Several more people stop and stare in the window. Most keep walking, but this guy in black leathers with a goatee and mustache stands there longer than most. You notice the bulge in his jeans growing bigger. He strokes his chin, like he's thinking about something. He nods his head, and adjusts his tented leather jeans. Then he turns and heads for the shop entrance. Great some gay biker is interested in your outfit, you think.
"Well, it's new inventory, and hasn't - well. Let's see if it's what you really want first," says the clerk stepping through the black curtain and reaching to undo your buttons. He removes your shirt, and jacket first. He hands them to biker dude. Oh, great now you're shirtless. Wait, not the pants too. Clerk undoes your belt and fly. He unties your shoes and removes everything but your socks and underwear. No- seriously, no. The clerk removes one sock and then the other.
The clerk comments, "Note the detail of the toes."
"Cool, but I already told you I want to buy it. How much?" demands the biker. Damn, that voice sounds familiar.
"I explained, it's new inventory. If we're lucky, there'll be a bar code on its ass, and I can look it up that way. Otherwise, I'll have to put it on lay-a-way, until the boss confirms the price."
Its ass? Oh, no, not my underwear.
Swhoosh, and you're standing there naked as a jay bird.
"Woo hoo! I was hoping it was anatomically correct."
"Well, most of our life like sex dolls are- though a few special orders have reverse gender genitalia or are completely smooth. Oh, darn, no bar code."
"I've got a $100 cash," the biker said.
The clerk snorted, "That might do as a deposit. New these things," he punctuated the word by patting your shoulder, "go for $5000-10,000 depending."
"Well, this one is used, right?"
The clerk shrugs, "It looks new to me."
"Well, here's the hundred bucks, put it on lay-away for me, and here's my card, call me when you know the price."
"We do have some others that are marked, if you'd like me to-"
"Not unless they're this bastard's twin."
He looks you up and down, and shakes his head. "We have an Asian one with a similar build?"
"Nah, I want this one. He looks just like my old high school coach. We're having our ten year reunion, and I know a bunch of guys who would like to fuck that coach up."
Coach? Oh, damn, it's Elliot from Dalton High! You were only an assistant coach back then, still in college earning your degree, and you really took it out on the guys who were only 3-5 years younger than you.
"Hm, Mr. James Elliot, Esquire?" read the clerk, "Of Landsbury, Elliot, Whitman and Dewey?" he asked suspiciously.
"Associate, the Elliot who's the partner is my father," James explained.
The clerk continued to look suspiciously at James until an expression of acknowledgment appeared on his face, and he exclaimed, "Oh, you're the Motorcycle Accident Attorney from the television ads!"