3 comments/ 15775 views/ 4 favorites Shield Cohort Ch. 01 By: TheDarkestPlace Chapter 1: The Way She Talk +++ I am of Irish descent, but not Irish. My beautiful, smart young Irish lass Brigid is a fantasy, and is not based on any real Irish woman. She's actually based in many ways on one of my favorite ex-girlfriends—who is actually as American as I am. In attempting to create Brigid's accent and expressions, I tried to rely on some phonetic spellings, and slang I picked up from an Irish friend (male) I knew some years ago. But there are great limitations to my knowledge of contemporary Irish speech. Please do not read her dialogue as being grammatically incorrect. She's quite sharp. PS—some of my stories are pretty much all sex. This one is more character-driven—but there is some "feckin' good rootin'" at the end. +++ "She's not a bitch, goys! She's just feckin' Oirish!" Jerry mimicked unfortunately well. The roughly a dozen people at the pushed-together tables at Van der Voot's sports bar laughed, except for me, but you'll see why later. The "young wan" in question was Brigid Cassidy. Brigid, was a member of our "cohort" at Shield Insurance Company. We were "the new bunch" at the corporate headquarters of a huge nationwide company located (for some reason) in the thriving industrial burg of Wanowee, Wisconsin. Every year, the company brought in two dozen raw college grads and put them through two months of orientation and on-the-job-training. Clever as we all were, we nicknamed our cohort "Agents of Shield," and made up elegant English translations for Wanowee. None of them are worth sharing, but most revolved around the fact that the town seemed to be composed of blue collar workers, middle aged Strongshield execs and us. We stood out like sore thumbs, mainly because we were drunk young assholes who thought we were better than the townsfolk around us. Then there was Brigid. She was working-class Irish. She actually took the time to know many of the townies and struck up a close friendship with Gretchen Van der Voot, the bar owners gorgeous twenty-something daughter. Even when times got better after Ireland reinvented her economy, the working class values of Brigid's family had stuck. Consequently, young Miss Cassidy had little time for those "puttin' on airs." Her father and uncle had at last been able to find good jobs, and the bright and studious young Brigid had been able to earn a college degree. With her father and uncle's encouragement, she set out for America for an advanced degree and after that, eventually wound up with us. Less educated than she, less ambitious than she, but more pleased with our mediocre academic accomplishments than she, we struck her as privileged brats "acting the maggot." And when pressed, she had little trouble telling us that. At the end of the second week, Jerry was the first to feel her wrath. Clever and popular, Jerry had made his play openly and confidently, sharing with the boys that he was going to be the first amongst us to claim her. "But don't worry, Teddy. A few days after, she won't be too stretched out for your little pin dick anymore. It might take a week or two to get back down to your size, Mikey." With a few barbs returned his way, smiling Jerry Krauss left the "boy's table" and headed over to where Brigid was laughing and joking with Gretchen. I tailed, pretending to need another round, but really just needing to watch the proceedings. "'Scuse me, Gretchen, can I borrow Brigid for a minute?" "Sure, Larry. Talk to ya later Bridge." "It's Jerry." Gretchen smiled her "gotcha" smile, and Jerry knew he was being toyed with. "Right, GRETA," he laughed as he spoke, showing he took as well as he gave. "What kin I do fer ya , Jerry," Brigid said politely. "Havin' trouble with the underwritn' manual ag'in?" "No, no. Well, a little to be honest, but I'll figure it out, eventually. Underwriting is boring anyway. I'll never wind up in that department. We just need enough of an understanding of it to bluff our way through, anyway." "Sure, until someone calls ya on it. But yer not here ta talk work wit' me, are ya?" "No, I'm not." "This is a boy/girl thing isn't it?" "You are smart, Brigid." "Kind words." "Well-deserved. Well-deserved. Look, I was wondering..." "I'd love to. She'll be happy, ta tell the truth. She fancies ya, mate." "What?" "Well, yer a good-looking lad, and she thinks yer funny." "Who?" "Gretchen, a course. Ya want me ta put in a good word fer ya?" "Oh, no. I-uh-I was actually hoping to chat you up a bit. You're an awfully good looking girl, and I thought maybe we could..." "Oh..." Brigid looked a little sad. "Jerry, I'm glad ta know ya, and yer a fun one fer parties and all, but I can't see you and I...well, that's not the way I see us goin'." "Why not?" "That's not the way I feel about ya is all." "You said I was good-looking." "And that ya are, Jerry." "But—oh, shit—I get it. You always hang out with Gretchen or that Bohemian April chick from the cohort. I'm sorry, Brigid. Look there's nothing wrong with being gay. My favorite cousin, Tammy, she—" "Jaysus! I don't want ya ta horse it up in me, so ya think I'm a focking bean flicker, ya neddy!" "Got no fucking idea what you just said there, Brigid." "I'm not a lesbian." "De-nial ain't just a river in E-gypt." "Look, maybe we both need to relax the cacks a bit. I'm just afraid that people thinking I'm a lesbian would make things hard at work fer me. Don't go spreadin' a rumor like that, okay?" "Well, then go out with me." "I don't want ta go out with ya, Jerry." "Again, why?' "I didn't know I had ta state my case like a barrister. But since ya insist, I think yer always acting the maggot—um—playin' the fool. I'm lookin' fer a man who takes his life a bit more seriously." "You think I'm a slacker?" "Good day ta ya, Jerry." "Did you just dismiss me?" "I came out tanoight ta try and blow off a little steam and have some fun. This just isn't fun fer me. Are you enjoyin' it?" Jerry made a 'W' with his hands. "What-ever." He walked away. "Get an earful, Ollie?" Brigid said, turning to me. "I was just getting another round." "Don't feckin' spuff me, Oliver. Yer keepin' sketch." "I love the way you talk." "Why don't ya go back ta Jerry and his lads? I'm sure he's tellin' 'em all what a roight bitch I am." "Well you did go all Maureen O'Hara on his ass." "I did a bit at that, didn't I?" She smiled slightly and brushed her black hair back from her lightly freckled face. "All Irish girls so complicated?" "Nah, some of me best friends are roight little Sallys. Buy 'em a drink and they'll give ya a good ride. Muggins here, I'm a weapon sometimes." "I think I understood that. You can be sharp-tongued." "So, how do I get them all ta think I'm not a complete geebag." "You know how to play quarters?" "Invented it." "A pitcher of beer and a smile goes a long ways." I headed back to the table. Brigid showed up about two minutes later, a pitcher in one hand and a quarter in the other. Gretchen trailed behind, bringing another two pitchers. "I don't want ta look loike a stereotype, lads," Brigid smiled. "So, let's not let the Irish lass be the only one who shows up ta work hung over tomorrow mornin'!" With that, two of the fellows scooted aside and let her sit down. Studious Brigid Cassidy proceeded to drink us all under the table. All but Jerry. He headed back to the bar behind Gretchen. He had something to prove to the boys, and nailing the gorgeous bartender seemed the best way to do it. Brigid enjoyed a brief bit of popularity for the next few weeks, much to Jerry's chagrin. She ate lunch with us and taught us all kinds of Irish slang and told hilarious stories about her friend, Kathleen Manihan. She was a "right spare arse," and stories of her exploits with "dirtballs" and "eejits" in parked cars, under piers and on the roof of the damned pub were favorites of all the guys. Time would prove to be Jerry's ally, though. Brigid the Weapon re-emerged a few Mondays later. The whole gang went down to the bar for a Packer/Bear Monday night game, and Mikey, a strapping young Wisconsin native who had played DIII college ball for UW-Whitewater, took it upon himself to explain the intricacies of the game to Brigid. She was an eager learner, and her rapt attention to Mikey throughout the entire game left him with the wrong impression. He met her in the hallway on the way back from the bathroom and tried to get her into the backseat of his new car. I first heard his voice rise above the din as the word "Pricktease" shot across the room. Brigid had been annoyed with Jerry. She was fuming with Mikey. "Get yer fecking hands off me, ya shitebag! I'm sorry ya got all chubbed up because I listened ta ya talk about football. Fer feck's sake, I just wanted ta learn about the game. Ye've been right nice all night, Mikey, but if ya grab me by the tits again I'll shove yer clackers up yer arse!" There were a lot more words that started with 'F' after that, and it didn't matter which of them was talking. Gretchen's brothers were working the door, and they moved to get Mikey out, which could have been really ugly if Mikey had decided to make it go that way. Jerry sprang up to talk him down, and Gretchen led Brigid toward the backroom. April, had been in a corner with Teddy, one of the boys from the cohort, proving that she wasn't a lesbian either. She left him and followed the girls. Jerry decided he needed to come back in and make a comment to Brigid, and that led to Gretchen tossing some harsh words in his direction. The whole night was banjaxed for everyone. Jerry used it all to his advantage, of course, because that was the sort of thing he was good at. And since his comments to Brigid had put him in Dutch with Gretchen—or rather out of Dutch, if you take my meaning—Jerry was pretty rough. That brought us to the night where our story began. Jerry was mimicking Brigid. Mikey was sold on Jerry's line. So was Teddy. The flare-up with Brigid had kept him from taking the Bohemian April home. The bold thing for me to do would have been to challenge Jerry right there. But I didn't. Brigid did combative very well; she didn't need me to argue for her. And she sure didn't need me to apologize for her. So I just thought for a moment about what it would be like if I wasn't friends with the cool kids. (I'd always been with the cool kids. I was tall and I've been told I have cool hair. It's brown, with a natural wave in the front. Believe it or not, that got me in the front door. Then I just went along with things, and I was "cool." It had worked since junior high.) I caught myself thinking that I really didn't need to be cool. I did what Brigid called "shlunking." I got up like I was going to walk to the bathroom and just quietly slipped away. It was still early. I walked around for about an hour before I finally pulled out my cellphone and called Brigid. "Hello?" It was her roommate, April. "Hey, April, it's Ollie. What are you guys up to?" "Gretchen's off tonight, she's coming over and we were going bowling." "I can't picture you bowling, April. It's a visual I'd like to see in person, if it wouldn't be too big a pain to have me." "Really—well, um—wait a minute..." There was some speaking in the background. "Ollie...we need a girls' night out." "I understand. See ya at work." I went home alone and played with my Wii. Literally. "What do ya think I did? Pulled me skagdick?" The next day, I was stuck down in underwriting all morning and didn't see any other Agents of Shield except for Scary Steve, the guy who didn't talk to anyone. It was at lunch that I saw the cohort again. There we were in junior high, again. Cool kids at two tables pushed together and April and Brigid sitting together at a table off in the corner. There was one difference, though. For the first time in over ten years, I wasn't emotionally stuck in junior high anymore. I walked past the two tables pushed together and strode over to the corner where the Irish girl and her Bohemian friend sat. I had asked a lot of questions during my training, but at that moment I asked the first one that really mattered. "May I sit with you?" Brigid looked up from her manual of federal insurance regulations. "Yer quite the chancer, aren't ya?" "Some people are just better company than others. Worth the risk, I think." "They'll eat ya alive, Ollie." "Only if they catch me alone, but I'm hoping to have friends." "I think I'd better close me book, April. A man is goin' ta sit at our table." "I don't know, Bridge, with us being lesbian and all." "I could use a beard," I said. "I'm sure they'll have me gay by Thursday." April smiled. "I've been a 'fag hag' all my life, Ollie. Have a seat." "Miss Brigid," I said, "I know you're no Sally. But you are as beautiful a girl as I've ever known, and if it's okay with you, I'd like to call on you some evening." "Well, when 'tis a man who asks...I'll consider it. April, alright if Oliver comes over to ar gaff this evenin'?" "You'll love it, Ollie. We're making popcorn and watching 'Sex in the City.'" "Oh..great." "Look at this one, April. We're watching 'Inglorious Basterds,' young Oliver." I looked even sadder. "Well, there's a choice for you. My chances of being entertained by the movie went up, and my chances of getting a good night kiss just went way down." It was a pleasant lunch, despite the cold stares I got from across the room. Okay, I could practically recite the movie's dialogue from memory. But I loved watching it again anyway. Even though April bailed out right after watching the Bear go all Ted Williams on the German sergeant. She was either very squeamish or the best roommate ever. I would find the answer to that out later. Much to my amazement, Brigid used the interruption as a chance to change into her jammys and then snuggled in next to me on the couch and watched the rest of the movie, giving it close attention. Oh, the jammys. One of those huge cotton shirts that isn't form fitting but shows plenty of leg. And when she folded her legs underneath her, it pulled the cloth tight enough to show the curve of her bust. It wasn't exactly a schoolgirl outfit with the blouse buttoned down a bit, but it worked for me. By the end of the movie, Brigid had let her head drop to my chest, and I was a little fearful she'd fall asleep, but her blue eyes never even fluttered. "That movie was a bag o' swhag, Ollie." "Oh, I thought you were enjoying it." "I did. It was cla—brilliant." "I actually understood bag o' swhag." "Aren't ye the cute hoor?" "I love the way you talk." "It's not me best thing, Ollie." "Oh, shite," I thought. Yes, I actually was thinking in Irish slang. "I'm going to kiss her, now." I was certain I read things right, but I didn't want to would summon Brigid the Weapon. I liked this girl way too much. I kissed her good and proper. She wrapped her arms around my neck and dove right in. It was wet and passionate, and her tongue proved capable of being a lot of things besides sharp. "Ollie," she whispered. "I've been hopin' fer ya to come 'round." "Wow!" I whispered back. "Ya were so close fer so long. I fancied ya from the start, but I don't just part me legs fer any boy with a pretty smile and great, great hair." She roughed up my hair for a second. "I needed a man, and ya never stepped away from that pack a' gurriers. But Gretchen was pickin' up her check when ya shlunked away from 'em last noight. She told me about it, but I had to be certain. And sure as loife, ya showed up at the table today, bold as brass ta do it, too. And I said, 'He's boxed off now, this one is. Brigid, ya got a chance at a man!" "Wow!" I whispered again. "It's been a long time, Ollie, a long time without a man. But I want ya, tonight." "Tell me again." "I want ya, Ollie. I want ya bad." "Tell me Irish." "Tell ya Irish? And dirty, too I suppose? Ya really are a chancer, aren't ya? Alright, Oliver, I made ya wait long enough, it's yer lucky night. Besides, when I give myself to a man, well, I give him what he wants...Here goes. I ain't been flattened proper in along time, ya feck. I been on me tobler, too long. Put me down on this couch and throw it in me, ya long streak a piss!" "I love the way you talk." I kissed her again and began to massage her breasts through the fabric of her night shirt. She ripped the shirt off over her head in one quick motion, and her full breasts fell out. They were beautiful, with big wide areolas, and they were very sensitive. She moaned as soon as I touched them bare. I soon became aware that she had come back out of the bedroom with no panties at all. I had watched ¾ of a movie with her bare pussy just inches away from me! She had a neatly trimmed strip of very black hair with very little curl to it. I dove face-first into her warm and moist vagina. "Eat me giblets, ya nasty focker!" She was playing up her brogue for me now. "Eat the giblets off me, then root me like I'm a dirty little slapper." I actually knew what that one meant from listening to her tales about her friend, Kathleen Manihan. So, after I got her to the verge of an orgasm from oral sex, I did as she asked. I pulled down my pants and boxers and dropped them to the floor, kicking out of my loafers as I did so. Then I wrapped an arm around her and picked her up completely and bent her over the end of the couch. She reached back and stroked my cock a few times. "Jaysus, look at the pipe on this one!" "I'm going to lay some pipe in ya right now, my sweet little slapper!" I said, unintentionally picking up the accent. I would have normally been very careful entering a precious and beautiful woman like Brigid, but she had me on the verge of madness. Plus, I knew she was wet and more than willing. I reached around and grabbed her tits while I easily drove myself deep inside of her, again and again. I don't think that it was the accent that made her unintelligible for the next few minutes. It was a rough fuck. Not a mean one, just very rough. She snaked a hand down between her legs and played at her bean while I pounded away. She had been close to orgasm from the oral sex, and she went over the top well before I did. She wasn't a screamer, but she moaned pretty damned loud. It's always nice when you're able to tell someone is enjoying your work. Her sounds had started to bring me close to my boiling point. I dug in and rooted her for all I was worth. She had fallen more silent, but was still meeting my every thrust. "Don't slow down when ye hit the vinegar strokes," she whispered. "I'm on the smarties." I hadn't even begun to think about that, to tell the truth. I had just assumed I would pull out. Now I grabbed her by her hips and pulled her to me hard as I let loose long streams inside her. I began to feel exhausted as soon as the orgasm started, but it kept on coming in waves of ecstasy. She ground around the base of my pipe to get every final drop out of me, and I thought my clackers were going to shrivel up! When I finally was spent inside her, I slid back onto the couch, my t-shirt still on and now soaked with a little bit of everything. She curled up on top of me, stroking my chest. "Would ya like to stay the night, lover?" "More than anything," I somehow found the breath to whisper. "Brigid, I think I love—" she put a finger to my lips. "Not yet," she said. "Not after all we've done is fock like this. I want ya to hear beautiful words from my land as well. I want ya to know about me family. I want ya to know what yer getting' inta with me." "Fair enough. That you can be with me the way we were tonight, how fully you gave yourself, is amazing. But I do so want to make sweet tender love to you, too. But I have to say it. I think I love—much more about you than the way you talk!" Shield Cohort Ch. 02 Chapter 2: Bohemian Rhapsody +++ Second story in the tales of the cohort of recent college graduates employed by fictional Shield Insurance, a huge nationwide insurance firm located in the small factory town of Wanowee, Wisconsin. Even more than the first chapter, this is a basically character-driven romantic/erotic bit of fiction rather than a "quick wank" story. It is partly inspired by many of the people I met while working emergency room security in college. Some (definitely not all) of the staff and the cops and ambulance drivers were amongst the best people I have known. Some of the patients and their friends and families made indelible impressions on me. Twenty years later, I can still see them. I was a good shoulder to cry on, and somehow it showed. +++ April Price cursed as she dropped the razor to the floor of the tub. Brigid was waiting to get into the bathroom to clean up for her overnight date with Ollie, at nice a hotel in Lake Geneva no less. April's little hands just wouldn't seem to obey her desire to get done quickly so that she could get out of her roommate's way. Finally, she finished shaving her legs and turned on the shower to wash off the shaving cream. April couldn't resist the urge to make it a full-shower. No time to play with the hose on the showerhead tonight, though, just a quick scrub. Besides, she didn't want to use up all the hot water—again. April finally emerged from the steamy little bathroom, wearing only a towel on her head. Brigid, a big bath towel draped over the shoulder of her naked body, just couldn't resist a playful slap to April's round little arse as she passed through the kitchen. "And sure, there's ar little bohemian wench, always cleaner and more well-shaven than any rosspot yer like ta see! Except fer that beautiful ginger minger down there!" "Told you, I'm a poser, Bridgey," she said and walked on through the living room and into her bedroom. As the shower came on in the bathroom, April rummaged through her dresser for a nice pair of black panties and matching bra. She liked her bra to fit snugly; even after five years of having pierced nipples, she loved to see the way the little rings showed against the tight fabric. Not that anyone was likely to see the piercings, not with the way things had been going of late. Brigid finding Ollie had buoyed April's hopes for a bit, but that was old news now. It had been some time since April had seriously believed in the notion that she was going to find herself a man in Wanowee. April dropped the towel from her light brown hair and went to work with the hair dryer for several minutes before she walked to the closet and slid into one of the many flowing dresses she kept there. She went to the jewelry box and picked out her favorite crystal necklace. April checked her ensemble in the mirror. It was a weekend, so she didn't need to worry about office rules. She slid a tiny stud into her left nostril and a small hoop into her brow. She looked basically the same as she had in college the past five years, maybe a little fuller in the bust. Her dress was only moderately low-cut, but since it seemed everyone was taller than her anyway, it gave an adequate peep to interested parties, should there be any. April walked over to the canvas in the corner of the room, squeezed a little orange onto her palate and added a few licks of flame to the picture of nude Greek women dancing around a pyre while Dionysius leered down from an elevated throne of twisted grapevines. It was an eternal project, never quite finished to her satisfaction. No matter how much orange and amber she added, she could never capture the heat of the women's frenzied lust. She knew the missing element was in the expressions of Dionysius and the women, but she was so far from being able to capture it that she never even put a brush near their faces. She had even tried to find inspiration playing with her battery-operated friend while watching her own expression in the mirror, but it was never genuine enough. She finally grimaced and put the brush down, double-checking her hands to make sure they had no paint on them. With a heavy sigh of resignation, April grabbed her big bag with the long strap and headed toward the door. "Have a good time, Bridgey," she called to the bathroom door. "Please do something I wouldn't do!" With that, she stepped into the unseasonably warm late October night. She hit the steps at sidewalk level and turned left, then right, then back left. Feeling like a fool, she kept heading to her left, no idea where to go. She was in the "wild" town of Wanowee, Wisconsin. Where the hell was there for a faux bohemian girl to go? With a tinge of regret, she realized she was headed toward the downtown "Strip" and Mitch's store. Mitch was a cute little man, thirty-ish with a gentle smile and gorgeous blue eyes. But, like most of the men April had ever grown close to, Mitch was as interested in finding a good man as she. For almost as long as she could remember, April had always been known as two things, a New Age hippie chick and a "fag hag." Well, she was certainly guilty of the second charge. She had a sinking feeling she was about to help Mitch close up the store and then settle in with him for a marathon session of GLEE episodes or Mitch's peculiar favorite, BIG LOVE. (What exactly drove a gay man to be captivated by a story of a conservative Mormon with a handful of wives, neither of them had been able to sort out. Perhaps opposites did attract.) At least she got free spiked gourmet coffee out of the deal, and besides, Mitch made her laugh when she wanted to cry. She was not surprised to find "Beans and Books" deserted when she walked in. "Oh, you sexy beast!" Mitch declared without looking up as he heard the door chime. "How did you end up with me on another Friday night? Viggo Mortensen stand you up again?" "He could stand me up or lay me down, Mitch. Either way you'd have to peel me off the ceiling when it was over." "I know exactly what you mean, sweet child. I know exactly what you mean. How many fingers you want?" She held up three. Mitch clucked and poured a healthy dose of Kahlua, peppermint schnapps and a dash of sugar into one of the extremely heavy, but somehow comforting to hold, mugs he made on his own pottery wheel. Then he filled it with his best coffee and topped it with creme. April took a seat by the open window so that a cool breeze washed over her. "I've got to go empty the trash can outside before I lock up. The town puts it there, but do they ever empty it? Sweet Jesus to fuck no!" April laughed and nearly spit her first sip of coffee. Even Brigid's working class Irish-isms sometimes suffered in comparison to the colorful profanity Mitch effortlessly dropped in conversation. Mitch smiled at her and wiped a dollop of crème from her chin. "Great gobs of fellatio, what have you been doing, filthy bitch? Anyway, the frakking trash... I come in to open the store on a fall day and I've got a swarm of bees waiting to greet my customers. I have to empty it at night after the little buzzers settle down. Got stung trying to do it in the morning! Where's my look of sympathy? Thank you! One of these days, we'll have a good hard frost like Motherfucking Nature intended, and that will be the end of it until next year." April smiled and nodded and grabbed a book to skim while she waited. It seemed he was gone a long time, but she knew he had to go around the corner of the building to get to the dumpster in the alley. She looked out the window after a bit and noticed that Mikey Skardowski was standing across the street, looking toward the store. He had an inscrutable but intense expression on his face. Was he looking at her? She hoped not. She and Brigid had gotten into quite a feud with Mikey and his friends, Jerry and Teddy (all from her Shield cohort,)after a drunken Packer Opening Night party at Vander Voot's Sports Bar. Mikey had spent the whole night explaining American football to Brigid and then thought he was about to score himself. Brigid hadn't known he was going for that; she thought he was just being a good friend. Embarrassed when he got rejected, he shouted at Brigid and called her a pricktease. Things got worse once he got Bridgey's Irish up. Everyone's night got all banjaxed; April had been in a heavy makeout session with Teddy and dropped him cold to go to Brigid's aid. Except for dear sweet Ollie, the popular crowd that swirled around Jerry and Teddy had turned a big-time junior high cold shoulder to the roommates. "Oh Goddess," she whispered, looking at the hulking Mikey. "He's going to give me a hard time, because he caught me without Brigid." Brigid's sharp Irish tongue and strong personality kept the brutes at bay most of the time, but April didn't have that kind of fighting spirit. Everyone in this football-crazy town seemed to think Mikey was a big deal because had been a starting tight end for the UW-Whitewater Warhawks when they won a Division III National title, but even he wasn't eager to lock horns with Brigid again. It had become almost comical the way he averted his eyes and tried not to start trouble with them at work. The football hero fumbled for excuses to leave the room when he was alone with one of them. "Oh, April," she thought," not that pun." Suddenly, Mikey launched himself across the street with an angry look on his face. "HEY!" he roared. April closed her eyes and prayed he'd go away. "Leave the little guy alone, ya pricks!" What had he said? "Little guy?" "Oh shit, Mitch!" April whispered and headed for the door. Mikey disappeared around the corner, into the alley. April followed, her three quarters-full mug of hot coffee still in her hand. She rounded the corner to see that two locals had been shoving Mitch around in the alley. One of them knocked him to the ground and kicked him in the ribs, but he stepped back away when they saw Mikey. "Get the fuck outta here!" Mikey said. "Hey, no problem, big boy," one of them said. "You know that guys a fag, right? Just teaching him a lesson." "Go!" "Sure thing. Sure thing. Be cool." They began to go, but when Mikey turned away and offered a hand to help Mitch to his feet, one of the locals grabbed a piece of broken board and charged from behind. "Mikey!" April yelled. The big man turned at the last second and got a forearm up to block the blow. With amazing fluidity, he kicked the assailant in the gut with a left leg front kick and used the momentum to come over the top of the crumpling attacker with a long straight right square into the face of his onrushing friend. Mikey didn't get his full hip rotation into the blow, but it still dropped the second man like a stone. He stepped back and drew into a defensive stance, but neither man rose to challenge him. One was unconscious; the other incapable of catching his breath. Mikey glanced back to see if Mitch was okay. "Chuck-fucking, Norris!" Mitch gasped as he rose up to his feet. "That was—oh shit! Look out! Incoming!" Unfortunately, Mitch wasn't the only one who had unexpected friends show up to the party. Four tough-looking men had emerged from the bar across the street. April knew instinctively that they weren't there as a Neighborhood Watch. "April, get behind me," Mikey said softly. "Dude, can you fight?" "I'd sure as Liddell better try!" "Fuckin' ay right, Iceman." Mikey gave him a confident half-smile and a nod. "Don't worry, bud. You got this," he said. April had never been in a fight in her life. She had always been too much of a pipsqueak to even get in girl fights with her prep school tormentors. She knew she was more likely to get in Mikey's way than be of service, but on some level she was driven to rage by what had been done to Mitch. She got behind them, but not very far behind. "I didn't start this," Mikey said loudly as the men approached. "They were roughing up the little guy." "That'll make 'em fucking terrified of me," Mitch groaned softly. "Guess you should've minded your own business then," the man leading the group said as they closed the final ten yards. "Get the big one first," he told his buddies. April's heart raced in terror as they closed in and arced around Mikey and Mitch. A sudden impulse struck her as the leader stepped toward Mikey. She stepped forward and reached under Mikey's elbow, throwing her hot, alcohol-laced coffee into the man's face. He screamed in pain and swung wildly. Mikey brought up another front kick, but standing fully upright this time, he landed his foot right underneath the man's chin. He was knocked senseless and fell backwards to the pavement. Two more men jumped Mikey, and one went for Mitch. Mitch showed some guts and some quick hands as he landed three quick punches to his assailant. But the man was much bigger than him, and little Mitch just couldn't put him down. The man grabbed Mitch by the front of the shirt and threw him viciously, sending Mitch off balance and into the wall. April rushed to the fray and tried kicking the man in the crotch from behind. She came up short and hit him square on the rump instead. He hit her on the cheek with a backfist and April went down hard on her rump. She had never been struck by an adult before. It hurt even more than she feared it would. "Stay down, bitch!" he roared. "Or I'll tear you a new cun—" He never finished his brutal threat. With a sickening crack Mitch punched the man in the back of the skull. An old garbage lid was in Mitch's fist, and he threw three straight rights into the man's head, always striking him with the center of his improvised "brass knuckles." This time the man went down. Mikey was in some trouble. The duo now fighting him was a fair deal more competent than the original pair of assailants. April grabbed Mitch and pulled him toward Mikey. They tackled the man closest to them. Mitch wound up underneath him and effectively used the trash can lid as a shield while the man tried to rain blows down on him. He roared with animal fury as he began to wrest the shield from Mitch. April searched for something she could use as a weapon. She spotted her heavy coffee mug lying intact where she had dropped it when she had gone to help Mitch. She grabbed it, not having any idea how she should use it. She turned and saw the man had pried the lid away from Mitch and was rising up to hammer him. "Full mount!" he crowed. "Ground and pound, bitch!" April decided to throw the mug at the man's big ugly head. She missed and the mug struck Mikey, who had rushed over to aid Mitch after finally downing his tough opponent. Mikey toppled forward, out cold. His hulking body knocked the man off of Mitch, and pinned him beneath Mikey. Mitch scrambled to his knees, grabbed the trash can lid and smashed it down into the man's face. He ceased to struggle. The leader of the group had managed to get back to his feet, as had the first man Mikey kicked. The leader pulled a butterfly knife from his back pocket and turned toward April. "Finish off the faggot. The bitch is mine." April wasn't quite sure, but she thought the twisted expression on his face was a smile. She was certain that after life of pacifism she was going to die in an alley filled with violent men. Mitch sprang to her side and held the shield in front of her. Suddenly, a familiar "br-whoop" rent the air. Then a voice boomed over a PA. "WANOWEE POLICE! Eddie, drop the fucking knife or my partner will fire." Two cops stood outside a cruiser that had pulled up to block off the end of the alley. A grizzled sergeant held a PA mic in his hand; his partner lay with his upper body draped across the front of the car and a 12-guage shotgun leveled at the knife-wielding man. It was a can't-miss shot. April and Mitch hit the deck. Another cruiser squealed to a stop behind the first; then two cops on bicycles arrived, and finally a county sheriff's SUV. All the cops cruised the Strip on Friday night. Eddie and the other man had apparently done this before. He dropped the knife and they both put their hands on top of their heads and waited until the cuffs were slapped on them. "Which one of the boys finally knocked the big fucker out?" Eddie asked as two cops brought him to his feet. Mitch looked at April. "I did," she whispered, crawling to Mikey and cradling his head. The cops and Eddie all stared for a moment in disbelief. Then as Eddie turned his foot struck the coffee mug, and he put it all together. "Fuckin' crazy hippie bitch!" He cackled to himself maniacally as they led him away. "Caffeine is a drug you know!" he called as he was shoved roughly into a squad car. "Bobby, thank god," Mitch said, addressing the police sergeant who had taken control of the scene. "We were in some trouble here. That fucking amaze-atastic boy in the polo shirt saved my ass. Along with my little wildcat here!" "Mitchy, you're my favorite little cousin, but are you telling me the three of you took on Eddie Waller and five of his friends?" "Of course we did." "Chuck-fucking Norris!" "That's what I said, cuz." "Sergeant, Mikey's hurt!" April said. "So's everybody else in this alley. You got a hell of a shiner, there Mary Moon!" Mitch grabbed Bobby by the arm and walked him away for a moment. In a whispered conversation in which he talked urgently and gestured emphatically, Mitch explained the situation. Bobby nodded. "Ellis, Powers. Can the county do us a favor and take these two to the hospital and keep an eye out for the other ones when they get there? These two are big damned heroes from the sound of it. Biggs, call for at least two ambulances. Vanderhouk, look up priors and warrants on the rest of these assholes. Not a one of them I haven't seen at the station before." Two burly sheriff's deputies dragged Mikey to their SUV. Bobby gently took April by the arm. "Don't worry, April. I love Mitch like a little brother. None of these assholes are going to bother him or his friends again. We take care of the good people in Wanowee." April had never been spoken to respectfully by a policeman before, but she could see how sincere Bobby was. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek and then hurried to catch up to her ride. On the ride over to the hospital, with the two friendly deputies occasionally checking to see if she was okay, April had a moment to try and piece together her thoughts. It was difficult to make sense of the last ten minutes, even moreso with Mikey's head in her lap. He had been one of "the enemy soldiers" for so long. Now, she had to admit that she looked at him as kind of a hero. A song lyric popped into her head. "He's gotta be strong;he's gotta be fast; and he's gotta be fresh from the fight!" Bonnie Tyler had never mentioned conscious. Mikey stirred a little and began to come to. He looked up at her with blurry eyes. "April, the Pretty Hippie," he muttered and slipped back under for a minute. She blushed. "What did he say, Ellis?" one of the deputies asked the other softly. "I think he called her a pretty hippie." Ellis chuckled as he answered. "Nothing wrong with his eyes," Powers responded. "No shi—sorry, miss. We didn't mean nothing disrespectful." April progressed to another shade of crimson. "'Pretty Hippie' I can live with. And you guys have been great." The deputies struggled to get Mikey out of the back seat and into a wheelchair, but he came around and was able to help a little. "Wait!" he slurred as they started to wheel him inside the ER. "Bridjuh!" "I'm April, Mikey." She put her hand on his. "Tell her I'm s-s-sorry. Ize drunk. Ize wrong." "I'll tell her." April followed them inside, displeased with herself for the little feeling in her belly when he had been concerned about her roommate instead of her. But what did she expect? Mikey had hit on Brigid before, and the Irish lass had always drawn more men than April. She stayed with Mikey as they entered the ER proper. Shield Cohort Ch. 03 Chapter 03: Scary Steve +++ In our third story detailing the exploits of the recent college grads employed by the fictional nationwide corporation, Shield Insurance, we get to know "Scary Steve," the mystery man of the cohort. As with all the Shield stories, this is mostly a character study and a mostly lighthearted examination of the role sex and romance play in the lives of young people striving to find their place in the adult world. It's not a "quick stroke" story. Of course, it wouldn't be posted in "erotic couplings" if it didn't feature some hot loving along the way. +++ Of all the members of the "Agents of Shield" cohort, Mikey Skardowski was the best fit for the town of Wanowee, Wisconsin. He had grown up in the heavily Polish town of Kasimir, only twenty minutes from Green Bay. The football-crazed burg of Wanowee felt much like home—except the names began with "Van" or "Vander" instead of ending with "-ski" or "-czyk." Rookworst was no kielbasa, but he had already come to love stamppot and apple pancakes—not together, mind you! And he had also found love with a Shield co-worker in Wanowee. April Price, the diminutive painter, had stolen his heart. And to make his good fortune in this town seem an embarrassment of riches, sweet little April was far and away the most passionate, and in some ways dirtiest, lover he had ever known. After a youth that had been filled with a fair sampling of cheerleaders and jock-crazed co-eds, Mikey had been just looking for someone with some emotional and intellectual depth. He'd found himself a teacup tigress with an angel's heart. That was why Mikey was so surprised with the emotion he felt toward her today. Annoyance. Genuine irritation. Sure he'd always loved the way she challenged him intellectually and morally, but her good intentions had turned her into something of a busybody. Brigid and she had always been inclined to help people out, but ever since the roommates had found great joy in their respective relationships with Ollie and Mikey, they'd become convinced that everyone absolutely HAD to find the same type of happiness. It was all too HOWARD'S END for Mikey. "Think of the good karma you'll build up for yourself," he muttered in impersonation of what his love had said in bed that morning. He drifted back a few hours: *** "Why don't you gather in all this good karma, then?" he asked, kissing her fingertips and wrist. "Well, I get good karma for helping you gain some of your own... All right, it's because...on the night of the cohort's first big party...I sort of kissed him." "Really?" he stopped the finger-kissing and stared at her. "You're not mad?" "No, of course not." He kissed her fingers again. "I didn't even know your name back then. You were just 'the Bohemian chick' who was rooming with the Irish chick. Well, the "hot Bohemian chick." I'm just stunned that you found a way to kiss a man who scarcely ever speaks to anyone!" "Well, it was strange. Brigid pointed him out as looking a little lonely, so I went over to introduce myself and make him feel part of things." "And..." "We talked for a while. He was so shy, but very nice in his own way...a little sad. I asked him if he had a girlfriend; I thought maybe Brigid and I could find him one. But then the wrong thing happened at exactly the wrong time. Just as he told me he didn't have a girlfriend, someone bumped into me and I fell into him, and he accidentally got quite a handful of my tits." "Lucky bastard!" "No, it all went wrong! I stepped back, embarrassed as hell. I've been clumsy my whole life, you know that. He thought I was upset and started stammering apologies. He gestured with his arm and knocked my cup of Jerry's nasty red whopatooli out of my hand and down the front of my dress!" "The tan one?" "Um-right... Anyway, I was trying to reassure him after that. He had turned away because he was so mortified that he didn't want to look me in the eye. He was like a scared little boy, so I put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. He turned back at that instant and found me on my tiptoes with my lips puckered. He grabbed me by both cheeks and planted a big one on me!" Mikey began to laugh. He fought to conceal it, but there was no mistaking the shaking movements of his torso. His little angel WAS a klutz, and he adored her for it. She raised an eyebrow at him and continued her tale. "Who could blame him? The moment I found out he didn't have a girlfriend, I put my tits in his hands and then puckered up right at him! I was so red-faced I just bailed on him. I—just can't walk up and talk to him about girlfriends again." "I guess not." "And Mikey, don't think I didn't notice." "I was trying not to laugh." "Not that. You remembered what dress I was wearing to a party six months ago! Before we even knew each other!" "Well, you looked good in it." "You're getting the special treat!" And then she did the thing that drove Mikey crazy. Neither one of them even knew if it had some cool sexual name. So, it was just called "the special treat." She got on top and slid down so that her slick female parts were rubbing against his erection. "What do you want, Mikey?" "The special treat!" "Use the words you want to use, baby. This is dirty sex time, not sweet love-making time." "Rub that sweet little pussy on my big cock!" "Good boy." Her little hands played at the top side of his erection while she ground and slid around on its underside. She cupped the glans and massaged it gently. Her ginger pubic hair was soon quite wet with her own lubrication. She turned around so that her bottom was toward him and started to rub the other side. "Do you want to say anything else?" "You are so fucking hot! Rub your little clit on my dick while I look at your sweet little ass!" "Mikey, say it all! I love it." "You are my hot little fuck! You make me crazy you dirty little slut!" "Only for my man!" "MY dirty little slut! Just for me!" "Yes, baby! Only for you! Rub my clit!" He reached his long arm around her and massaged her clit. "N-n-n-n-nn!" "Whimper for me dirty pretty hippie! Whimper because you're so turned on!" He was nearly there. This always put him over so quickly. "Cum for me, Mikey. Cum in my dirty little hands!" He willingly obliged. She took a finger and put a taste of his seed in her mouth. She smiled, rolled back and kissed him deeply before she started to get up to get ready for work. He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her back down to the bed. "It's still dirty time!" He put her on her back and lowered his face toward her sex. "Say it." "Eat my sweet little pussy, baby. You're hot for me. Make me cum! Oh yes, that's it! That's it!" She had already nearly gone over the top from her own grinding and his fingers. He didn't have to stay down on her long. He slipped his big thumb inside of her. "N-n-n-n-nn! Kiss...it...you...ooooh! Ooooh! Oooh!" Her legs clamped together so hard that Mikey half expected to emerge with cauliflower ears. "Ooooh, my man," she purred softly as she relaxed. "My beautiful man." Their "lightning round" was over in time for them to get ready for work. He got up and kissed her sweetly before he quickly strode out the door. "You just did that to get to the shower first! Save me some hot water!" *** The morning had started so well. Weakened by the euphoria he'd just experienced at April's hands, he foolishly agreed to accept her mission. "You'll be a mighty knight on a sacred quest for his lady love!" he said, again impersonating her. Now he had to go down to underwriting to talk to the inscrutable Scary Steve. She didn't think this guy was creepy, but everyone else did. Mikey could just see his co-workers being interviewed on TV after the quadruple ax-murder, "He seemed harmless enough. Kind of a quiet guy, kept to himself. I mean, I guess we all thought he was a little 'off' but I just can't believe he went all Lizzie Borden on Mikey and his friends while they slept!" On his way to the elevator he passed Jerry and Teddy, once his best friends at Shield. Now, there was nothing but animosity between them. They were chatting up two nice looking young girls from data entry. Those boys were assholes, all right, but they were handsome and clever assholes from moneyed families—and that went a long way, didn't it? He pressed the down button and the doors opened. There was his roommate Ollie. He had just barely gotten his hands out of Brigid's skirt quickly enough to avoid an office incident. Mikey stepped inside the elevator. "Love in an elevator..." he sang as the doors closed. "Livin' it up while I'm goin' down." Ollie replied in kind. Mikey pushed the 'B' button in the key pad "So, Mikey, is April goin' over to yer gaff tonoight? I wouldn't mind seeing me own place once in a whoile!" "Don't get your Irish, up Bridgey. Ollie, she ever do anything besides scold with that tongue?" "Oh, aren't ye the cute hoor! Just because you're a big strappin' footballer ya think ya can get away with being a joker. Give him a clatter on the gob, Ollie! April knocked him right the feck out; ye can take him, lover." "She hit him with a ten pound coffee mug!" "And when I came to she had sex with me, Ollie. Whatcha say, Bridgey? Can I borrow your boy?" "He's a man, not a boy, Michael. And if he kicked yer back doors in, ye'd walk with a limp fer a week!" The elevator opened and one of the execs was standing in the doorway. "Skardowski!" The Senior VP of Nearly Everything beamed at him, then looking at Ollie and Brigid, added, "How's it going, troops?" "Just foine, Mr. Vander Zanden," Brigid answered, rescuing Ollie who was terrible with names. "Say, Mikey, I'm going bowling with your pals Jerry and Teddy on Saturday morning. We could use a fourth. Roll partners for some brewskies?" "I'd love to Mr. V, but I'm volunteering in the high school weight room on Saturday mornings. The Wanowee Wildcats are going all the way to Camp Randall next fall!" "That's the spirit, Skardowski! My boy is a freshman on the team next year!" "Say, the three of us all bowl, how about after work on Wednesday night? Give you a chance to warm up before you embarrass those clowns on Saturday." "You ALL bowl?" he looked at Brigid. "We Irish invented it, Mr. V!" "Um, that was we Dutch." "Ah, ya stole it from us, ya roight bastards!" The elevator doors tried to close but Mikey held them open for Vander Zanden. Brigid stared at the Senior VP of Nearly Everything and did show even a trace of a smile. Vander Zanden looked at her for only a second before he broke out laughing. Brigid turned on her cutey-pie smile. "You're a firecracker, Irish!" he said loudly and burst out laughing. "Keep an eye on her, son!" he said to Ollie, giving him a light punch on the shoulder. "Going up or down, troops?" he said. Mikey pointed down. "I'm going up. I'll wait for the next one. Wednesday after work it is!" He stepped back and the door closed. "That, lover, is how ya play the office game!" she said to Ollie. "And this one here," she said nodding toward Mikey, "can play it under extra pressure." "Yes, I can." "Is that why you had your hand on Mikey's ass the whole time he was talking to the Senior VP?" "Absolutely!" They all giggled. "Smart move not throwing April under the bus. She bowls fer shite. She'd be embarrassed." "I'm going all the way down to underwriting. Where you two going?" "We're not going anywhere, Mikey. We just like the elevator." Ollie grinned and made eyes at his lover. "A couple a 'cute hoors' ye are," Mikey said with a horrible attempt at Brigid's accent. The doors opened to a pair of irritated women from clerical waiting with heavy-looking file crates stuffed with computer operations manuals. Ollie took the crate from one of the pair. Mikey grabbed the other one and stacked it on top of the first. "You need something to keep your hands out of trouble," he whispered slyly to Ollie. Brigid blew Mikey a kiss as he stepped off the elevator. He headed toward underwriting. Time to meet up with Scary Steve. Underwriting had the same fluorescent lighting as the rest of the building, but even with the doors and ceiling decorated with Christmas lights, it still seemed dark and oppressive. Scary Steve was in the "Old Policy" file room, the heart of darkness. Mikey found Steve with his head buried in one of the four-foot long sliding file drawers. He pulled a file and stood up. He saw Mikey walking toward him and froze. Then he began to walk away. "Steve! I want to talk to you!" Scary Steve remained motionless for a moment and then, with a little scream, threw the file up in the air and ran. Mikey, with wide eyes, watched the cascade of flying papers for a moment. But then some athletic instinct kicked in, and he gave chase. Steve got to a closed door at the far end of the room and pulled frantically at the knob. It was locked. Mikey pulled to a stop a few feet away from him. Steve flattened himself against the door, and then curled into a semi-fetal position covering his head with his hands. "It was all a misunderstanding! I never meant to grab her there! I didn't know she was your girl!" Mikey laughed. Then felt guilty about it. "Hey, buddy. I just want to talk." "You aren't going to pound me?" "No." So much for "Scary" Steve. "I didn't mean to grab her at all, and then it just looked like...I thought she wanted me to." "April thinks you're a sweet guy, Steve. Neither one of us is mad at you." "So, this is just an underwriting question? I can help you study for the exam. I'm good at it. Not saying you're stupid or anything. I mean lots of former football players are really smart. Former NFL QB from the 1960's Frank Ryan, has a PhD in Advanced Mathematics!" "It's not an underwriting question. I passed the company's exam—barely, on my second try—and how the fuck do you remember things like that?" "Freaky brainy kid." "You're no kid, Steve. You're a grown man. Let's go pick up your file and have a chat." Steve nodded and followed Mikey back to the file. They both began to pick up the scattered papers. Mikey had about a dozen sheets in his big mitt when he began to stand up. Steve suddenly reached over and grabbed him by the back of his head. "File drawer!" he said, snatching his hand back. "You get used to it. It really hurts when you hit the old bean on one of these beasties." "I reckon that would have. Thanks, Steve." "Mikey, did you really beat up six guys in an alley a couple months ago?" "I had help." "I heard. A tiny hippie chick and the little gay dude from the coffee shop..." "They're tougher than you think." Steve took the mess of papers to a small table and began to sort them. With scarcely a glance at each, he put the thirty papers in order in just a few seconds. "Great shades of Rain Man!" Mikey whispered. "I'm not a savant. My brain just does some things really well." He went back to the drawer and quickly returned the file. "Want to see something cool?" "Sure. Cool stuff is cool." "Well said." "Did you just poke fun at me?" "Sorry." "No, man. I was glad you felt like you could. Show me your cool stuff." Steve led him back to his computer. He punched a couple commands into the keyboard. "Okay if I do the show?" Steve called out loudly. "Go for it!" an unseen voice called from a cubicle in the sparsely populated basement maze. "Show time, everybody!" "Mikey, click on the Santa Claus icon." Mikey moved the mouse to the tiny Santa and clicked it. The entire floor went dark. A booming "HO! HO! HO!" rang out and the show began. A driving beat began pulsing through a sound system Mikey had no idea was even there. It was a Manheim Steamroller Christmas mix. Every Christmas light began to blink on and off in perfect synchronization with the music. Heads prairie dogged as people stood up in their cubicles to get a better view. It lasted about two minutes, and Mikey loved every second of it. He joined in the enthusiastic round of applause at the end. "That's the shit, Steve! Why don't you tell people you have this set up?" "You know when you see one of those houses that does this on Youtube? People drive by all night long and want to see the show. It would get pretty annoying for the people who work down here if everybody came down and wanted to see the show." "You're a cool guy, Steve." "Really?" "Smart enough to do this. Considerate enough to not annoy people with it. Cool." Steve blushed, but Mikey went on. "You know what, buddy? You should put on a show like this at the company Christmas party." "Okay. If you think it's a good idea." "Hey, Steve...why don't you ever talk to people?" "Well, you know what everybody calls me?" "Yeah. Scary Steve." "I don't hate that. I mean, sure it keeps people away from me and all, but it's better than the alternatives. What would they call me if they really knew what I was like? Scaredy Steve, Easy to Beat Up Steve, Never Had a Woman Steve..." "Never—mind," Mikey made a desperate attempt to cover what he had been about to exclaim. "Never mind about all that. You're a nice guy. And my friends and I will stick up for you. You've got to meet some people, get out in the world. Isn't there a girl somewhere you have an eye on?" Mikey saw him turn red. "Come on, big guy. Who turns your crank?" "I pretty much have to do that myself." "Come on, who is she?" "Well you know Gretchen, the bartender from Vander Voot's Varsity?" "Slow down, grasshopper. The little bird must learn to feed itself before it flies." "Your faux Confucian saying makes no sense, but I wasn't setting after Gretchen. Could you imagine that?" "I have imagined it more than few times!" "Heh, who wouldn't? Anyway Gretchen's got a cousin that runs the kitchen. I got into town about a week before the rest of the cohort; I didn't have to work yet, and was looking for something to do. I found out Vander Voot's Varsity had one of those quiz games I like. Triple V's was always deserted when I went in there on weekday afternoons. This amazing girl with soulful eyes came out and sat at the bar while she did some of the paperwork and prep before supper. I hear she's like some kind of super chef. Anyway she always watched LOST DVD's on the big screen. And she had a little notebook where she took notes and cross-referenced theories. I kind of timed my visits to be there at the same time. She smiled at me once or twice. Gretchen kept offering to introduce us, but I would have screwed it up." "Dude...the skinny, I mean slim, redhead? What's her name again?" "Letje," Steve spoke the name like it was a dream. "Well, she's perfect for you! Maybe she'll 'let ya' take her to the Christmas party!" "I wouldn't know where to start! I couldn't ask her. What if she said no?" "Then we move onto one of the three billion other women in the world." "Actually, with the world population being roughly 6.8 billion and 49.76% of that being female, there are 3.38 billion females in the world." "Better yet." "Not actually. Around 1.014 billion of those females are under 18 years old." "Oh." "And 640 million of them are over 50. I don't think I'm ready for a cougar." "I agree. If you were, I'd send you up to accounting...there's that one MILF with the leopard print...Sorry, go on." "That leaves roughly 1.726 billion women between the ages of 18 and 50." "Steve, you've put some thought into this haven't you?" "I have a lot of time on my hands at night." "You ever watch the BIG BANG THEORY? Just curious." "You think I'm a Sheldon?" "No, my friend, you are a Leonard all the way. And April watches that show every week, just like millions of other women, and they all think Leonard's adorable."