A Rare Finds Tale
by J. S. Volpe
Copyright © 2012 J. S. Volpe
All rights reserved.
Cover image: IVL/Shutterstock.com
Ms. Gwyneth Weeble smiled with almost orgasmic delight as I slid the baggie containing the Pope’s underwear across my desk and into her chubby pink fingers.
“That’s it,” she said, her voice a reverent whisper. “That’s it.” Raising the bag in one trembling hand, she hungrily eyed the holy undies. They were yellow. They were silk. They had thin brown skid-marks on the seat.
I smiled a little to myself. I always enjoy the looks on my clients’ faces when I deliver the goods—the surprise, the glee, the satisfaction with me and with the job I’ve done.
Then I showed her the bill. I always enjoy the looks those get, too.
Her smile vanished. She blinked at me, her lips opening and closing as if she were mouthing “buh” over and over. Then she looked at the bill again, a little more closely this time, to make sure I hadn’t put the decimal in the wrong place.