“Thanks so much, Debby,” you say, turning to her gratefully. Sure, she’s strange, but you’re still far too hungover to contemplate sitting through an entire meal with your boss. “I could really use a friend right now.”
Debby looks at you hungrily. Hopefully that’s just about the food?
You’ve barely made it out of the office when Debby stands up on tiptoe to whisper in your ear. You can feel a roll of velour-squeezed flesh pressing your hand to your leg.
“I’d love to discuss your… interest… in the Delano Roosevelts further over lunch, if you know what I mean. SNRCK!” She snorts wetly near your cheek. “Do you want to be Franklin or Eleanor this time? I’m… open to different possibilities, shall we say… SNRCK!”
You smile vaguely, trying not to let your terror shine out through your eyes.
Or your arousal. For Christ’s sake, why would weird sexually suggestive references to FDR turn you on at all? You’re disgusting.
“I know where the janitor keeps a wheelchair,” Debby purrs thickly. It sounds like an outboard motor driving through a bowl of cottage cheese.