She told me her name was Dora. Take a look at the picture she used to tempt me. The moment I saw it I was completely enraptured. Who wouldn't want to see more of her? We e-mailed each other for hours and after that I knew I had to meet her. She was very careful about the picture, to frame it as she did. How could I suspect what was awaiting me? I arrived at the address she gave me, rang the bell, heard a soft feminine voice calling from inside for me to enter. It was all so alluring, the mood, the voice, the promise. No one could have resisted. Believe me. I entered the room and that's when I saw the shiny tin box back by the wall. I understood the photograph then. It wasn't modesty at all the camera saw, but the contemplation of her concealment. She was a lovely ornament jutting out of that box. I could touch her face, her lips or caress her shoulders, but the rest of her was contained in that metal enclosure. "Let me out," she said to me, seduction in her voice. I ran to the kitchen to locate a can opener and some tools. With some effort I could make a slit along the top, and peel back the metal sheeting molded around her figure. In that moment I felt a thousand emotions sear through me. So many that the room seemed to flash in strange hues. Then she was gone, escaped through an open window. Dora, she told me. But her parting passions led me to suspect that Pandora had a sister.

Story #119