I took my time in the kitchen and sipped my orange juice, rather than chugging it. The schedule I’d laid out for myself already gave me some wiggle room, and I didn’t want to add to it by rushing myself. If anything, I wanted to take away from it—and, I guess that’s what I tried to do when I forced myself to try and eat one of Mom’s multi-grain protein bars for breakfast. (I gave up on it a few bites in, by the way.)
When I got back up to the bathroom, it was probably around 10:15 or so, and I let the bathroom collect plenty of steam before I stepped into the shower. I took a nice, slow shower after that—the kind where I washed and rubbed every part of my body, including, and especially, those parts of our bodies we too frequently ignore.
I also took the time to make sure that select portions of my body were clean and hairless. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you which ones, but I will anyway—my armpits, legs, and pussy. Though, I didn’t remove all the hair from that last part. I left a little tuft near the top, a tiny little marker. I was pleased with how it looked and felt from my perspective, and I hoped that Anthony would appreciate and enjoy it as much as I did.
I went about the rest of my song and dance and got ready for the day ahead of me. It was 12:11 when I started lugging the donation bags out to my car, and I was happy that I was running behind my loose schedule.
I ended up loading seven bags into my car, then ended up unloading them about 35 minutes later. That’s how long it took me to get from my house to the thrift store, which was in the same district as my other destinations.
The staff at the thrift store seemed glad to receive my donations, though they could have been a little more helpful. I don’t know why, but I thought that if I was donating stuff, the people at the store were supposed to take care of my donation—and, by “take care of,” I mean carry.
But, as it turns out, I was expected to take care of my donation. I told the worker at the dock door that I had several bags, and he gestured toward a donation bin at the other end of the garage.
“Drop them in there,” he instructed as he turned away. He went over and sat on a plastic chair and took a clipboard into his hands, and I went back to my car and went on to carry the seven bags to the receptacle.
After that unexpected delay, I found myself staring at a clock that read 1:38, with a growling stomach that demanded food. The first place I saw that seemed like it would have a decent menu was a little Mediterranean establishment that smelled as good as it looked charming. It was set up like a deli and offered a variety of counter items, as well as several dishes that could be prepared in the attached kitchen.
I hungrily examined the many things inside the glass cases, but was ultimately drawn toward what was coming from the kitchen. I could smell lamb in the air—and could sense a skewer of it just waiting to be shaved. My mind was made up. I had to have a gyro.
I placed my order, and, not even ten minutes later, I was presented with a pita filled with pure perfection. The gyro was the bomb and it satisfied my hunger and my cravings for real food on top of last night fish food.
I enjoyed every single bite of my gyro, as well as of the side salad I’d ordered with it. The salad was dressed in lemon juice, mint, and olive oil, with just a touch of oregano, and it paired well with the heavier sandwich I was eating.
My meal was so good that I considered ordering dessert. But, then I remembered where I was going next. Why have a piece of baklava at a Mediterranean joint when I could have a slice of pie at Dessert Oasis?
Chapter 13
Some might call it goesh to patronize a place to which you are applying right before your interview—or, heck, some might even call it patronizing. But despite whatever some would call it, I decided to go to Dessert Oasis even earlier than scheduled, to order something and eat it before my interview. Their desserts were stellar after all. Why shouldn’t I order one?
When I arrived at Dessert Oasis, it was around 2:30, and the place was kind of beat. There were a few people sitting back with drinks and desserts, but it was obvious that this wasn’t one of their busier times, which made sense. I guess most folks aren’t looking for a sugar buzz at this hour.
I looked at the different treats in front of me and made my way to the counter with my selection. I order a ramekin of flan, which caused the woman behind the counter to smile and wiggle her eyebrows.
“Not many people your age order that,” she said. She didn’t look much older than me, though she probably had a good 15 years on me. I glanced at the nametag on her apron. It said “Jessica.”
“Well, I happen to love flan, Jessica,” I said. Jessica glanced down at her own nametag, then smiled back at me. “And, I happen to love the way you guys brown sugar here. I had the dulce de leche cheesecake the other week, and it was off the chain. So, if your flan has any flavor like that, my mouth is in for a real fiesta!”
Jessica laughed at me and proceeded to fill my order. “Sounds like you know what you’re talking about,” she said, pulling a small bowl of flan from the refrigerated food case. “And, indeed, you’ve made a good selection. If you like our dulce de leche cheesecake, then, yes, you’re gonnalove this.”
Jessica set my dessert on the counter. I paid for it and tipped her generously, then went and sat down at a table to eat it.
Words can’t express how totally terrific my dessert was. It was sweet; soft, yet firm; and smooth. It had the perfect balance of flavor, and the sweetness of the browned, burnt sugar was to die for. It was bliss. It made me almost forget about what bliss I might have in store for me later, with Anthony… almost.
A few years ago—maybe even a few months ago, or even a few days—I would have dipped my spoon into that flan ramekin once or twice and devoured the whole thing in no time. But, now, for some reason, I couldn’t do that. I wanted to hold onto it and make it last longer—not just so that time would pass by, but also so that the moment wouldn’t pass me by. I wanted to savor it, and I finally knew what “savor” meant.
I gazed out the window as I enjoyed each spoonful of my flan, and began to prepare myself for what was coming. In just a short while, I would be under the microscope for an interview, and I wanted to bask in what was left of my freedom.
I took several deep breaths as the aftertaste of caramel and custard faded from my tongue and told myself that everything would be okay. I stood up, picked up my plate, and took it up to the counter. When I set it down, Jessica said, “Thanks, honey. I would have gotten that.”
“No problem,” I said. “I just wanted to clean up a little… I’m actually here for an interview.”
“Really?” Jessica asked.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I’m here to see Michelle Robins. But I figured I’d treat myself to something yummy before getting down to business.”
“Good idea,” Jessica said. “Plus, it never hurts to know your product.”
“Exactly,” I laughed back. “So… is Michelle here?”
“Yes, she is,” Jessica said.
“Well, can you please get her for me?” I asked. “Tell her Kirby Miller’s here.”
“Alright,” Jessica said, glancing down at her nametag again. When she looked back up at me, she chuckled.
“I am Michelle,” she said. “I’m just filling in, and I’m wearing Jessica’s apron. Jessica’s the girl who quit on us—the one who left the position we’re looking to fill.”
“Oh,” I said, otherwise at a loss for words. I wasn’t necessarily embarrassed, but I wasn’t exactly comfortable either. I hadn’t done anything to give Michelle a bad impression of me, but, then again, I hadn’t done anything to give her a good one. It just felt like we’d started things out on the wrong foot.
“Don’t worry, Kirby,” Michelle said, wiping her hands on her apron. “So far, this is the most promising interview I’ve had for the position. You showed up early for your interview. You expressed an interest in our product, and a vast knowledge of it. You were considerate and sociable with me, regardless of my position or station
, and you even cleaned up your table.
“I’m going to be completely honest with you here. Jessica quit four days ago, and we need her position filled as soon as possible, but we haven’t been able to find anyone suitable to fill it. All of the experienced wait staff we have on file are already working other places, and, apparently, they have better work ethics than Jessica did.
“We need somebody in here sooner than later, and, with that in mind, we’re willing to make certain concessions. I know that you have no experience—but, that’s okay, so long as you’re willing to gain it. You seem to have a lot of gumption, and, according to your application, you’re a smart cookie, so, I’m not gonna beat around the bush here. I’ll get straight to it and ask you: Do you really want to work for Dessert Oasis?”
“Yes,” I said. I felt like Mom, ‘cause I answered both immediately and vivaciously.
“Then let’s sit down and talk, shall we?” Michelle asked, coming out from behind the counter.
Chapter 14
About an hour and a half after I walked into Dessert Oasis with an itch in my sweet tooth, I left the place fully satisfied. I’d not only delighted in a sweet treat but also walked away with what was, more or less, a job offer.
Michelle and I talked for nearly an hour, and she liked enough about me and my personality to take the risk and recommend me for hire. She explained that she just had to clear it with her bosses, the higher-ups, and said that she’d be in touch with me within a few days.
The way she put things, I pretty much had the job in the basket. But, I knew not to count my eggs before they hatched, and I took everything Michelle said with a grain of salt and tried to remain very realistic about it.
Still, I was pretty excited though. I had a better shot at having a job when I left Dessert Oasis than I had when I’d arrived there, and it was enough to lift my spirits up and give me wings for the rest of the day, not that I needed them, considering where I was going.
Stonegate Tower was just a few blocks away from Dessert Oasis, and it took me no time to get there. I skittled down the street quickly, trying to keep my strides short. I’d worn a knee-length skirt with no panties beneath, and I didn’t want to catch a crosswind and let everyone in town see the little tuft I’d carved out for Anthony’s eyes only.
When I got to Stonegate Tower, I was content that I made it there without flashing anyone, and I stood back to take in the building for a moment. I’d just been there two days earlier, but I still wasn’t used to its massive size and foreboding structure, and I wasn’t used to the buzzing activity inside of it either. The entire place overwhelmed me and made me feel uneasy, and the elevator lift up to the 12th floor made my stomach turn over.
I started to feel better again when I got to Parker & Swift’s office, where I was very kindly greeted by the same young girl who’d greeted me the other day. She looked as if she recognized me, and as if she was expecting me.
“Miss Miller, right?” she asked.
I smiled and nodded.
“Mr. Swift is expecting you,” she went on. “Should I buzz him now, or would you like a moment?”
“Now’s fine,” I replied. I didn’t see what another minute or two would get me. Maybe if I were here for a real interview or meeting I’d need the time to give myself a pep talk.
The receptionist turned around in her chair, clicked a button somewhere, and said something into her Bluetooth. Not even a minute later, Anthony appeared in the hallway behind her desk and gestured toward me.
“Kirby,” he said. “Always lovely to see you.”
“Likewise,” I replied.
Anthony flicked his head at his receptionist in an appreciative manner, and she turned back toward her computer. He led me back to his inner sanctum and carefully shut the door behind us.
“How’d your interview go?” he asked, cool as ever.
“Pretty good,” I answered. “I think I might have nailed it.”
“Wonderful,” Anthony said, walking toward the front side of his desk. He leaned back against it and looked at me, waiting for me to make my way over to him.
I slowly advanced across the room and set my purse down on one of the chairs near Anthony’s desk, then I walked closer to him, until I was in front of him. There was something so magnetic between us. No matter how I tried to avoid it, I couldn’t—not that I tried all that hard, mind you.
“Yeah,” I said, bringing my body to Anthony’s. “I’m pretty psyched about it… But, I’m even more psyched about this moment—about being here with you, right now.”
“Kirby,” Anthony said, bending forward and taking me into his arms. “Everything you say and do drives me crazy.” He pressed his lips against mine passionately. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
Anthony’s hands slid down my arms, to my waist, and around to my back. He ran them down over my ass and gasped when he felt no panty-line.
“I keep telling myself that we shouldn’t do this,” he said, breathing heavily. His hands were moving from my ass to my thighs, reaching down toward the bottom of my skirt.
“I know there’s no way this could ever work,” he moaned after lapping his tongue against mine.
“Your parents would never allow it,” he groaned as I brought my hand to his belt buckle. “My friends would think I’m having a midlife crisis, or that I’ve gone crazy.”
I undid Anthony’s belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and shoved my hand into his boxers, taking hold of his cock. It was hard, hot, and swollen, and it was dripping thick, luscious fluid from its throbbing tip.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Anthony whimpered as I started pumping his manhood in my hand. “It doesn’t make sense, but, dear God, I want it… I need it.”
Anthony’s breathing took on the rhythm of my hand, and he looked at me with wanton agony in his eyes. “I need you, Kirby,” he said. His lower lip dropped and his teeth chattered. He threw his hand down on top of mine and removed my grip from him.
“Sit down,” he said. I was breathing heavily and easily obliged him. Without so much as a second thought, I sat back on the chair behind me.
“Show me what you’ve got underneath that skirt,” he said, leaning back on his desk again. His cock was still poking out of his pants, pointing straight up at the ceiling.
I sat back in the chair and spread my legs as wide as I could, then hoisted one up on the arm of the chair. “Nothing,” I said looking up at Anthony as he looked down at my pussy.
“Beautiful,” he said in what sounded like a stuttered breath. He dropped to his knees in front of me, and leaned in closer to my lower half.
Anthony ran his fingers lightly over the outer lips of my female being, tickling them and teasing them. I felt an intense throbbing inside of me, and it made my hips involuntarily buck every so often, which made Anthony make that “mmmm” noise that every lover loves to hear.
Anthony continued to inspect and tease me, and it drove me wild. The way he was touching me was so sensual, and so patient. It made me feel feelings I’d never felt before. Each time Anthony’s fingers touched me, I savored it… like I’d savored the flan.
With the way Anthony was worshipping my pussy, I was sure that the next thing he was going to do was lick it. Or, maybe, that’s what I wanted him to do. But, that’s not what he did. Instead, he brought his mouth to my mound and simply kissed it. The he kissed it again… and again… and again… until, finally, his tongue darted out from his mouth, unexpectedly, and parted my folds, headed straight for my clit.
My back arched forward from the back of the chair, and I nearly pushed Anthony to the floor. That one move he made made something quake inside me, and my entire body was pulsing with the aftershock. It wasn’t an orgasm, but it was something that assured me an orgasm would soon me coming.
Anthony laughed and grunted when my hips thrust my pussy up against his face. Obviously, he was going for some type of positive response—and, sure enough, he’d gotten one. He continued to l
ick, suck, and eat me, and I continued to squirm from it and edge my body forward.
By the time Anthony got me off—just a few minutes later—I was no longer sitting on the chair, but had pushed my body so far forward that I was straddling Anthony’s face. His shoulders were wedged up against the desk behind him, and my pussy was nearly smothering him. I didn’t know exactly how we’d ended up in that position, but I liked it.
I felt like I was going to collapse from my orgasm, and I probably would have if I hadn’t still had Anthony’s face there propping me up. I leaned back from him a little, just as his strong arms came up to hold and guide me. He rose to his feet, carrying me with him as he did, and then took me into his arms for a moment.
My skirt was stuck up around my waist, and my pussy was still wet and aching. I felt very primal and passionate, and I felt the need to reciprocate the pleasure I’d just received.
Just as Anthony had done earlier, I dropped to my knees. I positioned my body in front of Anthony’s and leaned in over him, pushing him back on his desk a little. I could feel the cool air from the air conditioning vents on between my legs, and it only further fueled the fire burning inside of me.
I looked up at Anthony as I took his cock into my hand. I held it firmly at the base, then ran my tongue over the length of it, dragging my tongue slowly and firmly over the head. Anthony licked his lips as he watched me bathe his cock and get it ready for my mouth.
I glided my tongue over Anthony’s shaft a few more times, making it nice and wet. When I finally took him into my mouth, I did so slowly—taking the head in first, then inching the rest of him in. He was big, and I knew there was no way I could get all of him in my mouth, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me from trying.
As I worked my mouth over Anthony, he made the most delicious noises. If I hadn’t just cum, the sound of his pleasure would have been enough to make me do so—and, they were definitely making me want to do so again. He moaned and groaned, breathed heavily, and said such sexy things. It all inspired me to keep doing what I was doing, and to do it well.
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