"That'll be $1.50 please."


I hand her my mug and fish out my phone from my bag. I scan it on the terminal and look back at my reflection on the darkened screen before putting it back in the small inner-pocket. As I straighten myself again, I see an older woman staring back at me, shamelessly. I move to the side to wait for my order and look at the bunch of people that has gattered behind me. Seems like I got in just in time, there was barely any people in here before I walked in. I've always said that that was my knack, and it seems to have proven itself once more. 


"Macchiato for Laura?" Behind me, a young voice calls my name.

"Yes, thank you."


I reach out and curl a finger around the handle, making sure the cover is screwed on tight, before making my way through the scattered people waiting in line. I extend my left arm to make way between two people and feel their heads turning towards me, even though I can't see their faces. They most likely stared at me through the open door and across the windowed wall long after I had left to steal a few looks at me. People always do.

I secure my mug between my fingers and bring it to my face, flipping open the closed latch with my tongue before risking taking a small sip, but it's still piping hot. I hook the handle of my mug around the strap of my bag and decide to let it cool until I've arrived at my interview.

While it's already hot outside even at this hour, the wind keeps me cool and comfortable. Soon enough, I arrive at my destination. There are no brand-names, no flashing neon-lights, no indication of what this building's purpose should be, but most people just know without having to be constantly reminded of it. 

As I push the door open, I am tackled by a gust of wind, which blows my hair in every other way possible as well as flipping my dress inside and out, exposing the gym shorts I thoughtfully put on this morning. I stumble through the entrance fighting to keep my dignity and the door closes behind me, leaving me slightly out of breath. To my right is a simple black desk behind which a women is sitting, typing away at her computer. The rest of the hall is empty, both of people and of any furniture. As I approach her, I run a finger through my hair to try and bring them back where they belong, without too much success. The woman looks up at me through a pair of grotesquely oversized glasses. 


"Good morning." She simply says.

"Good morning." I answer as candidly, still at work fixing my hair. I fiddle with the rim of my dress for a moment. "I'm here for an interview. My name is Laura."

"Laura Bell." She says my name with certainty. Of course, we've been expecting you. First I need you to sign this form right here."


She produces a visitor's logbook from a drawer and hands me a pen. I curl my right finger around it and sign my name in my usual tight-cursive handwritting. I briefly look up, expecting her to stare, but she doesn't. In the few seconds it took me to grab the pen, write my name and give it back, she found enough time to go back to her computer and type some more. She retrieves the pen and grabs a pink post-it note.


"There you go. Take the elevator at the end of the hall and go up to the seventh floor. Someone will be waiting for you there. Good luck."


I thank her and grab the note from her hand. The elevator doors open up just as I walk up to it. I step aside to let the people out... but it's empty... Weird. I get inside and press the button for the designated floor. A few seconds later, the doors open again and lead me in a narrow white corridor. I bring my mug to my lips and drink a small sip of coffee. It's still hot, but I won't burn myself. My summer shoes make no sound on the linnoleum floor as I make my way up to an archway where a word is printed in bold black letters.


SPECIALITY


I take a deep breath and look around me. To my left, I spot a sheet of paper on which an arrow with the word interviews has been taped to the wall. I follow its and two others' directions until they finally lead me to a small room filled with three people, two of which are men. One is dressed in a suit and tie, with waxed shoes that squeek slightly beneath his chair as he talks over piles of scribbled CVs with the other man. You can tell the later made an effort to dress up, but that this is probably, and sadly, the nicest button-up shirt he's got in his wardrobe. The woman is dressed a lot more casually, if you can call that being dressed. Her shirt is but the remnants of what it once was, roughly cut through the middle, turned into a tank top that does its best to hide her breasts. She's slouched on her chair and seems to be listening to the other two with little to no interest. The first one notices me and their eyes look up to greet me.


"Hello Miss Bell, I'm Jack Prost, head of HR. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, sir." He extends his hand and I shake it without hesitation, which he also does, to my surprise.

The second one, a satisfied look on his face, presents himself. "Hi Laura, I'm Francis Peterson. Leader of Speciality. I'm really glad you've accepted our offer."

I raise an eyebrow. "But this is just an interview, right?"

"If you want to call it like so, but it's a formality, really."


As we shake, his hand delicately encloses my finger, as if it was made of glass, or as if he was afraid of hurting me. His second hand reaches in to feel my wrist as he takes a long look into my eyes. Finally, he looks down and opens his hands, studying the arm resting in his palms. He runs a finger from the nook of my elbow down to the tip of my finger, obviously relishing at my anatomy. I curl my finger on itself and gently take it back. He entices me to sit in front of them and I do, setting my mug on the desk and my bag against a nearby wall. 


"So Miss Bell, this isn't going to be the most classic interview you've had in your life, I believe you may have guessed it already. We have your background and infos here," he taps his finger on a sheet of paper which I assume is my CV, "but what we are most interested in here has been burned on this." A CD, which he shows me. My heart is pounding so hard in my ears I can't hear a word of what he says next. I lean forward and take a sip of my coffee while Mr Speciality has eyes for nothing else but my arms. "..talk about yourself. Walk me through your parcours.


"Well, I have a major in biology with special interests in evolution, I have worked a few years in a lab but that's really wasn't my place." As I talk about smaller jobs I've had over the last few years, I join my fingers on my lap and machinally hook them together, like I'm sealing a pinky promise with myself. It helps me get my mind off of the things that run at the back of my head when I try to focus. "...until the night I met this girl at a friend's party. We got comfortably drunk and she busted out her roommate's camera. Next thing I know I... Well, you know most of the rest."


I gesture towards them and HR dude's eyes drop to the CD again. He nods but still doesn't speak, so I continue.


"I wasn't planning on doing anything else, even thought about asking her to bring it down for a while, but you know how the internet works. I knew the video existed but it kind of floated in and out of my mind at times. One day she texted me, said she had to drop by for something important. Next thing I know she's handing me a check with my name on it." I pause to look at them. The girl is still as slouched in her chair, but something seems off.. "And now I'm... here."

"Well we're just glad you accepted to come meet us today." Jack says, looking at Francis to his right.

" 'f course we are, and since this branch's launch, we've been working hard to get our hands on girls that do it for the right reasons. We might not seem like it, but the last thing we want is to force people into doing shit they don't wanna do, alright? But obviously we're first interested in your body. You don't make money with fat and ugly girls in this business, unless you're working on the third floor." The girl snorts and laughs before rubbing her nose against her shoulder. Again, there's something going on with her but I can't quite put a finger on it. "Talk to me about these arms of yours."


I knew this moment would come. I know this is why I'm here. I take a deep breath.


"I mean, it's not like I try to hide it, I never do. I was born this way. Not like any accident could cause this anyway..." I'm getting more and more nervous. I join my fingers and press them together. "As you can see, I only have one finger on each hands, if you can call them that. I usually don't since my palms aren't that wide, they don't look like hands. Some of my friends think my arms look like tentacles since they pretty much only narrow from my shoulders down to my nails, so I kinda developed an interest for cephalopods, I mean octopuses and all, when I was studying biology because of that."


The girl uncrosses her legs and leans forward to rest her left arm on the surface of the desk. I feel my eyes widening as I notice it doesn't reach her elbow. It ends in a stump, which she smushes against the surface of the desk to prop herself up and rest her breasts beside her arm.


"Have you ever done any girl on girl action before?" She asks with a surprisingly high pitched voice. 


Before I can answer, my eyes go back to her stump. How did I not notice it earlier? I guess I was too preoccupied by her croptop to take a look at her arms. The second one is also missing, but ends way higher up than her left. It wouldn't stick out of the sleeve of a shirt. 


"Uh.. only that one time." I simply answer.


She gives me a half-smile, like someone who walks pass a coworker but doesn't know him well enough to actually say hi. Like she's slightly disappointed. She lays back in her chair and pokes at Francis' side. 


"I hope the training bonus is a good one." She chuckles, her right arm flapping at her side as she pushes herself back on her seat to get herself comfortable again. 

"But I'm up for it. Or else I wouldn't have come here today." I try to say this convincingly. I mean there can't be a thousand people going against me for this job, but I still gotta be able to sell myself a little bit. "How many..." Employees... Actresses... "...people are working in this... um... here?"


"You mean talents like yourself?" He wipes the surface of the table of invisible dust before joining his hands. "Not much, yet. With you it'll up the count to three permanent talents, but we have many girls that are subcontracting for us." He points at me and Miss-No-Arms. "Do you know any of the girls like you that do porn?" 


I startle at his mention or the word as if it hit me in the face. Again I look at the girl in front of me, but with a new perspective. Of course, that's also who I am now.


"I... had to look around to see what was being done, yes."

"Then maybe you'll recognise her."


A screen lights up behind and is quickly filled with explicit images. Two girls are going at each other with a sexual ferocity like I've rarely seen before. The one on top is a well-known porn star whose name I can't seem to recall. Short black hair, tanned body, not an ounce of fat. The other one is harder to forget. Long red hair that cascade over her shoulders and move to the rhythm of her enthusiastic acting, hazelnut eyes that open and close at regular intervals, and prematurely shortened arms that reach out to her companion. On both sides, her arms come to an end right before her wrists, as if her hands had been sliced right off. The scene unfolds like any other porn video; the girls go down on each other, they kiss, they moan, but with the exception that, while on display and clearly the main showcase of the scene, her hands, or lack thereoff, aren't constantly occupying 50% of the screen. Her handicap is a part of the whole show instead of being the sole focus. It makes the whole scene a lot more natural than what I've seen others do, or even I have filmed recently. 


"I knew you would. That's Debbie, nice play on DBE, right?" He chuckles. "Well, she's in a close partnership with us now, so she's doing her own things, but with our budget."

"That's pretty neat." I try to sound impressed, but I have something else on my mind. "Excuse me if I cut things short but, I suppose there's going to be a practical part for this interview?"

"We were coming up on that, actually." HR-dude says. What was his name again? "Would you like us to proceed to it? If you're still interested in this job, that is."


While I was watching the footage, I brought my left finger to my lips and absently nibbled on it. The way Francis stares back at me is absolutely bonkers. I've never felt so objectified in my entire life, yet so valued for who I actually am.


"Bring it on." I say, clenching my fingers and turning to face the girl.

"Oh, don't look at me, I'm here for the actual interview." She shakes her stumps towards the back of the room. "You'll be doing this with her."


Suddenly, the faux-wall opens up in two, revealing a cheesy student-like bedroom decor . There's a desk with scattered papers on top, an open lap-top, a few cans of beer, discarded clothes and, of course, a bed. On it, a girl is sitting facing the other way, reading a thick encyclopedia laid-out on the pillow in front of her. From behind, I can see she's dressed in nothing but her bra and panties. Her hair have been brought up in a messy bun. I turn my head to Francis but he simply gestures me to go ahead, without any clear instructions. With a shaking finger, I undo the clips that hold my sandals together and walk towards the bed, barefoot. 


"What are you.." My voice cracks up. I clear my throat and try again. "What are you reading, baby?" My voice is soft, like I'm really surprising her and don't want to startle her.

She breathes deeply and sighs. "My sexology professor said I should go over this section in particular as an extracurricular subject, but I don't think I see the point at all. Care to help me a bit?"

"Of course." I climb on the bed, making my way towards her on my knees until I can rest my fingers on her back and up to her neck. i sit back on my heels. "What's it about?"

"Fetishes."


My heart misses a beat when I go over her shoulders. Her voice, deeper than most girls while still being feminine, resonates in my ears. 


"See, it says here that "Fetishes are sexual fixations on nonliving objects or nongenital body parts." What does that have to do with me?" 

I know that this little scenario is a set up, but I can't help but pity the candidness of her character. "Do you think you have something of interest to offer?"

She shrugs. "I don't know, what do you think?" Waddling around on the sheets, she turns around to face me. 

"None of your boyfriends ever talked to you about this?"

"Why would they? But anyways, I've never had a boyfriend..." The girl's acting is pretty spot on. A disappointed frown, precisely pursed lips, she absolutely nails the naive and confused part. She lowers her heads to look at herself. "Other girls say I'm cute, but guys hardly ever talk to me. I'm not a party girl, you know, I pertty much just go to class and come back home right after.."

"Well," I hook my fingers together again, "Some guys like... unconventional stuff. Weird stuff. Like dressing up, or ..." Should I even be dragging this along? Or am I supposed to topple her and get to the pièce the resistance immediately? "I've had a guy go crazy over my fingers, exactly because they're so unique and weird."

Her face lights up and she shrugs her shoulders even higher than earlier. "Oh my god! They are cool looking! I think I know what you mean! Too bad I don't have anything to offer..." She summons her frown once again and slouches her shoulders forward.

"You know what you do have though?" I ask, reaching behind her to close her book and push it aside.

She chuckles and a corner of her mouth extends into a shy smile. "I'm not sure, no." 

"Nothing." I simply say.

"That's what I thought." I keep smiling at her as her expression changes. "That's bad, right?" She replies.

"Not for everybody, see. Here, let me recite an abstract of something I've learned by heart myself : "Paraphilias are sexual interests in objects, situations," or in our cases here, "individuals that are atypical.""

"Paraphillias?"

"Yep. If fetishes are weird to normal people, praphillias are like a cherry on top of a sundae. They're there to remind you that there's always a bigger fish."

"But... Mom and Dad always said that I'm perfectly normal the way I am! They said to never consider myself different from other people."


They really gave her the dumb girl part, didn't they? They want me to turn this interview into a presentation or what? 


"Cute, yes you are. Sexy even, I would say. But not normal. You are very different, in a good way. Can you tell me why?"

"Because great things come in small packages?" She smiles wide and I see the actress peek from behing the mask for a split second.

"Exactly." I press my finger on her forehead until she falls flat on her back. I lay beside her, my elbow stabbing the mattress, and run my left finger across her belly and up between her breasts.