What Do You Do When Your Friend Asks You To Fill In For Him With His Wife On Scrabble Night While He's Away?

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What Do You Do When Your Girlfriend Turns Out To Be The Serial Mall Santa Fucker?

Obviously, this particular problem isn't going to happen to most people. However, Wally Mammoth, one of my assistants, isn't like most people. Wally tends to get into situations no sane individual gets himself into. And this situation is no different.

Believe it or not, with my work and consequently, my assistants' work, it isn't all that easy to find people with strong enough character or fortitude to agree to be in a relationship with us. Usually, we have no choice but to be a little discreet about what we do. In some cases downright dishonest, I'm afraid. For Wally, he thought he finally found a girl who was willing to accept what he does for a living. It wasn't until much later we learned why.

For those of you not from around here, during the last Christmas season, and now again during this Christmas season, there's been a terrible rash of sex crimes sweeping through the New England area. The inconceivable part is it's been happening sometimes in broad daylight, out in the open, right in front of everyone's eyes, at the local shopping malls.

Apparently, a woman, who looks much younger than one would suspect, has been posing as a young girl and going to malls and getting in line to see Santa. According to reports, the woman will wear a long winter jacket and once she's permitted to climb on Santa's lap, the woman, while exhibiting a tremendous amount of skill and flexibility, proceeds to fuck Santa.

Now, one would think the best thing for Santa to do in this situation is to call someone over or merely remove the woman. However, this isn't very easy. And remember, there are tons of parents and kids around. So, for the most part, in order to cause the least amount of a scene, the Santas have been instructed to, well, quite simply, follow the woman's lead, and fuck her to completion.

At which time, again, according to reports, the woman will disengage quite discretely, and nobody will be the wiser. The only thing that might draw attention is how long it takes for the attack to be completed. On average, it's about five minutes. During which time, parents will tend to get impatient and start to question what the delay is, and at that point, they might realize that Santa is being attacked. Still, even in this rare occasion, even if they're quite sure Santa is indeed being fucked, a parent is unlikely to say or do anything about it, for fear their child might not get a chance to sit on Santa's lap and hence causing their child to have a wicked hissy fit the rest of the night. Although, in this instance, the parent will insist that Santa put one of those red Christmas blankets over his lap before their child sits down on Santa's recently fucked lap.

To those among my team, which included Wally Mammoth, Tommy Two-Times Johnson, Connie Cryer, and myself, Dr. Mosely Untreu, the Serial Mall Santa Fucker story has become something of an obsession. Whenever there's a new news report about yet another attack, it's considered must-see TV. Perhaps it's the fact that the woman in question is a little bit like us, as people who study and sometimes execute sexual experiments. Regardless, the matter intrigued us to no end.

Recently, we had started coming up with various ways to perhaps put our fingerprints on the situation. One time, Wally suggested we go to the malls and try to catch the girl in action, ourselves. But there's only four of us and about twenty malls in the area. Another time, Tommy suggested we should pose as Santas. This idea especially appealed to me, but then I thought about all the other Santa stuff I would have to do, like dealing with a million kids and listening to all their greedy droning about what they want for Christmas, and that sounded like torture.

On one occasion, when all mentioned were present in my home office, save for Tommy Johnson, and in his stead we were joined by Lisa, Wally's new girlfriend, and watching the TV to learn about the newest attack, anxious to maybe hear some new clue we hadn't yet heard before, a deplorable theory hatched in my mind.

Lisa, who didn't seem at all interested in the Serial Mall Santa Fucker, was looking around my office and asked, "Dr. Untreu?"

"Please, call me Dr. Mosely," I said.

"All right," Lisa said. "Why don't you have a tree up?"

"Apart from the fact that this is a place of business, and I must remain neutral as far as religion and whatnot," I said. "There's also the matter where I've never had a single solitary inclination to decorate for the holidays. Now, my wife, Millie, on the other hand, she is our resident Christmas fanatic. She's presently constructing a massive tree in our living room."

"Really? I would love to see it!" Lisa exclaimed, very childlike.

"Forgive her," Wally said. "Your wife's not the only Christmas fanatic around here."

"Sure," I said. "Connie can take you to see it."

When the girls were gone, I looked at Wally, wondering if he had any inkling that his girlfriend might very well be the woman we're in question. After all, she was very small. With long brown hair and very big brown eyes. Overall, very child-like. And apparently she was ga-ga for Christmas. Still, I wasn't about to broach the subject just yet.

The very next day, there was another attack. This time in a mall north of Boston. As soon as I heard about it, my phone rang. It was Wally. We talked about some unrelated matters for a short while. Then I asked, "So, was Lisa with you last night?"

"Yes," Wally said, a little defensive.

"Really?" I asked.

"Yes," Wally said, a bit more defensive.

"Okay, well there goes that theory."

"What, you thought she was the Serial Mall Santa Fucker?" Wally asked, barely able to deliver the entire sentence before bursting out in laughter.

"Well. Yes. But I was wrong."

"Fuck," Wally said, sounding suddenly serious, and a bit shocked.

"What?"

"I just realized. She went out Christmas shopping with her sister."

"Really?"

"Yeah. But I know they really went. I mean, her sister came by to pick her up around 7 pm and dropped her off around 9 pm."

"According to the news," I said. "The attack took place at 8 pm."

"Yeah, but what would she do with her sister?"

"What does her sister look like?"

"Young. But not as young looking as Lisa."

"Maybe her sister's in on it. Maybe she posed as Lisa's mother."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"No. It's not fucking ridiculous at all. I gotta go," Wally said and abruptly hung up.

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What Do You Do When Your Pastor's Wife Is Constantly Complaining About The Lack Of Anal In Her Life?

My wife, Jennifer, who is a devout Christian, has always been a pillar of morality in my life. And that can be a valuable resource at times. I myself, I've never been very religious. However, when we first started dating, it became readily apparent if I intended on continuing the relationship, I would be expected to attend church. After my first wife, Naomi, who was practically a liberal, feminist, closet-lesbian, anarchist, Wiccan, I was probably feeling the need to compensate in the other direction, to a more straight-lace, conservative, WASPy woman. Hence Jennifer, my second wife.

Early on in our marriage, prior to venturing out to the east coast, we decided to attend an average-sized, about 400-500 people or so, Pentecostal church, in a remote town in Northern California. The church appeared, for all intent and purposes, to be very conservative. Although the women weren't made to wear dresses or skirts, they all did all the same. And although the women weren't made to keep their hair long, they all did all the same. For the most part, everyone dressed very conservatively, nothing too flashy. Not a lot of makeup. Not a lot of frills. Only a few women in the church failed to get the memo concerning these church-wide, self-imposed restrictions, my wife among them, and surprisingly enough the Pastor's wife also, Sister Rebekah, who I always felt I shared a certain affinity with.

As much as I tried to "surrender" myself to this church and its ways, it just seemed futile after a while. Sure, I had my moments of weakness, when the church and all its churchiness seemed to lull my sometimes sleepy mind into believing this whole rigmarole was authentic. But in the end, my mind would always wake up just in time to talk some sense into me. After all, the whole thing, especially when you approached it critically, seemed a little far-fetched.

Still, for Jennifer's sake, I continued to attend church with her. I had to at least try to please her in this way. It was obviously very important to her. I mean, it's not like she, all those years ago, when we first started dating, she didn't present herself as this sort of woman. It was quite plain. I couldn't blame her for my own idiotic need to give her the impression I would be fine going to church with her. Forever. And ever.

On the bright side, as a psychiatrist, just starting a practice in Northern California, the church provided an abundance of potential clients. It seemed that amidst all this oppressive conservativism, there were several folks who were just itching to get out, away from the church. Even if, all they needed was to leave the church, there was no way the thought was going to occur to them on their own. And for the most part, I didn't feel like telling them. Probably, because down deep inside, I knew that they knew it, too. And I was waiting for them to figure it out for themselves. In the mean time, their want and desire to leave the church manifested itself in other ways like alcoholism, wife-beating, stealing, fighting, bigotry, adultery, etc..

In the case of Sister Rebekah, the Pastor's wife, things were a little different.

I met Rebekah the first day we attended the church, when the pastor and her stood by the exit to bid farewell to all the folks attending the church.

Rebekah was somewhat tall and very beautiful. By far, she was the flashiest attendee in the church, wearing flashier clothes and a bit more makeup than any of the other women in the church. In addition, her dresses seemed to show slightly more chest and leg than any of the other women in the church. But she was the pastor's wife. And for the most part, this made her above reproach. Except of course for the members of the church who struggled with gossiping, which was basically 90% of the church.

Through the years, attending the church, and seeing these folks at various church functions, Rebekah always seemed to take a shine to me. And at times, she showed surprising candor. This always threw me for a loops, since everyone in the church, apart from those I saw in the office, seemed profoundly fake or delusional or both.

At one particular event, I believe it was a church picnic, I noticed Rebekah standing alone, by the brush along the lake. As bored as I was, I decided I'd approach her. After all, I had always thought we shared a certain affinity toward each other, as two, seemingly lonesome honest people stuck in a sea of the opposite.

So, I started, "Hello there."

"Oh, hello, Brother Mosely," she said, noticeably glad to see me.

"What might you be thinking about?" I asked.

"What does every man or woman or child apparently think about?" Then she discreetly gestured at something out on the lake and smiled back at me.

I followed her eyes and saw a teenage couple, out deep, with their arms around each other. I peered a second, and smiled, realizing they weren't just embracing but were actually fucking. Their intermittent looks of strain and pleasure were the giveaway.

"So sweet and so innocent," Rebekah said, marveling at the teenagers.

I smiled and looked a little closer at Rebekah.

"What?" she asked.

"Sweet and innocent?" I asked.

"That's Brother Scoll's son, Peter, and Brother Tanner's daughter, Willa. They're a sweet couple. They've been going steady all summer. I think it's cute."

"Rebekah?"

"Yes, Brother Mosely?"

"Forgive my French, Rebekah, but Brother Scoll's son and Brother Tanner's daughter are fucking right in front of you. In front of all of us. I don't know if I'd call it sweet and innocent, but I'd call it bold."

Rebekah peered out at them, watching for a moment. As she watched, at a certain point, she raised a hand to her chest in shock. "Brother Mosely, you're right. What should we do?"

I waved it off. "Do? Nothing. They're teenagers. That's what teenagers do. Fuck like bunnies."

"Brother Mosely, your language."

"Sorry. It just seemed like the appropriate terminology to describe this type of sex."

"Premarital sex?"

"No, fucking. Look at them, Rebekah. They're fucking."

Rebekah watched them for a while longer. This time biting her lips a little and clenching her fist tight. That's when another congregation member joined us. Rebekah didn't say a word about it.

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