As soon as I saw her file, I knew she’d be perfect. With its royal-blue letters leaping off a mauve page, her résumé was eye-catching in a vulgar way that suggested initiative coupled with inexperience. She was underqualified for the position I’d advertised, and I’d be sure to let her know that, so she’d be even more grateful to be hired and even more eager to please. Furthermore, some suggestive phrases in her former employer’s reference interested me. Trixie was “a model assistant who never hesitated to provide any service asked, even if that meant helping in ways that some might construe as more personal than professional.” She was also “devoted and solicitous.”

Trixie must have worked pretty hard, I thought. I leaned back and imagined using that wonderfully ridiculous name in a variety of situations. Trixie, come in here, I’d say over the intercom. Trixie, sit down and take a letter. This is my assistant, Trixie, I’d tell people. Trixie, get me a drink. Trixie, lie down…Trixie, take off your clothes…now mine…very good, Trixie.

I sighed and let the chair come forward again. Too many years of reading scripts had fostered a bad habit of associating names to types and spinning off into little fantasies. Sure, I saw Trixie as a ripe peach, with big round eyes and nipples to match, traipsing her luscious ass around the office in a tight skirt, eager to please. But Trixie would probably be more concerned with her paycheck than with me. Or she’d be all too interested in her effect on me, if the past week’s interviews were any indication.

The applicants had been very good-looking, and perfectly competent for the job, but they were all actresses eager to break into the business, and it was obvious they had only their interests in mind and not mine. I had certainly been offered a variety of services.

I didn’t enjoy remembering what had frankly been a tiring and unpleasant series of encounters. Jill had stared at me oddly until she finally got up the courage to make her move, opening her blouse and fondling her very beautiful breasts while maintaining intense eye contact. “Do you like my titties?” she asked, and I said, “Yes, I like them, Jill, but I don’t like you. Thanks for coming in today.”

Then there was Pamela, a redhead in spandex. She was quicker than Jill. After two questions about her secretarial skills she walked around my desk to stand directly in front of me, then lifted up her skirt and started to play with herself through some very transparent underwear. “I could really show you a good time,” she whispered as she probed her pussy through the silk. “Not now, Pamela,” I’d said, “and not ever.”