by John Charles
Harold was calm. “Quite the opposite,” he told her, with a Cheshire cat grin. “You attacked me. And you called all the shots.”
Hillary didn’t believe him. She was threatening to report him to HR when Harold pulled out his phone and showed her the video of the two of them, naked, entwined with each other. It was obvious that Hillary was playing to the camera. She ordered Harold around, switched positions, and even held the camera to switch up the angles. She was totally into it—hardly as though someone had taken advantage of her. Hillary couldn’t believe it. She loved sex, but only with hot guys, not flabby, hairy bastards with small penises.
That was the one thing Hillary thought she had going her way. Harold’s dick was no longer than an inch and a half fully erect. It looked like a little boy’s. Could she flip the video around and make it all about his tiny dick? Maybe, but there was just too much of her mouth on his tiny peewee peepee to guarantee it.
Harold promised Hillary that he would not show or talk about the video to anybody if every now and then she reported what she heard on the floor to him for one year. After that point, he would trash the video. That’s all he wanted: information…and one more BJ.
59
Being true to my offer the day before, I spent three hours mapping out all the places Hillary and I could have sex in the city. My experience in public sex was close to nil, just that one time in Minsk. Though I had plenty of ideas from the pornos I had watched in the past, but the meat of it came courtesy of Tav’s dad.
Tav’s father, while a worshipper of the Buddhist faith, loved his Penthouse magazines. When we were just kids, Tav and I would sneak them out of his hiding place and read them in his room. Eventually we got caught. Turns out the old man would stack them a certain way in his hiding spot, the top cabinet in his den.
One of my favorite parts of the magazine was Penthouse Forum–letters about how men find themselves in the predicaments where the only option they have is to have sex with some beautiful woman. It was crazy.
This weekend could be my opportunity to take Hillary in various places and positions. Hopefully she would be game.
“What’s up?”
I snapped out of my fantasy and saw Tav standing at the doorway to my office. “Planning the weekend.”
He plopped down into a chair, leaving one leg hanging over the arm. “Oh? What are we doing?”
Tav and Ralphie were still living with me, so we pretty much fell into the habit of doing everything together.
“Not we—me. I got a weekend date planned with Hillary. Just the two of us, together for 48 hours.”
“Sweet. What are you thinking? Public sex?”
“Bingo.” Tav knows me all too well. “This is my opportunity to contribute to Penthouse Forum, my chance to give other guys hope that random sex can just happen. I know this isn’t random, but it isn’t commonplace.”
“Damn, dude, I was kidding, but you’re serious.”
“Hell yeah! I mean I’m going to treat her right and wine and dine the woman so it doesn’t appear like I had a weekend orgy on my mind.”
“Ooh, devious.” Tav rubbed his hands together gleefully. But then he sobered. “How are the other things coming along?”
“What? The Viktor thing?”
“Yeah.”
“I talked to Ivan. Told him the whole story. You know, except for talking to Sokolov.”
“He didn’t freak out that you were testifying against a known gang member?”
“No, not really.”
Tav flipped his leg off the arm of the chair and sat up. “So that’s it? Case closed?”
“I got the Buchkos working on it from their end. Detective Sokolov and his European contact are on it and now Ivan and his men are on it. I don’t know what more I can do.”
Tav stood and threw his hands up. “What happens if a month or two goes by and nothing? Meaning, Viktor’s not captured; nobody has heard or seen from him. What then?”
I shrugged. “I think at that point I forget about him. I don’t expect the Darby Death Watch to continue forever. One thing I do know, though. I’ll never be able to head back to Minsk.”
60
Before I knew it, it was Friday. My magical weekend with Hillary would begin at the end of the day. I strolled into work with an extra kick in my step. Even Stewie noticed the difference.
“Why so chipper, Mr. Stansfield?”
“Got a lot to be chipper about,” I said without stopping.
I stepped into an elevator and pressed the number twelve button. I loved doing that. It never got old, especially when there were others in the elevator. It was my way to point out that I was a heavy-hitter. However, today I was riding solo.
Just as the doors were closing, a thick hairy arm slipped through, stopping them. No, no, no, no, no….
Only one person in this company had an arm that looked like animal hide: Harold Epstein. The door reversed and there stood my nemesis.
“Ah, Stansfield. Make any sales lately? Wait, let me answer that for you. It would be a big fat no. Am I right?”
I wasn’t going to give this dumb tool the satisfaction of an answer. That’s what he wanted: to goad me into a conversation with him. For Harold, information was everything. The more he had on you, the more power he held over you.
That’s why I usually kept my mouth shut around him. I never surf the Internet on the company computer or network. This sloth had nothing on me. And he never will. I’m too clever for his caveman smarts.
“Silent treatment, huh? Whatever. Did you hear?”
Don’t answer. That’s what he wants.
“Had myself a little vacation… in the Ukraine.”
What! Stay cool, Darb. “You don’t say ‘in the Ukraine.’ It’s ‘in Ukraine.’” Why isn’t he getting off on the sixth floor?
“You’re not the only one who can afford those little social trips to Eastern Europe.”
The elevator stopped on twelve. I held the door before exiting so I could address Harold one last time. “Look, I’m sure you’re having a ball with your tall tale, but it’s not going to work.”
Harold followed me out of the elevator and kept in step.
“What do you mean ‘not going to work’?”
“Nothing you say can get me riled up. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do. I’m a heavy now and the company expects me to bring in heavy amounts of dough.” I headed to my office thinking my conversation with the standing hippopotamus was over.
It wasn’t.
Harold closed the door as he entered my office.
“What do you want, Harold?”
“I know. I know what you’re doing.”
Back in Odessa, Harold had wasted no time getting the newspaper article translated by the person at the front desk. He knew all about the case, about Viktor Kazapov, about Darby’s testimony, and Viktor’s conviction. The article called him “the brave American.” That is, until Viktor escaped.
Harold began putting the pieces together. Darby had a Russian client. Viktor Kazapov was Russian and associated with organized crime. Could Darby’s Russian client somehow be connected to organized crime? How else would Darby find himself mixed up with the Russian Mafiya?
Harold was on to something. He knew where to look. Harold figured it was only a matter of time before he uncovered the truth.
“You don’t know Jack, so shut your pie hole and get the hell out of my office.”
It was right after I said those words that Harold dropped the first bomb. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and slammed it down on my desk.
It was a copy of a newspaper article with my picture in it.
“What is this? Is this some sick joke of yours?”
“Don’t play dumb. You know what this is. You didn’t take that trip to meet girls. You flew to the Ukraine to testify in this trial.”
Holy moly. The blob’s begun to figure things out. I had to find out what he knew.
“For your informa
tion, I did take a tour to Minsk. I have the paperwork to back it up. This picture only proves one thing. Someone in Ukraine looks like me.”
“Play dumb. I don’t care. I’m going to figure it out. It’s just a matter of time. And when I do, I’ll personally kick your ass out the front doors of Teleco.”
“Spoken like a true donkey. Now, get the hell out of my office.”
Harold turned around and took two steps before stopping. “Oh, I hear you got some stupid romantic weekend planned with Hillary.”
If this a-hole has my office bugged, I’m going to beat him silly.
“I heard she puts out. You might get lucky.”
“And this advice is coming from the guy who has to get his hand drunk in order to get off.”
Just as Harold turned the corner out of my office, he stopped again. He looked back at me with a crooked grin and dropped the second bomb. “Say hello to the mole near her left labia for me.”
Mole? Left labia? No, no, no, no…
61
The rest of the day at the office dragged. Harold had discovered a crack in the armor and I didn’t know what to do. He had the upper hand and I could feel the screws tightening. Just when I thought I had everything under control and I could begin to focus on my personal life, in walks the boogeyman with a fresh nightmare.
Hillary knocked on my door. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
She had come up to my office twice to figure out what was on the docket that night. I wouldn’t tell her; she looked too cute trying to figure it out.
“You look a little sad. Is anything wrong?”
I pretended nothing was. I didn’t want to spoil the weekend for her, even though Harold had already rained on my day. My objectives were to deal with each accusation one by one. First and foremost was Hillary. I had to get to the bottom of the labia comment. “I’m fine and you’re not getting any information.”
“But I have to know how to dress properly.”
“Trust me, you’re dressed properly.”
“At least tell me what the function is? Will we at least be eating?”
“All right, we are having dinner.”
“Reservations required?”
“Yes, why?”
“That tells me it’s at least four star. Now I have an idea. Bye, I have to go and change.”
Before I could get a word out about her already looking perfect, she disappeared.
Later that night, the car service I hired brought us to the The Cliff House.
Hillary let out a little shrill of excitement. “I love this restaurant.”
The Cliff House does what the name implies; it sits on a cliff near the mouth of the San Francisco Bay with unobstructed views of the Pacific Ocean. I made sure we got there early enough to catch the sunset over some pre-dinner drinks. Her blue-green eyes sparkled each time the candle on our table fluttered. She was by far the better of the views.
I was glad Hillary did the whole makeover again when I told her I had to make reservations for the restaurant because she looked absolutely stunning. I was blown away, especially considering she had done it for me.
Somehow Hillary managed to squeeze her body into a very tight cocktail dress that might as well have been a second layer of skin. It was also mostly made out of lace; I could tell she wore nothing underneath. Yummy. There was a nice bow, however, accented with Swarovski crystals placed right where the left shoulder strap met the front of her dress. It was perfect. Her golden hair spiraled down just below the back of her shoulders. She topped off the entire ensemble off with black stilettos. It was a great way to start the evening.
Take two tender fillets, add plenty of pinot noir, and you end up with two very happy people enjoying each other’s company. I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Hillary. Her full lips, with just a hint of a pink lipstick, beckoned to me. Not less than a million times was I tempted to reach across the table and guide her mouth to mine, kissing with just enough force so she knew this was a man kissing her, but not overly rough, like I skipped the warm-up session.
I had the rest of the night planned out all the way to four in the morning should we need it. We didn’t. We skipped past go and went right to her place after dinner, mostly because it was closer than mine.
I don’t think we were more than a foot inside her apartment before our lips locked and our tongues started their own date.
I walked Hillary backwards into her living room as I pulled down the zipper to her cocktail dress. Within seconds she was nude except for the heels. I took a step back to admire the work of art that stood in front of me. Dappled moonlight made its way through her windows and lit her up like a photographer’s assistant, highlighting her hips, the sides of her supple breasts, and the curvature of her butt.
Hillary loved the attention. She worked the moonlight and the imaginary catwalk like a supermodel, striking pose after pose. At this point, I had my iPhone out and was snapping up the goodies. She loved being the center of attention. And then she stopped and this naughty look came over her face.
“Come over here, you,” she instructed, waving her finger.
Who was I to disobey?
We started to kiss again. I worked feverishly to get out of my shirt and tie.
Then I dropped to my knees and ran my hands up and down her smooth legs. I flicked my tongue out at her belly button.
“I’m ticklish there,” she giggled.
I’ll bet everything I got that you’re not ticklish here. I slowly licked and kissed my way down, away from her button, along the side of her thigh, and back up.
I followed through on the other leg. She moved it slightly to the side and I sensed this was my invitation to slip between them and introduced my tongue to her kitty. No more giggling.
I secretly thanked God for not letting Hillary keep it bare. Neatly trimmed, it tickled my nose.
It didn’t take long before she grasped the back of my head and shuddered. She stood me back up and slipped her tongue into my mouth while her hands did their best to unbuckle my belt and free my hardened penis. She gripped it tightly in her hand and led me to her bedroom. Everything was perfect. We were perfect. This was meant to be.
It wasn’t until Sunday that I remembered Harold’s comment about the mole. Luckily, my head was buried once again between Hillary’s legs giving her another Oh-My-Godgasm. Unfortunately, when you’re this close to a woman, you can’t really see anything. I tried pulling back just a tad, but two decisive hands clamped down on my head.
“Don’t stop. I’m almost there.”
I was well aware of that, but now that I had remembered the mole comment, it’s all I could think of.
“Oh yes.”
Mole.
“Yes.”
Mole.
“Yes.”
Mole.
Hillary tightened up and shook three times in a row. Eventually she relaxed and it was safe to pull away. Would there be a mole staring back at me? Did the smelly donkey speak the truth?
I scooted up the bed and laid my head on the pillow next to her as she caught her breath. She then turned to me and smiled. She was gorgeous in the mornings. I loved this moment, just the two of us, happy in each other’s lust. I was falling for Hillary. She was falling for me.
Too bad there was a mole.
62
I decided to wait until we both had normal amounts of coffee in us so that we were of sound mind and body. And awake.
I wasn’t sure how to bring this up. What is protocol for asking the girl you just started dating why your most hated enemy is aware of her very personal mole? How does one do that? Someone? Anyone? Yup, that’s what I thought. Not a common situation for couples.
I knew if I didn’t say anything, it would continue to eat away at me. I had to know. But truthfully, I was scared of the answer. I understood that there were other guys before me. I have no problem with that. I was hoping the answer was that he heard it from someone else. If that were the case, fine. But i
f he were one of the other guys…?
Could I still be with Hillary? Could I get over this? How much did I really like this woman? A lot. I placed my mug on the table and took a deep breath and said, “Harold said something strange to me at work.”
Hillary raised an eyebrow and cocked her head slightly to the side. “Harold? I thought you two hated each other.”
“We do, but we talk when we have a way to demoralize each other. He said…”
“Said what?” Hillary’s eyebrow was now even more pronounced. “What did he say, Darby? Spit it out.”
“He told me he knew about our special weekend.”
“So?”
“Well, the only other person I mentioned our weekend to was Tav.”
“So maybe he overheard you guys talking.” She drained the last of her coffee. “Wait, you’re not implying that I told him, are you?”
“That’s not all he said.”
“Why are we wasting our time talking about Harold?” Hillary stood and took our empty mugs to the kitchen. “It’s a beautiful day. Let’s not ruin it by talking about him. Tell me, Darby, what have you planned today?”
“He mentioned the mole.”
“Mole? What are you talking about?”
“The mole down there,” I said, motioning with my head.
“What exactly did Harold say?”
“He said to say hi to the mole by your left labia.”
Hillary sat back down in the chair next to me. She remained quiet while she fiddled with her fingernails.
“Is he screwing with me or is there some truth to this? Because you do have a mole there. A cute one, I might add.” I threw that joke in so as to keep the situation light. I didn’t want Hillary to think this was an inquisition. But still she remained quiet. I knew I was going to have to pull the answer out of her. “Look, Hillary, I want you to know that I like you. I’m having a wonderful time with you. I want to continue having a wonderful time with you. I think you’re an amazing woman…”
