ODD: The On-Demand "Detectives"

"Testing, testing. Mic is on. Camera is on. Beginning junior detective's interview for Katsumi Hojo, age 20. It's recording? Okay. Beginning interview..."

The suited, Japanese man sitting across from me fumbled with his recording equipment, acting as though this was the first time he'd ever questioned a new hire. I'd been worried about getting a stomachache from the nervousness I felt, when I imagined sitting down to interview for the first "real job" I'd applied to since I graduated college. I have to admit, seeing him act relatively incompetent in his own job really calmed me down.

"Let's begin with your history, Katsumi." The man began with a patient smile on his admittedly eerie, long-featured face.

I cleared my throat, then spoke clearly, pouring out my sob story. Throughout my school career, I was a studious girl. I got high marks, all the way through college. When I left college, against the advisement of my counselors, I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to make mysteries and detective stories. I even wanted my own cool pen-name. People wouldn't see "Katsumi Hojo" on the spines of their favorite books; they'd see some cool moniker, like... well... I'd fantasized about it, but I never got that far.

People didn't want to read my books. When I worked on getting published, those old-fashioned folks behind their big oak desks all said the same thing: you're too dry. You're too scientific. Worse yet... "can't you be a little more sexy?" That's the one that aggravated me the most. I wanted to keep my integrity. Being an author is a cruel business; it's not something that lets you squeak by on "good enough." If you can't move copies of your work-- or draw eyes, if we're talking about the latest forms of digital media-- you're out.

After losing my legs in the industry, I tried refocusing myself, but for a newbie with no experience who's been turned down that many times, there's no good writing jobs, even in news or non-fiction writing. My dream job had gone down the toilet, not because I was lazy or unmotivated, but because I wouldn't align my views with what the world wanted. That's how I saw it, anyway.

"Aaaah... That's a sort of an egotistic way of looking at it, isn't it? I find that this world is give and take."

The interviewer had suddenly become a lot less mild-mannered... That forwardness of his and that pitying smile, like he was asking why I hadn't figured out the way the world works yet, was ticking me off. I tried to ignore it and laugh it off, but I think my annoyance must have showed in my face.

I continued explaining myself to this irritating interviewer. After writing became impossible, I found myself searching for my back-up job with a sense of urgency. I'm not one to compromise on my ideals. If I couldn't write detective novels to make my living, I wanted to to the next best thing: I'd be a real detective. I told the man that was when I discovered his agency and submitted my application. They called themselves "ODD," an unusual abbreviation standing for "On-Demand Detectives." They said that they didn't require any previous experience or any police training... I thought I might have a chance there. Of course, there had been one unusual qualification: they said the team had a special interest in a new futanari hiring. I assumed this was in an effort to increase diversity, but I had to admit, it had me hopeful in my ability to get a foot in the door.

The man across from me re-crossed his arms, re-crossed his legs in a somewhat effeminate way, and then shrugged both shoulders. The more I looked at him, the less he looked like any kind of detective I'd ever read about... in fact, his pinstriped suit with a gaudy purple vest beneath and gold tie flapping out made him look like some kind of swindler. His hair, especially, had a sleazy, slick look to it, lightly flecked with gray and oiled so heavily it was practically dripping, slicked away from his broad forehead. "Katsumi! You've got the name of my agency wrong. Say the proper name, please."

I raised an eyebrow. I'd researched everything I could find about the agency online before I came, putting in some real amateur detective work; I'd been eager to prove my studious nature. There was no way I'd overlooked something as basic as the agency's name. I told him again: "ODD, the On-Demand Detectives."

He shook his head, then tapped his pen up and down against a clipboard on the metal table in front of him. Why were we using the criminal interrogation room for this interview? I felt like I'd been brought in on some fake charges or something... The room was featureless besides a one-way window on one side and the door out, with a wide, four-legged table in its center and two chairs. I hadn't been given so much as a glass of water since I entered... Looking at the lack of décor on the way in, I suspected the guy was just cheap. But his mood had really done a 180 in a small amount of time. He'd seemed so mild-mannered a moment ago, but now he seemed to be reveling in teasing me, judging by that smirk on his face.

"ODD: the On-Demand Dicks."

I couldn't summon a proper response. Smiling as politely as I could manage, I asked him: did he mean "dicks," like detectives?

"Something like that." The man gave another aggravating shrug. "Listen, it's all for legal purposes. I can't collect girls with dicks and surround myself with them if I don't name it something more legitimate in the papers. But that's the real scoop and the name I expect you to adhere to here: On-Demand Dicks. Try saying it! We're both adults here."

My lips quivered as I the nonsensical phrase out. In fact, I felt myself stuttering over the important word: "D-D-Dicks..."

For whatever reason, the guy seemed delighted; his shady, dark-bagged eyes widened as a wolfish smile spread over his face. "That's iiiiit!! Ever since you walked in here, I knew what niche you were going to fill! Those big, thick-framed glasses with swirled lenses, the kind geeks wear in anime! That mousy, brown hair in a rounded bowl-cut, like the kind a girl gets assigned in elementary school and never grows out of! The minimalistic makeup! That smallish body in an over-prepared business pant-suit! You're the nerdy one!"

I couldn't hide the anger on my face any more. What kind of employer calls new hires-- who are just trying to look business professional and can't help but wear prescription glasses-- nerds and geeks!?

"Yeah, I've needed one like you! Now, Katsumi: tell me about your genitals."

At this, I became not just angry, but appalled. I told him frankly that his question was tantamount to sexual harassment.

"Mmm, yes, but I do have to know. This is my futanari detective agency, you see. I have a hunch I can guess... but I want to hear it from you. You do have a dick, right?" I clenched my teeth, rejecting his question. Still, he slapped his knee excitedly and sat up in his chair, seeming to take from that the answer he wanted. "Fantastic! Tell me: how much do you know about futanari?"

Was this a joke? He'd already figured it out... I am a futanari. I explained what everyone knew: ever since about fifty years ago, a small percentage of women had been born into the world bearing unusual genitalia of various kinds. There were theories about why it had happened... the most popular conspiracy concerned a rogue science cell that had introduced some genetic trigger into the water supply. Some called it a step in evolution. Some called it the human body adapting to situations of decreased sex drive as a species. It was all a mystery I'd like to know the answer to myself. As a futanari, I didn't face discrimination, per say... But I faced a lot of challenges regardless that I'd rather have never had to deal with.

"Tell me about yours! Is it big? Small? Is it sensitive? Do you have just the shaft and balls, or are there other parts? Do you wear women's panties or boxers?!"

I refused to answer! Of course I refused, right?! I'm not telling this pervert about my dick... which is... a little on the small side, okay? But that's not why I'm sensitive about the issue! It's because only a pervert asks someone else about their penis like this, right?!

The guy rubbed his chin, then caught my eyes dead-on with his glare. "Hm hm hm... It's small, right? With no vagina. A grumpy, pint-sized geek like yourself has a small penis and no vagina. As for sensitivity, that was more-so a joke at your expense... The world's pretty normal for transexuals these days, but you futanari are another matter entirely, right?"

Grrrrr! He's annoyingly accurate with his guesses! As much as I talk about how my dick doesn't define me, there are many hassles it brings along with it. For one thing: yep, it's pretty darn sensitive. It's something that we futanari have a lot of issues with, but moreover, it changes the way society looks at us. While there's no outward discrimination, you can't help but see that hungry look in certain peoples' eyes... like this guy's, for starters. Thinking about how easily we can be made to cum-- and the amount we can be made to-- makes society's scum daydream about how exactly they'd like to get their hands on us and make us do so. Luckily, Japan's a pretty safe place these days... The crime rate is low. There isn't actually a whole lot of need for detectives, which is why this shady detective agency stood out to me right away. Ironically, this detective is the most degenerate, criminal-looking fellow I've met all year.

Pressing on, the pushy interviewer placed one hand upon the desk with a new air of gravity. "Listen, Geeky Katsumi. This is an easy job. We're a detective agency, sure, but mostly, I'm just a voyeur who likes to watch over the futanari in this city, especially ones like you who are so dedicated to something they'll come work at a place called 'On-Demand Dicks' to try and achieve it. I can tell you have a strong sense of justice and a cute dick. I want you on my team. This is an easy job; we're really more like handy-men than we are detectives. The locals call us to solve small time 'cases' like rescuing cats from trees or unclogging toilets. Don't think that real 'mysteries' are just going to come through. We aren't detectives like Sherlock Holmes or Detective Conan."

I told him, with a sour look on my face, that I wanted to be a detective like that... I'm ashamed to admit this, but I even slumped my shoulders and pouted.

"Aaaah, there it is! The sad little geek face I wanted!" The man bellowed, jumping up from his chair again and pointing his finger excitedly like he was a cartoon character. "Now you're double hired!"

What kind of man was this? He had to be in his fifties, and here he was, 'double-hiring' me just because I had prescription glasses and a penis... I started to tell him I wasn't so sure if I still wanted to be hired... I could still turn and leave the office. But... I could also accept the job, after this frankly easy-as-pie interview, and give it one day. Maybe I'd find something that would make me want to stay on? It did sound like very, very easy work and the pay was more than I'd imagined I'd ever make, starting out as a writer. It'd pay my living expenses and then some! I could stay on for just long enough to get money, then move on and find a new job... Yeah!

I told him I'd give it a try. I'd join on a trial basis. The words felt ridiculous coming out of my mouth... I'd come into his agency preparing to beg him for a job and now, somehow, I was the one begrudgingly accepting, as though I had any other prospects lined up besides this one!

"Good, good!" He extended his hand for a refreshingly official shake, which I accepted; I was eager to return to the normalcy of professionalism immediately. He didn't give me that luxury. "Call me Genkei! Or Mister Genkei! Or Master Genkei, if you're feeling really into it!" The man towered over me with his lanky body, making me feel even smaller than normal as his long shadow cast itself over me. I most assuredly was not ever planning to refer to this man as Master anything. Shaking his grotesquely sweaty hand was starting to make me shiver all over.

I begged him to tell me that there wasn't a dress code.

The man returned a wide grin, but he released my hand, at least. "Not usually. Depending on the assignment, though, you could find yourself redressing pretty often. Speaking of assignments, I think we really ought to get you going; we'll handle your paper-work later!" This was the most half-assed place of employment I'd ever seen...

He led me out of the cramped room to stand in the hallway, which... really wasn't any better. The guy clearly didn't make a lot of money doing this, judging by his claustrophobic, shabby agency. It seemed he'd probably spent all the money he had on that suit. How could he afford to pay me and the other girls? I asked him that question frankly.

"Ha ha ha! That can be a mystery for you to look into on your own time. But why worry about my cash stream when you're the beneficiary, right?" He elbowed me a few times like a co-conspirator... the height difference between us was so great that he ended up butting my shoulder with his elbow instead of my side. "Let's focus on where you go from here. There are all kinds of things to do around the office! You can either go work the phones and deploy once a case comes through, you can go check the board for anything one of the others has put up that they just didn't want to deal with, or you can go do your own footwork. I should mention: there are no offices here. You may catch one of the girls popping in and out-- and I do so like it when the girls pop out!"

This time, I hit him instead of the other way around, kicking his shin with the pointed toes of my shoes. He hopped around on one foot for a moment in pain, but ended up laughing in a good-natured way.

"That's my stern geek for you!" Genkei hissed, crouching to rub his wounded leg. "There are other options too, of course. You could find one of the veterans here and ask to shadow them for a bit, to see how the agency works. Having some experience before you set out on your own could be a good idea. Finally, if you wanted to, you could come into my office and do a strip show on the pole in there, since you never answered my question about your underwear earlier-"

I gave him another kick in the other shin, causing him to topple to the floor and begin rolling around in an undignified manner.

"Th-That was a real option!" He was sobbing pitifully, as if my rejection hurt more than the physical attack.