Jillian Thurgood

The long-legged redhead, with her perfectly tailored jacket and matching skirt, her hair flowing down to her shoulders, a white silk blouse and coordinated pill-box hat, gloves, and high heels, looked as out of place on the bench out side Stroker's office as the proverbial screen door on a submarine. The sight stopped him dead in his tracks.

"You lost, Sweetheart?" Stroker asked once he had recovered and began unlocking his office door.

"Do you mean that in a physical or metaphysical sense?" the replied. The sound of nylon slithering across nylon accompanied her uncrossing her legs to stand up. Stepping aside to allow the woman to enter first, Stroker answered dumbly with a "Huh?"

"Nevermind," the redhead said, striding confidently into the small office. The whiff of her perfume nearly caused Stroker's knees to buckle. She stood in the center of the cramped space, taking in the banged up metal filing cabinet, thread-bare carpet, simple straight back wooden chairs in front of the scratched and scarred desk. "You certainly are not extravagant on your decor."

With a shrug, the Detective made his way around to the other side of his desk. "Not much money in this line of work. Please," he gestured towards the chair.

He watched mesmerized as she sat down, one shapely leg crossing over the other. As he took his own seat in the worse-for-wear executive chair, he asked, "What can I do for you, Miss....?"

"Thurgood," she answered. "Jillian Thurgood. And I would like for you to recover a stolen item of mine."

"Why not go to the Police?"

"I would just as soon not get the Police involved, Mister Stroker." She recrossed her legs. Lifting one higher than was fully necessary, giving him a peek of the stocking top on the underside of her leg. When Stoker raised his eyes to Jillian's face, he saw a triumph smirk. She had caught him trying to catch a peek. The Private Detective held her gaze. He did not look away. He had, in turn, caught her "flashing" him.

"And why is that?" he slid his hand inside his jacket and extracted a pack of cigarettes. "Do you mind?" he asked, holding the pack aloft. When she shook her head no, he tilted the pack towards her. She leaned forward to accept one, holding the cancer stick provocatively to her lips, waiting for him to light it for her. When he did so, she touched her gloved hand to his to hold the Zippo steady. Taking a deep draw, she leaned back in her chair and tilted her chin up as she exhaled a lungful of the acrid smoke.

"Don't worry," she assured him. "It will not be a -hard- job." She took another drag. "I know who took it." A pause. "But then again, maybe you are the type of fellow who is not happy unless it is hard."

Stroker felt the familiar stirring in his pants and was glad that he was seated behind the desk. "What about you, Miss Thurgood? Do you like it when it is... hard?"

"Oh, I insist on it being hard, Mister Stroker." Again the slithering of nylon across nylon as she recrossed her long legs yet again. After so much movement, the hem of her skirt had ridden up to where the underside of her leg was fully visible and the clasp of her garter strap could be seen. "No matter how hard it is, I can handle it." A pause. "I usually have a firm grip on things."

Forcing himself back to reality, the Private Investigator explains, "My fee is thirty-five dollars a day, plus expenses. A three day minimum." As he spoke he pulled open the bottom drawer on the right side of his desk. "If you would just fill out the standard retainer form," he said, sliding a sheet a paper across the desktop towards her. He held up a pen to use.

Again she leaned forward, reaching for the pen. But although caressed the writing instrument with the tips of her gloved fingers, she did not take it from his hand. "But like I said. I already know who took it." She stroked the pen up and down. "You won't need three days."

"Standard rates," he replied, unconsciously tightening his grip on the pen.

"You drive a hard bargain, Mister Stroker," she answered. Her fingers continued to slide up and down the pen and then over his knuckles and under his hand. "I like that in a man. Firmness."

Finally she took the pen and filled out the form. Then Stroker asked her a series of questions, jotting down her answers in a small, leather bound note book that he always carried with him. Satisfied that he had enough information to begin the job in the morning, he stood up and told her. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Thurgood."

When she uncrossed her legs to stand, her movements were slowly and deliberate. The P.I. got a perfect shot up her skirt. She wore white panties.

Staring deliberately at his crotch, Jillian said, "Yes. I can see that."