Sin and Desire

by Swan, Carol

  The reality of the workshop is that there's not much time for conversation. You have to wear hearing protection for a good part of the day. Every saw, every router, pretty well everything is connected to a dust collection system. I'm a stickler for safety. You have to be. The only time we would actually talk to each other was when we would sit down to have something to eat or drink or when we would crowd into my little office where there's a drafting table, a laptop and old drawings and files galore. Those conversations were all centered on work.

  After several weeks the Goth look was slowly toned down and I guess my own prejudices too. I came to the realization that she was actually pretty cute. Sexy too. Of course I couldn't say anything like that to her. In the mornings when I'd wake up my first thought would be of Emma. My whole morning routine was fueled by the anticipation of her arrival. In the evenings when I sat eating alone my mind would continue to drift back to her.

  The paint room is at one end of the shop. It has a large window to the main shop and because the dust collector isn't hooked in, there's a radio. Emma would dance to herself while painting. She would dance. Freeze. Her steady hand would move to paint whatever was she was doing. Then she would resume dancing again. She was totally oblivious to her dancing movements, yet fully concentrated on the painting. She was a joy to watch.

  *

  One evening, freezing rain started coming down just as we were finishing up. While we were doing the usual fifteen minutes of shop clean-up before locking up she seemed very apprehensive about the weather. I didn't blame her, the road would probably be treacherous. I turned to her and asked, "Why don't you just sleep here tonight? I have a spare bedroom."

  I guess I caught her by surprise, she paused for a moment, looked outside again and said, "Okay thanks." She then turned to me, pointed her finger to my face and said, "Here's something you've got to understand though, when we walk out this door, you're not my boss anymore."

  That one caught me by surprise. "Okay," I said, "fair enough."

  "And no shop talk," she added.

  "Fine."

  Emma took a side track through the freezing rain to pick up a zippered bag from her little black Yaris before heading to the house. "Welcome to my humble abode," I said as she stepped inside.

  "Thanks."

  She saw me looking at the bag she was carrying. Did she pack an overnight bag anticipating that she would stay the night? She must have read my thoughts.

  "It's an overnight bag. I always pack one in the car. Don't you?"

  I don't, but it's not a bad idea. I whisked her into the living room after she removed her work boots and coat. She looked around the place, but made no comment.

  "Emma listen. I normally have a shower as soon as I get home. I've got to get all of this sawdust off me. I only have the one shower unit. If you want a shower too, go ahead, it's upstairs. There are clean towels in the cupboard. You'll find them. I can get started on something for dinner."

  She smiled at me and said, "Show me the kitchen, let's see what you've got. I'll get started on dinner. You take your shower first."

  "What? You don't trust my cooking?"

  "Frankly, no," was her reply.

  Not a bad judgment call. I showed her the kitchen and the pantry and where all the pots and pans were. She found the pork tenderloin I'd thawed out for dinner. She poked around a little then said, "Go have your shower."

  I came back downstairs after my shower, dressed, as usual in sweatpants and a tee-shirt. "What can I do?" I asked. I didn't know what she was cooking. "Make sure this doesn't burn," she said pointing to a large pot with pork cubes and all kinds of cut up vegetables sizzling away. "In about five minutes add half of this," she handed me a tetra-pack of vegetable stock, "give it a good stir, turn the heat down and put the lid on. In the meantime peel some potatoes."

  Yes ma'am. She was not at all like in the shop. I did as I was told.

  She came back down a few minutes later wearing grey sweatpants and a red t-shirt. I'd never seen her tattoo before. Her right arm was completely covered in a multi-colored something from her wrist right up past her short sleeve. In the shop we always wore a shop coat, plus whatever she wore underneath had always been long sleeve. It's kind of cool in the shop that time of year. In addition, there was something not right about the nipples on her small breasts.

  "What are you staring at?" she asked accusingly.

  "I...ah..I've never seen your tattoo before," I managed to stammer out.

  "You weren't looking at my tats, you were staring at my breasts."

  I knew I was blushing. "I...I'm sorry," I croaked out, "it's just..."

  She put her hands on her hips and glared at me with her mouth open.

  "There's something funny about your nipples," I managed to get out and wished that I hadn't finished my sentence.

  She pulled her top off. I froze in shock. My employee was half naked standing in front of me.

  "They're called nipple rings."

  Sure enough, she had nipple rings. Not only that but the tattoo went right up her arm onto her shoulder and curled under her right boob. As she slowly turned her body, I could see that the tattoo also covered her right shoulder blade. And her belly button was pierced.

  "Do you like it?"

  I didn't know what to say. I hate tattoos and piercings on women. On men too. I just hate them period.

  "You don't like it, do ya?"

  "No, sorry." I gulped.

  "Well that's too bad, it's my body and I like it." She put her shirt back on.

  I smiled at her and threw my palms in the air. Whatever cranks you lady.

  She came into the kitchen and stirred the pot. She found some herbs that I'd forgotten I actually had and added them to the pot. Herbes de Provence. The whole thing smelled pretty good. I was washing the potatoes in the sink.

  The power went out.

  "Fuck" "Shit." We said together in the pitch black.

  Not surprising in an ice storm. "I'll bet a line is down," I said. It had just gone dark outside.

  "Everything is out," I said to her. "We can flush the toilet once, but it won't fill up again. There's a second toilet on this floor. Turn the stove off." She did. "We've got no heat," I added.

  "Do you have a generator?"

  "No. A fireplace but no firewood."

  "No firewood. What's the point of a fireplace if you don't have firewood?"

  "Emma, we've got a shop full of wood."

  "Oh yeah," she suddenly realized.

  So that's what we did. We put our coats and boots on, grabbed a couple of flashlights and went out to the shop. We filled two small tarps with scrap cuts from the large pile and hauled them back to the house. We were like two Santa Clauses with giant bags full of toys on our backs sliding on the ice.

  I lit the fire and we settled in with blankets on the couch across from the fire. Dinner was a big bag of potato chips, some cheese and two bottles of Chianti Classico.

  The only light was from the fire which was blazing nicely.

  "Sam, how come you never married? I mean you're a really nice guy. And good looking too. Steady income, right? I'm sure that women are tripping over themselves to get to you."

  "Well, you'd be wrong. The reality is that I'm married to my job."

  "Come on."

  "I just don't get to go out. I mean I've been on plenty of dates and such, but I just don't have the opportunity to meet single women."

  "Go to a bar," she said.

  "I tried that bar scene once. I just don't do bars."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I live in the country. I've got to drive. If I get caught drinking and driving I'm fucked. Totally, totally fucked. Without wheels I can't work, I can't get groceries, I can't get wood supplies."

  "Hmm," she seemed to understand.

  "And how does that work in a singles bar, 'another glass of wine for this young lady and I'll have a Shirley Temple please'?"

  She giggled, "You have a point."

  "
I was engaged once." I offered.

  "What happened, did she quit or did you?"

  "She did. Sally. Really cute and very nice. I fell for her right away. I met her the same week that I put an offer on this place. The sale didn't go through for three months and at that point I still had six and a half months on my apartment lease. The bottom line was that she liked the Sam Rockwell that lived in the city, but not the one that lived and worked in the country. Being the country squire's wife was not something that appealed to her."

  "That's a bit shallow isn't it?"

  "That's the same conclusion I came to. She wanted me to sell this place. I'd just bought it. She wasn't even willing to give it a try."

  "That's awful."

  "Yeah it was. It was literally 'it's either me or the country shop and house. Take your pick.'"

  We sat in silence for a while.

  "What about you," I asked, "why aren't you married?"

  "You're kidding?"

  "No. Why would you say that?"

  "Look at me. Who the fuck wants to go out with me?" she said, then continued, "I'll tell you who. Losers, nerds and assholes."

  "Come on."

  "It's the body I was born with."

  "What does the body have to do with it?"

  She didn't answer at first, then said, "Everything. When I was younger, I'd go to the school dance. Do you think I was ever asked to dance?"

  "Of course you were," I answered.

  "Yeah," she laughed, "by losers, nerds and assholes."

  "But you're none of those things. You're pleasant, you're a good worker." She turned her head and glared at me. "You're intelligent and you're pretty. She glared again. "Except for the face metal and the tats, but that's just me."

  "I thought we weren't going to talk shop here," she said.

  "We're not."

  "I'm hardly pretty. I have a big ass, I don't have a waist and my friend Carly had bigger breasts when she was twelve than I do now."

  "You're getting all fixated on the body again."

  "I'm fine with my body."

  "Then why do you say things like that?"

  "Like what?"

  "That you're not pretty and you have a big ass and small breasts."

  "Because it's true!"

  "You have a lovely smile and beautiful green eyes."

  "And a big ass!" She brought her feet up onto the couch, curled her arms around her knees and stared into the fire, still wrapped in her blanket.

  I wasn't going to win this.

  She put her feet back onto the floor, reached for her wineglass, gulped down the last third of the glass, almost slammed it back on the coffee table in front, then curled her knees back up.

  What low self-esteem she had of herself. I wondered if that was why she felt compelled to get herself tattooed and pierced. Did she need that 'Goth Look' to make herself different? Does looking different make you feel different? Is she that insecure?

  "You're a lovely person." I said.

  "Shut up."

  Did I really say something that wrong? That she's pretty?

  "Can I pour you some more wine?"

  "Yes," she answered in a huff. I did.

  "Emma, I know we're not supposed to talk about this, but think of it this way, I'm telling the girl sitting next to me about my new employee." She said nothing, just stared into the fire.

  "I have this new employee. She had virtually no woodworking skills when she came to my shop a few weeks ago. When she showed up, I was completely shocked to find this Goth chick standing there. Nevertheless, I was in such a bind, I hired her anyway. I really wasn't expecting too much from her."

  She pulled her knees down, took a sip of wine while taking a quick sideways glance at me.

  "I'm over the moon with this girl. She's an excellent employee. A great worker. Great with her hands. Very talented. She learns fast, she works quickly, and I can tell she puts a lot of pride into her work. Her workmanship is excellent. She's pleasant, intelligent, witty and funny too. I hope she stays with me for a long, long time."

  She stared at me for a few moments without an expression on her face. "I have to say Sam, that I really enjoy working in the shop. For the first time in my life, someone seems to appreciate what I do. In college I'd always have criticisms 'you could have highlighted that curve a bit more', "what are you trying to say with that piece?', 'I know you can do better than a B'. In the clothing store the manageress would say 'you could have made that sale'. All my life I've never been quite good enough. And I was never good enough for my parents, either. Do you think they like my tats and metal?"

  "Did you do that just to piss them off?"

  "No, but it was a nice side benefit."

  I said nothing.

  "What I'm saying I guess," she continued, "is thank you for not being a fucking asshole. You make me feel good about myself."

  "No Emma, it's not about me. Everything I said is true. It's all your doing. It's your attitude, it's your skills and it's your work ethic. Plus I think you're pretty."

  She smiled. "But I still have a fat ass."

  "Doesn't matter it's still sexy." I wished I hadn't said that but it came out anyway.

  "Oh, you think I'm sexy too." It wasn't a question.

  Oh boy. Employee sexual harassment. Fuck.

  "Emma, I..."

  "Well I think you're sexy too," she cut me off.

  "I'm sorry I said that."

  "Why?"

  "I don't want to lose my employee because of sexual harassment."

  "I'm not your employee here."

  "I'm sure the courts would understand that."

  "Sam, don't be a jerk. You're not sexually harassing me. 'Give me a blow job and you get to keep your job,' that would be sexual harassment."

  "Ah, just a little."

  "Well you're not doing that are you?"

  "No. I'm not. I would never do that. And I will never do that." I said.

  "It can work the other way around too."

  "How so?" I asked.

  "If I said, 'I'm not coming into work tomorrow unless you eat my pussy right now.'"

  She was certainly not shy.

  "But you're not doing that are you." I said rather than asked.

  "No, I'm not."

  "Good." I thought that was the end of it. We both reached for our wine glasses and took a sip.

  "So will you do it?" she asked.

  "Do what?"

  "Eat my pussy."

  I nearly dropped my wine glass.

  "Not if it's sexual harassment I won't." I was relieved to have found a quick out.

  She turned to me with a grin on her face.

  "It won't be."

  Did I just agree to eat her pussy?

  "Emma, how will you feel in the morning, in the shop?" I was hoping to backtrack.

  She turned on the couch and wrapped her left hand around the back of my neck, leaned towards me and said, "Sexually satisfied I hope." She was grinning at me.

  I felt my cock twitch.

  "Emma, if we do this we can't extend it into the shop."

  "You're damn right we can't. There you're my boss. Here you're the country squire with the roaring fire and fancy dinner." She waved her hand over the spent chip bag.

  I couldn't keep the grin off my face. Neither could she. She took my wine glass from me and set both on the coffee table.

  Then she pulled her red t-shirt off again.

  Her breasts certainly weren't big, only a handful really. Her areola were small too, almost non-existent. But her nipples were huge. The rings were gold, probably three quarters of an inch diameter. The nipples almost filled them. The rings shimmered in the firelight.

  "Do you like the rings?" she asked. Clearly she caught me staring. She flipped them with her index fingers. The nipple skin reacted to the movement of the rings.

  "Yeah, they're kind of kinky actually."

  She pulled on her nipple rings. The nipples followed and some of her breast flesh too. I wondered if
that hurt. "I hate my breasts, but I love my nipples." She twisted the rings a bit.