The Garden Party The prime minister felt tense and ill at ease. He did not like big garden parties very much and now that he had so surprisingly won the elections last year, he felt as if he was being observed all the time. No one had seen the election victory coming. His party had not been doing particularly well in the polls, and when they came out on top at election night, the media was in turmoil. Everyone was looking for an explanation, but no one could really understand what had happened. Voters' behaviour was simply unpredictable. There were some wild speculations that his host of tonight had been able to manipulate the results, as he had supplied the software for the election machines. But come on, the experts said, why should he? Of course, Vladimir Gross himself had denied everything and most people agreed that any accusations were absolutely outrageous. At the same time, though, Gross was often seen as a mysterious man and many people held him in awe. The fact that he was not only a software mogul but one of Europe's biggest gun manufacturers too, added to his sinister image. No one knew exactly how far his influence reached. So here the prime minister was, in Gross' enormous garden, at Gross' garden party, hoping that time would be kind to him and the evening would go by soon. He would try to keep his distance from Gross. He did not want to feed any suspicions, small and untrue as they might be. To the outside world, this should be just a garden party where everyone was having a good time, including himself. The prime minister tried to smile as happily as possible at the cameras of the photographers, hoping for some sympathy amongst the voters. He could certainly use that, as immediately after the elections his popularity had plummeted again. He was portrayed in the media as a dull, gray man, a cold bureaucrat without any passion. Well, what did they know? But as the cameras were clicking like rifle-fire, how he wished he had declined Gross' invitation. His advisors had pointed out to him, however, that Gross had hinted at making a substantial donation to the party and the party was in dire need of money. With the sympathy among the electorate at a low, the party needed to campaign for the people's support more than ever. In eight months there would be provincial elections. "Prime minister, how are you?" Vladimir Gross stretched out his hand and smiled warmly at the country's most powerful politician. Well, in name, of course. The prime minister felt he was a lot less powerful than many people thought. "I hope you are enjoying yourself. I was wondering if you would like to come with me. We have a little entertainment prepared for tonight." Gross had a strong foreign accent. He had been in the country for ages but still sounded like a recent immigrant. Well, perhaps that was not quite true. It would have to be an immigrant who in no time had learned to control the grammar and vocabulary of the language to perfection but had not mastered the pronunciation too well yet. Much against his will, the prime minister followed the gun merchant cum software king. They walked to a corner in the lush garden, where a small stage had been set up. A band was playing some jazz music and quite a few people had gathered to see what Vladimir had to offer tonight. Nothing but the best probably. As usual. Just listen to that music. Simply wonderful. Even the prime minister had to admit that. The band stopped and Gross beamingly welcomed the guests, cracked a few jokes, and then the show could begin. Under the soft tones of some of the best musicians of the country, two athletic men, dressed in white hoses entered the stage in the company of a slim young woman. In spite of his prior reservations, the prime minister's heart beat in excitement. The girl was only dressed in a black seamed pantyhose, which she was wearing over her ballet shoes. If there was anything the prime minister fell for, it was women dressed in black nylon. Many an hour had he secretly sat behind his laptop, looking at website after website of nylon-clad women. He could only hope no one would ever find out. And did the ballet shoes point to flexibility, his other secret passion? He had subscribed by paying in cash to a German flexibility-website and was always dreaming of a long video of a contortionist in pantyhose, doing split after split after split. Now, here, at Gross' party, his dream seemed to be coming true. The girl was stunningly beautiful. The prime minister sincerely hoped no one was looking at his bulging trousers. The band began to play again and the girl sat on the stage effortlessly spreading her pantyhosed legs 180 degrees and resting on her elbows. She had flowing blonde hair and a lovely face. Her pointed toes seemed to make her slender legs even longer. She was breathtakingly sexy. The men lifted her legs and the flexibility of the girl seemed endless. Her upper body was upright and her legs, held by the men in an incredible oversplit now formed a right angle evenly divided by her torso. The girl stood up and danced away, accompanied by the men on either side of her. Her movements were supple like a snake's and the male dancers helped her perform the most amazing acts of contortion the guests had ever seen. She sat on the men's shoulders in a split, moved into a 270 degree oversplit and then even managed to lower her upper body beneath her front leg. The men swung her over their heads and held her in a perfect backbend, showing her small naked breasts in all their glory. What a superb body. No doubt the product of hours and hours of mercilessly hard training. The prime minister was absorbed in watching the girl, and began somewhat to forget his anxiety at being the guest of his sinister host. He briefly glanced round and saw Vladimir Gross standing a few metres away talking to some of his men with his back to the stage, seemingly totally uninterested. The girl was now standing on the toes of her right leg in her pointed ballet shoe and raising her left leg in a complete standing split for a few moments and then she moved her leg further and further behind her back supported by one of the male dancers, who, as the prime minister suddenly realised, he had hardly been paying attention to. After some fifteen minutes of pure eroticism, the show was over and the guests, the women as well as the men, applauded loudly, many of them shouting bravo. The prime minister felt extremely aroused and went looking for the toilet. Several other men were rushing that way. Twenty metres from the place where he urgently wanted to relieve the explosive erotic tension he felt in himself, the prime minister, out of the corner of his eye, saw Vladimir Gross approaching. "I sincerely hope you liked that little show, prime minister," Gross said with the same warm smile as he had shown earlier that evening. "In fact, we thought you might like the combination of a flexible woman wearing black nylon. I have reason to believe you are quite excited by these things, isn't that true? Please consider yourself our guest of honour this evening and look upon the performance by the little pantyhose contortionist as my personal gift to you." The prime minister's heart sank into his shoes. What else did this man know about him? "I hope..., no..., I am sure, you are very grateful to me now, prime minister. I feel I have given you many things, perhaps even more than you are aware of. I am already asking myself what you will give me in return. Maybe we should talk soon." Gross, smiling again, slapped him on the shoulder and moved away. The prime minister stood utterly motionless for half a minute or so. He did not know what to think. One thing was certain. He needed a drink. A strong one. As he was heading for one of the bar tents, he didn't see the contortonist girl walking up to Vladimir Gross ten metres away from where he had been standing, and then entering the sumptuous villa together with the host of the evening.