The Game by Arthur Grass
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Ardis fumbled with her purse. She was nervous. The room looked to her just like the waiting room of a doctor, except that the walls were covered with large photographs, most of them of important looking people, the judges, lawyers and doctors of the town, she thought. “What am I doing here,” she wondered. “I must have been crazy to come here. I can’t really pose for pictures like that.” She couldn’t even bring herself to say the word, “Nude,” “naked,” “with no clothes on,” there was no way she could say it to herself. Maybe she could pretend that perhaps it was a doctor’s office, that when she took the clothes off her long body, a kindly doctor would examine her, not some photographer, taking her picture for someone else to see.

The receptionist had looked her up and down as she walked in. She seemed to be almost sizing her up for an opponent, a rival, finding all her good points to be looked out for in a fight. And judged from any standard, Ardis had many good points. Her long blond hair fell gently down to the middle of her back, framing and highlighting a delicate face, blue eyes and a small nose, but with a mouth just a little too big, soft lips that seemed to glow with a wayward sensuousness that almost contradicted the look of an earthbound angel. She was tall, with long, slender legs, golden and smooth in stockings, rising, gracefully curved to the knee, then widening, up the long thighs, disappearing into the red mini-skirt that encased her hips and smooth belly. Her surprisingly large breasts pushed firmly against the white jumper that she wore, the nipples denting the fabric as they hardened under the conscious gaze of the receptionist.

Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.

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