They never wanted me to have a boyfriend, either. I’ve never even had sex, sadly. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to— I’ve just never had the opportunity.
I start to feel turned on when thinking about sex. Darn it. This always happens.
I stop and take a minute to rest, reminding myself not to have lustful thoughts, since they’re a sin. When I check my watch, I realize it’s time to head home and shower. I was so distracted I almost stayed on the road too long.
I head home and then jump into the shower. Once I’m naked with warm water running over me, I can’t help but let my thoughts return to the fact that I’ve never had sex before. Lately, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.
I’m afraid my lustful thoughts might take over my brain on my first day of work. So, I decide to do something about them, to get them out of my system before then. Lustful thoughts might be a sin, but if I don’t do something about them I’ll be sinning all day at work.
I reach down and feel the wetness between the lips of my pussy, which seems to be begging to be taken by someone, anyone. But my parents and pastor say no sex before marriage. And, even if the opportunity presented itself, I doubt I would find that the guy would be good enough to give my virginity to.
As much as I wish I could have sex, it seems like a sacred experience I don’t want to have with just anyone. So instead, I just imagine it.
I begin to rub my clit, thinking about various movie stars, all of whom happen to be older than me. I can’t seem to help but think older guys are sexy, and I don’t even know why. Probably because it means they’d be experienced, and for all my lack of experience, I could really use an experienced guy.
I feel my own juices run out of my pussy and into my hand as I continue rubbing my clit. The motion gives me pleasure, and I moan slightly as I think about an actual cock going inside me. I bet it would feel so good.
Soon I’m feeling a rush of pleasure all over me, and I’m coming, thinking about a mysterious older man who could pick me up and swing me over his shoulder and throw me down on a bed. That would be no easy feat, since I’m overweight. But I want a strong man who could do just that, and then fuck me even better than I can play with myself.
When I’m done coming, I pause for a second to catch my breath. My head is spinning and my spine is tingling from the sensation still. But I have to hurry up and get out and get ready, both because I don’t want to be late for my first time of work, and also because I don’t want my mom to get suspicious. She’s told me it’s a “super sin” to pleasure myself, but I really don’t see how it harms anyone.
I grab a banana from the kitchen counter, which my mom keeps nice and tidy, and run out the door.
“Bye, Mom!” I shout, on my way out.
“Bye, Erin. Have a good day.”
That’s nice of her to say, since she never wanted me to get this job in the first place. I smile as I dash out the door. My mom might be overly strict and religious, but at least she wants the best for me. I try to remember that when I feel she smothers me. Some people have it way worse.
Once I’m in my car, I silently send signals to the other vehicles on the road to drive faster so I’m not late. My little fantasy session sure cut into my available time to get to work. Oops. And the sad thing is that I’ll probably still be horny at work, because that’s all I seem to be all the time now, despite trying to take care of it.
I tap the steering wheel impatiently as I have to wait at a red light. But soon I see the large building where the law firm I’m going to work is in, up ahead, in the near distance.
Thank goodness I drove the route to work the other day, so I don’t get lost. My dad, who has worked for the government for twenty years and is a calm and collected type of guy, gave me that tip as a way to make sure nothing goes wrong on my first day. He wants the best for me too, even though in many ways he’s just as strict as my mom, and was just as disapproving at first of me getting a job in the real world.
As I pull into the large parking garage, I look at the clock in my car and realize I’ve made it just in time.
Whew.
I hope my first day of work goes off half as well as my shower session did.
Chapter 2
Erin
The building that the law firm of Marks, Sanchez, Reed and Mack is in is quite fancy. I take the elevator all the way up to the sixteenth floor. As soon as I step out into the lobby of the office, I see a receptionist desk with my name on it. Erin Richardson. This place is on the ball.
I walk behind the desk and see that there’s a raised stool with a monitor in front of it. I also notice that another receptionist— a guy— is already at a different receptionist’s desk a bit off to the side, hard at work. He’s on the phone, and is mumbling, “Yes, Sir, I can do that.” Obviously, he can’t introduce himself to me just yet, although he gives me a friendly nod before looking back down at notes he’s taking in front of him.
I stab at the button on the computer in front of me, to turn it on. It’s password protected and I have no idea what it is. How am I to know what I’m supposed to be doing? It’s my very first day. Was there a memo? Did I miss it? But how would I have missed it when I don’t know where they would send it to? I don’t even have an email address at this firm yet.
Just in the nick of time, before I have a complete internal meltdown, the guy at the desk next to me hangs up the phone and then walks over to me, with his hand outstretched.
“You must be Erin,” he says, a large smile spreading across his entire face. He’s a hot one, that’s for sure—but I’m pretty sure he’s gay. “I’m Claude. And it was so terribly rude of me to not introduce myself when you first came in. Unfortunately, I was otherwise indisposed.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Claude.”
I shake his hand while he nods his head in the direction of lawyers’ offices down the hallway behind the reception area.
“I was wrapped up trying to do some things for Garrett Mack,” he says. “He’s one demanding mofo.”
I laugh, my hand covering my mouth. I’m always embarrassed by my crooked teeth, as well as my rather large frame. It’s why I run every single morning, but, due to having PCOS, it is really hard for me to lose weight.
“They won’t tell you this, but the whole reason you’re here is because the other partners merged with Garrett as a new partner, and he’s so demanding he insisted on having a new receptionist to help out. Apparently he didn’t think I was up to the job.”
He sniffs, tilting his nose into the air, and I laugh again.
“I’m sure you do a great job,” I tell him. “They probably just need more help now that there’s a new named partner.”
“Girl,” he says, shaking his head and wagging his finger, confirming my suspicions that he’s gay. “That’s what they say. But I’ve been here for years and you’d think they’d trust me to be able to answer the phones for one more lawyer.”
I gulp, hoping that he doesn’t hate me because I’ve been hired to essentially help him out. I run my hand along the back of my neck, where hives often break out when I’m anxious. I can already feel some prickly bumps.
But now it’s Claude’s turn to laugh.
“I’m happy to have my work divided up,” he says. “I was killing myself trying to take care of a bunch of drama-prone lawyers up in here.”
We both laugh and then he says, “Have a seat. I’ll show you how to boot up this fancy contraption known as Reception Area Computer Number 2.”
Then he sees my screen and says, “Well, I see you’ve already figured out how to turn it on. Quick study.”
I chuckle and say, “Yeah but that’s as far as I got, since I have no idea what the password would be.”
“Take a wild guess,” he says, rolling his eyes and nodding his head as if to tell me it’s way too easy.
“Is it ‘lawfirm’?” I give it a shot in the dark.
“Nope,” he says, laughing heartily now. “Something even easier.”
“Don’t tell me it’s ‘password,’” I tell him.
“Bingo,” he says. “Can you believe it? I keep telling these idiots they’re going to get hacked, but no one wants to listen to their favorite gay receptionist.”
As soon as I’m into the computer, I can see a startling array of programs and files that I have no idea how to use.
“Don’t worry,” Claude says reassuringly. “Mostly you just have to answer the phone and take messages. Some of these lawyers with big heads might ask you to type up dictation or send discovery, but you are free to tell them it’s beyond your job description and that they should ask their legal assistant. In which case, they’ll probably just come bother me next, since if their legal assistant weren’t too busy to do it, they never would have been slumming their way to asking a lowly receptionist.”
I can’t help but laugh again. Usually I’m standoffish when I meet people because I feel shy and different. I’m half black, with unruly hair unusual for Albuquerque. There’s a big Hispanic population here but people like me are outnumbered. I feel I fit right in with Claude, though, and I bet he considers himself to be a social outcast, just like me.
I have a feeling I’m going to like working here. Suddenly, a larger woman walks up from God knows where and asks, “Erin Richardson?” while looking down at a sheet of paper.
“Present,” I say automatically, and then Claude and I burst out laughing.
What do I think this is? The first day of the first grade, with roll call being taken?
She nods at me and her eyes smile warmly. I guess she isn’t as school marmish as she’d first seemed, but I hang back, unsure of who she is or what she’s about to tell me.
“I’m Monique, the firm’s office manager,” she explains. “If you come with me to Conference Room A, I’ll go through some HR things and some training procedures with you.”
“Okay,” I agree, stepping out from behind the receptionist’s desk to follow her. “Talk to you later, Claude.”
“Have fun,” he says, a bit sarcastically.
As we head down the hall, someone passes us. He’s tall, and dark and mysterious, much like the mystery man I fantasize about—a mismatched conglomerate of actors and hot guys I’ve seen over the years. How could such a perfect person actually exist in real life?
I can’t help but notice that he’s looking at me much the same way I’m looking at him. His eyes seem to travel over my entire body. A shiver runs down my spine as I think about the things I wish he could do to me.
Must focus on the task at hand, I think, as I continue to follow Monique. The handsome man in the fancy suit nods at me as he ducks into an office, and I’m disappointed I have to stop looking at him. Hopefully I’ll see him again, though, and then I’ll really like working here, since it will give my fantasy life an extra special boost.
Chapter 3
Erin
Once I’m in the conference room that Monique led me into, I feel relief that I’ll be instructed on what to do. At least I’ll be told what’s expected of me now, and I won’t feel like a little lost sheep.
“These are some other recent entry level hires,” Monique says, her hand outstretched at a small cast of characters who are already sitting around the conference room table. I guess I was the last one she came to get. “Garrett requested quite a few.”
Her tone carries the same snide condemnation that Claude’s had when he spoke of Garrett. Obviously not too many people here are fond of the newest attorney.
But I obviously think it’s a good thing, not only because it is the way I ended up getting a job but also because it means the firm is growing. I’m sure that change is just hard for people. I know that sentiment all too well.
Monique clears her throat before continuing.
“I thought it would be easiest to go over some basic procedures with all of you, and later we can talk more in depth about the particulars of each job role.”
I nod at her and then at the others, as I take a seat at the table. I can’t help but notice that all the new employees are men, minus myself. That’s a little weird. Would that make me the token woman?
I’m pretty sure that the other jobs are basically for legal assistants, floaters who take turns filling in as substitutes where needed, as well as “runners” who file court pleadings or deliver subpoenas and such. It seems as if there would be more women among us. But I push the thought out of my mind, because what can I do about it?
Monique goes over the firm’s filing system and basic menial tasks such as typing and answering phones. It really doesn’t sound like there’s much to the job, which is fine by me. She says that if we work hard, there are opportunities to be given more substantial work and to receive promotions and advancement.
I’m beginning to feel quite over qualified for the job, but I also don’t have a great desire to work one on one with some “drama prone attorney,” as Claude called them, as a legal assistant. So, I’m hoping to keep a low profile until I figure out the lay of the land.
As we leave the room, we’re each handed our assignments for the day. Mine basically tells me what Claude already did— that I’m to answer the phone and connect calls or get messages to the appropriate attorneys or staff. Sounds easy enough. Now my goal is to keep my head out of fantasy land and focused on the task at hand.
Once I’m back at my desk, I focus solely on answering the phone, eating lunch, and avoiding anyone who walks by other than Claude, who frequently comes over to check in on me. I don’t want to send a signal to fellow co-workers that I’m anti-social, but, as someone who was sheltered by strict parents my entire life, I don’t really trust anyone since I often feel as if I know nothing about the world except that people like to make fun of me for not knowing much, so it’s amazing that he and I are getting along so swimmingly so far.
Before the day ends, Monique appears again and announces that they’re holding a welcome party for all the new hires. While it’s not required, she highly recommends we attend and get to know who we’re working for. Her tone sends the message that the party is mandatory, even though her words do not.
“Hallelujah,” Claude exclaims, as soon as Monique is out of earshot. “I could use a cocktail and this firm is known far and well for its happy hour mixers. Why do you think I’ve worked here so long?”
I smile at him, but I can’t help thinking that this is not a great development on my end. I had told my parents I’d be home right after work and they don’t like it when I divert from the plan. I kind of don’t like it either, as having a strict routine helps me not stress out.
I step outside to make the call, trying to think up an excuse as I’m walking.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Mom.”
I need to phrase this perfectly. No mention of it being a party. Maybe the new employees need to stay behind to talk with the bosses. But why didn’t we know about this earlier? Perhaps there’s a surprise evaluation of how our first day went already? That sounds more believable, and due to the formal stuffiness of the earlier brief “orientation,” I could kind of imagine it happening. I’m going to go with that, since it’s the most realistic option.
“Is everything okay? How’s the new job going?”
“Everything’s great. Everyone’s really nice.”
Okay, here goes the lie. It shouldn’t be this hard.
But it is my mom we’re talking about here. The same one who had to look up lyrics for all the songs I tried to download from the Internet as a child, to make sure they conformed to God’s standards. The same one who would drop in on me at school and make sure I wasn’t being exposed to anything ungodly. And who boycotted a book at the school library because it mentioned other world religions, as well as who pulled me out from any class that discussed sex ed or evolution.
“I’m calling because I’m going to be home later than expected. My supervisor just told us the new hires have to meet with the heads. They’re giving us a surprise evaluation of how we
did for our first day. It’s super intense here.”
I wait with bated breath. Did I sound convincing? Small prayer that I did.
“That’s a little inconvenient. Making everyone stay behind with such short notice. I wonder if they’re going to be doing this all the time, if they’re starting out this way on the first day?”
She’s going to tell me to come straight home, I think, my stomach filling with dread. Why did I ever think they’d allow me any freedom? Why did I ever think that I could tell a convincing lie?
“But I understand, honey,” she finally says, allowing me to exhale deeply. “Higher-ups aren’t very considerate of the entry-level employees. Just get home when you can, okay.”
Phew.
We talk for a few more minutes, but I let her know I need to get back to work. I don’t like lying to my mom, but I’ve learned it’s sometimes unavoidable. This is one of those times, as I’m not allowed to be around alcohol being served. I’m not twenty-one so this isn’t usually a problem but I’m forbidden to go to parties or establishments where alcohol is served.
By “forbidden,” I mean that my parents always say “their house, their rules,” and if they find out I’m breaking them, I’ll be out on the street. Perhaps that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but they’d definitely shame me, shun me and make my life a hell of a lot harder.
On that note, I really need this job. If I want to leave my parents’ house, I’ve got to save up for my own place. My parents would never pitch in to get me one. They say a young, single woman living alone is an invitation for sin. But if I have the money myself, I don’t need their permission. And I’m starting to not want their permission.
I love my parents but I don’t understand why they don’t get that I’m a grown woman now and that I should be free to make up my own mind about things. Sometimes it feels as if they don’t even want to acknowledge that I even have my own mind.
The rest of the day goes by quickly, since there are a ton of phone calls and time flies as I try to get to them all. Claude explains it’s like playing a game of “whack a mole” and we sometimes laugh as I try to hang up one call and get to the next, which can be difficult if a persistent client or opposing counsel feels like staying on the line and rambling to me about nothing in particular.
Sold on Christmas Eve Page 93
