2 comments/ 31548 views/ 7 favorites Equal Opportunity By: MrPezman "You really need to relax." I started, sitting ill at ease in the chair across from my boss. I hadn't noticed that it was so obvious, my being apprehensive. I hadn't expected my new job to be a breeze, but the constant uphill battle was putting me on edge. I didn't want to be that guy who couldn't get with the program, but it seemed that obstacle after obstacle was being placed in my way. The biggest problem that I was facing was that with everything I needed to fill out and take to people, there was always some paperwork I suddenly needed, or I wasn't even in their system yet. I had to keep going back and forth, searching for this new form, which often needed somebody else's signature on it. So, I was startled that Dina Coombs, my supervisor and liaison, had seen the tension so effortlessly. I tried to relax, tried to take her advice, but I simply couldn't. I could feel the knots of tensed muscle in my back and neck. I knew my teeth were gritting, as they had constantly done all day. I didn't want Ms. Coombs to think that I would freeze up if faced with so many new challenges. It didn't seem like a good start, but Damn it, all this scrambling around was ridiculous! The company simply should've anticipated this and figured out some way to centralize everything to be dealt with without all the hassle. "Are you okay?" Ms. Coombs asked, leaning forward slightly, looking quite remarkable in her gray business skirt-suit. She reminded me of an actress that I had seen recently, and it did nothing to help me see her in professional terms. She wore her blondish-brown hair shoulder-length, and her eyes were a warm brown. Her figure was impressive, too! Almost unconsciously, I glanced at her left hand, noting in my head that she wore no ring. She could have a boyfriend, but it didn't matter, since she was my boss. I nodded in response to her question, "I'm okay." "I know you're used to the rigid structure of the military...you've been in how long?" "Eight years," I took a deep breath. "So all this commotion and hassle is probably pretty frustrating for you, I'm sure. I'm sorry, but since we're dealing with the fact that the company we're working with has their own way of doing things, we've been forced to do things their way, which often conflicts with our own. It's not much an excuse for all of this, but it's all I have for you." "I'll deal with it," I hoped I was showing more confidence than I felt. "I'm sure you will, but not tense like you are now. At this rate, you'll end up with more stomach ulcers than success." She stood up, and I got another look at her well-toned legs, and a glimpse further up her legs since her skirt had a slit up the sides up to mid-thigh. I couldn't tell for sure, but I think she wasn't wearing pantyhose. She walked behind me, and I didn't have to turn around to know that she had closed the door. The busy office noise that I had been hearing was dulled down to near-silence. She sat on the edge of her desk, about two feet from the chair in which I sat, her legs crossed at the ankles. I had seen my share of beautiful women, and perhaps Ms. Coombs was no supermodel, but she was quite desirable. "I know how it is, starting out like you are now," she sighed, "It can drive you crazy. The company that we're working with consists of about four hundred employees, and less than half of them are happy to have us on board. The rest of them are worried about losing their jobs, or being relocated, which many will. I sympathize with them, since I'd feel the same way about losing my job security like that. I blame it on our company, since I'm only working here because it was the best job offer I had. I can imagine it's probably the same way for you. Our company bid for the contract, and because their company wanted to save money, we got it. Them being mad at us is like some guy getting pissed off at a repo-man because the bank hired him to repossess the guy's car. It does no good, but it's how they feel. "Anyway," she got back to the subject, "I know it's driving you crazy, but you can't continue to operate at the level of tension you are. You've got to let off some steam before it blows you apart. I'll tell you what...I probably shouldn't even be saying this, since I am effectively your boss, but stop by here after your workday. We'll go out and have a drink or something, and it'll give you a chance to relax." Needless to say, I was quite surprised. But since this was apparently not a serious date but just a get-together, I agreed. I mean, she was my boss... but the way she worded it, it sounded like she was doing something she knew the job would frown upon. "Okay, I'll see you around five, then." I left her office, puzzled. I wondered if this was something routine for her, and why she'd decided to include me. I imagined that there'd be others there, like a social gathering. I felt a little disappointed, though, if that was the case. Feeling no less tense, I went to building after building, and by the time that five o'clock rolled around, I felt like I could just snap. I even felt a scream boiling just up in my throat, but I wasn't sure that I'd be able to stop once I started. I swallowed the scream back down with some effort, but in its place was a string of curses that just begged to be let loose. I went to my car, and once I had the windows up and was sure nobody was around, that string of curses surged from my mouth and reverberated around my car. I pounded on the steering wheel for a moment until I decided to regain control of myself. I took some deep breaths, started my car, and headed for the office building that Ms. Coombs worked in. She was slipping files into an old, battered leather bag when I knocked on her door. She looked up at me, and then winced slightly. "Jesus, I think it's almost meltdown time for you. Sit down for a minute, okay?" Again, she went behind me and closed the door. Then she looked me over. "Imagine doing this all week. You'll go postal long before Friday!" She came up behind me, started to put her hands on my shoulders, and then stopped. "Damn it, I shouldn't even think about doing this, so I can only hope that you'll be discreet about this. I don't want to lose my job over it, and that's exactly what will happen if it gets out. But I've seen your resume, and I have no doubt that you're a credit to the company, and I'd really hate to see you screw it up by having a nervous breakdown or snapping and using us for target practice." She wrestled with her logic, and her hands finally settled softly on my thrumming shoulders. She began to massage my shoulders, kneading the muscles, and I was shocked for a moment. What in the hell was going on here? Despite my shock, her hands were having a noticeable effect on the knots of muscle, massaging some of the tension out of it, and I felt a sigh of relief bubble up my throat and out of my mouth. "See, there you go. Just let it go. Take some deep breaths and relax." I took her advice, and, accompanied by her hands, which continued to find knots and massage them out. I felt the muscles submit, uncoiling, loosening. Soon, I took a last deep breath and felt better than I had since I'd flown out here to start this job. "Now, that's much better," she announced, and her hands left my shoulders. I was sorry to feel them go, but what had I expected exactly? Perhaps her massage could be construed as unprofessional in the eyes of anyone else, but, like she had explained, she had a good reason for it. She finished pushing files into the leather bag, closed it, and hung the strap from her shoulder. "Come on," she walked past me, and I stood up, feeling much better than I had upon walking into her office. I followed her, and waited while she turned off her office light and locked the door. The other offices of the building were mostly empty by now, or close to it, nowhere near as busy as when I'd come here earlier. She stopped me at the restrooms near the exit, and asked me to wait a moment. "I need to change real quick before we leave." I leaned against the wall and absently moved back and forth, using the rough surface of the wall to scratch an itch in the middle of my back. I waited for almost five minutes before the door to the ladies' restroom opened, and I was awestruck. She walked out into the hallway, and the shock on my face must've been obvious. "What?" She was wearing a simple pair of jeans, but she filled them out as if they had been crafted specifically for her. She wore a white shirt with the face of the Mad magazine's favorite spokesman, Alfred Newman. In this cartoon, a beautifully drawn woman's head was next to his, her tongue in his ear. The amusing part was that her tongue appeared to extrude from his other ear, the tip of the unnaturally long tongue pink and wet-looking. Newman's gap-toothed grin was a trademark, saying, 'What, me worry?' The shirt clung to her body alluringly. "Well?" she was apparently awaiting some kind of answer. "Wow," I couldn't think of any well-articulated response. "Can I assume that is a compliment, or is there a booger hanging out of my nose that's impressed you?" I laughed, "No, you look-" She shushed me, though she was visibly pleased, "Not here. Too many ears..." I followed her out the door, taking a second to admire the way her hips rolled seductively in her jeans. "If you'd like, I can either follow you to your place so you can change, or we can meet up later." I shrugged, "I'd say we can meet up, but I've only been here for a few days, so I don't know where anything is." "It's cool," she smiled, "I'll follow you then." She drove a green Chevy Tahoe, and stuck close behind as I left the parking lot, hit the main highway, and weaved into the heavy traffic. Determined not to lose me in the snarl of traffic, she drove aggressively to remain behind me. When a blue Corolla tried to force its way between us, she closed the distance until her front bumper was only half a foot from my rear bumper, and the Corolla was forced to swerve back into his own lane, almost hitting the car behind it, a flourish of blaring horns washing over us. My exit was a two more miles ahead. I had purposely picked an apartment close to work, since I hated to drive, especially in such a harrowing environment. The less I was forced to drive in it, the better. I reached my exit, looked in my rearview mirror, and saw Ms. Coombs in her Tahoe, still behind me, and rolled down the off-ramp to the surface street. A few more streets later, I reached the four-story apartment complex I had just moved into, found a parking spot, and parked, shivering slightly. Like I said, I hated driving. It didn't help to be forced to deal with such heavy traffic every day; it had me tense and shaking before I even made it to work! Ms. Coombs parked her Tahoe next to me, and got out. I extracted myself from my car, still shivering slightly, and she followed me into the lobby. She noticed my shivers. "Are you alright?" I started to say I was fine, and then admitted, "I just can't stand the traffic here. If hell had a highway, it would be just like that, with people aiming to run you off the road in their hectic plan to get wherever is so important to them." She agreed, "I can understand that. Did you want me to wait down here?" "No, that's okay. Come on up if you dare, but I have to warn you. It looks like a warehouse in there, almost nothing but boxes." She shrugged, "Doesn't bother me any. I've been through it myself." She walked with me to the elevator, and I hit the button. "You know, I don't want you to get into any trouble. I'll be fine, really." She laughed, "Yeah, I see how you'll be just fine. You're probably so tightly wound, any more stress and you'll fly apart." "It's not that bad. I've lived with stress most of my life." "Do you not want to go anymore?" she asked, a little put off. "No," I quickly replied, "It's not that. I just don't want you to put your job on the line, not for me." "Well, that'll be for me to decide who I put my job on the line for. Are you sure you're okay with it? I can deal with it if you're not. I'm a big girl." I took a deep breath to steady myself, and admitted, "I'd be honored to go get a drink with you." "Good, cause I am a big girl, but it'd still hurt my feelings if you backed out." The elevator carried us to the third floor, and I led her to Apartment 328. As I unlocked the door, Ms. Coombs chuckled. I looked at her, and she explained, "Add the numbers." I did, and laughed as well. I hadn't noticed it before, oddly, though I was a fan of movies like 1408, and the number 23. I let her in, flipping a switch that turned the overhead fan and light on. I had several boxes stacked in the corners, a sofa with a pull-out bed, and my mattress in the bedroom off to the right. Sure, it probably wasn't as packed as a warehouse, but it was cramped in this state. She looked around, noticing that, behind the boxes, I had already hung up several decorative posters, several prints of a particular artist whose works I'd seen on the internet. They were a bit erotic...okay, more than a bit, but they were still works of art, beautiful women in surreal environments, either posing alone, or engaged in some pretty sensual copulating. The prints could be construed as pornography, but, in my eyes at least, they were works of art. She peered around the stacks of boxes, looking at the prints while I went to go change our of my work clothes. I put on a pair of loose-fitting jeans, which comprised most of my casual wardrobe, and a black shirt emblazoned with my favorite band. Checking my hair, which pretty much did what it wanted despite any attempt to tame it, I sprayed myself just a bit from a can of body spray, and then went back into the living room. Ms. Coombs was looking at one of the prints in particular, a print that had been titled 'Sabbath.' It showed two women, both mostly nude, and a hunchbacked older looking man in a cloak. One woman in white, standing, was kissing the other woman in black, also standing, just their tongues touching, while the older man was kneeling, his hand on the white-clad woman's thigh, his tongue snaking out to taste her bared pussy. "Very nice," Ms. Coombs grinned, to my embarrassment, "A very interesting choice of art." I grinned back, sheepish, "Yeah, I found them online, and thought they looked pretty cool." "Well," she stepped away from 'Sabbath,' and looked at me, blushing just a little, "Shall we?" "We shall," I replied, and I flipped the light off as we left. "You're not one of those porn addicts, are you?" she asked as I closed the door behind us. "Well, I enjoy porn, but I don't sit at a computer like a complete pervert and look at porn all day." "What kind of porn do you 'enjoy' when you look at porn?" An odd topic of conversation, but I was loathe to ever back down from such a controversial subject, even at the expense of humiliation. "Mostly, I watch hentai." "Hentai? Is that Asian porn?" I started to shake my head, but realized that, in a way, it was Asian porn. I clarified, "A lot of it is Asian made, true, but it's animated." "Like cartoon porn?" I shrugged, "If you want to classify it, I guess, yeah." "Why do you watch it?" "For the same reason that other guys do," I tried to keep a straight face but failed, reddening as well. She blushed and laughed, "No, perv, I mean why do you choose hentai over other stuff?" "I don't know," I thought about it, and then said, "Maybe because it's not always just sex. It's got a plot, and since the actors and actresses are all drawn, there's no place for horrible acting like you'd see in a porn where the director wanted a story to accompany the sex. Have you seen some of the stuff out there?" "Um...well, yeah, I guess so. I've seen a little bit." "Honestly, now," I smirked, "How many have you seen?" A little defensive, but still blushing, maybe a little brighter, she confessed, "I've seen a few, and some clips here and there." "When?" We rode the elevator down, and I was more curious than ever. I repeated my last question, and she blurted, "Alright, alright! I saw a movie when I was fourteen, with a few of my girlfriends. Lacey snuck it from her father's closet and popped it in." "And?" "And what?" "Did you like it?" She squirmed a little, "I don't know, I was fourteen. I thought it was gross..." "Was that it besides a few clips?" "Lacey had three of them, and we watched all three. One of them was a lesbian movie." "Ooh," I laughed, "Always fun. What did you think of it?" "I think we've discussed this subject enough already." "Hey, you brought it up!" I grinned. "Good, that means I can close it." "I think you liked the lesbian porn." Her blush deepened, and she laughed nervously, "I mean it, that's enough." I let it go, mostly, as we walked through the lobby and outside. The sun was commencing its descent into the western horizon, and the air was still quite warm. I winced at the glare, and began to go to my car. "Why don't you just ride with me?" she asked, and I stopped. She explained, "I wouldn't want you having a nervous breakdown before we get there." I shrugged and climbed into the passenger seat of her Tahoe. She got behind the wheel, turned the key, and the engine roared to life, muffled significantly from the interior of the SUV. She backed out of the parking spot, and we took surface streets back to the highway, which had cleared up a little now that the evening rush was winding down. Ms. Coombs picked a lane, and I waited until then. "I watch some Asian porn, too." She eyed me shrewdly, "I thought I said we were dropping this." "I thought you meant you. I didn't realize I wasn't allowed to talk about the stuff I watch." She laughed, and then asked, "Why do you sometimes watch Asian porn?" Roping her back into the subject, I explained, "When I was younger, I had a crush on this Korean exchange student in high school. I developed so many fantasies about her, I was so caught up on her. I even got up the courage to ask her out, but she told me that her parents wouldn't approve of their daughter dating an American." "Ouch," Ms. Coombs sympathized, "That hurts." "Yeah," I agreed, "It did. But she was so polite, so kind, and I'm pretty sure that she would if she were permitted to, so I couldn't be mad at her. I did become good friends with her, and things were okay, though I'd have jumped at the chance to go out with her. I guess maybe I never completely got over her." "So," she guessed, "You sometimes watch Asian porn because you had a crush on her." "I don't know," I said honestly, "I'd say I watch it in remembrance of her, but that would seem a bit...obscene. Maybe it's because of the fantasies I had when I was younger." "So you only go out with Asian women then?" I glanced sideways at her, but her brown eyes were still on the road. Was this a pointed question, or just part of the conversation? "No, not really. It's difficult to explain. Perhaps...if, say, a nice-looking Asian girl were to ask me out, I can't say I'd refuse. But I think, as far as Asians go, anyway, I'd have to say that I still kinda carry a torch for Lee." "That's kinda sweet," he heard her say. She was silent, and I wondered what was going on in her head. A few minutes passed, the mood flat-lining, and I think I might have said something wrong. I didn't want to ruin the evening, and I searched for something to say. I put some words together in my head, and then tried them out, hoping that they were the right words, "You know, though, it'd be unfair to just date Asians anyway. Besides, if I did date an Asian girl, I'd probably just constantly compare her to Lee, so it wouldn't be fair to them." Equal Opportunity "Oh yeah?" Ms. Coombs glanced at me, and then back to the road. "Yeah," I answered, "There're plenty of women in the world besides Asians. There's Latin women, Philippino women, and lots of white women. No need to be biased towards one nationality, right?" She laughed, "Sounds pretty equal-opportunity to me." "Of course, Ms. Coombs." She winced, "Oh god, please..." I jumped, "What?" "I can't believe you just called me that?" I thought I'd called her Ms. Coombs. Had I called her something else instead? She laughed, "It makes me sound so...old. I'm thirty, for chrissake! Please, just call me Dina." "That's cool," I shrugged. Of course, I'd have to concentrate on calling her Dina instead of Ms. Coombs. The military still had a hold on many of my actions and behaviors, that after eight years, I guess I've been pretty effectively programmed. Maybe if I thought of Ms.- (shit!), um, Dina as just a friend instead of my boss, I could deal with it easier. That'd be cool, two friends going out to have a drink. Right? She was quiet again, but not because the mood had broken again, not quite, anyway. Then, out of nowhere, she confessed, "Yes, I kinda liked watching the lesbian porn." I almost laughed out loud, but controlled myself, appearing nonchalant. "It beats the hell out of guy-on-guy porn any day of the week," I replied. "Why is that?" Explaining a long-held belief of mine, I said, "There's something so...natural, so right about two women. I mean...a woman's body is a work of art in my eyes. All the curves, the femininity, it's just so pleasing to the eye." Fascinated by my words, she asked, "And a guy's body isn't?" "Not in the least. Even the most effeminate guy is basically the same as a masculine guy. All angles, maybe pleasing as an abstract, but even that's stretching it. I can find nothing whatsoever attractive about a guy's body. But a woman's body...and then you put the women together, and it's like a work of art come to life!" "So a woman's body is like a work of art to you..." Dina mused, "When you put it that way, it's pretty easy to explain the art in your apartment. There's much to be appreciated in the curves, the great attention to detail when it comes to the women, while any males in the art are displayed...crudely, almost ugly in appearance. The only halfway pleasing aspect of the men in the pictures is that they're pleasing the women." I had to stop and stare in awe of Dina. She had accepted my view and applied it to my taste in art so completely! "Does that make sense?" she asked, unaware as of yet. "Make sense? I think you pretty much nailed it on the head with the biggest hammer in the world." She laughed, "Really? I was just speculating. I don't know if that was the reason I enjoyed the movie, but I like your reasoning." "So...why did you enjoy the movie?" "Oh, god...this is so embarrassing, I hope you know that." I grinned, "I know. It's so cute. So, you were saying?" "I...thought it was gross at first, but the two women in the porn seemed to enjoy doing it so much, and it looked real, not all fake and phony. I even got curious, almost enough to try it. I was afraid though, that if I asked any of my friends they would think I was stupid and start making fun of me, so I kept my mouth shut." "That puts a whole new spin on you," I couldn't keep a straight face at this point even if I tried. "Shut up, you. I was fourteen, and hadn't even kissed a guy. So of course, watching the movie, I was curious. I never once tried it, and that's probably a good thing." I smirked, but didn't reply, and she looked at me, her eyes narrowed a little. "I see you. Keep on smirking." "So...would you be the butch, or the bitch?" "You Neanderthal!" "I try to imagine you with a she-mullet, but it doesn't seem to fit." She tried to act angry, but it dissolved in laughter, and I enjoyed hearing her laugh. It seemed hearty, not a little snicker, or a girly giggle, nor did she guffaw like a donkey. It was pleasant, musical. We arrived at a steakhouse, a place I'd only heard about, but it looked expensive as hell, and we were only in the parking lot. After Dina parked, we got out, and could smell the appealing fragrance of steak on an open flame. I felt out of my league, suddenly. I rarely ate at places such as these, and never with such a beautiful woman. Suffice it to say, my social life was sort of sad. Dina must've sensed my hesitation. "What is it?" I shook my head as though to clear it, and said, "Oh, nothing. I just don't get out much, I guess. Do you think it'll be okay?" She frowned, puzzled, "Will what be okay?" "You being seen with me." "For all they know, we could be cousins. Don't worry about it." I laughed a little, "Okay, fine. Let's go in, then." As redolent as the smells outside were, they were magnified enough to start me salivating helplessly. Dina caught more than a few eyes, guys even checking her out twice. I felt their eyes on me, and wondered if they were asking themselves if she was slumming it this evening. The hostess found us a small table near a window, and I did the gentlemanly thing, pulling the chair out for her. As I sat down, the waiter, a twenty-something guy with an earring and goatee, handed us our menus, looking Dina up and down, and I had that feeling again, that not only was this restaurant out of my league, but Dina, too. Hell, she was probably worlds out of my league, which brought wonders of what my league was, exactly, and if I was the only one there... Dina saw me staring at my closed menu, and smiled sweetly, "It does wonders when you open the menu. Unless you have X-ray eyes...in which case, I might have to start wearing lead-lined underwear." Despite my worry of not being able to measure up, I had to laugh at her comment. I opened my menu and my stomach clamped up when I saw the prices. I mentally counted the money in my wallet. After paying rent and utilities for the month, the remainder of the ending check from my last job was only a quarter of what it had started as. I had maybe fifty dollars in my wallet at this point, and I hadn't even bought groceries yet. I scanned the menu, searching for the least expensive selection. Okay, the soup and salad, not too bad, I thought. I think Dina would probably catch on pretty quickly, though, so I worked my way up. Good lord, the New York Strip steak was about twenty bucks, plus maybe a Coke, for about two. "I know what you're doing," Dina's words cut into my thoughts, and I started. "What are you talking about?" I tried to deny it, even though she hadn't revealed what she thought she knew. She saw right through me though, and I knew she could. "You're looking for the least expensive thing on the menu. Jeez, do you even know how to relax? Always worrying about everything! Well cut it out." "I didn't bring a whole lot of money with me," I sighed miserably. "So?" "Well, I have to make it last as long as possible." "Very frugal of you." I closed my eyes, humiliated. "Now that you're done explaining your thriftiness, you might want to know that you're not paying for dinner." Oh, now that was comforting! "I can't let you pay my way." "Do you think I would invite myself out to dinner with you, and then expect you to pay for it? Surely, I'm not that pathetic that I would do such a thing. Besides, this can be considered a business dinner, so the company can fund it." The waiter returned, getting another eye full. "What can we start you two off with to drink?" Dina ordered a tea for her, and before I could order a Coke, she said, "And get my friend a beer. What sounds good?" The waiter shrugged, "I'm partial to Heineken, myself." "Good enough for me. Get my friend a Heineken, then." I'm not sure if it was just habit, or if he really thought I might be underage, but he asked to see my ID. I fished my driver's license from my wallet and he inspected it for the date of birth, nodded, and handed it back to me. "I'll have your drinks right out," he nodded, smiled, and left. "Wasn't that cute," Dina teased playfully, "He thought you were underage." I rolled my eyes. I guess, if I really took the time to, I could perhaps pass for twenty-two or around that, though I was actually twenty-nine. I wondered, was this a business dinner, binding our actions to ensure they remain professional, or was there a personal interest in this? I didn't dare ask, in case the answer might be one I didn't like. Besides that, if this wasn't something more personal, she might see my question as a hint towards a more intimate nature and I'd shoot down the whole evening. I kept my mouth shut and rolled with it. The waiter brought our drinks, and we clinked bottle and glass. "What should we toast to?" she asked. "How about to the lesbians of the world?" "You won't let me live this down, will you?" "Okay, I'll be nice. We'll toast to the cow, whose absence would force us to eat more chicken." She laughed, and we toasted to the cow. I stuck with the New York Strip, and breathed a little easier knowing that I would keep my fifty dollars to buy groceries with. At Dina's urging, I agreed to add an order of their coconut shrimp, and when the waiter showed up moments later to take our order, we ordered our food. I was surprised when Dina ordered her steak medium-rare. I ordered mine the same way, and the waiter left with our menus. "Imagine that," I said, "You like it pink in the middle." She started to affirm that, when she caught on to the sexual innuendo, and she sputtered, "I knew it!" "What, I was talking about the steak," I played innocent. She muttered, "Yeah right." She was blushing again. We talked about ourselves while we waited for dinner, and I purposefully steered the subject to her as much as possible. My life just didn't seem to be as interesting as hers. She explained that she was the second youngest of two girls and three boys, and that her family was a tight-knit structure. I on the other hand, was one of two brothers and one sister, and our family was so dysfunctional that we rarely visited each other. "That's sad," she said of my siblings, "To grow up together like that, but be so distant." I shrugged, "It's life." She revealed more about her life, and I contented myself to keep quiet, only nodding and making short observations about what I learned. Our food was brought to us about twenty minutes later, and we thanked the waiter. I cut my steak open, and happily found that it had been cooked just right. Dina's was almost identical, and we fell to eating. I made sure not to wolf my food down, even politely using my silverware, but this was the best meal I'd had in months. I went through three beers during dinner, and was finally able to relax. She glanced up at me and asked, "Are you feeling better, yet?" I smiled, "Better than I have in a long time, actually." "Good...it's about time, you know?" I finished off my beer, and she asked if I wanted another. "No, that's alright. Too much more and I might think I'm somebody." "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means my personality changes, and I believe I can do things that in all reality I can't." "Like what?" "Like dancing, for one. It's mortifying when I look back on a previous night and think about me on the dance floor." "Do you dance like a white guy?" "Absolutely, because I am a white guy." "What else?" "Well," I shrugged, "Don't even get me near a karaoke bar when I've been drinking." "Can you sing?" "I don't know. I guess I can carry a tune alright, but I'm no rock star." Dina grinned, "I know a few good karaoke bars here. We could go check a few out if you'd like." I shook my head, "Please, no. I make a fool of myself just fine without places like that." "Come on, it might be fun. I'll tell you what...if you sing, then I'll sing, too." I thought about this, trying to sense some motive. What if she really had a talent for singing, while I resembled a gargling cat? Still, it might be worth it if she was good. "Okay, you're on. I think I'll have a few more beers, but I'm waiting until we get there first." The waiter took his time coming back around, but neither Dina nor I seemed to notice. When he did manage to make it back to our table, he asked if we wanted anything else, perhaps some dessert. "No, I think we're done." "Okay, well here's your check," the waiter produced a small leather folder, "I'll be back in a few minutes to pick it up." Dina took the little folder, slid her business credit card into the small slot reserved for it, and set the folder back onto the table. "So, can you sing?" I asked Dina. "A little, I guess." "This isn't a trick, is it?" "A trick? How would it be a trick?" "You might sing like Beyonce, and I wouldn't know it until you get up on stage and sing." "Wow, that would be nice, but I'm fairly sure I'm nowhere near that good." The waiter picked the little folder up and disappeared with it for a few more moments. "Besides," Dina continued, "How do I know that your little 'I guess I can carry a tune' thing was an understatement? For all I know, you sing like Barry White." I laughed, "Honestly, can you actually expect that I could ever sing like Barry White?" She laughed with me, "I guess not, but you get my meaning, right?" "I get your meaning, but believe me, if I could actually sing that good, do you think I'd need to get my buzz on before I could even get up on stage?" "Okay, you might have a point. I guess we'll both have to find out for ourselves." Once the waiter had returned with the folder, Dina signed the receipt, added the tip, and we left. About ten minutes later, we were at the door of this neon-lit bar, The Flow, which could mean different things depending on what your mindset was. I followed her inside, encouraged when nobody was calling her name and urging her to sing. We made our way through the crowd there, while some tall girl belted out a rendition of Shakira's 'Underneath Your Clothes.' She wasn't doing too badly, but she couldn't hit that tone that Shakira did, the switch from high and girly to smoky-silky-sexy. Still, you had to give her some respect. Near the small stage was a big red binder, and as Dina opened it, I saw that it was full of songs and numbers. Dina perused the binder for a few minutes, picked her song, and closed it. "Which song are you gonna sing?" I asked. "You'll just have to wait and see," she grinned slyly at me. She handed me the binder, and I looked through it, seeing a few songs I knew, but nothing yet that I would chance singing. I wasn't lying; I could carry a tune. The only real problem was my lack of range. I reached the N's, and my breath stopped for a second. Yes! They had seven songs by Nine Inch Nails, one of which I happened to have on one of several shirts at home. I picked two of them, even though I only intended to sing one. I just couldn't choose which one. I remembered the four-digit codes for each one, and closed the binder. Only then did we sign the sheet. There were about eight people in front of me, which, according to Dina wasn't really a lot since it was early in the evening. Apparently I wasn't the only one who needed liquid courage to get up on stage. Speaking of, I went to the bar and ordered a beer for me. Dina asked for a Coke, since she'd be the one driving. "I'm a bit surprised," I confessed. "About what?" "Well, about the fact that you're doing this, and you haven't had anything to drink." "Sure, I'm nervous as hell, but a deal is a deal." "Maybe I should be fair then. I won't have any more to drink, okay?" "Okay, if you insist. I can't wait to hear you sing." "Once you do, I'm sure you'll wish you'd waited a very long time to hear me sing." Some of the people who sang before me did a decent job of it, and one of them was exceptionally talented guy who sang 'King Nothing,' by Metallica. Another butchered 'Mother,' by Danzig, and his timing was off. I finished my beer and, true to my word, did not order another one. I was nowhere near drunk enough to believe I could sing. The seventh guy got up on stage and did a fairly good job of 'Is She Really Going Out with Him?' by Goldfinger, even getting the attitude of the song right. The eighth guy got up next, and promptly chickened out. Shit. "Okay, Barry," Dina nudged me, "You're up. Good luck." I picked one of the two songs I'd chosen and recited the code to the deejay, and he nodded, also wishing me good luck, though he probably said the same thing to anyone who was going up on stage. My heart was up in my throat, and I had the shakes as I ascended the three steps up onto the stage. I stopped in front of the microphone, adjusted it, and waited for the music to start, my heart pounding. I was nowhere near drunk enough to be doing this, but as I looked down at where Dina sat at one of the tables, she winked and smiled, giving me a thumbs up. The music started, fading in as it was supposed to, and I didn't have to look at the screen to know the words. Oh yeah, I knew the words to one of my favorite songs. Feeling the beat pulsing through me, I began to sing 'The Hand That Feeds.' "You're keeping in step, in the line, got your chin held high and you feel just fine, Cause you do what you're told, but inside your heart it is black and it's hollow and it's cold!" I'd sung this song so many times in my car, in the shower, whenever it played on the radio, and any time it came into my head. I did so this time, as well. I could see Dina staring at me in surprise, and I kept my eyes on her since I had no need to see the lyrics scrolling across the small screen near my feet or on the large projection screen on the wall. Then the song was over, and I was breathing hard, breaking out in a light sweat from all of the lights that shone at the stage. I heard and saw Dina clapping and jumping, and then heard a lot of the other patrons cheering as well. Dina yelled out, "Encore! Sing another one!" Encouraged, I looked over at the deejay, and he gave me a thumbs up. I leaned his way and called out the second code, and he nodded. The song started, and my skin broke out in chills even though I was sweating. This song was slower, and the piano in it always affected me this way. Dina watched expectantly, smiling as 'Something I Can Never Have' played, and again I began to sing. "I still recall the taste of your tears, echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears. My favorite dreams of you still wash ashore, scraping through my head 'til I don't wanna sleep anymore..." The song was a bit melancholy, but still another of my favorites. I sang it as if I'd written it, from start to finish, and then when it ended, I had to take a deep breath, I felt so lightheaded. Again she stood and clapped, and a lot of others joined her. I nodded, stepping down from the stage, and plopped down in my seat. "I knew it!" Dina grinned, "You're no Barry White, but you can too sing!" "Yeah, well, you're next. Don't worry, you'll do just fine." She got up and headed over to the deejay, giving him the code, and was quickly up on stage. She had to drop the microphone down about four inches to suit her, and when the song began, I recognized it as 'Don't Speak,' by No Doubt. When she started singing, my jaw dropped. She sounded almost exactly like Gwen Stefani! I listened in awe as she sang, noticing that she didn't bother to look at the screen either. She got into it, stamping her foot on the stage and enjoying herself. Once the song was over, I had to stand up; I was so impressed! "Encore!" I yelled, cheering wildly, and to my surprise, several of the other patrons in the bar echoed my insistence. Dina blinked, equally surprised. I got her the binder, but she apparently had another song picked out as well. She called out the code to the deejay, who pointed at her and nodded, grinning. Equal Opportunity Her next selection began with a beat before the melody entered into it. It was 'Stupid Girl,' by Garbage. I was stunned as her voice took on a smoky-smooth tone when she sang. She was much better than she had let on! She even undulated her hips in time to the beat, rocking the microphone, controlling it. Along with being impressed, watching her hips roll and sway, I became aroused as well. She was gorgeous! The song ended, and, arousal or no arousal, I stood up and whistled, clapping my hands hard enough to hurt, and so did the rest of the patrons. She blushed and grinned, stepping off the stage. She came right to me, and threw her arms around me. I could feel her heart beating wildly against my chest as I picked her up, hugging her back for a second before putting her back down. She sat down across from me. "Well," I laughed, "Maybe a record deal is in your future after all." "Thanks, but I'll pass. You, though...you rocked! Shit, I thought you were gonna show me up or something." "Sure," I rolled my eyes, "The way you were moving on the stage, how could I possibly show you up?" "Come on," she suggested, "Let's get out of here." We made our way to the door, not quite flanked by adoring fans, but I received a "Well done!" and other gestures of approval, as did Dina. "Maybe we should start booking shows!" Dina laughed as we left the bar. The night was growing a bit chilly, and the light sweat that I had worked up in the karaoke bar dried. "So, do you want to go to a club?" Dina grinned, "We can see if you dance as good as you sing." "Please no...believe me when I tell you, I really can't dance." "So where to next?" I stopped, my mind drawing a blank. I'm sure there was plenty to do in a city as big as this, but I had no idea what we could do. She stopped as well, enjoying the breeze that wound its way through the buildings and into the street. I glanced at her, and I could see that her nipples had become hard under her shirt. I quickly glanced away, feeling stupid. Sure, this hadn't been a group thing, and it had some of the signs of a date, but this might still be a date between friends, without the romanticism involved. If this was so, then I didn't want to screw this all up. I was having fun, finally relaxing as I hadn't been able to do all week. "Hello?" she snapped her fingers to gather my attention, "Did you blank out on me, or what?" "Huh?" I muttered like a Neanderthal, "Oh, sorry...I can't think of what we can do next. Any ideas?" She looked around, thinking for a minute, and then suggested, "There should be a pretty cool wax museum around here. We can get there on foot. Are you interested?" Was I interested...well, in her I was. I smiled at the thought, hopeless though it was, and nodded, "Sure, let's go check it out." The walk didn't take nearly as long as I thought, and within five minutes, we stood before the doors to McGonall's Museum of Wax. The frames of the door, display, and ticket window were covered in lights that chased along the tracks. An old woman dressed like a Gypsy sat at the ticket window, docilely waiting with bored and disinterested eyes. "Hello," Dina approached the ticket window,"How much to get in?" The old woman pointed at the little sign at the left corner with the prices, and Dina quickly paid for two tickets before I could protest. "Hey, I can pay for myself." She winked at me, making me shiver pleasantly, "I know. But then how would you buy groceries?" I shut up, regretting that I'd told her that...But I hadn't told her I was using my money for groceries! How had she known? I asked her. "Just a guess. You are looking kinda thin, you know?" I shook my head helplessly as the woman handed her two tickets, and we entered the museum. The wax figures of celebrities were professionally created, from Elvis to Cher, Dolly Parton to Clint Black. They stood in poses that suggested that they might actually come to life and start moving on their own. The effect, while impressive, was a little disconcerting. Even Dina glanced back suspiciously at Elvis, perhaps thinking he had just moved a little. We moved on, passing various rock stars, actors, actresses, and other well known people, and then got to the scarier part of the museum, passing through a beaded curtain into the horror exhibit. Jason Voorhees, the hockey-masked psycho with the machete, stood just past the entrance, bloody blade raised as if he might attack. He was ensconcedin a little scene with darkness and trees, near a backdrop of a lake, which, in the movie, was Crystal Lake. Past him was Freddy Krueger, the horribly burnt menace to the dreams of people on Elm Street, his bladed gloves brandished murderously. He had his own scene, a boiler room with pipes and furnaces everywhere. Dina walked closer to me through this exhibit, as though she was feeling a bit freaked out. "Who are these guys?" she asked. "You don't know them?" I was surprised at her ignorance of them. "I never watched the movies." I introduced each character for her, adding bits of info that weren't on the plaques at their feet. "You know a lot about horror movies," she commented. "I've seen a lot of them. See, this is a scene from Alfred Hitchcock's 'The Birds.' It was pretty freaky, and it scared a lot of people when it came out." There were a few other exhibits, one with sports stars from several different sports, the other with scenes from some of Hollywood's more famous movies. We walked through the exhibits, commenting on some of the figures and scenes, and I did notice that even though we'd already left the horror exhibit, she was still walking closer to me, our arms brushing almost constantly. Each contact sent shivers through me, even though I was still confused about what was going on, what kind of date this was. I did my best to keep from being too hopeful, to remain happy that I wasn't sitting in my apartment, completely stressed out and looking helplessly at the boxes of my stuff. When we reached the end of the exhibit, we found that the tour had led us back to the front of the museum. We left the building and again stood on the sidewalk, wondering what else to do. From what I could tell, though I'm usually bad at telling by body language, something seemed to be on her mind. Whether it was the same thing that was on my mind or not, I couldn't tell at that point. "It's getting late," she looked up at the sky. "Were you talking to the sky, or to me?" I joked. Grinning, she replied, "Watch it, buster." "So...what's on your mind?" She started a little, and asked innocently, "What makes you think there's something on my mind?" "Just a hunch... so? What is it?" "Oh...nothing really." "Something personal?" She shrugged, "I'd rather not say. I don't want to ruin the evening." Her last statement puzzled me, as it was echoing my reasoning behind not asking the reasons for this date. Could she be wondering the same thing as me? I decided to push the issue, "I promise it won't ruin my evening. This is way better than the night I had planned." She glanced sideways at me, her mind working things out, and then she hinted, "You know, I don't usually do this with employees, at least not just the two of us." "I was kinda wondering about that," I allowed. "When I offered, I had planned on just dinner, nothing serious, you know, business." I felt a little disappointed that this might be just a business thing. She continued, "But then there's karaoke and the wax museum... I don't know, let's just talk about something else, okay?" "You're wondering if this has become more date, and less business..." I threw it out there. She admitted, "Yeah...I'm finding that I kinda like you, well, even more when you're not about to have a nervous breakdown." "Well," I was pleased at this new turn, "I like you, too. But where do we go from here?" "I don't really know. Dating employees is kinda new to me. I guess that what I'm supposed to do at this point is drive you home and say goodnight." I felt my ego deflating as she said that, even though I knew that she was right. I could get her in enough trouble for the evening we spent together already. I shrugged, not feeling so elated anymore. We sat in silence as she drove me back to my apartment, each lost in our own thoughts. I was considering quitting just so she wouldn't get in trouble if she wanted to see me again. Much too quickly for me to form any sort of plan, we were pulling into the parking lot of my apartment building. She sat there for a moment, not really sure what to say. "I'm sorry," she finally blurted out, "I just didn't realize I'd like you so much." "No, it's okay. We both had fun tonight, and we can just leave it at that." She nodded, "Right...so... I guess I'll see you at work, okay?" "So," a half-baked plan was beginning to form in my head, "I should just go, and I shouldn't do this." With that, I leaned over and kissed her. She tensed up, surprised, and then she began to kiss me back. Close-lipped at first, it blossomed into more as her tongue slipped out to graze my lip. I responded with my tongue, and we made out heavily for too brief a minute. When she pulled away, we were both breathless. "Now," she threw her hands up in the air and let them drop back into her lap, "How am I supposed to just go now?" "You're not, because you probably don't feel like going home." "I don't, huh?" "Nope," I grinned, "I think what you really want right now is to come upstairs." "And you just so happen to know what I want right now?" "It's just a hunch. Say, would you like to come upstairs?" "I'd love to." She followed me up to my apartment, and we were kissing before we even closed the door behind us. We stumbled around boxes, our mouths locked, and sidled sideways into my bedroom, where we fell onto my mattress, a flurry of breathless kisses and tossed articles of clothing every which way. I kissed along the line of her jaw, and up slightly to her ear, nibbling on her earlobe. I could feel her breathing grow heavier, and moved down to her neck, suckling and nipping softly at her skin. Her fingers twined through my hair and gripped it tightly, and her legs, still clad in jeans, though hopefully not for longer, wrapped around mine. Having already lost her shirt, I had no trouble kissing my way down to the valley in between her bra-covered breasts. Then she reached behind her and the bra was unfastened. I pulled it from her and began to direct my attentions to the hardening nipples that capped her breasts. My hands cupped the firm globes, and my lips nibbled at her nipples. I felt her fingers tighten almost painfully in my hair as I captured a nipple and flicked my tongue against the tip. Even through her jeans, I could feel her heat, just as she no doubt could feel my state of arousal through my pants. She moved a hand down to feel it, and the sensation brought a groan from me. As I continued to pleasure each nubbin of pinkish-brown flesh on her breasts, my hands travelled down the smooth skin of her sides to travel the round firmness of her butt. I could feel the muscles underneath flexing and relaxing as she ground herself excitedly into my thigh. With the heat came the sense of moistness as she showed me how aroused she was becoming. When, only a moment or two later, she suddenly tensed up, I thought that maybe I had hurt her, as I was getting a little carried away with my mouth on her breasts, but before I could lift my head and ask her so, she cried out and began to spasm against me. The moistness intensified until it became wetness. She looked almost startled when she glanced at me, still moaning as her orgasm gradually calmed. "I..." she still seemed immensely surprised, and that much more breathless, "I just came." "That's the impression I got, too." "I feel soaked now." "We should get those wet clothes off you before you catch cold." I reached over and began the arduous task of unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans. Her panties underneath were surprisingly simple, white cotton. I hooked my thumbs into her waistband and slid her jeans down, her panties following as they had gotten entangled in the denim as it bunched. I had to stop and marvel at how soaked the crotch of her panties were, almost like that area had been dipped into a sinkful of water. With the wetness was the aroma of her juices, so prevalent and intoxicating that I took deep breaths to gather as much of it as I could. I couldn't remember a woman smelling so good! She had trimmed her pubic mound down to a rounded triangle of closely-cut, dark-brown hair. Only when I realized that she was waiting impatiently for me to finish undressing her, I pushed the jeans down her legs, following the smooth, creamy skin down to her dainty feet. She kicked the jeans off, and began undoing my pants. She took far less time undressing me than I'd done with her, and as she jerked my boxers down, my erection, furious at having been so cruelly trapped, sprung free, a tear of pre-cum already sitting at the tip. I quickly pushed my pants down over my feet, and then her hands softly wrapped around my length. She stroked me slowly, gently, feeling the hardness and throbbing veins against her fingers and palms. I gasped a little in response when she gripped me a little tighter, and again as her mouth opened and welcomed the tip with a very hospitable tongue. She swirled her tongue around and around, down to the corona, flicking the very sensitive bit of flesh between the head and shaft at the underside. I busied myself with letting my fingertips roam her back, from the small to the shoulder blades, following her spine with the lightest touch, watching her break out in gooseflesh. I felt her hot mouth envelop the head, and her lips tightened as they slid down the shaft, taking more and more of me in her mouth. She stopped three-quarters of the way to the base, reversed back to the corona, and repeated, her head bobbing slowly. My hands moved down to her butt, so pleasantly rounded as she leaned against my hip and pulled her feet up underneath her. I stroked each cheek, exploring, caressing, teasing. As of yet, what I was doing to her couldn't rival the sensations that she was giving me. Her tempo increased a little, and I could feel her sucking me into her mouth, eager to please me. So I continued to explore from her butt, to the backside of her thighs, and then to the inside, where she was still very much wet and slick. My fingers teased along her slit, encouraged by the slight thrusting forward of her hips, and then I carefully parted her pink lips, rewarded by the sight of more pink wetness in between. She opened her thighs slightly as I slowly rubbed her, my middle digit brushing against her clit on each pass. Her butt lifted up in the air as she got her knees under her. I continued to stroke her cunt, occasionally allowing a finger to enter her. She was almost gushing juices, and my hand quickly became coated. In response, she began sucking me harder, moving quicker to take me into her mouth. There was no way I could hold out much longer, so I told her so, but this didn't slow her down in the least. If anything, she worked even harder to bring me to cum. I could feel my testicles swelling, and felt the familiar sensation as I stood on the precipice of orgasm. I groaned loudly as I tumbled over that edge, and shot thick ropes of my seed into her waiting mouth. She stopped with her mouth just half an inch from my spurting tip, her tongue extended as not to miss the tiniest bit of my stuff, and I could see each spurt fly into her mouth. I'd never been so turned on until I saw that sight! Unfortunately, I could feel the spurts weaken and taper off until they stopped altogether. Her mouth quickly took my length again, and her tongue lavished what remained of my seed from me. Her throat worked as she swallowed what I had given her, and then she sat up, kneeling on her feet and trapping my hand. "It's my turn to be pleasured," she informed me with a salicious grin and a flick of her pink tongue on her upper lip. With that, I started to sit up, but she quickly pushed me back down, "No, you stay there." She crawled up to my head and swung a leg on the opposite side, straddling me, facing my softening erection. I could see her slit opening as she knelt down over my face, and I stuck my tongue out to taste it. I was pleasantly surprised; she tasted as good as she smelled! I began to lick at her pink opening, sucking first on one inner lip, than the other before reaching inside to collect more of her juices for my enjoyment. "Oh-my-god!" she cried out as she felt my tongue extend to taste inside her, "Do that again!" I happily obliged, pushing my tongue inside her as far as I could get it, and she almost squealed with pleasure, and she began to hump my tongue and mouth, trying to be careful. But as I began to lick at her swelling clit, all attempts at restraint failed, and she was soon riding my face. At that point, I didn't even really need to move my tongue as she dragged her cunt over it; I simply kept it stuck out as far as I could to catch her clit with it on each stroke. Her humping grew more frenzied, until she began shuddering in the throes of another orgasm. I could feel her cumming, and her cream practically gushed out into my open mouth. It was slightly salty, slightly sweet, with only the faintest bit of acidy bitterness underneath. I swirled my tongue in it and collected it as fast as it emerged. When she had relaxed, she fell forward onto me, her breath bursting from her in each exhalation and tickling the skin of my again-rock-hard erection. She took me into her mouth again, but only for a minute or two before again sitting up. She got off of me, rolled onto her back, and brought her knees up almost to her shoulders, exposing herself once more to me. She didn't say a word, and she didn't need to anyway; the smolderingly sexy look in her eyes said everything. I knelt before her until the tip of my length sat just against her clit. I wanted to just plunge myself into her, ravage her for as long as I could, but I refrained for the moment, instead drawing the underside of my erection against her lips, as if I was playing a violin. I stroked myself against her, and she moaned as I dragged across her clit. I continued to do this for a moment or two, watching her go half-crazy with desire. Only when I saw her mouth open to tell me to fuck her already, what was I waiting for, did I push the head just inside her. Instead of urging me, she merely gasped with pleasure. I slowly inched myself into her, bit by bit, enjoying the feeling of her muscles tightening around my length, as if attempting to suck me inside of her. I stopped halfway and fucked her in short, quick strokes, only an inch or so back and forth. I did this for only a few seconds before giving her what she wanted and thrusting the rest of the way inside her, buried to the hilt in the soaked, tight, throbbing heat of her. Her whole body tightened as I bottomed out, and her legs wrapped hurriedly around my waist. I began fucking her, not quickly, but deeply, rocking her with every thrust. She gripped me unfalteringly as I moved within her, pulling at me, her lips at my throat. I pushed deeply, filling her as best as I could, and she pulled as I pushed, establishing an easy, unhurried rhythm. Much sooner than I had expected, her moans grew louder, more intense, and I could feel her as she began to cum again. My shaft felt like it was being showered with her cream, and as I looked down, I saw as globs of it were pushed out, where they caught on my pubic hair. With her squeezing my length so tightly in her ecstacy, I felt that familiar feeling again. There was no way I could last much longer, even after already having cum so shortly before. I lengthened my thrusts, and my pace grew quicker. She moved with me, now whispering in my ear.