out, “Hey Stanley, how about pouring us all a round of drinks?” . . . before turning back to continue his conversation with Maxwell.

   “Yes . . . Yes indeed; I think I a good strong drink is definitely in order!” replies Pitt, before taking one last look at his silent, still stepdaughter.

. . . “Oh what the hell, Kimmy; you would have sent me to the bloody chair if you ever found out the truth about what really happened to your mother!” admits the old timer in a lowered voice.  As Pitt steps around Kim’s rigid form, he whispers, “Better you than me, kiddo,” and pats the top of the girl’s arched behind by mistake.

. . . The innocent gesture stopped the real estate developer dead in his tracks.

   Stanley’s eyes drift lewdly over Kimberly’s body: at first admiring the way the seam lines of her stockings run up over her calves and then eventually disappear beneath her lacy skirt. The perverted old man then focused on the way Kim’s shapely rear press against the light material of the dress . . .

   With his hand still resting flat on the topside of Kimberly’s bent rump, Pitt manages to do the unthinkable; allowing his hand to glide over the curvy humps of her firm backside, the man presses his wandering fingers up into the split of her cheeks momentarily, before pulling out and giving Kimberly a playful tap on her tush . . .

   “You surely did get that from your mother!” whispers Pitt into his stepdaughter’s ear, before he turns and walks away with yet another erection. As he approaches the bar, Stanley inquires, “. . . So what will it be, boys?”

   Professor Claussen requests a rum and coke, while Abner requires a glass of vodka; straight.

   Mr. Pitt yells back to Maxwell, “Ah yes, a man after my own heart!”

   As the businessman walks behind the bar, he comes upon the boy named Devon that once dated Kimberly. The walkway is narrow, and as the old man squeezes behind the bartender, he presses his aroused crotch up against the young man’s backside . . .

   “So I hear you had a thing for my Kimmy,” whispers Pitt from behind the boy. The man presses himself in a little further and then asks in a sinister voice, “. . . Well who’s the fucking man now eh? . . . Yah bloody wanker!”

. . . Devon continues to stare straight ahead with both hands affixed to the bar top, unaffected by the penis that’s poking into him.

   Mr. Pitt pats the young man on the shoulder and softly snarls, “Yeah . . . That’s what I thought!”  He then moves on and goes about the task of mixing some drinks.

* * * * * *

   Ten feet away and on the other side of the bar, Maxwell leans in close to the doll before him and asks, “Now on this madame figure here: obviously she’s older than the others, but I noticed her skin has a certain patina . . .”

   “Yes, well Marion here was an interesting subject to deal with,” reveals the professor, before going on to explain, “I airbrushed her entire body with skin-toned paint, to hide any blemishes that come with age. Those would include freckles, moles, or sunspots, particularly in her upper chest and shoulder areas. Now as I recall, Mrs. Cunningham had two children, and being at the age of forty-six . . . Well, let’s just say that her body wasn’t quite what I had hoped for.”

   Maxwell nods his head in understanding, and continues to listen with great interest . . .

   Claussen goes on to further explain, “I treated her trouble spots with some strategically placed injections. The serum works much like botox, but without the same “exaggerated” or sometimes “grotesque” results. I then used a body girdle that was a size smaller than required, and put her through my normal injection procedure. The body was molded by the girdle itself and eventually hardened with time. Unfortunately, once I cut the garment off from Marion’s body, there were little crease lines left behind that never seemed to go away.”

   Professor Claussen pulls back the woman’s lacy skirt, to show the minor sink marks on her thighs from where the seams of the girdle had been.

   Abner sees the blemishes, which looked like stretch marks at first. But then the engineer takes notice of the sheer black g-string that she wears, as well as the tuft of pubic hair beneath! Another neat detail he notices is the red carnation that’s been attached to the dark band of her thigh-high stocking. (The man cracks an appreciative smile at the sexy little touches, as the professor carefully sets Marion’s skirt back in place).

   The guest then inquires, “I would assume that you did her breasts as well?”

   Jack replies without hesitation, “I most certainly did!”

   Eager to show off more of his handiwork, the professor says, “Excuse me darling,” as he pulls away the lacy black under-wired cups that contain Mrs. C’s hidden treasures . . .

   Two recently enhanced C-sized melons quickly pop out in full view for observation!

   “Hubba-Hubba!” exclaims Maxwell at the sight before him. “I’m absolutely impressed!”

   Rather than having sagging breasts like most “chesty” women would have at her age, Marion’s breasts had the tell-tale signs of augmentation: round, hard, and sitting upright. Both mounds were capped with distinct aureoles that featured thimble-sized nipples that proudly stood erect!

   Abner jokes, “Maybe you’re in the wrong business Jack; there’s pretty damned good money in the plastic surgery field!”

   Claussen just smiles at the comment, as he attempts to pull the cups back over Marion’s tits, but they are even firmer than he remembered! The professor reaches in and squashes each breast; tucking and pressing both while trying to pull the restrictive cups back over them. As he does so, the poor woman teeters stiffly as if she were about to topple over, causing the professor to quickly reach for her arms to steady the madame back in place!

   “WOAH! . . . Be careful there!” warns Abner, while also reaching out to the woman in quick reaction.

   “Yeah, that’s the other reason why I use the positioning rods from time to time!” states the professor with a slightly reddening face!

   By now, Stanley Pitt had returned with their drinks, and hands a rock glass to each of them. The real-estate mogul then raises his own glass and says, “Gentlemen; I propose a toast: . . . May your pockets be heavy while your heart remains light, and your good fortune bestow you many a frozen delight!”

   The other two raise their glasses with laughter, and then proceed to slam them down simultaneously . . .

   Maxwell shakes his head and winces, as a burning sensation pulses throughout his throat. The engineer growls, “Damn that hit the spot!”

   Professor Claussen finishes his drink as well, and then collects the empty glasses to take back to the sink behind the bar. After washing the glasses, and wiping them off with Devon’s towel, Jack returns to where the other men are standing and clasps his hands together . . .

   “Well gentlemen, I hope my little tour was worth your time,” states Claussen with a smile.

   Mr. Pitt quickly replies with an emphatic, “Oh hell yes! . . . Every time I walk through there it’s a rather moving experience . . . Ah, in more ways than one in fact!”

   “I would have to agree with Stanley,” admits Abner. “Within the first few displays, I began to feel that your dolls were undoubtedly more than mere objects. And as I mentioned before, your consistent attention to detail, as well as your dedication to your subjects is unsurpassed! This was certainly worth the drive down from Connecticut!”

   Claussen replies, “Well, I do dedicate nearly all of my spare time to my girls; upkeep of their displays, thinking up scenes and collecting new props for them, keeping an eye out for promising new subjects . . . And then there’s the occasional round of golf tossed in, of course!”

   The three men break out in laughter, before the professor addresses Mr. Abner directly. “Now Maxwell, I believe we had some other business that we needed to take care of, correct?”

   The engineer had been so caught up in the excitement and mystery of his surroundings that he nearly forgot about the project that he’d commissioned to the professor!

   “Oh yes, that business!” replies Maxwell, as he finally snaps out of his daze.

   The professor pats Abner on the shoulder and then urges, “Come on gentlemen, I believe that we’ve disturbed my ladies peaceful tranquility for long enough!”

   As the men pass through the room, Mr. Pitt takes one last glance at his stepdaughter’s frozen form, while Abner approaches the Emily figure . . .

   “By the way, I was a bit curious, Jack,” starts Max, before pointing at the girl’s hand, (which was manipulated into a slightly opened, yet gripping position). “Is this right here possibly ready for some late night gratification purposes?”

   The professor rolls his eyes, and then walks to a nearby wall to remove a pool stick from a row of several. He then returns to his guests and casually drops the stick into the hole of the girl’s gripped hand. (The pool cue hits the floor with a thud on the hardwood surface below, but remains held upright within the girl’s hand).

. . . “You people and your filthy minds!” accuses the professor.

   Maxwell shakes his head in disbelief, while Mr. Pitt roars, “. . . A sexy bird for a pool cue holder; how bloody sweet!”

   Emily continues to stare silently ahead, unamused . . .

   “Alright, let’s go upstairs guys,” suggests Claussen.

   As the three men climb the staircase, the guests look out over the ornately spindled handrail and down at the special room that they are reluctantly leaving behind. They know that their trip back in time has come to an end . . .

* * * * * *

   Once upstairs, the professor leads his guests through the kitchen and out through a door that enters the garage. He then approaches an object that stands in the corner that’s covered by what appears to be an old white bed sheet. The only details that hinted at what was hidden beneath were two polished black shoes, and about four inches of what appeared to be a white stick to the side of them. 

   As Claussen is pulling back the sheet, he announces, “I brought her out here so all you’d have to do is back the van up to the door . . . just in case somebody drives by.”

   As the sheet is completely removed, a female form is revealed that stands upright. Both guests immediately recognize the motionless woman as Abner’s former assistant, Sarah Michelle Connings!

   “Holy shit Jack!” exclaims Maxwell, “. . . Are you kidding me?” (Abner looks over his shoulder briefly and receives a proud nod from the professor, before returning his excited gaze to his newfound treasure).

   Sarah was posed standing straight upright; her legs pressed together with one arm raised out slightly from her side. The other arm was bent outward and steadied a five-foot tall sheep-herding crook beside her. (The staff itself was curled over like a question mark, and was striped like a giant candy cane).

   As the robotics engineer attempts to take a step closer, Claussen warns from behind, “Now just wait and be patient Max.”

   The professor reaches down behind the small metal base that Sarah was standing upon, and flips a switch. A moment later, a motorized hum emits from the base, and the rigid young lady suddenly begins to turn around at a complete 360 degrees!

   From just beside his old college mate, Mr. Pitt watches in excitement as well; he can’t help but reflect back to when he first saw his Josephine circling around in the same way, and just how sexy she looked, even at forty-seven!

   Meanwhile, Maxwell looks on in amazement too, as his former assistant slowly rotates around for his examination . . .

   Professor Claussen had chosen to “recreate” the twenty-nine-year-old blue-eyed blonde, as an adult version of “Bo-Peep” and the attractive Ms. Connings was surely dressed for the part!

   Sarah’s sexy costume included a silky yellow corset, which was cinched over a white top with sleeves that “puffed out” at her shoulders. A lacey white bonnet fans out above her forehead and barely contains a head-full of overly large blonde curls, (so large, that they obviously belonged to a wig).

   A pair of ruffled white panties peaked out from beneath Sarah’s short pleated dress, which fanned outward at her upper thigh level. At first glance, one would think that the dress was designed with a young child in mind. However, just one look at the doll’s knee-high white stockings and shapely legs would quickly eliminate that idea!

   “Jack, you are a true craftsman!” extols Maxwell, as Sarah turns slowly, offers a side profile and then revolves back to face her master once again.

   As of late, (or at least since she had fallen under the power of one of Maxwell’s control modules), Sarah had the blank, expressionless look of total servitude. But after the professor’s careful massage work, the former lab technician now held a beaming smile, (much like the exaggerated smiles that were seen on some of the master manipulator’s other re-creations.) Ms. Connings also had a considerable amount of facial makeup that was almost on the verge of being gaudy. (The heavy use of cosmetics, especially in the blush, lipstick, and eyelash department, only made the once living, breathing woman appear that much more fake).

   The professor asks, “So what do you think of her, Max?”

   “Well what can I say . . . I mean she’s absolutely gorgeous Jack! She turned out far better than I ever expected!” proclaims Abner. “The clothes, the makeup; even her eyes! You even got the eyes right!”

   It was true: Sarah’s eyes were wide open and blue, just as Maxwell had remembered them.

   “Good . . .  I’m glad you like the way she turned out,” says Claussen with pride.

   As Sarah slowly revolves to a stop behind him, Abner faces the professor and asks, “Is the rotating stand included?”

   Claussen cracks a gentle smile and emphatically says, “No . . . I actually plan on using that for something else.”

   “Ok, no problem!” replies Abner, with slight disappointment.

   From beside Sarah’s admiring master, Stanley Pitt continues to stare at the woman with lust: his leering eyes locked upon a pair of globes that slightly bulge upward from the blonde’s under-wired bustier top! (After this evening’s festivities, the real estate magnate had seen a healthy amount of T&A as it was. His thoughts were quickly beginning to change focus to spending the rest of the evening at home in his mansion, to seek some much needed relief of certain “pressures” that had been building up!)

   Stanley looks at his watch and mentions, “Well Maxwell here has a long drive back to Connecticut, and we’re going to have to get this pretty lady loaded up for the trip back home, so . . .”

   Abner agrees, and goes on to explain, “Yes, I’m afraid I do have to get back to Stepwood and see to my work; I have to restock my lab, after nearly selling all of my nanodolls at the last auction, as you may recall. There are folks out there that rely on me to provide companionship, and I should be there to meet that demand.”

   “Yes, well I certainly wouldn’t want to keep you away from your work,” replies Claussen.

* * * * * *

   The men spend the next half hour packing Sarah up safely within the confinement of her wooden shipping crate. Nestled within the confinement of packing peanuts, and with her trusty staff placed on top of her, “Bo-Peep” would make the trip back to Stepwood in the back of a yellow rental van. (The generic looking transportation was surely a far cry from the BMW Z-3 that she personally drove in her previous life!)

   Claussen shakes both of his guests’ outstretched hands, as a cool, late-summer breeze blows through the trees of the professor’s front yard.

Abner:  “All right my man: keep up the good work, and I guess I’ll see you at this reunion thing?”

Claussen:  “Yes, I’m certainly looking forward to seeing some of those old faces!”

   “Are you kidding: seeing some of those poor bastards will be a total riot!” spurts Mr. Pitt, before climbing into his black Lexus.

   The professor points at Pitt and yells back, “. . . And you be sure to take care of that Elaine girl now, you hear?”

   “Are you kidding? . . . After what I’ve seen today, she’ll be the first one getting a work out when I get home!” replies Pitt, before backing out of the driveway. The man honks his horn, and then tears off down the road.

   Professor Claussen watches Abner drive off a moment later, before he turns to go back indoors.

. . . As Abner and Pitt drive back down Pine Hollow Road and eventually find the highway, they both know that the visit to Claussen’s private museum will resonate within their psyche for months, or even years to come . . .

 What’s Next for the Professor?