“Well, I really just wanted to talk to you—” the Professor started to explain.
“No talk. Don’t be frightening,” she reassured him. “Xenobia a fogey expert. Young-making, All problem solve one-two-three. Aging mean ripening. I show you. Make little bigger than ever again. You see. Maybe even growing hair on skinhead. You see. Don’t be frightening.”
“I’m not afraid,” the Professor told her. “But I really just came to find out—”
“Upstairs finding out. Finding out like you never think. Come on.” She tugged at his sleeve.
Reluctantly, the Professor followed her up the stairs. She led him into a small bedroom at the top and closed the door behind him. “Here we finding, dolling. Twenty dollar, dolling. Madam insisting pay now play later, dolling. Twenty dollar take off twenty year and maybe thirty-forty year. Cheap. You got lot-some year to losing.”
“All right.” The Professor handed her the twenty dollars. “But I don’t want to—”
“Cold. I digging. Warming Xenobia’s specialty.” She wrapped her arms around the Professor and rubbed up against him. “Hey, what your name, Charlie?”
“Basil Woocheck. But—”
“Basil, hey. You know that some scientist-doctor-inventor name too? No kidding! I once take test call ‘Basil Metabotzankis’ or something, name after him. A Greek, too. Greeks invent lotsa things. They invent sex-making. You know that?”
“No, I didn’t.” The Professor edged away from her nervously. “I wonder if there’s some place I might wash my hands,” he asked nervously.
“Washing johnny there.” Xenobia pointed to a door.
The Professor entered a small bathroom and scrubbed his hands vigorously at the sink. Xenobia stood in the doorway watching him. “Sex hygiene,” she decided after a moment. “I liking that, Basil. You sweetness. Oldsters stir best, I saying always. But hands clean now. Why you keep scrubbing so?”
“Habit, I guess.” The Professor turned off the faucet and dried his hands energetically on a towel.
Xenobia went back into the bedroom. A moment later the Professor followed.“ She was standing in front of the bed unzipping the gown she wore. As the Professor entered, it fell away from her breasts.
“You liking, no?” She took a deep breath. The effect was of twin life preservers being rapidly inflated. “Young-making, no? Greeks invent bazooms, too. Carve out of rock first. But girl-flesh better, no?” She exhaled and then inhaled again rapidly. “Liking bazooms?” she asked again.
“Your mammarian development is really quite extraordinary,” Professor Woocheck assured her. “As a doctor, I can tell you that —”
“You doctoring? Ooh! Making me glad. I going to doctoring tomorrow. Little wart I have here on leg, see?” She pulled her dress up over her thighs to show him.
“That’s a little out of my line,” Professor Woocheck told her. “I’m a gynecologist.”
“A gyne——what?”
“A gynecologist. I specialize in internal female disorders. You know. Like when you have an internal examination.”
“Oh, sure. Doctoring come once a month checking over all the girls. Hey, that some fun specializing.” She giggled.
“Not at all,” the Professor told her sternly. “I never forget that I am a doctor. I always maintain my professional detachment.”
“Hey!” Something had just occurred to Xenobia. “You know we got lot in common working.”
“What do you mean?”
“You playing with women here—” she gestured “-- and getting pay for it. I playing with men same part and getting pay for it. We really almost in same business.”
“Not at all,” the Professor told her icily. “I am concerned only with female diseases—growths and malformations and such.”
“Hey, women get warts there?”
“Not in my experience.”
“Oh. Too bad. I figuring you take out wart there, mine on leg be ducking soup for you?” Xenobia brooded a moment. Then she brightened up. “Hey, I betcha see lotsa ladies’ winejugs your business.”
The Professor looked blank for a moment. Then he comprehended what she meant. “Well, yes. I guess I have,” he granted.
“How many so nicely as this.” With a flourish Xenobia removed her dress and stood before the Professor in the nude.
“It is a remarkably symmetrical pelvic structure,” the Professor granted.
“I training it long time,” Xenobia told him proudly. She Wriggled to demonstrate what she meant.
“Ah! Yes! Excellent vaginal muscular control.”
“No young-making?” Xenobia was disappointed.
“Well, it would be, but you see I really came here in my professional capacity. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but just now I’m not—-umm—in the market for your wares. My real reason for being here is to enlist the aid of you and your fellow workers in a research program.”
“Research programming? What is?”
“We’re doing a study on how people react during coitus.”
“Coitus? Is Greek word?”
“Lovemaking. We’re studying what happens to people’s bodies while they make love.”
“So when studying start?” Xenobia was getting bored.
“You don’t understand. I can’t be a subject in the program. I’m the co-director of the project. My job is to watch and then to evaluate.”
“Oh.” Xenobia nodded knowingly. “You one of those. Why you no telling me downstairs? I get circus put on for you.”
“No, no.” The Professor wiped his brow. “I mean to watch people making love in the laboratory.”
“Basil, man, you really all screwing up,” Xenobia said, not unsympathetically.
“We’re compiling data,” the Professor said desperately.
“Data? Like disa-and-data? Old gaming. Not many calls, but if you want-—”
“We’re trying to find answers to some very important questions about sex!”
“Ah!” A light broke over Xenobia’s face. “You meaning like Kinsey Report. I answering questions for one of them fellows few years back. Ooh! Things he asking! Blush-making! I don’t know who redder, him or me.”
“Well, it is something like the Kinsey Report,” the Professor granted. “Only we’re concerned with the physiological aspects of sex under test conditions, while Kinsey was concerned with—”
“You just wanting sit here and ask questions?”
“Well, no. I want you to agree to come to the Institute and let us observe you while you do what you always do. And I’d like you to help me persuade some of the other girls to do the same. You’ll be paid, of course.”
“Ah! Like private party.”
“Well, not exactly. But—”
“Why you no testing here with me first?” Xenobia wrapped her arms around him and blew in his ear suggestively.
“Well, there’s no apparatus to record--”
“Temperature up. You noting that? Taking clothes off keep cooler.” She tugged off the Professor’s jacket and began opening the buttons of his shirt.
“I’m really quite comfortable. Now, what I want to know is if you’ll—”
“Talking much. Frightening fogies always talking much. You noting that?” She tugged off his shirt and trailed her fingers over the Professor’s bare chest. “I don’t think you should—”
“Panting warm. Take off panting.” Xenobia undid his belt and pulled at his trousers.
“Please. Professional decorum demands —”
“Aha! No wonder panting warm. Long underwearing. No need summer. Very unhealthing. Pores no breath.”
Xenobia yanked until the Professor’s trousers and underwear were crumpled up around his ankles.
Making a fig-leaf out of his crossed hands, the Professor cowered under her determined onslaught. “This is terrible,” he protested. “I didn’t mean to—”
“What that?” Xenobia looked up and cocked her head. There were the sounds of a commotion coming from below. “I go seeing.” She stood up and opened the door. Then she strode to the banister and peered out over the stairs.