Carol O’Mealy was pouting like a bitch. She was pouting like a bitch because this is what the photographer, Emmanuel D’Souza, was demanding of her, and the only thing Carol O’Mealy liked better than pouting like a bitch was being told to pout like a bitch by a man wearing leather pants and a scarf for a belt. And she liked it even more when the pout-demander was a stallion like Emmanuel, a swarthy stallion like … or more like a panther, come to think of it, Emmanuel was a strong and lean panther, all sinew and stealth, soft paws and dangerous claws. Carol O’Mealy liked her men forceful and big-cat-like and swarthy, as long as they weren’t overly ethnic-looking or stupid or French. Emmanuel would do just fine — she would give him a try later tonight, use that new chair she’d bought, and find a use for that scarf of his, but for now she wanted to give him a taste of the perfectly honed attitude that awaited him if he dared and if she could get her husband, Marshall, out of the house for a few hours. She pouted the bitchiest pout she could muster.
The rest of this story is no longer online, but does appear in the book “The Unforbidden Is Compulsory, or Optimism.”