Chapter 138: Betty Aucoin, 38, Stanford University Questionnaire...

Betty AuCoin was the seventh Sausalito housewife to report to City Hall for the son-fucker interview. The seventh of the 95 targeted ‘normal’ mothers.

It would be a challenge — none of them was applying for a job at Miss Kitty’s, nor to become a Motel Girl. None of them was lobbying Darlene Pellerin to hire her daughter to work at Contrary Mary’s.

In fact, Kate had no illusions about how successful Eulalie’s campaign would be. She told Carole, “If we end up with 10 moms who agree to jerk their sons off, I’ll be satisfied.”

That was a small percentage for a lot of effort. But even just 10 mother/son interactions was a step forward.

Betty was met outside the mayor’s office by a uniformed police officer. Zoe LeBlanc smiled at Betty, “I’ll be right outside the door. Madam Mayor doesn’t want any interruptions.”

“How long will this take?”

Betty was 38, very pretty in a matronly way, but sensitive about the extra 15 or so pounds she carried. Her attitude this morning was a mixture of puzzlement and curiosity.

“Not long, Mrs. AuCoin — just a few minutes — in and out.”

Betty leaned forward and lowered her voice, “Do I really have to undress?”

Zoe shrugged, “Policy. Eulalie Guidry.”

“Oh. Eulalie is behind the survey?”

“As I understand it, the whole thing is her idea.”

“Oh my.”

Zoe opened the door and gestured her in.

Betty stopped short at the sight of Richie Landry. Even though he was nude, her reaction was off-kilter, “Oh. I thought it would be Ray-Ray.”

Gigi smiled warmly, “Betty AuCoin, this is Richie Landry. Richie, Betty.”

He smiled and held out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. AuCoin.” Polite as usual.

“Uh, likewise I’m sure.”

Gigi, “Ray-Ray will edit your video, but Richie is taping some of the interviews.”

“Oh.”

Gigi, “Okay, dear. Undress, then I have a form for you to sign.”

“Gigi, do I really have to undress? I mean, why?” She had known Gigi all of her life, and liked the woman. Supported her 20 years ago when she first started pole-dancing for Kate.

The mayor’s tone remained friendly, but Betty thought that her face had become a little more neutral. “It’s our standard policy, Betty. We’re interviewing only 100 carefully selected citizens. Key phrase — carefully selected. That’s because the City Auditor is going to use your answers to project the behavior patterns for the entire city.”

“But why naked? I mean, I guess I’ll do it, but I’m just curious.”

“Of course you’ll do it.” Gigi segued smoothly into the narrative that Eulalie had provided, “The questionnaire was designed by two behavioral psychologists out at Stanford University.”

“Oh.” Betty couldn’t remember which coast Stanford was on, but at least she’d heard of it.

“Fourteen other small towns have already completed the survey. And the academic community has determined that since the subject — son-fucking — is so personal, the best way to ensure accurate answers is to have each citizen in the nude.”

Betty was nodding along, sort of half-following the logic. “I guess that makes sense.”

“And that’s why they have the cameraman naked as well — the research shows the subjects are more comfortable. You understand — you’re not the only naked one in the room.”

Betty nodded, kind of numbly.

Gigi made a go-ahead gesture. Richie surreptitiously turned on both cameras.

Betty, not looking at Gigi and Richie, began taking her clothes off. She had worn one of her best sundresses. And looked at several sets of underwear. If she really did have to undress, she didn’t want to wear granny panties. Nor did she want to appear slutty.

For about the thousandth time, she wished her hips weren’t so wide. And that her waist was thinner. But she motored through. She was standing there, blushing, holding her dress, panties and bra. She thought: At least my boobs still look good.

And they did — larger than most Cajun girls in town, but still pretty firm. She’d shaved her legs and even trimmed her bush — not into any decorative shape, but just so it wasn’t such a large tangle of black curly hair.

Gigi said, “Betty, you could be dancing at Miss Kitty’s.” That brought a small smile of gratitude. Richie said, “Would you like to have lunch tomorrow?”

Betty blushed deeper, “I am married, you know.”

“Would you like to have lunch tomorrow?”

“Oh, you.”

Gigi pointed to the far corner of the room — to a hatrack with wooden hangers. “Hang your clothes, dear.”

“Oh. Okay. Sure.”

When Betty came back, she somehow felt even more naked with her clothes 15 or 20 feet away. A well-known psychological ploy used often by Kate when she was interviewing new girls. Well, that was mostly Darlene these days.

Gigi, “Now sign this form — it’s boilerplate stuff. You agree to not share the details of your interview. You give us the right to your image. Everything in this meeting remains confidential. Yada, yada, yada.”

Betty was still thinking about that cheeky invitation to lunch. The ‘rights to her image’ didn’t register. She signed two places and initialed three others. The paste-on arrows told her exactly where to put her signature. It looked very official. Like when she and Chet signed the mortgage on their house. Right after he got hired full-time to work on oil rigs in the Gulf.

As she sat down, she saw that Richie was fully erect. She didn’t smile, but was pleased. Maybe even a little proud. She wasn’t that overweight.

And just look at him — what a hunk! Then she remembered how her butt spread a little when she sat. To banish that train of thought, she quickly glanced back at his erection. God, it pointed almost straight up!

Richie winked at her and flexed it — it jumped a good inch. Betty caught both the sly wink and the cock show. She kept herself from grinning, but her heart skipped a little. He was so handsome. And those shoulders — wider than any schoolboys she knew of.