That Thing I Sent'cha

Having called a meeting of her senior lawyers and legal assistants, Judy Ken Sebben outlines the status of the law firm's previous and ongoing cases.  Or, at least that's the facade she's put up in order to get to her real agenda...  Outing Peter Potamus. His usual despicable, sexist behavior is one thing, but Judy's newest discovery is a step beyond his normal carnal shenanigans.

The meeting has gone on for hours.  Judy having taken off her suit coat and undone the top couple of buttons of her blouse, seems blissfully unaware that her black lace bra can be seen peeking out.  Or that her more than ample breasts spill over said bra whenever she leans forward.

Peter: (nudging Peanut) Check out the hoo-haws on Kristine Lefebvre.

Peanut: Who?

Peter: Yeah, ain't no sock-stuffin' goin' on there.  Them's prime, grade-A, all-natual D-cups.

Peanut: (looking a Judy, holds up an index finger) Ummm...

Peter: Man, what I wouldn't give to snuggle up to those ripe, juicy casabas.  Am I right?  Am I right?

Peanut: You do realize you're saying that out loud, right?

Judy, sitting a mere three feet away, suddenly stands up and glares at Potamus.

Judy: Mr Potamus, in my office...  Now!

Peanut: (sing-songing) Somebody's in trouble. Somebody's in trouble.

Peter: Oy gevalt.

A short time later Potamus skulks down the hallway, peeking into Judy's office, hat in hand.  Judy gestures to the chair in front of her desk.

Judy: Take a seat, Mr Potamus.

A bear, standing at the corner bar, a mixed drink in one paw, makes a throat-cutting gesture with the other...and then happily sighs.  Potamus sits down across from Judy, his eyes wandering back to her open blouse.  Judy wrinkles her nose, gesturing towards her face with an upturned palm.

Judy: My eyes are up here, Mr Potamus.

Peter's eyes rapidly switch from looking at her chest and then to her face, repeating to the process over and over until Miss Sebben clears her throat.

Judy: While certain behaviors were tolerated under my father... 

Judy points to a photo of Phil Ken Sebben on her desk and then instantly bursts into tears, dabbing a handkerchief to the corner of her eye.

Judy: (faux-crying) Daddy!

Miss Sebben composes herself, turning her attention back to Peter with a serious expression on her face.

Judy: ...it will in no way be tolerated under me.

Peter: I could tolerate being under you.

Judy: What'd you just say?

Peter: I... I could tolerate being under you?

Judy instantly jumps out of her chair and onto the desk, towering over a suddenly fearful Potamus.  Peter cowers, sinking back into his chair while holding up his arms in a defensive manner as an infuriated Judy points down at him.

Judy: THIS...  This is exactly what I'm talking about about!

Potamus continues to cower, then smiles up a her.  Judy is unaware that, upon climbing onto her desk, her short skirt has ridden up her thighs and exposed her garter belt...her black, lace underwear clearly visible from Peter's vantage point.  Noticing what he's staring at, her fury instantly disappears, replaced by humiliation as she grabs the offending skirt and pulls it down.

Peter: (thinking) She's comin' on to me.

Climbing down from her desk, Miss Sebben once again composes herself.  Sitting back in her chair, she takes a deep breath, then leans forward and pulls open one of desk drawers.  Quickly pulling out a plain, legal-sized, manila envelope, she thrusts it towards the hippopotamus. Peter once again cowers, holding up his arms defensively.

Judy: This... 

Peter: I... I didn't send yuh that.

Judy growls as she opens the envelope, pulling out a stack of eight-by-ten glossy photographs, and then thrusts them towards Peter.

Judy: These are the reason I called you in here, Potamus!

Judy holds out a stack of photographs depicting her, naked except for a pair of high heels, laying between the legs of a semi-dresses hippopotamus.  Both her and the hippo have surprised looks on their faces, as if startled by an intruding photographer.  

Peter: You...  You wanna show me dirty pictures?  Hey, whatever gets you off, lady.  

They're fake...really, really good fakes.  In Judy's mind, given Peter's long history of sexist remarks and unwelcome sexual advances towards just about every female in the company (including herself), he is the only possible suspect.

Judy: Mr Potamus, this is clearly your work.

Peter: Ohh, I'm pretty sure I would remember those bazongas laying between my legs.

Judy: These are fake, Potamus!

Potamus stares at the photograph for a few seconds, studying it, then leers at Judy's chest...repeating the process a few time in quick succession.

Peter: Mmmm.  Not from where I'm sittin', sister.

Groaning with annoyance, Judy snatches the pictures away.

Judy: What do you take me for, some kind of imbecile?  It's Photoshop'd...  By you!  Do you deny it?!

Outwardly, Judy continues to look angered, sending a message to her wayward employee.  Inwardly, however, she allows herself a little smile.  Although his response was purely sexist in nature...the stereotypical male chauvinist...she's strangely happy at the fact that Peter doesn't think she's had any work done upstairs.  ...which she has.

Peter: Uhhh, look at these mitts.

Peter holds up a pair of round, purple, and...more importantly...digit-less appendages.

Peter: Imagine me tryin' to open a packet of mustard or sip a cup of Earl Grey.  Do these look like the tools of some kinda Photoshop super wiz-kid?

Judy hold up an index finger, her mouth open, gesturing as if she's about to make some counterpoint and continue her argument.  Instead however, her facial expression instantly changes from anger to sullen resentment.  Whatever evidence she thought she had, circumstantial as it may have been, she now has nothing.

Judy: Uhhhh, no.  (lowers her finger)  No they don't.

Peter: Alright then.  Are we done here?  Cuz, yuh know, I got three hot interns in my office just dyin' tuh...

It's not so much that she is angered by the pictures themselves, doctored as they so obviously are, it is her depiction in them that sets her off.  That's not her face 'shopped onto a naked picture of some pr0n website floozy.  That's actually her...naked...cut-and-pasted from a selfie she took some years ago to impress upon...  

And then it dawns on her, her brow furrowing.  Other than herself, the only person who has ever seen that photo is...

Judy: (through gritted teeth) Birdman.

Peter: A ménage à three, huh?  Me, you...and the flyin' wingtip?  

The hippo crosses his arms, frowning, looking away in faux-affront.

Peter: I'm not willin' tuh share.

Judy points towards the door, still speaking through gritted teeth.

Judy: Get.  Out.

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Original Art by HD-2

Commissioned by Phillipthe2