Tom Casey was surely one of life's more fortunate people. He was in his late thirties, ruggedly handsome, and enjoyed excellent health. He had a large, comfortable home in suburban Los Angeles, a good job in an advertising agency, a BMW and a Corvette, and an attractive wife named Madge who taught English at a nearby junior college.

He also had an eye for a well-turned ankle, and thereby hangs the proverbial tale.

Tom was not just the possessor of said eye for a well-turned ankle; he was a man driven by thoughts constantly filled with things sexual. Since early youth when he first learned girls had charms that had hitherto been unknown to him, he was absolutely entranced by women and their endlessly appealing forms.

He quickly learned that this attraction stemmed from anticipated joy as much as from actual physical encounters. He spent many a fascinating hour in school watching skirts riding high on silken thighs as the girls, seemingly unaware but seldom actually so, carelessly crossed and re-crossed their legs and exposed them to an alarming degree. He would engage in such time-honored pastimes as dropping a pencil so he could retrieve it and steal a look at yonder pretty thighs tantalizingly offered for his inspection by one of the little hussies from the cheerleading squad. Or he'd hang around out front where the girls sat on the school steps with their legs drawn up and offered panoramic views of forbidden sights to any interested onlooker.

He was especially fond of boobs both big and not so big. Of course, the girls accommodated him by carefully displaying their boobs in a manner designed to show them to their best advantage. They made a point of wearing clothing which highlighted their boobs with special bras especially constructed to hold them up and bring them to points and emphasize the nipples and generally advertise to the world that they had nice boobs and that it would be well worth somebody's effort to bring them within his grasp.

While still a freshman in high school, Tom fell in with a group of fellow adolescents who were also addicted to boobs and legs and things amorous–which is to say that he fell in with other average American teen-age boys. On one occasion Tom and some of his depraved associates sneaked into the plenum chambers under the school and made their way to a place where a wire grating covering an air duct provided a breathtaking view of the girls' locker room. The air duct opened into a corner of the room where some ten or twelve lockers were visible to Tom and his friends and they were rewarded for their efforts by the sight of any number of girls personally known to them as they appeared in varying states of undress all the way down to and including stark nakedness.

Needless to say, Tom spent many a fascinating hour peering into that air duct and would have continued to do so through his senior year except that air duct was also a favorite spot for several male teachers as well as the school principal and it was only a matter of time until they were discovered one day and driven off by the older voyeurs who claimed seniority rights to this particular activity.

Anyway, like all decent, red-blooded American boys, Tom spent his adolescent years in a continuing search for willing partners, girls who shared his sensual interests and who could be convinced to share even more tangible aspects of themselves. Accordingly, he aspired to make himself as attractive as possible to the opposite sex by wearing "cool" attire and going out for varsity sports in high school and taking classes which contained as many girls as possible. For example, he took no shop classes since few girls–other than some who wore leather jackets and chewed tobacco–would be found there. On the other hand, he was one of the few boys who took shorthand and advanced typing, both classes which were crammed to the walls with sexy creatures of all kinds.

Well, it all paid off eventually just as determination and tunnel vision will always reward the owner of such traits whatever one's goals. When Tom was fifteen and a sophomore, he arranged to visit a girl named Paula who was a senior and babysitting a block or two over from his own house. Naturally, he hoped he'd luck out, as the saying goes, and he did.

Paula was a shapely young thing who had her own erotic thoughts and, what's more to the point here, had already shared said thoughts with sundry others and was experienced in ways that Tom wasn't. However, inexperienced or not, Tom was more than able to rise to the occasion and thirty minutes after arriving he found himself deeply engrossed in the very first of what would prove to be an endless stream of similar encounters in the future.

What's more, Tom's every expectation was met and fulfilled beyond his wildest dreams. It was wonderful. The heady excitement of that first experience never left him; he remembered it in great detail ever after as he did, in fact, all of his experiences with the ladies. The magic of the moment, the rush of heat, the feel of things not felt before, the wonderful sense of an ultimate closeness, the incredibly erotic sensation of standing back as a detached spectator watching himself with her, all these things crashed together in those thirty minutes and Tom knew intuitively that his life was changed forever.

Tom cut a wide swath through high school after Paula and went on to college where he majored in journalism and sex. He spent all his spare time in the pursuit of what had truly become his avocation. Every pretty girl on campus, and anywhere else he happened to run across one, became an object of interest to Tom's libido.

It should be pointed out here, in order to give an even-handed picture of Tom Casey, that he was by no means some kind of troglodyte in his treatment of women. He liked women. He didn't abuse them or demean them or humiliate them. He was always considerate of their feelings and went out of his way to keep all of them as friends when the relationship went south, as it were. Years later, when he met his former paramours on the street or at some social event, he always talked amiably with them and regarded each of them fondly as pleasant memories of a mutually shared past.

He often brought them gifts because he knew all women like to receive gifts and he liked to please them. He enjoyed the surprise and pleasure in their eyes at such a moment. He always remembered birthdays and special occasions with gifts or cards; in fact, he often sent cards on special occasions to women he remembered warmly but had not seen in years.

Generally speaking, Tom was a very interesting, friendly, well-adjusted kind of guy with a wholesome outlook on life and a high regard for his fellow man. His only real fault was his inordinate love for the ladies, if that really is a fault.

After college, Tom went into advertising because the newspapers refused to pay him more than a starving wage to work as a reporter. He was very good at his job and enjoyed several promotions and accompanying salary increases and his avocation flourished as never before. All in all, he enjoyed an idyllic existence–and then he got married.

Madge came along when Tom was thirty and at a time when he felt an unaccountable urge to put some stability into his life. She was very pretty and intelligent and an altogether fit companion for Tom and he dearly loved her. It was a very good match and Tom turned out not unexpectedly to be an ideal husband in every way except one: he never lost his inordinate fascination with the other well-turned ankles that were forever dancing and flashing around him.

Madge wasn't blind to his interest in other women, of course. While Tom was discreet, no amount of discretion can keep such knowledge from an interested spouse, at least not from a discerning one. Madge never actually caught Tom in an affair, but she knew such things were going on and it was the sorest of sore spots in their marriage. She dealt with it as best she could because theirs was such an excellent marriage in every other way, but she was not entirely pleased with things as they were and even considered divorce from time to time.

And that brings us to the chain of events which lead to a resolution of the matter once and for all.

 Tom stood tying his tie before a large mirror in his bedroom on a bright summer morning when he glanced through the window and saw a lovely young thing scantily clad in shorts and T-shirt as she jogged along the street. Her hair was tied with a yellow headband and her slim arms pumped like elegant pistons as she ran, her fine boobs bouncing merrily as they moved under the thin cloth of her shirt.

'Jesus Christ,' he said to himself, 'would you look at that? Just get a load of those boobs, for God's sake!'

She was braless and her nipples strained against the shirt as she ran. Tom watched, fascinated. His head bounced lightly up and down as he unconsciously kept time with the girl's bouncing boobs. He followed her with his eyes as she passed his line of sight and disappeared down the street.

"Jesus," he muttered.

Madge entered the bedroom then from the walk-in closet where she'd been dressing. She wore a half-slip and was naked above the waist, her own excellent breasts moving seductively as she moved. She held a bra in her hand and was just putting it on. Tom, ever alert to anything sexual such as the odd pair of boobs (even if they did belong to his own wife), watched her in the mirror while his head continued to keep time with the bouncing boobs of the running girl.

"Are you sure you never studied music?" Madge asked drily. "You keep better time than a metronome."

"Hmmm?" Tom said, his mind's eye still on the girl.

"You heard me." She nodded at the window. "She bounces by here every morning."

"What?" he said. "Oh, that girl? I hardly noticed her."

"Then why is your head still keeping time with her boobs?" Madge demanded.

Tom looked in the mirror and noticed that his head was, in fact, bouncing.

"Oh, that," he said. "That's just a new tune Phil's using for a tire commercial. It goes like this." He used his finger as a baton to indicate the tempo.

Madge hooked her bra and slipped into her blouse. "You've got a problem, Tom."

"Me? A problem? Are you kidding? I make lots of money, enjoy perfect health, and I've got one of the finest wives on this side of town. I don't see any problems in that."

"Sometimes I don't know why I keep you around," she said, sighing. "You're incorrigible."

Madge was upset and Tom knew it. As she began applying her make-up, Tom moved to the valet where his clothes were laid out and reached into his coat pocket. He came out with a small, gaily wrapped package and moved toward her.

He put his arms around her and she started to shrug him off until he showed her the package.

"Maybe you keep me around because I still remember your birthday after eight years."

Madge saw the package and was surprised and delighted.

"You got me a present for my birthday?"

"Oh, it's nothing, really. Just a little something to let you know I'm always thinking of you."

Madge sighed and smiled. "You really are incorrigible, aren't you?"

"Go on, open it. We'll see who's incorrigible around here."

Madge opened the package to reveal elegant gold and pearl earrings. She smiled and looked at Tom.

"They're beautiful, Tom. You shouldn't have."

"I knew you'd like 'em," he said. "Beautiful earrings for a beautiful lady."

Madge turned and kissed him and drew back to look into his face for a moment. "What am I ever going to do with you?" she said.

"Nothing, I hope," he said, straightening up and starting away.

Tom stopped at the door and looked back at her. "Am I still incorrigible?" he asked.

"More than ever," she said, pouting slightly. "I don't know how you can ogle that girl's boobs and then do something nice like this."

"You're lovely when you're angry, Madge–and you're lovely most of the time," he said grinning.

She feigned anger and pretended to throw something at him. He laughed and ducked out as Madge looked back to the mirror and sighed wistfully. Tom started down the stairs with his head bouncing in time to the bouncing boobs again.

"Actually, it's easy," he said half-aloud, and grinned.

Tom went down to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice and turned on the coffee pot. Sipping the juice, he went to the door and looked out on the porch for the morning paper which was nowhere in sight, as usual. Tom frowned and went back to the kitchen. He was sitting at the table reading the back of a cereal box when Madge came down a few minutes later.

"No paper again!" he said. "If you're still giving that kid a tip, stop it. The little bastard misses us three days out of four. If we had to depend on our paper for the news, World War III could be going on all around us and we'd never know the difference!"

"Oh, give the kid a break," Madge said, moving to the coffee. "He's only about ten years old, you know. The poor little tyke can hardly lift his newspaper bag."

'Well, if the business is too much for him he should find another line of work," Tom said. "Paperboys have to be responsible, people depend on 'em. I say we turn his ass in and get him fired."

Madge poured coffee and shook her head. "Now you know you aren't going to have anyone fired," she said. "You're not the kind who fires people."

"Oh, yeah? I'll fire that little bastard if he doesn't start getting the paper here before noon, by God!"

The phone rang during this tirade and Madge reached for the receiver without waiting to hear the end of Tom's speech.

"Hello? Oh, hi, Bren. No, I haven't forgotten. Noon at Brady's, sure. Of course I'll be there. Oh, Tom's just leaving. Me, too, in a minute. I've got a nine o'clock class this morning. Say, do you know what he did this morning? Just a few minutes ago? He gave me gold and pearl earrings for my birthday! And they're elegant, Bren. He has very good taste–if he's the one who picked them out."

While Madge talked on the phone she leaned her elbows on the counter and her blouse gaped open in an alarming way and Tom reached out

and pulled it even further open and peeked in at her breasts. She slapped his hand away and frowned.

"I know, Bren, I do think about it. In fact, it's all I think about lately. I...I guess I just haven't come to any decision... Hey, I've got to run or I'll be late! Okay. At noon. Right. 'Bye."

"Pretty soft," Tom said. "A leisurely lunch with Brenda while the rest of us have to work all day."

"Who works all day? The advertising industry invented the three-hour three-martini lunch. If they paid you by the hours you actually worked, you'd have to go on relief."

"Ah, but think of the mental strain, the pressure, the competition," Tom said. "Million dollar accounts hang in the balance with every decision we make, careers are made or broken on a single ad campaign. We need those three-hour lunches and the martinis so we can keep up with the pace."

"Humph! After three martinis, it's a wonder you can even stand up."

"Some can't," Tom said, shrugging. "Those guys have to go into teaching." Tom took a last sip of coffee, grabbed his briefcase, and headed for the door.

"Bring a pizza. I don't feel like cooking tonight."

"Right," Tom said. "See you tonight."

Tom climbed into his Corvette and backed from the garage into the street. As he followed the winding road leading from his home to the freeway he closed on a pretty girl riding a racing bike, the kind with the low handlebars and high seat. She wore very short shorts and leaned over the handlebars and her pants could be seen where the shorts were not sufficiently long enough to cover same. Tom focused on her wig-wagging posterior as he passed her and he shook his head in silent wonder at the sight.

'Isn't that a remarkable sight?' Tom thought as he drove slowly past her. 'Boy, wouldn't it be something to help her out of those shorts and...Jesus!'

As he passed her he looked in the rear view mirror in an effort to see down her blouse and he very nearly clipped a mailbox as the winding street wound unexpectedly on him and he didn't even get to see her boobs in the bargain.

Tom reached the freeway and sped down the on ramp and merged with the flow of traffic which moved at the unusually brisk pace of about twenty miles an hour. He punched the radio and classical music filled the car. Long since accustomed to the heavy traffic and maddeningly uneven flow, he relaxed and settled in for the hour-long trip to the office.

In another fifty minutes Tom ducked up an off ramp and onto a one-way surface street with three lanes and encountered the first traffic light in twenty-five miles of driving. He was stopped in the center lane in the first line of cars at the light and it happened that the cars on both sides of him were also being driven by lone men.

As they waited for the light to change they watched a bevy of gorgeous young ladies who worked in the surrounding high-rise office buildings cross the street in front of them. These ladies wore the thinnest of thin summer dresses and their bodies were silhouetted against the early morning sun in alarming detail. Tom and his fellow drivers were so enchanted by the sight that they continued to watch the girls after the light changed to green.

'Would you look at that one!' Tom thought. 'She may as well have left that dress at home. Those are first-rate legs, all right. I'd love to have 'em wrapped around me for an hour or so!'

At last, an old woman in the car directly behind Tom honked her horn and leaned from her window to shake her fist at him and demand that he wake the hell up and get going. Tom snapped back to the real world and hurriedly drove off.

As Tom pulled into a parking slot in the garage he saw a leggy blonde who was just getting out of her car where it was parked a slot over and one up from his own. She had spun on the seat and put both feet out of the car in the approved manner when she remembered that she'd forgotten something and she leaned back to retrieve it. As she did so her skirt rose high on her thigh and she parted her legs in stretching to reach the back seat and provided Tom with a sweeping view of what might be called virgin (to him, anyway) territory.

'It's astonishing how it works,' Tom thought as he gazed on the scene unfolding before him. 'A few seconds in time, the briefest flash of nylon-clad leg and captivating white thigh, and your mind's paralyzed and turned into so much mush. Astonishing. How does it gain such a hold on us? What are the mechanics of it, anyway?'

Of course, the lady under scrutiny at the moment was, presumably, anyway, unaware of all these mental hi-jinks and she went about her business. After a moment, she secured her package and slid from the car with her skirt riding up around her waist. When she stood it slid down into place and she started for the exit. Tom heaved a mighty sigh and climbed from his own car and followed her from the parking structure.

Minutes later Tom arrived at the offices of Steen and Boyle, one of the more important ad agencies in the LA area. He passed through the outer office where an assortment of wholesome looking young ladies made up most of the work force. As Tom made his way toward his own office he spotted a pretty secretary where she was kneeling at the files with a healthy amount of shapely thigh revealed for all to see. A co-worker of Tom's caught the direction of his gaze and looked at the sight himself. He smiled and winked at Tom who nodded and grinned back at a shared secret.

'Christ,' he thought, 'it's everywhere.'

As he reached the door leading to the executive suites he was accosted by Ginny, a pretty secretary who sat at her desk with her own skirt riding several inches above her knee. At the same moment Carol stopped at the nearby files and began rummaging through them as Phil Skeeter approached from the opposite direction.

"Oh, Mr. Casey," Ginny said coyly, "I have some time free if you need to stay late again tonight."

"Oh, uh, thanks, Gin," Tom said evasively. "I'll, uh, have to see how the day goes first. I'll check with you later, okay?" He smiled and turned away.

"You know you can call on me any time, Mr, Casey!" she called after him.

Carol turned away from the files and smiled wryly at Ginny. "Welcome to the club," she said.

Ginny looked after her and frowned.

Tom met Phil at the door to the executive suites where he waited for him. Phil's gaze swept the office and the numerous pretty girls working there.

"Tom, you must feel like a sheik overseeing his harem," he said wistfully.

Tom grinned and nodded. "You could say that."

Tom started into the inner offices while Phil hung back for a second and scanned the room with undisguised longing. He shook his head and followed Tom.

He caught up to him and they were heading toward Tom's office when they met a shapely young thing coming toward them. She smiled at them as she passed and Tom turned and looked after her.

"New girl?" he asked.

"Started today," Phil nodded. "She's probably heard all about you by now, though."

"It doesn't matter. I've got the touch, Phil. Women recognize a special quality in me–or think they do, which is the same thing. It's all a matter of holding your mouth right."

Tom laughed and entered his office. Phil stopped at the door and tried holding his mouth in various ways before giving up on it.

"Don't forget the meeting this afternoon. One sharp."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Tom said. "They tell me we've got a new account, a big one."

"That's what I hear," Phil said, starting out.

"Hey, what'd you say that new girl's name was?" Tom called after him. "I want to check her shorthand."

"Humph. Is that what they call it now? Drake. Sharon Drake."

Phil disappeared and Tom punched the intercom. "Helen, send in Ms. Drake, will you? And see if Hogan's in yet."

Tom flipped the intercom off and reached into his desk drawer and took out a desk nameplate. He went around to the front of his desk and removed the current nameplate and stuck the new one in its place. He stepped back and read THOMAS CASEY, V.P. He was admiring the overall effect when the door opened behind him and Sharon Drake entered with notepad in hand. He quickly snatched the new nameplate away and put the old one down.

"Ah, company rule," he explained. "Change nameplates every six months. Keeps everyone on his toes. Uh, you must be Ms. Drake, then?"

"Yes," she said, clutching her notepad to her breast. "This is my first day on the job. I'm a little nervous."

"Nonsense. You'll do just fine, Ms. Drake. This is a great place to work–if you're a masochist. Sit down there. We'll run through a few letters."

Ms. Drake moved to the chair indicated and sat down in it as Tom moved back to his own chair behind the desk. As she settled in Ms. Drake's skirt slid a goodly distance up her leg and exposed a considerable expanse of nylon-clad thigh. Tom instantly focused in on the sight and sighed softly.

"You'll do just fine, Sharon," he said, and he looked up from her legs and smiled at her.

Madge pulled her BMW into the parking lot and left it for valet parking as she hurried into the restaurant a few minutes late for her meeting with Brenda. The popular restaurant was packed as usual and Madge had to survey the crowded tables before finally seeing Brenda in the atrium where she was waving to her. Madge smiled and made her way to the table.

"Whew! Am I late?"

"Six minutes, but I didn't mind," Brenda said. "That gentleman near the foyer has been entertaining me with a piercing glance and questioning eyebrows. A few more minutes and I might have found myself another luncheon partner."

Madge glanced at the man and said, "In that case, I guess I got here just in time. One of my less able students showed up at the last minute with an assignment that was due two weeks ago. I've found one needs a few minutes to break the bad news that someone has to repeat the course. It's a moment that calls for certain humanitarian niceties."

"You're a compassionate woman, Madge," Brenda said, raising a hand to attract a passing waitress who nodded and stopped.

"Two of your house salads and iced tea, please," Brenda said. The waitress nodded and left. Madge looked pensively across the room and Brenda quickly detected the mood. "You all right?" she asked.

Madge broke her reverie and smiled. "Sure."

"You're not planning anything foolish about Tom, are you?"

"Oh, I just don't know, Bren," Madge said wearily. "I...guess I just don't know what to do."

"You're making trouble for yourself where none exists, Madge. Tom is a fantastic husband in almost every respect..."

"Except one," Madge interjected.

"Well, nobody's perfect."

"That's easy for you to say," Madge said. "How would you feel if Charles cheated on you?"

Brenda didn't reply. She looked steadily at Madge and Madge suddenly guessed a previously unknown fact about her friend's own marriage.

"Oh, Bren!" she said quickly. "I never dreamed Charles would cheat...!"

Brenda shrugged. "Why wouldn't he? He's a man, isn't he? And even worse than that, he's a lawyer, Madge."

"Well, that's right, he is, isn't he?" Madge said, reflecting. "I guess I should have known."

The waitress arrived then with their salads and tea and they spent the next minute or two dealing with lunch. Then Brenda took up where they'd left off.

"Look, it's what I've been trying to tell you all along, Madge, it's always a trade-off. Nobody ever gets everything she wants in any relationship. We all compromise. Anything else would be perfection and that doesn't exist anywhere I ever heard of."

"Oh, I know that, Bren, but it's so hard to deal with his philandering. I just know he seduces every woman he comes in contact with; it seems nobody can resist the man when he turns on the charm."

Brenda looked at Madge and then looked away. "But look at his good points, Madge!" she said. "Tom's generous and he's a good provider. And he's thoughtful–he remembers your birthday. And he's handsome and he's great in bed, too."

Madge looked quickly at Brenda. "How could you know that?" she asked sharply.

"Because you told me so, silly. How else would I know such a thing?"

Madge hesitated ever so slightly and then, mollified, looked away again and Brenda rolled her eyes to indicate a narrow escape. "Where were we?" she said.

"You were telling me what a great husband Tom is."

"Well, he is. I'm telling you, Madge, Tom is one of the better deals in this town. There are lots of women who'd love to have him."

"Humph!" Madge said. "Lot's of them have."

"Still, I think you're being foolish. Tom has lots of good qualities and his only real fault is a bit of a roving eye..."

"Hey, I wouldn't care if his eye roved, but the rest of him roves with it!"

"Madge, Tom's a keeper. You're lucky to have him. And, what's more, the guy really likes you."

"Then why does he want to sleep with every woman he meets?"

"I don't know," Brenda said, shrugging. "Maybe he needs professional help."

"He wouldn't go. He doesn't think there's anything wrong with him."

The waitress returned with the check and they debated the wisdom of having dessert and finally didn't. After the waitress left, Brenda raised her iced tea in a toast.

"To common sense and good judgment."

"Right," Madge said, raising her glass. "I wish Tom had more of both."

"I was talking about you," Brenda said.

Madge smiled wanly and they spent the last few minutes in aimless talk about mutual friends and upcoming events and finally left. When she reached her car Madge got in and sat thinking for a minute or two before starting it. She gazed absently through the windshield, then tightened her jaw as she seemed to come to a firm decision on some problem that had long been troubling her.

Meanwhile, at Steen and Boyle...