Stella’s Adventures in Market Research Land

Usually Stella doesn’t Instant Message, but this time she got caught unawares in a moment of carpet-gnawing boredom and insomnia.

He: (All the usual message blah, blah for the first five minutes.)

She: (All the usual message blah, blah for the first five minutes.)

He: I’ve just reread your profile and I see you’ve been involved in education in the past.

She: Yes, I have.

He: So you’d be interested in research.

She (wondering where this is going): Sometimes. Depends on the research.

He: I’ve got a question to ask you.

She: Ask away.

He: I just wanted to ask you what your feelings are about big girthy cocks, visually I mean.

She (gasps): WHAT?

He: I’m not talking about myself. I mean just generally.

She (pulling herself together):  In my experience, men who rely solely on size are generally not up to much in any other way.

He: M-hmm. You see, I’m in partnership with someone in the States and we want to test a new product here in the UK to see if there’s a market. I’m sure you’d be begging for it after five minutes.

She(unconvinced): Really. 

He: We’ve designed a new vibrator with a girth of ten inches, several width settings if you want a bit of stretch (I swear to God that Stella said he actually said that!), either black or white, which is modelled on America’s most famous porn actor, and I wondered if you’d be interested sampling it.

At this point she spluttered the contents of her mouth –cocoa and Hobnob - over the kitchen table and down her winceyette nightie  - sorry,  must resist that urge to embellish! She wouldn’t be seen in the Chapel of Rest in winceyette.  Anyway…

She: What makes you think I’d be interested? What is it that my photo and profile say about me that led to you to think you should contact me?

Followers  -  I believe I have already mentioned that in most of Stella’s profile pics she looks like Nanook of the North. No feline poses on kitchen tables, no bosom-baring corsetry, no straddling motorbikes adorned by nothing but a gold lamé thong. She’s in thermal underwear, covered in another layer of polar fleece, covered in a giant anorak and wearing hiking boots. In the one photo where she doesn’t look like this...

..., she’s wearing a short sleeved, high necked evening dress.

He: You have a great smile and look like you are up for a laugh.

She (with more than a hint of sarcasm): Gee, thanks. So I look like some cheap tart good-time girl then.

He: No, not at all - it’s just that you get a hunch about people.  We could meet up in London – I’ll reimburse your travelling expenses.  I’ll take you out for a nice meal and then you can come back to my place and I can try it out on you.

At this point she clicked him out.

“Bette,” she said, “who the hell needs a ten inch girth? It’d be like a gynie examination. Even pushing Josh out didn’t stretch me that far.” (Her youngest son, currently six foot six and 18 stone.)  

She went on. “Do you know how big that is? A ten inch girth?”

“No,” I said.

“A litre bottle of Bacardi!”

Hehe! So, she checked it out just in case, eh?

Stella, you dark horse, I never knew you .....