“I’ll definitely try for the aisle seat next time,” I said to him. “I’ll do that. I will.”
The operative word there was try.
The moment I hung up, Pam put down her headset and wrote something down. That night, I threw her pen away.
The next day, I watched her look for her pen, and I felt the thrill of a job well done. I had wrapped it in several layers of toilet paper and stuffed it in the sanitary disposal bin in the bathroom. It was long gone.
Actually, I was feeling quite good over all because I forgot to wear underwear, and the seam of my tights was riding up into my crotch.
Suddenly, Miranda, Pam’s boss, strode over to me. I thought she was going to say something about the pen, and I quickly concocted several stories about where I saw Pam with it last, but instead she hauled me into her office and chastised me about my clothing.
Apparently I’d forgotten it was a client walk through today, and I’d worn a short corduroy skirt, a slightly ratty, white cotton blouse and my regulation black tights, instead of business attire, which meant a suit. After giving me a long lecture on the difference between business and business casual, she released me to my desk.
Feeling like my neck had been whiplashed from nodding to convince her I was listening when I really wasn’t, I tossed myself down on my seat. Oh great. Now my keyboard tray was stuck. I couldn’t pull it out to do my travel agent duties. I called the maintenance man, Ayad. A lot of girls thought he was thick because of the language barrier, but I thought he was adorable.
Moments later, he was under my desk, fiddling with my tray. I kept checking him out. Was it warm in here?
“Do you want to know why I wear dark tights all the time?” I asked him.
He looked up at me. I tried not to imagine him giving me that look between my legs in the bedroom.
“Tattoos. I have tattoos of flowers on my legs,” I said.
He paused, a blank look on his face. Did he even know what a tattoo was? How could I explain it?
“Do you want to see what I’m reading?” I asked him instead and showed him my book. He flipped through the pages. Now, I got a reaction out of him. He raised an eyebrow.
“You read this at work?” he asked.
I nodded, happily. He shook his head, handed me back the book and checked the batteries on his cordless drill. Surely what I had to say was more interesting than that piece of cheap plastic crap.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” I said in a low voice. “I’m not wearing panties.”
Slowly, I opened my legs. He looked.
“You’re still wearing something over your legs,” he said.
“But nothing underneath. Use your imagination.”
He shrugged and peered in closer. Just when I thought I had him, Miranda approached us. I clapped shut my legs.
“The clients are walking through,” she said. “You can either put this on or you can go wait in ticketing.”
She held up the cast off sweater from the closet. No one knew who it belonged to. It had been in there forever, and for good reason with its light blue knit and ruffled collar.
I wasn’t wearing that sweater, so I chose ticketing, a cave of a room where underpaid employees who got bad grades in travel school shuffled ticket stock together. Pam breezed by with a smirk at me.
That bitch. I had to do something else to get her back. Plus, Miranda was on my shit list as well because she told ticketing I could help them for a half hour if I showed up. I wasn’t about to stamp parking coupons with our logo as instructed by a timid girl with a set of chin whiskers, so I set out to find a suitable box for my next project.
An empty staple box became my voodoo box. I drew hex signs all over it with a black magic marker, and by the end of the day, I had acquired an earring of Miranda’s and a miniature green frog eraser off Pam’s desk. I loved the way they rattled inside it, sort of like little bones.
The next day, I decided to add someone else to my voodoo box. Crystal. She had been sexually harassing me for the longest time, and I was finally fed up. You wouldn’t believe the things she said to me, like: I love it when you wear purple. I like it when your hair is all wild like that.
Women don’t say things like that to one another. They say “cute skirt” or “nice blouse.” Also, she’s always brushing up against me or stroking my arm. I’ve tried to put her off by talking about how much I like men whenever I’m near her, but it’s not working. The last time, I told her how much bone I had in me that weekend, but she said all I needed to do was to make love to a woman.
I was in the lunch room, chewing on a hangnail in front of the vending machine as I contemplated what I should steal from her desk for my voodoo box, when she made an appearance. Ayad came in as well to stuff his lunch in the fridge.
Crystal leered at the candy bars.
“You wouldn’t believe how much I like eating boxes of goodies,” she said. “Especially a mound.”
I rolled my eyes and let out a deep breath.
“Listen, I like guys,” I said. “I like a good, hard cock, and you don’t have one. Stop hitting on me, or I’ll report you for sexual harassment.”
With that said, I bought a package of old-fashioned caramel creams, shot Ayad a look, who had his eyebrow raised at me once more and flounced back to my desk.
She must have told her little group of friends what I said because for the rest of the day they all kept giving me dirty looks. Give me a break. I saw them waiting for me in the hallway after work, like they were in Junior High, waiting to beat me up. Little did they know I had a secret weapon. The fish eye. Yeah, I got some crazy genes in my gene pool. My mom, for example, was truly nuts.
I whipped it out, glared at them, and strode past them like shit wouldn’t even stink on me. They didn’t say a word.
The next morning, no one was waiting for me in the hallway, but my water cup looked odd. It was one of those plastic tumblers you get at the dollar store, but the water inside it had a yellowish tint. I smelled it and took it straight to Miranda.
“Someone pissed in my cup,” I said.
She smelled it.
“Probably the cleaning people,” she said, handing it back.
I looked at her, waiting for her to say something else, show some indignation at this appalling act, but she acted like the matter was already closed.
Disgusted, I went to the sink to pour it out when Ayad came by.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m being sexually harassed by Crystal, and someone pissed in my water cup,” I said.
I tossed the cup in the trash.
“I’m pretty sure she did it,” I said.
I realized he wasn’t making eye contact. Rather, he was looking down at my tights.
“How is your drawer?” he asked.
“It’s still sticking,” I said. “You never did finish fixing it.”
He followed me back to my desk. It was like he had never left. As he adjusted the screws, I kicked off my shoes and rubbed my foot slowly up his leg. I dug my toes in his crotch and wiggled them around. Then I pushed the ball of my foot up his chest where he took my foot in his hands and bit my big toe. He ripped the seam, his tongue touching flesh. I nearly fell off my chair.
Miranda stopped by my desk. Thank God she could only see his legs and tool box.
“There are calls on hold,” she said. “Can this wait?”
Once more abandoned to a sticky drawer and a throbbing mound, I watched him gather up his tools and leave. Reluctantly, I put on my headset, feeling buzzed from the flirting. Across the office, I realized Crystal was watching me. Her hunger for me simmered in her eyes. Why shouldn’t she want me? I was hot stuff.
I should make love to a woman.
I always felt bad about the austerity of my desk when everyone else had their trophy photos all over the place because of this innate need to prove to the world they are loved. Finally, I had a photograph to bring in to work. Last night, I visited my childhood friend
who happens to be a stripper. One of her friends gave me a lap dance and we took a picture.
I showed it to Crystal, who at first looked so pleased I had walked over to her and then so sheet white at what she saw. I don’t know why. Everything was covered. My hands were on my pretend girlfriend’s thighs, her tits in my face, but that was it. Like a proud mother of a freakish sense of justice, I displayed the photo on my desk.
Word of it zipped around the office like a plague. It took no time at all for Miranda to stomp over.
“Take it down,” she ordered.
I wrested up an expression of mock indignation.
“Everyone defends Crystal,” I said. “So I took her up on her advice. She told me to make love to a woman so I did. This is my girlfriend. I’m allowed to have pictures of my loved ones on my desk.”
Miranda snatched it down and opened my drawer to toss it in. Her gaze locked on my voodoo box.
“What is that?” she asked.
I did the only thing I could. I acted like I had never seen it in my life.
Acting as if it was covered in rat shit, she picked it up and opened it. Her earring and the frog came tumbling out. I’d never seen her speechless before. Mostly it involved her turning quite red and acting like she couldn’t swallow.
Of course, she felt compelled to go through the rest of my desk.
The sanctity of my travel agent’s rights being violated, I stormed off, spotting Crystal’s cigarettes and lighter left on the water cooler. As quick as a bee, I snatched them off and headed for a smoke in the storeroom to calm my nerves.
I spotted Ayad, bending over as he looked at a wall socket. He did have a fine ass. I thought about my toe poking through the hole in my tights, his tongue on my skin. Suddenly, my legs felt unsteady. I sauntered over to him.
“Does your mouth taste like toe cheese?” I asked.
He looked up at me, a hint of smile on his mouth. I gave him a come hither look. He stood up. I shrugged in the direction of the conference room. Like someone with their pants on fire, which they were, I scooted inside and held my breath. Would he follow? Would he be up for it? For a moment, the suspense was stupendous. He appeared in the doorway. I shut the door behind us, letting out my breath, a little more than dizzy now.
Jumping on the conference table, I kicked off my shoe. My big toe poked out.
“I think I need to file a lawsuit. Someone ripped my tights,” I said.
It was sort of romantic, the way he looked at me with lust in his eyes, his package standing out and how he got down on one knee.
The moment he put my big toe all the way in his mouth, I nearly passed out. A giggle escaped me that shook my rib cage. He ripped open my tights further, working his tongue between my toes. It was the best foot massage ever. All these knots in my shoulders relaxed, and I felt my body melting into the table.
He pulled my foot out of his mouth and stood up.
“Now I have toe cheese on my breath,” he said.
“Yes. You do,” I replied smiling.
I waited for him to do something else to me. Anything. Really. For a second, I thought he might turn around and leave, that maybe he was just a foot guy, but he ripped my tights a little more.
“I think these need to come off,” he said.
I couldn’t get out of them fast enough. They got caught twisted down my legs. He helped, yanking them down. Thank God, I hadn’t worn my old cotton panties, but my blue sparkly ones instead. He didn’t even bother pulling those down. He unzipped his pants, pushed aside the thin fabric and entered me. God, he felt big. I was either tighter than I thought, or he had a really big dick.
I tried to hang onto him, but he was fucking me too hard. So I flopped back on the table, let him pull my hips to him and went along for the ride. I was just about ready to start pinching my nipples when I heard the conference room door open.
To my horror, I saw Miranda standing there with the nicest looking man I ever saw, tall, dark, brooding, oozing masculinity and mystique. He was New York and Ayad was a suburb outside Detroit. I couldn’t believe I was checking him out with another man’s dick in me.
“Oh my goodness,” Miranda cried out.
Like I was suddenly made of battery acid, Ayad zipped up and jumped away from me. Sheepishly, I pushed down my skirt with an oops I accidentally fell on the table, devil may care, attitude.
Miranda didn’t buy it.
“Ayad, I would have thought better of you. Getting caught up in her shenanigans. This has to be the most appalling thing I’ve ever seen here. You’re treading on thin ice, Mister.”
Ayad shot by her through the doorway, deserting me. Suddenly I wasn’t so impressed by him, big dick or not. I picked up my tights and my shoes, very aware that the slickness of our love was beginning to trail down my thigh.
“And as for you . . .” she started to say to me.
“Yeah. I know,” I said. “Daphne Greenwood is a screw up.”
“Exactly. See me in my office in fifteen minutes.”
They were still in the doorway. I had no choice but to squeeze by them. Good looking man was looking highly amused. Glad I could make your day, I wanted to say to him. Instead, I got a whiff of him. Damn. He smelled good.
“I’m so sorry, Mr Andrews,” Miranda said. “This will never happen again. The girl is plain crazy.”
I shot a glance back. That was Mr Andrews. Passenger Thirteen!
I still had Crystal’s cigarettes and lighter. Why not have a smoke before I faced the firing squad? Now I needed it more than ever. I was so pissed off at Ayad for abandoning me, and I was terrified Miranda was going to have a Daphne Greenwood ass buffet when she got a hold of me. She had plenty of chafing dishes filled with my misadventures – a picture of me with a stripper, a voodoo box with one of her earrings in it and me screwing the maintenance man on the conference room table.
Behind me, I locked the storeroom door and stood by the vent, where I lit up. A cigarette never tasted so good. In the corner stood an old vending gumball machine. It must have come from the lunchroom at some point. That was soon going to be me – empty, forgotten.
Cigarette still in hand, I adjusted my panties. My tights were useless. Everyone was going to see my tattoos. Another thing for Miranda to yell about. Great, why not just parade around naked. I try to fit in. I do. And look what happens.
I could talk my way out of this. I could tell her that the stress of being sexually harassed by Crystal had made me doubt my heterosexuality, so I took up with a stripper, had a breakdown and I had to screw Ayad to find myself again. It wasn’t my fault. It was Crystal’s.
I was using the fabric of my tights to sort of clean between my thighs when my cigarette fell from my hand and landed in an open box of file folders.
At first, I thought nothing happened. The stupid thing disappeared. Maybe the fall had snuffed it out. I poked around in the box. Nothing. Maybe I should just dump the whole thing out, but the box was huge. Pulling out some of the folders occurred to me, but then I saw it. A wisp of smoke. The box was smoking my cigarette. All that angst from travel agents and travelers was inhaling. I wasn’t sticking my hand in there.
How on earth was I going to put it out? There wasn’t a fire extinguisher in here. What did fire need? Fuel? Air? The door looked pretty air tight. Being the good citizen I was, I fled the room and shut the door.
Please go out. Please go out. I glanced at the crack at the bottom of the door. Blast it. Smoke. Then there was this sound like a whoosh and an intense crackling. Orange light joined the smoke at the crack.
What do I do? I wasn’t about to leave the building without my purse. As calmly as I could, I walked back to my desk. I didn’t see Miranda. She must still be in the meeting with Thirteen. Just as I sat and opened my drawer to get my purse, I heard the fire alarm go off. Everyone leapt up.
“This isn’t a drill. We have a situation on the third floor, please leave the building.”
Anyone who was on the phone got to say there
was an emergency and hang up on the client. The one time we get to do that, and I missed it.
Down the three flights of stairs I traipsed with the others. You could smell the smoke now. Once we were outside we were supposed to meet in a designated spot in the parking lot, far from the building, in case it blew up or something.
You would have thought it was a national emergency or something with all the fire trucks that pulled up, even the kind with the long ladders.
I stood away from the others, including Pam, Crystal, and Crystal’s friends. Not on purpose or anything. It just happened that no one else stood with me, not even Ayad, who was shooting me dirty looks from beside a tree. It takes two to tango, buddy, I wanted to call to him. You’re the one who had my toe in your mouth. I couldn’t believe his dick had just been inside me and now this. He was the owner of a seriously defective character.
Miranda finally came out, wearing a fire marshall red vest. She must have stayed behind to make sure everyone was out. How very brave. She shot me a look that could have burned Lycra off a hooker.
I managed a wan smile in return. Not in a million years was she going to believe my sexual harassment breakdown story. Not after today. Especially if they found out who started the fire. I’d never get out of my crappy trailer or get a better life. I didn’t belong here. It was so obvious with us standing out in the open. No one else was standing apart. What had I been doing at this place? Torturing myself trying to fit in. Who was I kidding anyway? I wasn’t an office girl, a travel agent. I never traveled because I couldn’t afford the hotels or the food even with a free airline pass.
Someone cleared their throat behind me. I turned. It was him, devastatingly handsome him.
“Passenger Thirteen,” I said.
“Thirteen?”
“That’s what I like to call you. A nickname of sorts.”
He looked mystified.
“Haven’t you noticed you frequently end up in row thirteen?” I asked.
“Oh, that. Actually I probably deserve it. I can be quite abrasive sometimes.”
How had I ever been shitty to such a fine man?
“You probably shouldn’t be speaking to me,” I said. “I’m a doomed woman.”
The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 4 Page 12
