Ben W., 33 yr old businessman in a suburb of Chicago, divorced and lonely, sat at a bar at the local pub frequented by friends and associates for his usual Friday night drunk with the boys.

Lots of single and pretty looking women flocked around, but he gazed into his beer glass thinking of what he really wanted, hoping she would take shape amidst this pale yellow foam. He had realized he was submissive several years ago, but had yet to find his ideal mistress, or even, he thought wryly, one he could use.

He had tried a couple of pros, but they were disappointing ripoffs, one much too old, one young, stupid and unattractive, who interrupted the session twice to return calls on her beeper. Being committed to the area, he hadn't travelled much, and had relied on local ads, and the swing books in the local adult bookstore.

Realizing he was getting on in years, and didn't need to drink beer, even lite stuff, he exited early back to his apartment. Turning on the lights, greeting his old cat, putting a pot of coffee on, he sat down heavily, and didn't turn the boob tube on for once, preferring to think. He had tried everything, everything. Personal ads, matchmaking services, although in that case he didn't really come out and state what he wanted, hookers, swingles, which was out now because of disease. Even the 25 cent movies he used to periodically get off on with his fantasies. After a solid year, nothing had remotely worked, and he began to understand some of the people he had met who searched and searched for years. He could find attractive women all right, but not the spark of dominance he needed, had tried to deny but admitted now. He got up and paced the room, bending down to pet his cat, Chacha, on her head.

"Yes chacha, papa's restless tonight isn't he?" he murmured, his mind working on the problem. Okay, just like any business problem, he said to himself. First, define the task. It is, finding a dominant woman. Break it down. A woman who is dominant. Real problem is not finding a woman, but the dominant part. Of all the women he could make moves at, how does he even know which are dominant? Answer, he doesn't.

Question: can he find out? Answer: don't know. Question: who could. Answer: someone who reads women better than he can, which he smiled, is probably anybody on Earth. But that's not good enough. This was getting frustrating to him, and decided to take this to a logical conclusion, to hell with consequences. He couldn't do any worse than he was doing.

One month later, he left the personnel office of a local huge insurance company, with copies of the personality tests given to each applicant over the past 5 years. He had over 3500 hundred tests, and the name and address of each applicant. Sitting in his car in the parking ramp, he quickly scanned the names. These would be young entry-level clerical jobs, younger than the woman he ideally sought, but it was the only source he could think of with enough data to make it worth while. It was the only big company who he knew administered psych tests that he could get a hold of. He doctored the test sheets so as to omit the names and identity to a code only he knew before he took it to the next phase.

He took out the disk he paid handsomely for, which was the test designed to interpret the data. He had paid a psychology grad a nice sum to design this psych test , which was to screen out people with dominant tendencies. The computer performed the task in minutes, and out of 3500 tests, out popped a display of 260 names, in code. Then he decoded the names to real names, and began the real work of trying to figure out how to make his pitch. Eliminating names ad addresses which had moved, were invalid, male or too old, or otherwise unfit, he was left with 75 names mostly of girls between 18 and 32, half of whom were married. Running the sexual identity test he also paid for eliminated another dozen as possibly lesbians and a few dozen more as perhaps mentally unstable for the purposes of business, which he didn't know was invalid for his purpose anyway.

Anyway, he felt foolish and triumphant, with his list. He could burglarise schools and companies across the world for more, of course, without anyone being aware since they weren't protected by any real security. He arranged the list in three groups, according to a curve,to determine gradients between dominance. He decided to concentrate his efforts on the highest dominance traits. Then he took out a file he had paid another psych grad to design for him. It was a letter, designed to evoke a response from a dominatrix, disguised as a poll survey or love letter , intro to a dating service and a psychology test for free, etc. He used all the approaches and sent out a thick packet of letters each night for a week, all with return addresses to a phone number and box number of a phoney company he put together for this purpose. Checking the answering machine and box daily, he was disappointed to receive little response after a week. Then he began to get some. Two women had responded to his inocuous query with obvious personal interest, one saying what a pleasure it was to meet a male with the correct attitude and stuff like that. However, one reply that interested him most, was a letter that came back, after being forwarded to a strip club in Chicago.

He looked up the application of the woman, and it was a Debbie Fox, and she listed as her occupation as a dancer.

Apparently having been rejected for employment by the insurance company since she couldn't spell or type adequately, she had returned to her occupation for a while. Phoning the Golden Lounge, he was told Debbie had quit a couple of months ago and no longer got any mail there. He began to fantasize about this woman, and checked out her file more carefully. She was 28 now. Putting on his coat, he went into the city to the Golden Lounge.