Zoe, The Temp & The Cervix

Following on from the (notsafeforwork) video… more adventures with a cervix!
Once upon a time, a young man worked as a temp in a University. He was really lovely, and everyone agreed that he was the most magnificent temp there had ever been. Sometimes people would come in just to look at him, either because they were in love with him or were dead jealous of his brilliant face.
It was an administrative role, so he was surrounded by in-trays and pending issues, and could spend upwards of six hours a day building his rubber-band ball, as long as he made a regular huffing sound that meant “huff! It’s lucky I am so efficient, or this workload would crush me!”
However, in this office there were other things lying around. Scattered amongst the windowed envelopes and Neon Post-Its were old battered boxes that whispered mystery, and zipped up bags that smelled of adventure. But the temp didn’t look in the boxes and bags, because all that huffing was quite exhausting, even for the best temp in the world, and he had fallen asleep.
He was woken by a coughing, squirting sound, like a man with a mouth full of toothpaste trying not to sneeze. His head jarring backwards, he looked around, and saw a legless torso with its fanny out, trying to get his attention by noisily cocking a flap.

“Hephllo!” gobbed the torso. “I pthink you might (flurph) be able to helphthrrrp me. My name isth Zoe.”
The amazing temp rubbed his tear ducts with his knuckles and threw away the bottle of whisky he had been drinking. Then he frowned at the torso, looked away again, then turned back to look at the torso again. It seemed friendly enough, even if it did spit terribly when it talked.
“How do you think I could help you?”
“I have got a cervixthh. It yearns to be found. Shfrt.”
The temp squinted at the lump of plastic flesh, and with frankly gobsmacking perception, saw that it had been designed to train nurses in the tricky task of finding the cervix. It had been under the desk since he came to work at the University. Thinking back, not once had a nurse popped in, crowbarred open the lump’s chops and said “there it is – a cervix!” to her gathered friends. The poor doll was understandably distraught. It turned to face the dashing temp, who was all muscley.

“Pleasft. Ft. FFFFFT. Tell me you will ffrffrffind my cervixth, one lastht time.”
The temp wiped the mucus from his face. Although he understood how difficult it must be to form words with a plastic vagina, it did seem rudely oblivious to the amount of cunt phlegm it was stringing into his face. His eyes lowered.
“Why do you have an anus?”

The torso became agitated. “Ladishhhh have anussthhesthh! Praaak! Why shouldn’t I have an an an anusth?”
“Well, you don’t need an anus for your job. They haven’t given you legs, or a mouth. Why would they give you an anus? Unless it’s a decoy to catch out the retarded nurses, but that’s hardly likely. It just seems an utterly needless detail to give you an anus, especially one that’s basically a tattered stab-wound starfish.”
The torso was now so enraged that it could no longer form words, and just sputtered, spattered and coughed a twenty second long “PHRAAAAAACKACKACK”. By the time it had finished and descended into a desolate “fruff-fruff“, the temp (who could do the Rubik’s cube in about 20 seconds and juggle six balls) had taken pity on the wretched stump.
“Alright. I’ll find your cervix on one condition. You let me slide one of my fingers into your stupid, redundant anus.”
“Deal!” The torso brightened instantly, and made a contented phraa sound from her insides. And the temp walked in an amazing new style that he had just invented over to the doll, which had hopped onto its neck stump and was pointing the vagina eagerly at his hands.

Within seconds, the temp had gently seperated the flaps, and found the cervix. “There you go,” he sang like Pavarotti and the bloke from Muse. “One cervix, right where it should be.”
The torso was whistling like a kettle from her navel. “Oh, yeah! This is what it’s about! This is life! Now stab it with a spatula! Stab it with a spatula!”
“No way. That wasn’t part of the deal,” said the temp. “Now, I get to put my finger into your anus.” The temp considered slipping his dick in and saying it was his finger. The doll didn’t have eyes, after all. Then again, it didn’t have ears or a mouth. No, too risky. The last thing he wanted was a plastic doll screaming “rthhape!” and coughing mucus onto his lean, defined stomach. He decided to play it safe, and slowly slid one finger into the messy hole, as agreed.
There was a sound that went “ding”, and the torso let out a mighty yelp. “Oh!” it said. “You pressed my magical button! The button that turns me into a real person! Oh, thank you so much! Now I’m a real human lady, with glass ceilings in the workplace and emotional rollercoasters!” As if to prove her point, she shot a period onto the carpet. “Look! I’m as fertile as a bee!” she cheered.
But as the humanness filled Zoe, her voice began to fade. As she became more and more human, the fact that her neck ended in a smooth stump was proving to be a very real hindrance. Once the transformation was complete, Zoe lay dead, suffocated, on the floor.
The temp, who had invented ball-bearings when he was seven years old, tried to pull his finger from the anus, but magical rigor mortis had set in, and his finger was stuck fast.
This was in the year 1947. That temp is still in that office today, because everyone is too polite to say anything. The cleaners give him pebbles, because they’re nice people, but impractical. That temp – that wonderful, 2sexalicious4u temp – had to wait for the internet to come along to tell his story; typing one-handed when everyone else had gone home.
Ladies and gentlemen – that temp is me.