How Lacey “Linked-In”

To be honest, her co-workers were a little tired of hearing about Lacey's "artistic" abilities. Everyone in the factory knew Little Lacey Lockhart, though she had long since grown out of the “Little” sobriquet, and was now just Lacey, mostly. Many of those she worked with had known Lacey her whole life. After all, Jefferson was a town of only 13,000 people, and the Lockhart girls were a staple at Lacerno’s Manufacturing. Both Lacey’s mother and her grandmother had also toiled their lives away in this factory. Big Lacey was one of the originals, in fact, having started way back when Old Man Lacerno first got the government grant that allowed him to mass produce socks and gloves for the boys in the war; a necessary if not very profitable commodity, which explains the change.

In defense of her co-workers, Lacey had never in her life exhibited to them any talent for anything whatsoever, artistically or not, so who could have foreseen her change? Being Southerners, they were too polite to laugh when Lacey said she wanted to be an artist, but she stopped saying it all the same, because what they did was worse than laughing. They ignored her. They looked at her like she was daft before returning to their trivial conversations, as if she hadn’t said anything at all. What they didn’t know however, what none of them could know, was that Little Lacey Lockhart did indeed have an artistic bent. Funny thing was, she herself did not yet know what her special talent was, but she was certain that there was one hidden inside her, and that it would eventually manifest itself. The people around her did not believe in her just yet, but they would soon find out, for the fates were ready to reveal that Lacey’s confidence was well placed… in an off-hand sort of way.

The eight-to-four factory shift was a drudgery that, like everyone else at the factory, Lacey suffered because she must. There is nothing exciting, nothing fun about manufacturing surgical gloves, but the only other option in these parts was to work ten hour days in a cotton, or rice field. Most of those employed by Lacerno had already been there and done that; many of them still carried the scarred hands and wrinkled faces to prove it. Even still, despite the lack of better options, Lacey hated the factory. She hated the smell of the melting latex. She hated the loud machinery. She hated the thin strips of rubbery plastic that littered the floors and were impossible to sweep up with a broom. She wondered did anyone upstairs in the offices really believe that a tenure badge paper-clipped to her apron was motivational? Lacey Lockhart was neither blind, nor was she an idiot. Here she was, a young woman killing herself working overtime hours down on the hot factory floor while there were big shots were sitting right upstairs in their air conditioned offices raking in company cars and bonus checks! Lacey could hardly even muster the will to drag herself in to work most days, but the ugly truth was that she needed this job. There was nothing better. And so she suffered the humiliations of sprinting full speed through the front doors every morning until she was made into the break room laughingstock, always late to punch the time-clock. The “Coaching and Counseling” sessions were adding up. Lacey was down to her final, Final Warning when The Lacerno Manufacturing Company, “Lacerno; Shaping Latex for Your Future” announced the start-up of a new division. When construction on the new wing began the rumors flew, everyone being curious about what products they would be making, and what changes would be coming from those products (there is nothing so dreadful to a country person as change, which is the true reason they are so interested in the weather). The workers watched wide-eyed as newfangled, automated equipment was brought into the new wing and assembled there, until soon the giant, empty space was cluttered up with gleaming chrome conveyors, and contrivances. Once that was done, the speculation of hours-upon-days turned to the equipment's many possible functions and purposes. This guesswork continued right up until the announcement was finally made. To Lacey’s amazement it was the most unbelievable of the hundreds of rumors that was true! Lacerno was about to begin manufacturing sex toys for women. Finally, something in this shit-hole place that even a lowly quality control girl could get excited about!

Surprisingly, her transfer request to the new division was accepted. Lacey assumed it was because “Fucking Margaret” her supervisor wanted to get rid of her, but it didn’t matter why, did it? Not when there was finally something to show up to work for besides Hawaiian shirt Friday, or the quarterly pot-luck luncheon with it’s six crockpots full of the same Piggly-Wiggly beanie-weenies.

From this point, Lacey’s transformation happened so fast it was startling to those other tenured employees who knew her so well. The cause of the change they suspected, although it was not as obvious as it appeared on the surface level. There were some chuckles at first, of course, but the chuckles didn’t last, because no matter the reason behind it the change was real. Little Lacey, after years of indolence, had suddenly become engaged in her work. She was motivated. She was no longer the laughing stock who sprinted through the doors at 8:10 am just to keep her job. She stopped calling in sick. Her long bathroom breaks ended. She started making time for her training, wanting to familiarize herself with the new machinery, and their new procedures. She even began caring about the things most of the other workers on the assembly line considered trivial bullshit; like higher efficiency, safety, and that ethereal ideal of “the bottom line” that everyone always heard about, but no one ever saw. But the truly amazing day for them, the day that stunned them all, was that morning pep-rally when Lacey, the quietest one on the line, began pitching in some ideas. Lacey Lockhart spoke up! She did so, and soon afterward an even crazier thing happened. To the astonishment of everyone at Lacerno Manufacturing, worker and supervisor alike, Little Lacey Lockhart got promoted!

What the others didn’t know was that it was not the product itself that sparked the change in Lacey, as they all suspected, but rather it was her disappointment in that product. Lacey’s order was one of the very first ones taken by Lacerno’s mail-order department. The girls in Shipping and Receiving had snickered when they saw Lacey's name on the outbound printed shipping label, but the snickers quickly died as those who were snickering secretly plotted orders of their own.

For her part, Lacey‘s heartbeat pounded to a stop when she arrived home from the factory that day to find the plain, brown package waiting on her apartment’s landing. Embarrassed at what she had done, she grabbed it up before the neighbors could see, and she hurried inside with it, lest they guess what the package contained. She had a creepy feeling, like she was being watched, as she cut the tape on the outer shipping box. All the while her anticipation was increasing, but to add to the already palpable suspense, before opening it she set the package down on the coffee table and hurried off to the bedroom, where she kicked off her shoes. Next off came her t-shirt, her jeans, and what little was underneath them. She flung on her bathrobe, and hurried back to the living room, although she was still unready to give way to her excitement. She figured she’d might as well make an evening of it, so instead of tearing it open she headed into the kitchen, where she filled an antique, colorfully striped iced tea glass with straight vodka over ice. Finally ready, she took a few steeling sips before perching herself on the very edge of the sofa, giving her pounding heart a moment to adjust to the titillating gift that Lacerno Manufacturing, of all the unlikely gift-givers in the world, had sent to her front door... for a small fee.

She removed it from the packing paper slowly, carefully, as if it was fragile (which of course it was not) and held it gently in both of her hands. To be perfectly honest, it’s appearance left something to be desired. It was smooth, almost industrial looking, and as colorless as the surgical gloves she had spent the past four years inspecting for faults. She rubbed her fingers along it’s length, her guilty shame forcing her to check the window blinds as she did so. It felt cold, lifeless in her hands. She sighed, already a tad disappointed with her new “toy” before she had even put it to it’s intended use. She set it back on the table and picked up her vodka glass. She watched it laying there as she drank; a dead, plastic thing. The vodka seemed more alive, and was touching her deeper inside than the plastic phallus, so she took a larger gulp, a gulp large enough that she picked the thing back up with a renewed, and inebriated determination. She parted her legs, letting the bathrobe fall away off to the sides as she closed her eyes. She rubbed the tip of it against herself, and was soon breathing differently; slower, deeper. Twenty minutes later Little Lacey was neither satisfied, nor disappointed, but she was not elated, and she should have been elated. She deserved that, didn’t she? Some elation? Yes, it did function; the thing did what it was supposed to do, but then so could the handle of her hair brush have done that, or a hundred other things lying around her apartment were she gross enough to use them. It was then that Lacey had her epiphany. She looked at the sorry looking dick for a long while, feeling the change happening within herself, waiting to find out just what it was that was happening to her as a new determination filled her insides, finally settling itself as firmly and deeply in there as the vodka had. It was right here, in her little apartment, alone on her couch, her robe tussled under her bare bottom, buzzed with vodka and exhausted by a hard earned orgasm, that Lacey Lockhart’s calling finally struck her. ”Don’t worry,” she said to it as she set it back in the box. “Momma knows what to do. I swear to God, I am going to either turn you into something worth the money I shelled out for you, or I am going to kill myself trying!” If only Lacey had known how prophetic those words would prove to be for her, just as they would be for her new ”little friend”.

Lacey knew what to do, what she didn’t know was how to do it. The guys in “Casting” were surprised when Lacey Lockhart, the newest and least likely supervisor at Lacerno, started hanging around their shop after her own shift was over. “I am interested in what you guys do, is all. Teach me.” So they did. They showed her how to make the clay molds, how to heat the latex, and how to pour it. The work had to be done in reverse, like looking into a 3-D mirror, but she quickly became adept. Learning new skills is easy when there is love in the labor. She started hanging out longer, and longer still, loving the design challenges the molds provided. She was doing their jobs for them, so the boys were happy to let her stay. She was a sponge, peppering them with infernal questions, questions they themselves did not know the answers to, but they did notice that, ever so slowly the shape of the final product was changing. It developed natural looking folds and veins, and a larger ridge down it’s center. She gave it girth, contour, and a smooth, contoured head. They were more-so visual improvements she added, rather than practical, but Lacey knew that they were improvements that would add to the overall experience, none-the-less. The guys found it amusing, watching as she did their jobs better than they could. They jabbed each other with their elbows and smirked at her test products, but Lacey had learned well from her own escapade, and what she had learned was that a girl wants something naughty to peek out at her when she opens that box; not just a tool to do a job. What a girls wants is the fantasy, and the tool to help her realize that fantasy. What a girl wants is some shock and awe when her Jack-In-The-Box pops. She wants to feel a little bit naughty, dirty even. She wants it all, she wants to be swept away in her risque moment alone. A girl wants a pleasurable experience that was created just for her.

Once she had learned all the boys could teach her about casting the molds, Lacey made her way over to Research and Development. “We have sold over 800 units now,” she told them as she gathered the team around her. “How many of the buyers have we surveyed about their, uh, experience with the product?” Her question was met with crickets… just as she suspected. The three women and two men who made up the department looked sheepishly at one another, avoiding Lacey’s eyes at all costs. After all, who wants to be the one to survey a customer about how well their new dildo worked?

“Not one of them?“ She asked incredulously. “So we have no idea if our customers enjoyed using our product? Well, have you at least tried the product yourselves, then?” The women’s faces grew red, and the the men’s redder still. “Come on, people! Are you being serious? You haven't even tried them out? You are Research and Development, for Christ’s sake! Try the damned thing! Everyone, right now, pick one up! Feel it! Touch it! Put it in your mouths! What are you waiting for? Go on! Do it!”

She wasn’t their boss, but Lacey was a supervisor… and she wasn’t wrong. They were Research and Development. It was awkward, but Lacey picked one up with them, leading them by her example, so they followed her. Together they held the toys up and touched them. Lacey had each of them stroke theirs, and lick it. One woman even tried rubbing hers lovingly against her cheek, as she did at home with her husband. The giggling slowly died out as the room took on a more serious, more experimental vein.

"Ok, people! So what does it feel like?”

”It feels cold and hard, almost like metal,” the one who had rubbed her cheek offered with a smirk.

”Exactly, Kendra! Guys, what do you think? Does it feel like your own?”

They shook their heads in unison. “Why not? What is wrong with it?”

”Kendra’s right. It’s too cold. It doesn’t feel like skin.”

”Especially not like hot skin!” The other guy on the team blurted out, and then buried his face in his arms.

”No, Eugene! Don’t be embarrassed! You are absolutely right! Well. There you go then, boys and girls. Fix it! Make it feel right!” And she left them to it, thrilled at the clamorous sounds of excited activity she was leaving behind her. The team in Research and Development was on a mission! She made a mental note to stop in tomorrow to check on their progress. “Who ever knew,” she wondered to herself, “how much fun work could be?”

The Human Resources Office was one room that Lacey was more familiar with, one she had visited many times before, back when she was still making surgical gloves; back in a time that she now thought of as her “past life” when she bothered to think of it at all. Their initial reaction to her when she entered came as looks of surprise, and approval. Gone were her jeans and t-shirt. In their place Lacey wore a business suit, and sensible, shiny, work appropriate shoes. The office was small, but she noticed that they had already slid in a third chair for her. “So,” Lacey thought to herself. “They are prepared.”

Well. So was she! She set the box she brought in with her down on the floor next to her feet.

”Lacey!” Maximilian Lacerno, Jr.’s voice boomed in the little room. “Just what is it y’all are up to down there? What is happening to my… ummm… to our product? I can hardly recognize it anymore, as it has taken on a vulgar shape, and tone! We are a Christian company, Lacey Lockhart! Where did y‘all get approval to make these changes, and who is going to pay for them?”

”Well, Mr. Lacerno. You did make me a supervisor. When you did so, you empowered me to make changes that would improve profitability, did you not?”

”Profitability, yes! Design, no! My God Lacey, you even have them changing the packaging? Do you have any idea how much all of this is going to cost? I must ask again, who approved these changes?”

”I did, sir.”

”You did? Our newest, and lowest ranking supervisor approved a million dollars worth of changes to a product that had a million dollars worth of research in it already? Lacey, I knew your mother. She’s the reason why you have this job, bless her soul. But this is preposterous! What do you think she would say about this new design? It is indecent! She would be mortified if she was still with us! Just what do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you to figure out a way to inject color, Mr. Lacerno.“

”Do what?”

It needs a pinkish tint. A hard dick is full of blood. It is a thing alive; not a sickly, pallid yellow. It needs blue in the veins, and purple on the head, muted colors, of course. Do that, and we will sell millions of units… not thousands. We will have to convert the glove wing into another one for dildos, just to keep up with demand. That is what you should help me do! That is what I expect you to do. Do that and revenue won’t just double. It will quadruple. Isn’t that what we all are here for?”

”Lacey, we cannot do this.”

”Mr. Lacerno, we can do it. Most of it is already done. Let me show you something.” Lacey picked the box up from the floor, and set it on the desk. Mrs. Winslow, the HR Director, had stayed silent up until now, but she leaned forward as Lacey removed the lid from a pretty box made up of leather and lace, the kind of box a girl might want to keep close to her nightstand. Inside, two dildos lay side by side, one a pallid yellow dork, the other, although slightly exaggerated in size, was so life-like that it nearly pulsed out at them from the box.

“Oh, dear Lord!” Mrs. Winslow’s palm went over her heart, as if to prevent it’s stoppage. Mr. Lacerno said nothing, but neither did his eyes leave the box.

”Mrs. Winslow? If you could order this one for twenty dollars, or this one for fifty, which one would you purchase?”

”Oh, my Heavens!” Mrs. Winslow’s expression was one of mortification, and shame.

“Mrs. Winslow? Are you all right? Calm down, Sweetie! It isn’t real. Look, it’s only a piece of plastic.” Lacey pulled it from the box, and held it toward Mrs. Winslow for inspection. Being less taut than the lesser model, almost pliable, the dick warbled ever so slightly in her hand, while still maintaining it’s erect shape. Lacey waved it around in front of them, to demonstrate it’s elasticity.

”Ooooohhhhh! Please don’t, Ms. Lockhart! Please stop!” Mrs. Winslow waved her palms at Lacey, apparently ready to cry. Lacey set her dick back on the desk, where Mr. Lacerno then reached out for it.

"Lord no, Mr. Lacerno! Not you, too!" Mrs. Winslow pushed her way through the crammed-in office chairs in a race for the restroom, for any escape from this lewd Hell that she found herself in.

"Nevermind her, Lacey. She was against this venture from the start." Mr. Lacerno turned it in his hands, holding it up close to his glasses. He set it back on the desk and bent his large frame over it, his mind going a million miles an hour, and in a million directions. He tried to imagine his wife with this... thing. A thing which no longer had the clinical appearance he had imagined, as though it were merely intended as a stress reliever, but it now held the naked appeal of raw sex. He wondered if his Nancy would like it? It was fairly large, bigger than he was, which was disconcerting to him. But was he being a ninny? It was a sex toy after all, not a "stress reliever". Perhaps he should take it home and let Nancy see it... maybe she could even try it? The thought actually brought a spark of jealousy with it, which tickled him so that he chuckled out loud, and without even realizing it. But he trusted his Nancy's moral judgement, as well as her business instincts.

"Ms. Lockhart, no matter what decision I make concerning this, you have done some amazing work here." He spoke as he continued his inspection.

It was time for Lacey to make her pitch. "Research and Development surveyed two-thousand women. 94% preferred the realistic model. This was in the Deep South, mind you, Mr. Lacerno. The Bible Belt. We are certain that the numbers would be over 98% in a more liberal part of the country."

"Really?" Mr. Lacerno straightened up from the desk, and leaned back in his seat.

"80% of those surveyed said they would purchase immediately."

"Hmmm. 80% of two-thousand!" She had his attention.

"At fifty dollars a unit."

"Fifty dollars! That was double what they were currently marketing at. The numbers raced through his head, and were startling."

She didn’t stop there. "Engineering is working on an ergonomic, attachable handle that will allow a woman to rest comfortably on her back while using it. They are getting close, but we could use some guinea pigs."

Guinea pigs? Where in the world would you find guinea pigs for this?

Lacey read his expression, and smiled politely at his naivety. "Don't worry. We'll find volunteers when we're ready." There were plenty of women right here in the factory asking her for a free product sample.

We are also working on a "pillow". We call it that for lack of a better word. They are designing the new handle’s mechanics so that it will also attach to a silica "body", something that a woman can place on her bed, and that will hold it erect, and will actually let the woman mount it. That was Eugene’s idea, and it was not a bad one. The whole team in R&D has been fantastic. They have been working with engineering, and some of the other departments. They have really bought all in!"

“Now,“ Mr. Lacerno mused to himself, “she is throwing in add-on sales revenue.” what was supposed to have been a "behavioral correction" conversation with a rogue employee was turning into quite a product pitch. "Lacey, how are you at sales? Do you think you could personally go into a convention and sell this thing?"

"I am passionate about it."

Maximillian Lacerno made up his mind. He was sold! Lacey Lockhart was indeed passionate. He felt that. Passion was something rarely seen in the business of rubbers and plastics. Her passion was so undeniable that it was spreading to him. He drummed the table with his fingers, a habit he had while thinking. He reached into a desk drawer, and pulled out a business card.

"Well then, Let’s call you “Vice President” Lockhart for the time being. Figure out the dyes.” He handed the card across the desk to her. “Here is the name and number of someone who might help. Let me know the cost estimates before you agree to anything, but otherwise I will leave development in your capable hands. There is a show in Las Vegas in February. We are going to find out just how passionate you are, Miss Lockhart. You have certainly sold me. Why don't you hire and train two assistants to take with you? It will be too much for you to do alone. We'll talk about your new salary and bonus structure when I have had the opportunity to play with the numbers, but if this thing takes off, it will be commensurate.

Now, if you don't mind I will be leaving early today. I feel like celebrating! I suddenly find myself with a bright outlook for the future, and think I can afford an afternoon on the links. I will be taking this sample with me, to gather some, uh, research (wink) on my own with. I want to see what Mrs. Lacerno has to say about it.”

"I am sure she will enjoy it, Sir."

"Let's say nothing of that. Nice work, Ms. Lockhart. It sounds crazy, but I leave you in charge."

The Porsche Carrera was even whiter than the winter cotton that waved wildly in it’s slipstream as Lacey raced along the return highway from Memphis. It was the first thing Lacey did upon landing, was to take a taxi to the luxury car dealership. The car was her reward: her reward for her success in Vegas, her reward for the inspiration that got her there, her reward for stepping up to the plate and believing in herself. She thought of her mother as she drove, and her grandmother, and of all the women who toiled unrecognized in all the factories of the world, and then went back home to toil again in their unfulfilling bedrooms.

She wondered what Big Lacey would think of her now, if only she was alive to see it; alive to see that her grand-daughter had lived up to the Lacerno motto of, Shaping Latex for the Future, and to see that it was her own Little Lacey Lockhart, the quietest girl on the assembly line, who now swung the biggest stick at Lacerno's!