Obsession
Stress can really be a bitch
After a moment of struggle due to aggressive packaging, Sean finally worked the flaps of the box open. A tall blonde with golden brown eyes peeked out from within. The flawless silicone skin glowed. He lifted it by the top of one slender arm and was happy to note the haughty expression. The superior quality of the product exceeded his expectations, the likeness uncanny.
It was a work of art.
The quality was head and shoulders above anything he’d seen before. So lifelike, perhaps eerily so. Her eyes almost tracked — almost. Not for long.
The demure clothing he’d custom ordered, a grey virgin wool skirt and an ivory silk blouse, were of undeniable taste and quality. Sean preferred women to look like women, but tastefully so, and had custom-designed her to possess a sleek, athletic build. She was also slightly taller than most dolls, putting her at his height of 5-foot, 10-inches.
Linda. She would hang in the playroom with the aid of cuffs. It would be delightful to walk into the room and see her strung up in various degrading positions from the ceiling. Stripping off her clothes, he pulled her arms over her head, cuffed her with the cuffs he’d purchased online, and hung her from the ceiling hook. As a Linda, he deduced she would be a challenge and would require a heavy hand. He chuckled to himself.
Once suspended and appearing helpless, he decided to indulge himself before the trying afternoon ahead. And this afternoon would be trying.
With that, he delivered one hard slap across her face to enjoy the sting in his palm and the clap that echoed through the quiet room, then flicked off the light as he left her to consider her situation. Heavy hand, indeed, and he chuckled again.
As he marched down the hallway, he wondered at the interaction. Yes. This one ignited his imagination in ways the others had failed. He could have sworn the cheek bloomed when he struck it. Imagination? Perhaps. Yet something niggled, and goosebumps rose on his arms. “Linda,” he said aloud, his voice breaking the silence. Linda — synonymous with presumptuous, entitled bitch.
He engaged the deadbolt and left the house, his palm still ringing as he pulled the Audi out of the garage.
Sean pulled the lever and filled his mug with coffee. “She is a useless trouble-maker,” he said to Scott. They were in the staff lounge refilling their coffee cups before the series of afternoon meetings began.
“Don’t let Phil hear you say that. She’s his golden girl,” Scott said.
Sean looked at the assistant manager in disgust. “Of course she is. She’s packing heat with a fine set of tits and she knows how to use them.” He laughed at his joke.
Scott dropped his chin to his chest and gave his head a shake. “You’re hopeless, man. She sold him on the reduced workweek. It impacted the whole building, Sean. No, Linda’s a freaking hero. Even you can’t deny she’s making positive changes. Then there is her latest initiative — ”
“Yeah, I got the memo — a daycare program,” Sean said, cutting Scott off. “Great. That’s what we need. More working mothers chitchatting over cubicle walls about soccer practice before they are free to pick up their brats and eat McDonald’s in front of the television — all while clocking time and doing the bare minimum.”
“Jeez, man,” Scott said. “I get it, you’re the money guy, but it was your team that sang her praises at the last quarterly.” Scott pursed his lips, seeming done with the conversation.
Sean had never minded Scott even if he was a brown-nosing asshole. Sean knew women held all the power — women like Linda Mayert. He alone understood that.
Sean finished stirring his coffee and ran his hand under cool water. The heat in his palm had never diminished but instead intensified over the afternoon.
Sean grimaced as Linda Mayert entered the lounge. Golden girl my ass, he thought. It was beauty that got a woman of such ranking groomed for upper management. Neither her brains nor meagre accomplishments had anything to do with it.
She flashed a grin in Sean’s direction as she talked to Scott. He hated how they all fawned over her like simpering twits. He hated how she expected it. He hated them all.
With the water cooling his palm, he eyed her blonde hair, sultry brown eyes and her demure skirt and blouse — her usual attire. She wore it like chainmail — armor. Each skillfully cut garment only hinted at the delights beneath. Golden girl, be damned. He would put a stop to Linda Mayert’s advancement. It would never happen. Not on his watch. In the meantime, he and his Linda doll would enjoy some alone time — perhaps with the butane torch.
There was nothing out of the ordinary. Every piece of art, every cushion, every throw was as he’d left it, positioned as he insisted everything should be positioned when the cleaner left each week. He stood in his living room with a throbbing hand and scrolled through the last four hours of video from each of the three outdoor cameras. His hand, coated with Polysporin and bandaged, was momentarily forgotten once he’d flicked on the light to the playroom.
One peek in the playroom, and he knew it necessary to review the video footage. An hour later, a finger tap closed the app. Nothing — no clue. Not a footprint or a stone turned. Yet as sure as the sun rises and sets, Sean knew someone had been in the house and, in fact, sought to make their entry known. Someone is playing with me, but who? Why?
There she sat on the floor staring with that haughty blank stare.
Sean never bothered to name the previous dolls. His engagement with them was not carnal but of a significantly different nature and such vigorous play meant they must be replaced with regularity. It was satisfying to imagine Linda with her ragged tears and cuts in a landfill. He chuckled in the thin light.
Regardless, this time was different. This time he had an endgame.
Sean crouched before the Linda doll and looked into her face. Odd how much more lifelike she appeared in repose. He reached for Linda and paused as he remembered his stinging palm from earlier. Sean went in search of latex gloves. The cleaning closet carried a package of medium nitrile examination gloves. He returned to the room as he pulled them on, and he grasped Linda’s slender wrist and dragged her in the direction of the ensuite bathroom. She bumped and banged against the door frame, and he laughed at the difficulty she was experiencing. Poor stupid trollop. Let’s see her initiate a daycare program once he finished with her.
He threw a couple of towels on the bathroom floor and ran the bath. Half filled, he rolled up his sleeves and dumped the doll in the water. Perhaps it was the steam, or perhaps it was his hand in the nitrile glove that had begun to throb again, but sweat had gathered on his brow. He swiped at it with his shirt sleeve. His joints ached, and a painful stitch started between his shoulder blades. After a cursory scrub, and deciding the water was of a temperature to remove any protective films left by the manufacturer, Sean yanked Linda from the tub. He dropped her onto the cotton towels and opened the drain cursing at how hot the water was. The pounding in his head was growing more intense and bright with every passing minute.
Sean stepped over the doll and paused at the mirror to give himself a once-over. A light dinner, a glass of wine and an early bed seemed appropriate. Tomorrow was a busy day with multiple meetings to discuss the new daycare program — Linda Mayert’s festering brainchild. Sean looked back at the Linda doll and gave it a swift kick in the head, enjoying how it bounced off the tub.
Where a light supper had seemed a good idea moments before, once in the kitchen, chills took the place of sweats, and the headache intensified to migraine status. Lights flashed behind his eyes, and he leaned heavily against the counter.
He swallowed three pain capsules and headed to the bedroom, pausing at the bathroom door. Linda, spread-eagle on the bathroom floor, glared up at the ceiling. In the thinning light coming in the bathroom window, he could have sworn her pale flesh was slightly mottled, and gooseflesh was visible over her belly and thighs.
He didn’t want to chance falling over her if he was up in the night, and in his current condition, he had no inclination to hang her up again.
Under the blankets and the chills diminished, Sean closed his eyes against the pain.
Linda straddled him. Not the real one, but the dream animated doll-creature. Her gaze, blank and gaping, was fixed on the wall just north of his head. In the thin moonlight coming through the crack in the drapes, Sean could see her lips as they twisted and worked in hideous rhythm with her hips. ‘Give me a baby for the daycare,’ she said. Repeating the words in a sing-song cadence.
It was a vulgar silicone reenactment taken from a discarded chapter of Satan’s version of the Kama Sutra. The movement was not the smooth, seductive motion of an enthusiastic lover but instead the herky-jerky mechanical movements, both dispassionate and desperate of a robot.
All the while the sing-song words, ‘Give me a baby for the daycare.’
Sean felt his gorge rising with the grotesque assault. Try as he might to raise arms and push the thing away, the hands that clutched and grabbed at him were much too strong and pinned him with an iron grip. Then it continued its fevered grinding and sing-song request.
Sean jerked awake, catapulted from sleep. For a moment, he lay staring at the ceiling in the dim morning light as the dreams rushed to his conscious mind. Not once, but three times over the night, Sean had the same fever dream, with Linda in the starring role. He felt used and unsettled. The overwhelming desire to take a shower overtook him. He kicked the covers off and swung his legs out of bed and came face to face with Linda.
She sat in the chair across the room with her elbows braced on her spread knees, her laced fingers between them, watching him. There was nothing seductive or appealing about the posture or the facial expression. Her dark eyes glittered as she regarded Sean from the chair. Gone was the haughty expression. Now she regarded him with cold amusement.
Her lips appeared to curl more than Sean remembered, and her eyes did not stare into the distance but instead focused on Sean’s eyes. There was no mistaking it. Intelligence glittered in the golden-brown depths. Fuck her, and fuck her arrogant smirk.
In a fit of rage and still feeling unsettled, he stormed into the ensuite and cranked on the hot water in the shower. This was nothing more than fever dreams — fever dreams that were over. In fact, he felt fine aside from the remaining mind fog from a sleep riddled with nightmares. He brushed his teeth and stepped into the shower as steam filled the room.
With her no longer looking at him, things started to make sense. What nonsense this was. Was he up in the night posing the thing to do what? Scare the crap out of himself in the morning? He was a man of reason. A man of intellect — a man of means.
The water began to work out the kinks. In moments, he laughed aloud at himself. Those with superior imagination and intellect often had vivid dreams and nightmares. That was a simple scientific fact.
‘Why?’ a dream voice hissed.
Sean answered the voice. “Because such individuals possess adequate mental agility to create vivid and disturbing fantasies,” he said to the empty room. Nothing more, nothing less.
He toweled off and walked naked to the bedroom.
Sean pulled his navy suit from the rack and held it up in the light coming in the closet door. He brushed at the lapel and left the closet. If he had slept better, he might have looked forward to the day’s meetings. It wasn’t every day he would be afforded the opportunity to squash another’s initiative. Sean focused on dressing and kept his mind away from the dreams of the last 24-hours.
This silliness was the stress of work — the pressures of the job. CFO of Emp Software came with untold stressors. Maybe after things at work had settled, meaning the daycare nonsense was laid to rest, he would head out on vacation. He’d look into that. A couple of weeks of downtime.
‘Don’t be so sure that will work, little man,’ a dream voice hissed. He paused, then hurried on his way.
The day was a bust.
Sean had failed to shut down the daycare program. The bitch had come in with spreadsheets and, if he admitted, an impeccable and detailed mock-up detailing every leg of her implementation strategy. She had weeks of research compiled into her presentation. Worse, she had the numbers to back it all up. Throughout her entire slick presentation, she had worked that bright self-satisfied smile.
She had the audacity at one point to smile directly at Sean. A taunt if ever I saw one. Today, she’d paraded around with her hair pulled into a loose knot and her usual battle garb of a silk blouse and knee-length skirt. It was all so obvious and contrived. Every guy and half the women in the room were so full of lust they couldn’t hear a word she said. Only he could see her for what she was.
God, she was so loathsome.
He poured himself a whiskey and headed down the hall straightaway. She’d won the battle, and she knew it before she ever walked into the board room. He, however, had one more trick up his sleeve, and it was a showstopper.
Sean had lost hope he could stop the daycare program from being initiated. He sat in the armchair and stared at Linda wondering why it was so important that he did.
The first cracks sounded their arrival in his head.
Standing in front of the dressing mirror, Linda examined her efforts. If her smile was bright before, now she was radiant. A Goddess. Such a delight could not be wasted on a night in by the fire. No, tonight they would dine out, Sean and his beautiful companion.
No words were necessary. They both knew as she twirled in the backless Dolce & Gabbana dress they were headed for a night on the town. Earlier Sean had surprised her with reservations to Le Crocodile Restaurant. Of course, he had eaten there on many occasions as it was a favourite of Phil’s and his wife, Lorraine. Phil was the CEO of Emp Software, and he regularly entertained colleagues and up-and-comers at this private table. These days his dining companions were most often limited to Linda Mayert and her husband.
Tonight Sean’s Linda would dine at Le Crocodile. Linda gave another spin in the mirror and dashed off to find shoes to match the dress. They would be the talk of the town.
They parked the car three blocks from the restaurant — the perfect distance to immerse themselves in Vancouver’s vibrant, youthful energy. Heads turned as he helped her from the car.
Heads turned as she moved with confidence down the center of the sidewalk, her hips swinging.
Heads turned as they followed the maître’d to their table. The evening had held much promise — a Michelin star experience, a fine wine, an intimate atmosphere in one of Vancouver’s finest dining establishments, and all with a beautiful seductress by his side — until he saw them.
Every occasion Sean accompanied Phil to this place sullied when he saw the four of them. Phil, his wife Lorraine, and that cow Linda Mayert, and her husband. What a slap in his face this was.
Sean’s former elated mood sank as he followed the maître’d to their table. One table for four separated Phil’s party from where Sean and Linda were seated. A greeting would be unavoidable. His frustration mounted as the four ignored him and Linda. How childish they were as they tried to ignore his Linda. A mere child could determine at first glance, his Linda was beyond ignoring. She was radiance. Goddamit, she was perfect.
Sean’s mood soared once again as he realized their ploy. Phil would see that Sean wasn’t merely grooming a beautiful and intelligent woman as a future colleague — nothing so pathetic as that. He owned his Linda. It was so much more than colleagues. He’d have Phil’s respect and admiration at once. No, this scenario hummed with opportunity — and the night was magical once again.
Linda gave a playful toss of her hair as Sean ordered drinks. As he addressed the waiter, he could see Phil’s face turned in their direction. After a brief and highly irregular misunderstanding with the waiter regarding the number of drinks Sean ordered, their evening was underway.
Sean enjoyed the drink as they discussed engaging topics in the news, avoiding the watchful gazes all around them. People turned away as Sean’s eyes found theirs. That was what he enjoyed about upscale establishments such as this. People gave you your privacy. Linda’s laughter floated through the room, rich and low, her eyes dancing in the candlelight.
Sean laughed at the story Linda was telling and ignored the faces turned toward them — the whispers. He would have to get used to it if he was going to escort such a lovely creature about town. He could also feel the seething jealousy coming from one table in particular as they took in the remarkable likeness to Linda Mayert.
An undeniable similarity but only skin deep. His Linda was hardly the opportunistic, social-climbing, trailer-trash with which Phil was currently so enamored.
They had just placed their orders when Sean saw Phil, Lorraine, Linda and her husband about to leave. Discreet peeks were thrown Sean’s way, and he waved his hand, anxious to introduce Linda.
Linda and Phil exchanged glances, and it was apparent they were embarrassed by their attempts to ignore him. They made their way over.
Sean pretended not to notice and sipped his drink. “Sean?” Linda asked.
“Hello, Linda. Phil,” Sean said, and rose from his seat. “Lorraine, lovely to see you again.” He paused for effect when he addressed Linda’s husband. “I do apologize. I’ve not had the pleasure, I’m afraid.”
“Stuart,” Linda said blandly. Her expression and tone were awkward and perhaps, sad.
Odd, but one could guess she would experience sadness in defeat, her position all but completely usurped.
“Ah, Stuart then. A pleasure,” Sean said, shaking the man’s limp hand. “Nice to meet you.” He paused as Stuart gaped. “Please allow me to introduce my companion, Linda.” Sean reached for Linda’s shoulder but found only space. His hand dropped to his side.
Phil and Linda appeared frozen, their expressions masks of confusion and something else — worry — as their eyes flicked across the table and back to Sean. Linda stammered and looked to Phil.
“She appears to have stepped away, my friend,” Phil said with uncharacteristic softness.
Sean felt his smile fade and lose form, and for a moment, he imagined his expression mirrored those of the four standing at his table. He looked toward Linda and saw only the empty chair. Then he felt the coolness of the air on his naked back and the soft strands of the blonde wig silky against his shoulders.
“Wait,” he said and sank into his chair. Etiquette dictated ladies did not rise to greet. Then he gave his hair a toss, lowered his chin and looked coyly at Phil. “How silly. I do beg your pardon. Of course, Sean has stepped away. Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Linda Mayert, and I am Sean’s silicone companion.
