Flash Drive

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  “When she didn’t answer, just remained on her knees shaking, I screamed, ‘Why? Tell me!’

  “She answered in a low voice, ‘I owe him money. I stole money while I was babysitting and they found out. I had to return it before they told my parents. Joe loaned me the money. But now nobody wants me to babysit and I don’t have a way to pay him back. He says I have to do this until

  I do.’

  “‘How much do you owe him?’

  “‘Twenty dollars.’

  “I reached into my front pocket and took out a wad of bills. I counted out twenty dollars and threw them down by her knees. I spoke through a haze of anger; my words unbelievably harsh even to my ears. ‘Don’t ever do that again unless it’s something you want to do.’

  “I spun around and ran up the stairs. But the damage had been done. Pleated skirts, white starched shirts, knee-highs, basements, and yes, even freckles—formally abhorred, sent blood surging to my cock. And the idea of a woman on her knees servicing me in front of others while she sobbed became my all-time number one fantasy.

  “In high school, if I could get a girl to gag so that tears ran down her face I would come almost instantly. And in college I once asked a girlfriend to wear one of those school uniform get ups you can buy in the adult stores for a Halloween costume party.

  “So there you have it. My first sexual completion. Not proud of it for a number of reasons. When I saw that Margie didn’t want to do it, I should have manned up for her. I gave my hard earned money to her and she didn’t even appreciate it, she never even thanked me, and then I had to sneak into the house so my mom couldn’t see I’d wet my pants. All-in-all, it was not my finest hour.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes. Neither knowing quite what to say after that.

  “So, if I get topless, get on my knees and deep throat you until I’m crying, you’ll give me twenty dollars?”

  “Sweetheart, if you’ll do all that, I’ll give you a thousand dollars.”

  “Good to know. Next time I’m short on funds . . .”

  He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to him, nuzzling her hair as he smiled, “Actually I’m pretty much over that one, girls in college try so hard to please, and as I’m fairly well endowed, it usually played out in my favor anyway. Actually, it got a bit tiresome . . .”

  She reached over and swatted him on the arm.

  “Uh huh, yeah. Sure it did.”

  He laughed and pulled her close. “Okay, make it two thousand.”

  There was silence for a few seconds so he stopped and turned her to face him. They were on a bike path now that ran along the coast. “Hey, what’s this? I was just joking, don’t get mad.”

  “I’m not mad. But I do need to have a conversation with you about money.”

  He looked at her askance. What was this about? It wouldn’t be the first time a girlfriend had needed to ask him for money, but Laurel couldn’t possibly be one of them. Although she was here in Charleston longer than she’d planned to be. But he’d seen Tessa drag all of Laurel’s stuff over from her room before leaving this morning, her purse included. Yet, she hadn’t bought anything in any of the shops they’d been in, maybe she needed some cash. “Money conversations are always awkward, just spit it out, do you need some cash until we get back?”

  “Oh no. Hell, no.”

  “Well, what’s the problem then?”

  “No problem really. Just something you should know.”

  “Okay, then tell me.” Ah, he had an inkling what she was going to tell him and knowing it wasn’t public knowledge, and that she probably didn’t share this information with others, he burst with pride.

  “My dad won the lottery right after he died, the drawing was the day after actually. I found the ticket in his wallet a few days after the funeral. I almost didn’t bother checking it. He never even knew.”

  He feigned surprise, “Wow, what a shame that he never knew. How much are we talking about?”

  “Thirty-six million plus. I invested most of it so it’s a lot more now, seventy some.”

  He whistled. She must have phenomenal investing instincts. “Geez,” he said, stunned. He wondered if she would let him look at her portfolio.

  There was silence for a few moments then she asked, “So are we both multi-millionaires?”

  “Ummhmm. Yup. Self-made on my end.”

  “Don’t be a snob.”

  More silence.

  “Why do you seem mad?” she asked.

  “I’m not mad, my perceptions are just skewed, that’s all.” And my estimates of her total wealth were considerably off.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning . . . hell I don’t know.”

  “This shouldn’t affect us . . . I mean . . .”

  “See?” he said as he smiled over at her. “Weird, huh?”

  “It shouldn’t be weird.”

  “No, the fact that you have more money than I do shouldn’t be weird. But it is.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know why. I guess because every woman I’ve ever dated made less and had less. I don’t think my money was the reason they were drawn to me, but I always had to be careful not to let them know how much money I had. I never wanted it to be a factor in our relationship.”

  “I don’t want it to be in ours either. That’s why I told you.” They made their way down some steps to a small sandy beach.

  “Money equates to power and I’m kind of traditional in my thinking.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The man should have the power, or at least the majority of it. I know, I know, it’s sexist and not the way things are these days. But I like the male dominant role. And I like the female as submissive . . . somewhat submissive anyway.”

  “We can still be like that. So I have money? You have money. Neither of us flaunts it. It doesn’t have to be an issue.”

  He turned and pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin, “No, it doesn’t have to be an issue. I’ll just have to work harder I suppose . . .”

  “It’s not a contest!”

  “The hell it’s not. I’ve got my pride here.”

  “How much are we talking?”

  “You’re about thirty ahead of me if I were to liquidate right now. But give me a few more years and I just might catch up and blow by you.”

  “Well then why don’t we just wait and see. If we’re still together in five years then we can declare a winner.”

  He took her hand and shook it, “You’re on. But I will call foul if I see you sneaking a peak at what I’m circling in the Journal.”

  “Okay, first one to billionaire has to buy lunch.”

  “In Paris.”

  “Via the QE2.”

  “In the Presidential Stateroom.”

  “With the bathtub full of Mumm’s.”

  “Speaking of, I could use a drink.”

  “You buyin’?”

  He laughed, “Don’t I always?”

  “That’s because you’re the man. You dominate. You have the power.”

  “Stop sucking up.”

  “What about your offer, for the two grand? Change your mind?”

  “Now that I know you don’t need the money, I’ll guess I’ll have to come up with another incentive.”

  “You must be pretty awesome in the world of finance to have done as well as you have without much of a stake. Got any insights I could use?”

  “Sweetheart, it sounds like whoever you’ve got managing your accounts is doing a pretty fine job.”

  “I manage everything myself. But sometimes I get advice. I’d love to hear some of your strategy.”

  “Ahh . . . no longer interested in body of mine, now she is wanting my investing sec
rets,” he said in a Boris Badenov accent.

  “Boris from Bullwinkle?”

  “You pass test. Okay, I give you my secret,” he said, staying in character. “Sin. That is the secret. Is good Natasha.”

  “Sin?”

  “Yes. Big pay off with sin.”

  “Elucidate.”

  He smiled and went back to his normal voice. “The vices pay off—consistently, year after year—smoking, drinking, gambling, sex . . . and the easiest way to get them all . . . the Internet. Cigarette manufacturing is up 12 percent. So that’s Philip Morris International, Lorillard Inc., and the Altria Group. The fund was up four and a half percent last year when everything else was sliding down. According to Morningstar, it ranked in the top three percent. Alcoholic beverages are up six percent. Gaming is down though, as the casinos are struggling under heavy debt loads.

  “Vice Fund, the only fund consisting of ‘sin’ stocks, is rebounding in a lagging market, and would be showing a substantial return if not for the gaming segment. And sex toys for the baby boomers . . . through the roof. There’s a book out that makes for interesting reading, it’s called, Investing in Vice: The Recession-proof Portfolio of Booze, Bets, and Butts.

  “So if you’re looking for deep-value stocks—”

  “I thought tobacco was an industry going out of business?” she interrupted.

  “Not in the international markets. It’s growing in emerging markets. In other parts of the world people are smoking more, not less. And they’re going to the premium brands. Philip Morris is in a great position. The dividend is paying steadily at five percent, and they have enough cash to buy back shares. Due to the advertising laws, the company doesn’t have to spend a fortune remaking itself over and over again. R & D is at a minimum with an acceptable and consistent product, and distribution lines have long been established for them. It’s a nice presence globally, and growing markets like Brazil will make it a cash machine for investors in the coming years.”

  “So much to consider,” she said with a confusing shake of her head.

  “Yes there is. It’s a full-time job for me. The research never ends.”

  “So what have you been reading about lately?”

  “You know, if you keep pumping me, I’m going to have to ask for a consulting fee.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Hmmm . . . pumping you back?”

  “I think I can handle the tariff. Give me an idea of what you delved into at your conference last week.”

  “Hmmm. Okay, here goes. The highlights: sustainability of the dollar vs. rapid fluxes; hope surrounding the Chinese economy; iPad stocks and the companies who provide components . . . like Polypore, in North Carolina—they make the filters and separators for use in lithium batteries; flash point techniques; falling home values; convectional solar units; photovoltaic generators; bio techs; GENCO and cancer; you name it . . . someone brought it up.

  “You know, analysts predict that by 2013 alternative energy numbers will be in the 13 billion dollar range. That could translate to an enormous return if you were to pick the right start up company.

  “I subscribe to over 40 newsletters. One of my favorites is Gold Stock Advisor; I have 14 percent of my portfolio in gold. I’m just waiting for the next period of stagnation to buy into Kinross or Kiska, or Full Metal Minerals.

  “And then of course, there’s warnings of a bond bubble brewing. You really have to stay on top of things, and you have to be able to react quickly. I made a fortune when

  BHP Billiton failed to take over the Potash Corporation, a Canadian fertilizer company—the largest in the Saskatchewan Province. Due to the failed takeover, the jump was 26 percent. You never see rates of return that high. It’s the international markets that play well in this game if you understand them. The first few years I was doing this, I was up all night following the Asian markets, just trying to get a handle on how things worked. A real trial by fire. Lost my ass a few times.

  “So . . . in my professor’s voice, let me sum this up for you: you can’t always be bullish because Wall Street says so. Sometimes the way to make money is to go against the tide.”

  She laughed at his serious professor voice. “Do you know what the difference between an ostrich and a Wall Street analyst is?” she asked.

  “No, what is it?” he asked, smiling down at her.

  “An ostrich occasionally takes its head out of the sand.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. He took her hand and kissed it. “Enough Investing 101. Although why I’m teaching you, when you’re out earning me quite handily, I’ll never know. But I’m ready to collect my fee.”

  “The pumping one?”

  “Yes, precisely.”

  “I guess I’d better pay up.”

  “Now you’re talking. C’mon, I’ll race you back to the hotel,” he said, “at least that’s something I can still beat you at.” He took off, quickly distancing them, enjoying the brief sprint. At a bridge overpass, he leaned against the bricks and waited for her to catch up.

  “Good thing you’re loaded,” he said, “’Cause you’re never gonna get the gold that way.” He tugged on her ponytail and fell into a jog beside her. “You wanna go see if we can rent The Pianist? You can see the ending, and while Brody’s doing his thing,” he mimicked playing the piano, “I can do mine . . .” He waggled his eyebrows up and down and lolled his tongue in and out of his mouth.

  She burst out laughing and kept at it until she had tears leaking down her cheeks and they had to stop jogging. They turned their jog into a brisk walk and crossed the streets heading back toward the hotel.

  “I adore you,” he murmured.

  “How do I know you’re not just saying that because of my money?”

  He laughed. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

  “Sounded pretty ridiculous coming from you, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, women don’t need men with lots of money.”

  “No? What do they need then?”

  “A nice big cock.”

  “Mine’s probably not the biggest money can buy . . .”

  “How much do they go for, are they sold by the inch or buy the pound?”

  “Square foot.”

  “You wish.”

  “And the balls are optional. But I should advise you, the cock is not operational without them. It’s sort of a forced option.”

  “Okay, I’ll take two and make them nice and sweaty.”

  “I believe I have that exact model in stock.”

  “Good. I don’t have time to place an order as I have an urgent, pressing need.”

  “We guarantee optimum performance at the critical time and service with a smile. Our latest model even has a replay feature if you know how to use it.”

  “Oh, I’ll figure out how to use it. Remember, I’ve had some experience with that particular feature. Geesh, men who can’t be satisfied . . . what’s up with that?”

  “At least with me, you can be assured of your satisfaction . . . over and over again. That I can promise you.”

  “You are so much fun to be with Garrett,” she said, slowing her pace and forcing him to slow his. “I like talking to you.”

  “Ditto, baby.”

  Chapter Sixty-two

  When they got back to the room Garrett got them each a bottle of water, and as they chugged the much-needed elixir, he toed off his shoes, not once taking his eyes off her.

  His shirt was the next to go, and although sweat was running in erratic rivulets through the mat of his chest hair, she thought he was the sexiest thing alive. There apparently was some strict discipline imbued in his lifestyle—those abs, those shoulders—only came from strenuous exercise. He hadn’t shaved th
is morning and the cast of his dark shadow made him even more appealing. Combined with his dark expressive eyebrows and fully lashed cornflower-blue eyes, he was devastating.

  He put his water bottle down and walked over to where she stood, eyeing him as hungrily as he was her. He took her water from her, and blindly placed it on the dresser beside her, while with his other hand, he gathered the hem and tugged her tight tank top off. It had a built in shelf bra, so when it came off she was topless.

  He was radiant; full of raw energy and the lust darkening his eyes made her feel pretty . . . desired . . . sexy.

  “Mmmm,” he said as he cupped her breast, hefting it and running his thumb over the tip until she moaned for him. “You are so beautiful. I am one lucky guy, to be here with you, in this room, taking off your clothes.”

  “I’m all sweaty.”

  “I noticed. Me too. C’mon, let’s have a shower. They have a removable shower head, and I’m in the mood for some water play.” He knelt and removed her yoga togs and panties as one, kissed her belly, then the line where her curls began, and finally her upper thighs. He unlaced her tennis shoes, and tugged each one off while she used his shoulder for support, and then he pulled off her half socks. He stood, took her hand, kissed it, and walked her into the bathroom.

  If she didn’t know better she would have sworn the water she’d been drinking was drugged. She was euphoric, but lacking the limber grace she was proud of, as she meekly dragged her feet, and went into the bathroom with this sexy, over-the-top, gift to women. She stood naked, as if in a daze, while he adjusted the temperature and the spray, and then came back to lift her high in his arms to carry her under the pounding spray.

  As hotel bathrooms went, this one was pretty upscale—roomy and tiled throughout. It had a small alcove that closed them off from the world, promising privacy and comfort, and tremendous water pressure from state-of-the-art shower fixtures. He squirted some shower gel in his palms and turned her to face him. Soap-coated hands massaged her collarbone and shoulders. Her arms were next and they were lovingly soaped and caressed down to the fingertips. More gel was added, and both breasts were gathered up, brought together, and the nipples firmly tugged until the tips slid silkily from his fingertips. Her belly was next, and he held his hand over her womb causing it to clench.