This happens to me all of the time now. I was on my computer, reading something my boss, Mr. Bernard sent me, then I got happy about something, then . . . I woke up and I don't know what happened.

I wonder if that has anything to do with the compulsions I've been having. They are . . . strange, to say the least. I seem to be so sexual at work. But I have no interest in Jackson, my boy friend.

It doesn't make sense. And it's not right. But I've been so happy, I don't really care.

"Ahem."

I turn around, startled. It's my wonderful boss, Mr. Bernard. Suddenly I'm filled with happiness. And sexual excitement. Normally, guys like him aren't my type -- older, starting to get bald, pot belly. But Mr. Bernard somehow is really sexy.

I say "Hello Mr. Bernard. Can I do anything for you?" I sound too eager and whiny. My voice is really breathy. He does turn me on.

He says, politely, "You are wearing a nice skirt today."

Skirt. I hitch up my skirt an inch so he can see more of my leg.

He looks at my leg and frowns. I don't know why he's frowning. I now shave my legs every morning. "Miss Halpin, what did you just do?"

I just raised my skirt for him, like . . . I want to say, Like I was supposed to. But what I have to admit is Like a total slut. I can't explain that. "I . . . uh . . ." I can't explain anything.

He says sternly, "Please fix your skirt, Miss Halpin."

Skirt. "Yes sir." I reach down to flatten my skirt out. Then, in horror, I see my hand raising my skirt another inch!

I'm totally humiliated! I try to make my hand lower my skirt. But it won't move! I look up at Mr. Bernard with a sheepish smile. "Technical problem here. Sorry."

He frowns at me. I hate making him unhappy. It's my job to make him happy. And I want to do that so much. I try with my other hand to lower my skirt, but it won't move either.

So I'm sitting there, my skirt raised two inches, showing a very inappropriate amount of leg, while Mr. Bernard frowns at me. And I can't change anything, all I can do is just sit here humiliated.

He says nicely, "And your blouse is very professional."

Blouse. My hand reaches down, I think to touch my blouse. Then, with horror, I feel it unbuttoning a button! What's happening to me? Why am I acting like this?

He asks, sternly, "What did you just do to your blouse?"

Blouse. How am I ever going to explain this? "I was a little hot." I feel my hand, doing something again with my second button. I look down and see that I've unbuttomed my second button! "Very hot," I try to explain, but I can hear the panic in my voice.

He says, with anger, "Do you konw what you look like, Miss Halpin?"

A complete and total slut. I can feel my whole face turning red. I AM getting hot.

I'm sorry, Mr. Bernard. Very sorry. This won't happen again."

"I am going to have to show human resources what you are doing with your blouse. It's very inappropriate."

Blouse. It is, I have to agree. I see Mr. Barnard taking out his phone to call. I feel my hand moving to my blouse. I hope my hand is going to button myself up so I look presentable if someone from Human Resources comes.

I try to stop my hand, just to see if I can.

I can't.

I watch, helpless and horrified, as my hand undoes another button on my blouse. Now my bra is showing.

I hear the door opening. A woman I have not met walks in. She's about 40 years old and in a nice business suit. She looks at me and gets the biggest frown.

I did not know it was possible to be this embarrassed. She says, "I see the problem, Mr. Bernard. This is totally unacceptable behavior."

Mr. Bernard says, I just don't want to get into any trouble. What if someone came in and saw her skirt like that?

skirt.I cannot believe it -- I feel my hand moving to my skirt. Please, please, do not raise my skirt. I fight my hand, but I cannot. I watch helplessly as my hand lifts my skirt another inch. It's up to mid-thigh.

The HR person just goes "Tsk." Mr. Bernard waives his hands like he is helpless to stop me. I feel bad I am embarrassing him.

The HR person looks at me. "I will give you one chance, you little slut. I mean, Miss Halpin. If you never do anything like this ever again, you can continue working here. But you are on probation.

I look at her, with pleading in my eyes. "Thank you so much. I promise. Never again."

She nods, satisfied with my acquiescence. And then she stands there.

And Mr. Bernard stands there.

And I sit there, with my skirt hike up to my knee and my blouse half unbuttoned. We all know I'm supposed to fix myself. But I can't make my hands move.

Finally she says firmly, "Button your blouse, right now. And lower your skirt."

I feel my hand start to move. It goes to my blouse and unbuttons another button. Now they can see my whole bra and some skin below. Then my hand lifts my skirt up another inch to the top of my thigh.

The HR woman shakes her head in disgust. "You're fired. Pack your things and leave." And she walks out of the room. She slams the door loudly.

Wonderful Mr. Bernard looks at me kindly. "I'm sorry, dear." Then he frowns. "But what you're doing is completely inappropriate."

"I know. I'm sorry." I wish I could cover myself and not sit here looking like a whore.

"This is a business. You are supposed to look professional. You should know that."

I shrug my shoulders helplessly.

He says, "I'd like to take a few pictures, with your permission. To document that you really did this. I don't want to get in trouble too."

Pictures? That's the last thing I need. I mumble, "I'd rather you didn't."

"I don't see what the problem is. You already showed me everything."

I did. Pictures just seem like another step.

"You're being irrational Miss Halpin. I'm going to take pictures."

"Okay," I mumble.

He takes out his camera and starts taking pictures of me. I feel so helpless. I can't actually leave the office looking like this. And I'm all exposed. He takes pictures from every angle. Then he gets a closeup of my bra and cleavage. Then he bends down and takes a picture of my panties.

I give up. I'm a slut. I don't understand why, but I just am. He's just making things worse with the pictures. I feel six-inches high. So I just let him do what he wants.

He smiles at me, in a smirking way. "I can see most of your bra."

Bra.