Mike. He doesn't have AGS but he does have a terrible t-shirt.

It was a lazy Saturday morning, and with no real plans in place Mike had decided to catch up on his laundry. It wasn't what he WANTED to do. As he gathered up the clothing scattered around his bedroom his gaze kept moving over to the Playstation, where the new Spiderman game was just waiting for him. But no, doing the laundry had become a necessity when he realised he was down to his last outfit. Unfortunately that meant he was down to his last t-shirt, too.

"Oh geez, not this one!" he moaned.

He held it up to the light, as if somehow hoping a shadow had caused him to mis-read it. The design on the t-shirt never changed. It still read "FBI: Female Body Inspector". It seemed like a million years ago that he was immature enough to find the t-shirt appealing. How many times had he actually worn this outside, he wondered? Too many times. It had been re-employed as a pyjama top for a few years, and then had gradually been buried under the rest of his clothes, forgotten at the back of his wardrobe. Until there was no other clothing to hide it. Until today.

"I mean... it's not that bad, right?" he asked the room. "It's just to the laundry room and back. Nobody will see me probably."

Grimacing to himself, he eased the top over his head. It was a little bit tighter nowadays, but in the mirror he thought it looked okay. It even matched his black tracksuit bottoms.

"I need to buy some new clothes." he muttered to himself as he gathered up his laundry basket and exited his apartment.

The hallway beyond was dark and small - not dissimilar to his apartment, he thought - but it was the best he could afford on his salary. Besides, the building wasn't so bad. It had it's own laundry room and games room, which even had a few 1980's arcade cabinets. Not bad, considering. Heavily laden with dirty clothes, he made his way down the stairs to the ground level of the building. At the bottom of the stairs were three doors; one which led to the outside world, one which led to the superintendent's office and the final one which led to the laundry room. He made his way into the former and located an empty machine. He knelt down and began to place his laundry inside.

"Why are women different than washing machines?" he asked the empty air. "I can always turn washing machines on and empty my load into them."

"Is somebody there?" a female voice called from outside.

Mike looked up as a woman stepped into the room. His heart leapt into his mouth. It was the super's daughter, Jessie. She was, without doubt, the single most attractive woman Mike had ever laid his eyes on. She was blonde, leggy, busty, wide hipped and thin waisted; in the old days she might have been described as having an hourglass figure, although Mike would gladly have watched her around the clock. She was wearing a spaghetti-strapped crop top, cut-off jean shorts and a pair of sandals. Her thick, pouting lips always gave her a slightly bitchy expression, though, which is why Mike had never really built up the courage to speak to her. She was looking at his hands. He followed her expression, and realised he was holding a pair of his own y-fronts. He threw it into the machine, closed it and turned it on.

"Sorry," Mike muttered "Just, ah... just talking to myself. Sorry."

"No worries." Jessie said, smiling. "Oh, hey! I didn't know you worked for the feds!"

Oh god, he thought. The t-shirt. "It's, ah... it.... it's just..."

"Female Body Inspector? So is that like, what? Medical?" she asked. "Like breast exams and stuff?"

"It's just a silly t-shirt." he muttered.

"It's not silly, Mark!"

"Mike."

"Whatever. Checking for breast cancer is very serious stuff. Unless... is it more, like, you know, for models and stuff?"

"For... models?"

"Yeah! You know, like you inspect their bodies before recommending them to a modelling agency? Because I've been trying to break into modelling, like, forever."

Oh... kay... thought Mike. He didn't really know her well enough to say if this was her style of humour or not. She was acting like it was a real thing. Maybe she was just fucking with him?

"Yeah, I inspect women for fashion designers." Mike joked.

"Oh my god! Mike, you HAVE to inspect me!" she breathed.

"I... what?"

"Come on, my dad's out on call to another building right now. The office is free. Come on, show me what you think!"

She grabbed Mike's hand, and he offered no resistance as she pulled him out of the laundry room and into the office. She pushed him into a chair, and then hurriedly began to draw the curtains, close the blinds and lock the door. Mike could feel his heart beating rapidly within his chest. She flicked the lights on and then stood before him, hands on her hips.

"So, how does this work?" she asked. "Is it like... you feel me through my clothes, or do I strip down to my underwear, or... well, you know."

"Uh..." Mike managed as his brain struggled to keep up.