The plough girl - part five 
By Diana the Valkyrie 
Olga and the Golden Shower


Olga

It didn't take me long to walk to the magazine offices. New York
is supposed to be big, but everything non-residential is jammed
close together.

First, I went back to the apartment to collect my plough, because
I felt sure that they'd want me to pose with it, since it was such
an important part of my life.

Then, on to the office of "Inches". I found the building, and the
office was on the eighth floor. So I got into the elevator, pressed
eight and it moved slightly and beeped three times. I tried again,
same result. Another broken lift, I thought, and then I spotted a
notice "max 800 lbs". Max means "maximum", and lbs is pounds. My
plough was 620 and I'm 225, so that was the problem. I sighed,
left the elevator, hoisted the plough onto my shoulder and climbed
up the stairs.

By the time I got to floor eight, I was puffed out. I can walk
for miles carrying my plough, but stairs wasn't something we had
in Novovysoke. So I rested and just breathed for a while. Then I
knocked on the door marked "Inches". "Come", said a voice. So I came.

Inside there was a tiny office. One small desk, two chairs, a filing
cabinet and a small man who presided over all this.

"Hello, I'm Olga Valentina Yurisovska, and I'm the plough girl for
Novovysoke." "You're Russian," said the small man. I frowned. "No,
Novovysoke is in the Ukraine. I had to leave because of the rotten
Russians." "Sorry," he apologised. I accepted his apology, and
continued, "I'm here for a job."

"Doing what?" he asked. "As a model," I said, and stood up really
straight, pushed my shoulders back and waggled my breasts slightly.
He looked confused. "I didn't advertise for a model" he pointed out.
"Yet here I am," I answered. He looked confused again, and took up
a pencil and paper. "Measurement?" he asked. "Of what?" He pointed
to my bust. "Fifty two"

He blinked. "Not possible," he said. "I'm a plough girl," I
explained.  He repeated, "OK, you're big, but not that big." "Do
you have a tape measure?" "Of course." "Then check me out."

He stood up. He was tiny and slight, probably five feet or less,
and he was wearing high heels. And if I sneezed, he'd blow away.
He pointed to his guest chair, "Could you sit down?" Because he'd
have trouble reaching round me if I remained standing. So I carefully
laid my plough on the floor, and sat.

He approached with a standard 60-inch tape measure, which I knew
was only just going to be adequate, and looped it around my back - then he
tried to bring the ends together. He couldn't. Then I breathed in
and thrust out my tits, which made his difficulty worse.

"I see what you mean," he said, and went back to his desk. "So
what's with the old plough?" he asked.

Once again, I explained the role of the plough girl; by now I've
had a lot of practice telling the tale.

"So if we hide your arms, and don't shoot below your waist, I think
you could model for the magazine," he confirmed. I beamed. "So tell
me what the pay is?"

"We don't have permanent staff. Everyone is temping. We pay $200
for a shoot, but the publicity that you'll get is invaluable."

Mike had warned me about this. "Don't settle for empty promises. Cash
is what counts." So I concentrated on the $200. "How often?" "Every
month or so.  But, obviously, you can also pose for other mags."

$200? I suppose that would be OK as an additional income, maybe I
could do the occasional day on my days off.  "I'll let you know,"
I said, and he nodded, "You do that."

This wasn't going well. America was supposed to be a rich country,
with opportunities for everyone. I was discovering that this wasn't
quite true.  The bosses got rich, ordinary plough girls had to
scrimp. But I can't change the world, I couldn't even keep the
Russians out of Novovysoke.

Oh well. On to the 'Rain of Gold'. Maybe I could get a better paid
bouncette job there. First I went back to the apartment, left my
plough there, and put on my long ball gown. I thought I needed to
look super glamorous and sophisticated for a casino.

The casino was connected to a golf club, and you had to be a
member of the club to use the casino. Mike had told me that this
was how they got round the laws against gambling. I won't pretend
that I understood all this, but if anyone tried a trick like that
in Novovysoke, they'd get a thorough spanking from the nearest
plough girl.

I went into the casino, and it was chaos. The noise was appalling;
bangs, bells and bedlam. I went up to a big fellow in a badly fitting
suit - I know how to recognise a bouncer when I see one. "Take me
to the boss," I said, "I'm looking for a job." He looked me up and
down, and said "Not bad." And he led me to the back of the casino,
and into the boss's office.

The boss looked at me, lingering on the front of my bodice. "Do you
have experience as a croupier?" he asked. "What's a croupier,"
I asked.  "I don't think you're suitable," said the boss,
"goodbye." "No, you don't understand, I'm applying for a job as a
bouncette." He looked puzzled. "What the fuck is a bouncette?" "A
female bouncer." "Don't be silly,"he said, "girls can't be
bouncers. "Yes, but I'm not just a girl, I'm a plough girl." "What
the fuck is a plough girl?" he asked.  "Never mind," continued the
boss, "chuck her out, Gary." Gary grabbed my arm, so I kicked his
shin and heard the crack. Then I punched his belly, so he doubled
over, meeting my knee as he went down.

Everything went very quiet.

"A bouncette?" said the boss. I nodded. "It looks like you can
handle yourself." I nodded. "OK, explain yourself." "Please." "OK,
please explain yourself."

Once again, for the umpteenth time, I explained that I was from the
Ukraine "which is not part of Russia" and I'm a plough girl. And I
told him what a plough girl was. He looked sceptical, so I lifted
my skirt and showed him what a 37 inch thigh looked like. Then
I raised an arm and let the long sleeve slide down, so he could
admire my 26 inch biceps.