I want to scream at him, telling him that he’s practically ruined my life, or at leas my financial one, by stealing so much money from me.
But, in reality, I’ve already done that. I got mad at him on the phone, and he just laughed it off like it was no big deal. If there’s one thing he’s good at doing, it’s laughing things off.
I can’t tell him how I really feel. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.
That doesn’t mean I can’t be annoyed with him, even visibly annoyed. In fact, I’m not sure, but I think I’m coming across as cold, although you’d never guess it from the way he’s acting, like he’s completely thrilled to see me, no matter how I act towards him.
“Where are you staying?” I say.
“Hey, why don’t we get some dinner?”
“I’ve already eaten. But you’re avoiding the question.”
“I’m doing no such thing. Hey, did you say you take the trolley to work? I can’t believe that thing still operates. They were using trolleys the last time I was here in the ‘70s.”
That’s typical of him—denying that he’s even denying anything. According to my dad, he’s never avoided a question or never done anything to harm me. He’ll never admit that he screwed me over by stealing my identity.
I had to change all my online banking passwords. I have to change all my credit and debit cards. I canceled everything and even changed my phone number because the creditors were waking me up at night.
“So,” says my dad. “Aren’t you going to show me where I’m going to sleep?”
“Wait,” I say. “You think you’re staying here?”
“You’re going to turn your own father away?”
I don’t say anything. The anger is seething up inside me, but I just can’t let it out.
“Oh,” says my dad. “There’s one little thing I should mention… I had to borrow your debit card number to pay for the bus ticket here.”
“You stole more money for me?”
“Stole? No, of course not. I’d never steal money from anyone, let alone my own daughter. It was just that they were asking me for a card number, and I didn’t happen to have one available, so I…”
“I know you know how banking works,” I say. “For someone who gambles all his money away, you’d think you’d have a better understanding of finances…”
“Come on,” says my dad. “Why don’t we talk about this over dinner before we get carried away here.”
“Out,” I say, simply, pointing to the door to the street.
The door opens, and someone comes in. It’s a man in his early thirties, and he seems to sense that something is going on between me and my dad, so he avoids looking at us by looking down at the ground and walking past us without saying anything.
“Are you serious?” says my dad, chuckling to himself.
That’s how he gets through life being such a sketch ball, just laughing everything off, refusing to take anything seriously whatsoever.
The more he fucks up, the more he laughs.
“Out,” I say. “You’re not staying here.”
I should scream at him. That’s what I desperately want to do, but I just can’t find it within myself. Well, I can find it, but I can’t get it out. There’s something blocking it.
“All right,” says my dad, grinning at me. “I can see you’re having a bad day. So I’ll let you settle down. What about dinner tomorrow?”
I don’t say anything. Instead, I just turn around and walk back towards my apartment, through the dirty hallway that stinks of natural gas.
The only thing I want to do right now is curl up in my bed and cry, but the tears don’t come. I’ve been through so much with my dad and his gambling, and his constant scheming that I simply find it hard to have a reaction to anything he’s done. I feel numb inside.
There’s a hollow space inside me, I can feel the emptiness palpably. Nothing’s go the way I want it. Nothing at all.
If only Sasha were here, instead of having fun on her date. She’s probably trying some crazy new sex position that I’ll have to hear about tomorrow, all the while wondering why I don’t go on dates. Well, the answer is obvious. I’m ashamed of my virginity. What would I do, anyway, if I went on a date and the guy asked me back to his place? Would I have to explain ahead of time that I don’t even know how to have sex, even though I’m ostensibly an adult?
I might as well do something practical, I think to myself, as I open up my computer and log on to my online banking. I might as well see how screwed I am financially. There’s no telling how much my dad actually charged to my debit card. How did he get my number anyway? After all, it is a new card.
Sure enough, the computer tells me that my dad charged not only an expensive bus ticket, but a number of other things. It looks like he went to the grocery store with my card, and also bought himself a few items on Amazon.com.
Great, just great.
And now that he’s here in the city, there’s no end to the number of ways he can screw me over.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he finds out where I work and shows up someday, trying to scam my coworkers out of money somehow. That’s just the kind of person he is. I can’t change him.
If my mother were still alive, things might be different, but he changed after her death, for the worse.
It’s sobering seeing my bank account. My dad withdrew all the cash, and I’m left with a whopping total of two dollars and seventy nine cents. My paycheck from work wont’ from for another two weeks at least, and they told me that sometimes the first paycheck can come a couple weeks later than usual.
I should be able to borrow money from Sasha so it’s not like I’m going to starve, but my account total just further hits hoe the reality of my financial situation.
Realistically, I’m going to be in debt for the rest of my life. I’ll be in a nursing home, still owing money.
I’ll be a slave to the financial institutions, working only for them. I’m selling myself, essentially.
If I’m going to sell myself, I might as well do it so that I won’t have to worry about money for the rest of my life.
If I took up David Masters on his insane offer, I’d still have a cool $800,000 left after I paid off all my loans.
And it’s not like I’d be really selling myself, right? After all, it’s just a job, really. It’s not like I’m selling my body. He made it clear that there wouldn’t be any sex. Actually, he said not to expect any sex from him—what an arrogant jerk. But a hot arrogant jerk. Honestly, my mind starts wondering again what it would be like to have sex with him, to have his hot muscular body pressed against mine, to feel his thick cock deep inside me, penetrating me.
But it’d be completely crazy to marry him, wouldn’t it?
Then again, how long could it possibly take, right? Probably just a couple of months. What would I have to do, live there and show up in court a couple times? It couldn’t really involve all that much, right? And if I divide one million dollars by the total number of hours that I actually have to “work” at the job, the hourly rate is going to be insanely good.
Because I’m a huge nerd, I bust out the calculator on my laptop op an do some calculations, coming up with an hourly rate of $20,000, provided I have to do about 50 hours of work, which is completely insane. There’s no way I’m ever going to have another job offer this good, not for the rest of my natural life. Honestly, I can’t even see how I’d have to put in a total of 50 hours. Unless he expects me to clean and cook for him, but I’m sure he has a maid to do that. Actually, this might be a pretty cushy gig. I can just imagine living at the house of the richest man in Philadelphia—there will be maids and cooks. It’s going to be a huge step up from the crappy apartment Sasha and I share.
But what would Sasha say?
Well, I’ll just have to worry about that when the time come.
Or maybe I can avoid telling her.
David
“That was quick,” I say. “It didn’t take you l
ong to decide to do it.”
Olivia’s standing in front of my desk in my office. She’s wearing a knee-length dress that doesn’t even manage to hide her curves. It’s tight, and there’s a slit that runs up the side of her leg, showing her bare thigh. Her body drives me wild and makes my cock start to swell in my thin suit pants.
But, I tell myself, you can’t fuck her.
Why not, though?
It’s not like the court’s going to find out if I fuck her.
It’s just the beginning, and I’m already making excuses about why I should be able to fuck her, about why there won’t be any consequences.
Maybe the judge is right about my reputation.
The court date’s coming up soon. At the very least, I’ll have to keep my cock in my pants until that. There’s no telling what a cock like mine would do to a goodie-two-shoes girl like Olivia. It might turn her into a completely cock hungry woman over night, and she’d lose the veneer of respectability that’s going to be vital for my court case.
“I didn’t even tell you if I was going to accept,” she says, still standing.
“Take a seat,” I say, chuckling. “What else would you be here for?”
“Maybe I’d want to file a formal harassment complaint.”
“I’ve never heard of a marriage proposal being considered harassment.”
“It’s not a real marriage.”
“No,” I say. “No it’s not, and remember that, because you’re not going to be getting any alimony payments.”
She shrugs. “Well, you’re right. I’m going to accept the offer, but I had some things I wanted to discuss first. Doing this goes against every fiber of my being, and against every conviction I’ve ever had.”
“Of course it does,” I say, chuckling again. “And that’s why you’re so perfect for the part.”
“First, I wanted to say that…”
“Don’t worry about all that now,” I say, cutting her off. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ve already worked it all out. You’ll have your own bedroom in my house. You’ll have to live there, but that’s not going to be a problem for you. It’s a very nice place. You won’t have to do anything in the house. Your responsibilities will be mainly social. We’ll have to be seen at various functions, and of course, the courtroom.”
“I’d like to have some sort of agreement,” she says, finally sitting down. As she does so, her skirt rides up higher on her thigh, and I don’t bother averting my eyes. She leans forward a little, crossing her arms in front of her underneath her breasts, pushing them up and out unintentionally. My cock is raging hard now and aching. “That way, there won’t be any surprises, and we’ll both, um, know exactly what the expectations are.”
It sounds like it’s hard for her to speak up and defend herself. Perfect, she’s respectable and shy. The judge is going to just eat this up. I’m going to be a changed man in his eyes.
“We can’t exactly sign a formal agreement,” I say. “After all, this is probably illegal, and it’s not like we want to leave a bunch of signed evidence around.”
“Oh,” she says. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Don’t worry about the details,” I say. “I do this kind of thing all day long. Everything will be taken care of.”
We sit silently for a moment, staring at each other. I wonder if she knows that my cock is as hard as it is. I’m leaning back in my chair, with my hands behind my head. My cock’s very large, and it makes a huge tent in my pants. From where she’s sitting, she could see it if she wanted to, but she keeps her eyes carefully averted. We’ll see how long that lasts.
“Well,” she says. “How do we do this, then? I’m not sure exactly how to…”
“It’s easy,” I say. “You’ll continue working here. You can move in tonight, and tomorrow we’ll have the wedding. It shouldn’t last longer than a couple months, until this whole thing with my ex-wife has settled down. Then we can get divorced amicably.”
“The wedding?”
I laugh. “Of course,” I say. “We’re getting married, after all. Did you think there wouldn’t be a wedding?”
“I thought maybe we’d do something at the courthouse.”
I wave the suggestion away with my hand. “No one would believe that I’d get married in a courthouse. I buy the best of everything, and there’s no way I would skimp on my own wedding.”
“Oh,” she says, looking down at her lap.
“No,” I say. “It’s going to be a proper wedding. I simply wouldn’t do it any other way. For good measure, I’m going to invite the judge that’s presiding over this case. He’ll see first hand that it’s for real.”
“But…”
“Do you have an objection?” I say.
“It’s just that… I’ve never been a very good actress.”
This makes me really laugh.
“Don’t worry, honey,” I say. “With me, you won’t need to act.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Well,” I say, adjusting my posture so that I’m leaning forward, both hands on the desk. “We’ll shake on it.”
She moves forward timidly, her hand coming slowly towards mine.
I take it in mine. Hers is dainty and delicate. I grip her hand in my powerful, rough hand, and hold her tight. I lock eyes with her.
“Well,” I say. “That’s that. You can go back to work now.”
“Um,” she says. She’s become more timid through his whole meeting. “When do I start?”
“Tonight, of course. Write down your address, and I’ll send a car for you after work.”
“What about my things.”
“You won’t need them. Everything will be provided for you.”
“But what about my clothes? My makeup?”
I chuckle, eyeing her up and down. “I’ll see to it that you get some nice things. No wife of mine will be seen walking around wearing clothes from the thrift store.”
Her mouth falls open and hangs there in surprise.
“Didn’t think I knew, eh? Now, come on, back to work, or they’ll think we’re having an affair. Although, to think of it, that’s exactly what we want them to think, isn’t it?”
She stands frozen, not sure what to do.
“Come on,” I say. “Sit down again. We’ll tell people we fell in love at work and all that. After all, it’s conceivable. Now, what did you say your last name was again?”
“Jenson,” she says.
She sits down, crossing her legs again. And again, I take a good look at her thigh. My cock’s still swollen and aching.
This time, I catch her glancing down just for a moment at my crotch.
I grin at her and she blushes furiously.
“Jenson,” I say, playing with the word in my mind. “Olivia Jenson. Not bad, not bad at all. But it’ll sound much better as Olivia Masters.”
“You want me to change my name?”
“Of course,” I say. “My ex-wife changed her name, and men in my position simply don’t let their names go to waste.”
“I don’t know… it might be confusing for people, for my family.”
“Ah,” I say. “You have family? A mother, father? Sisters, brothers?”
“Just my dad. My mom died when I was younger. I don’t have any siblings. It’s just me and my dad. And that’s a whole… thing.”
The idea of her losing her mother sends a pang through me. It’s an emotional pang of… something. It’s painful to feel it and it reminds me of something else, but I quickly brush it aside and bury it away.
“I lost both my parents,” I say brusquely.
“Oh?”
“I hope your father can attend the wedding,” I say, changing the subject.
“My dad? No, that’d be… I mean, it’s not a real wedding, right? I wasn’t even going to tell him.”
“It’s not a real wedding, but it has to seem like one. The more details we can add to this, the better it’ll turn out. I’m not paying you for nothing, you kno
w.”
“OK,” she says. “I’ll invite him. But I’ll have to tell him it isn’t real.”
“You won’t,” I say.
“I won’t?”
“Like I said, you’re not going to tell him anything about this arrangement. It’s good we’re spending more time together, actually, so we can clarify a few things. I need to lay out some ground rules.”
“Rules?”
“Yes, and the first one is that no one, and I repeat, no one, is to know about our arrangement. That includes your father, your best friend, your roommate, coworkers, anyone. Understand?”
She nods.
As I look at her, I’m seriously starting to reconsider the promise I made to myself to not fuck her. After all, she’s just so fucking perfect. So innocent. So fucking hot. I can’t take my eyes off her, and my cock is just aching. After all, what would be the harm in fucking her? Who would know?
The way she glanced at my crotch, the way she doesn’t take her eyes off me now, except when she becomes embarrassed—it’s further proof that she wants me just as much as I want her.
“And the second rule?” she says, interrupting my thoughts.
To be honest, I hadn’t thought of one, so I use an old business tactic and change the subject.
“So what’s your story?” I say. “It’ll be good if we know a little about each other, to make it all seem more realistic.”
“Why don’t you go first?”
“Very well. My father was a bricklayer.” I pause for a moment as an image of my father, dressed in a white t-shirt, comes rushing into my mind. He’s got a beer bottle in one hand and a belt in another. I shake the image off and continue. “My mother stayed at home. They did everything they could to give me the life I have now. Of course, they left it mostly up to me. So I worked my ass off, went to school, learned about investing, and now I’m here, the richest man in Philadelphia.”
She nods her head. There’s a strange look in her eyes, as if she caught me in some private moment. But she can’t read my thoughts—I have to remind myself of that. She doesn’t know anything about my father. Nothing at all.
“Tell me about yourself,” I say.
“Like I said, my mom died when I was young… We’re from western Pennsylvania.”
SEAL'd Lips: A Secret Baby Romance Page 51