by Jamie Knight
Fucking hell, Tommy! What the hell are you doing thinking like that? Why are you thinking like that?
I shift nervously in the elevator, put my hands in front of my face for a moment.
Not working under a boss for more than a few hours, and already you have some kind of dread involving her and her cane? Your old-enough-to-be-your-mother boss?
As the elevator comes to the executive level, where we have to cross to a different set of elevators, Ms. Vanacore says, “Don’t worry. I have a nice big Cadillac for us to travel in, so you don’t need to stress if you’re worried at all about your size.”
I shake my head, blushing deeper. She seems so cavalier about an aspect of my body that no one else seems to have the ability to ignore. How tall and broad I am. How much of a literal big target it has made both in the office and in my life up until now.
“You like Cajun food?” she asks, as the elevator doors bings open.
“I don’t know,” I say, following her out. Even now, she has a slight hold on part of my suit jacket. “Never had it.”
“Well!” This one word carries across the executive floor a little too happily. “You’re in luck today, then, Tommy! It will be your first taste of one of my favorite cuisines.”
As we start strolling past the coffee bar, I think I hear her say something else. Something like “One of many firsts,” but I can’t be sure. I don’t want to be sure.
I stop by the executive secretaries’ office, having decided that I want to thank Melissa for her help, without Vanacore waiting on me or waiting for me.
“I need to leave a message before we go,” I say. “Want to make sure your calls are handled properly while we’re out,” I add off-the-cuff.
“No need to wait for me. If you want, you can get the car, and I’ll come to meet you,” I tell Vanacore
I pause, looking at Isabella, the only secretary at the helm, out of the corner of my eye.
“We don’t have all day for lunch, after all, and I want to be able to savor my first taste of Cajun.”
I don’t know why I say what I say here, or what is up with the slightly over-the-top sweetness in my voice, but it comes out.
Interestingly, it seems to have an extremely positive effect on my boss. She appears more than happy to hear my suggestion.
“Good thinking, son! Savoring is the best thing to do when you eat Cajun!”
With that, she turns on her heels and heads toward the second set of elevators.
“I’ll get the car and bring it up to the curb for you! Save time that way!”
“Okay,” I call after her, not sure how to feel about this. Whether to feel loved and looked after, or slightly insulted. As the man, I probably shouldn’t be having women drive up to the curb to pick me up. But the roles are very reversed in this situation, and I can tell that Vanacore is used to being in the position of power.
I count down the seconds it takes for her to disappear completely.
When she’s gone, Isabella pipes up and says, “Look at you, working for a big bad southern lawyer!”
She raises her eyebrows and sits back in her office chair.
“Melissa told me she helped somebody get ready for an interview this morning! Must’ve been you!” She studies me. “I think I saw Melissa and you bump into each other, actually.”
I blush.
“Yeah.”
I pause for a minute and then say, “Where is she, anyway? Melissa, I mean?”
As I speak, my eyes return to the picture on her desk — the one of the insanely-handsome man. I pull my eyes from the picture and back to Isabella.
“I wanted to tell her thank you for this morning. Without her, I might not have gotten the job.”
Isabella looks down sadly.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Melissa just stepped out for her lunch break like three minutes ago! You just missed her!”
She frowns, running a hand through her thick, curly black hair. It’s particularly poufy today.
“Would you like to leave a message with me for her?”
I shake my head.
“No, that’s okay.”
“I can pass the message to her the minute she gets—”
“No,” I say again, “that’s okay.”
“You sure?”
She looks about as desperate as I feel, but she doesn’t understand. These kinds of things are better done in person. Not just with some note stuck on your computer.
“I’m sure.” I turn away from the desk. “I’ll just tell her later. Thanks.”
“All right then,” says Isabella. “Enjoy your lunch.”
I raise a hand wave to her and head to the elevators to get to the ground floor where my boss is waiting for me to take me to lunch. A lunch I’m sure will have less to do with business and more to do with some kind of pleasure. Though I just hope that that “pleasure” stays to drinks or conversation.
While there have been a lot of cases of people in this office falling for their superiors and vice versa, that’s not what I got hired for. That’s not on my agenda, no matter what it may be looking like to someone like Isabella.
Chapter Eleven
Melissa
Lunchtime brings calm, but only for my body, not for my mind. That is still wrapped around Dennis, and his behavior with me this morning. How bored he seemed with the idea of being connected with me longer than possible; how ready he seemed to complain about what kind of girlfriend I wasn’t being.
While I was able to get some respite from this depressing, anxiety-inducing train of thought by thinking about Tommy, the young lawyer I was able to help this morning with preparing for an interview, I’m not able to escape that dark cloud. Not completely.
I have tension everywhere in my body, every time I think about Dennis. Every time I even get the smallest glimpse of his portrait on my desk, I tighten. I feel like I can’t breathe.
This is why the minute I’m able, I head out to my car and head to one of my favorite restaurants for lunch. It’s a Cajun/French Creole restaurant, called The Happy Alligator. It’s one of those “hole in the wall” type places, but it’s good. I like the influence of French cuisine along with Cajun and Creole. It’s spicier, deeper and livelier than a lot of things in typical French cuisine. It’s also a much more laid-back affair, being cooked by people with “soul” rather than elaborate manuals and traditions about how it should be done.
Aside from this restaurant being my go-to place when I’m feeling out of sorts and in need of comfort, if I didn’t go out for food today, I’d go nuts. If I had to spend one more moment in that office, even if it was eating, I’d lose my mind. My thoughts would just keep going back to Dennis, with nothing to break it up.
As I pull out of the parking lot and onto the main road that leads to downtown Manhattan, and The Happy Alligator, my mind drifts to Tommy. How he looked so handsome in his suit this morning. How fastidious and no-nonsense he was, even in a suit and tie, that was much too big for him and much too frumpy.
I smile, thinking how cute that is. He’s not your typical Greek God example of beauty, not like Dennis, but to me, that’s what makes him even more adorable and even more handsomeand unique and delightful.
Tommy’s body size, while a lot bigger than Dennis’s or any other man I’ve ever been remotely attracted to, is interesting to me as well. There are a lot of women drawn to large men, and even though he’s so tall I doubt I could kiss him without him having to lean way, way down, I can see the attraction now. I don’t even mind that his clothes were frumpy because it’s something that someone like Dennis — a man who is virtually obsessed with maintaining his weight and a flawless physique — can never and would never provide.
I smile, thinking about Tommy’s big, brown, warm eyes. His gentle-giant aura, despite having a driven personality and a way of holding himself that can be standoffish. Despite this, he exudes innocence. An innocence that just begs to play dirty.
In my head, I imagine him looking to me for guidance and fo
r an “initiation” into my world. That way of love. I wonder if a big, strong man like that could dominate me in the bedroom.
I imagine brushing my hand along his big, thick cock. First in his underwear, then bare.
I imagine the way Tommy moans at me.
He gasps at me, shows me those big brown eyes and says something like, “Melissa, I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never done anything like this before, and it feels amazing. You’ve shown me the door to one of the greatest treasures on earth. Love for myself. Love from my body. Love for who I can be, and who I am.”
I giggle to myself. In my head, I see him naked. I imagine his hard and heavy cock standing straight up. It must be really big, just like the rest of his body is.
I imagine how much I’ve gotten him hot. How much he’s losing his cool around me, and I love it. I’m usually the one doing and feeling these things about Dennis.
But not here. Not now.
Right now, I get to be the pet who shows him how to be a dominate man. I get to be the one to show him how to take a woman properly, the one to feel the honor and privilege that comes with being the one to initiate the more inexperienced. Just like I was once upon a time.
“That’s my job, Tommy. As someone who loves and cares for you, and thinks you’re sexy just the way you are, it’s my job to show you just how lovable you are. How strong you are. How powerful and important you are, regardless of anyone and everyone else.” As I imagine myself saying these things, I imagine that I’m kissing him on the mouth, before getting down on my knees before him and kissing his cock, next. I lick the head and shaft all the way down and all the way up.
In my head, I hear Tommy beginning to sigh and moan. His fingers run into my hair, grabbing hold of the strands, not hard, just tight enough that my head is held in place before him. “I’ve been waiting for someone like you, Melissa. Someone safe. Someone kind and patient. Gentle.” I imagine he sucks in an adorable breath here, and shivers. I feel it in his hands, just as I bring my lips closer to the tip of his gorgeously long, thick cock, waiting for me to suck it. “Nonjudgmental. Everyone else seems to make a big deal about my body, but not you.”
Just as I’m about to answer, say something along the lines of, “Of course. I know what it’s like to need love. I also know what it is like to be judged and to be overlooked because of what people see or think about you.” I’m just about to say that when my attention returns to real life and the fact that I’m behind the wheel, about to run into some guy who’s just stopped very quickly in front of a stoplight.
I hit the brakes, coming to a screeching halt in my car and in my misguided fantasies. I murmur a curse as I barely missed hitting him, and getting hit by a car behind me. “This is exactly why one shouldn’t drive distracted,” I say to myself, “and why I shouldn’t be thinking that way. God is getting back at me for thinking about anyone other than Dennis.”
As the car in front of me pulls forward with the changing of the light, and traffic gets moving again, I feel terrible. I feel dirty for the thoughts, even if that’s all they are: thoughts.
As I slowly make my way through the rest of downtown and toward a parking lot close to the restaurant, I tell myself Dennis deserves better than that. He deserves to be the focus of all of my fantasies. All of my desire. All of my hunger and interest.
“He doesn’t seem all that interested or hungry for me, though,” I whisper bitterly, turning into the parking structure. “He doesn’t seem happy or grateful that I’ve been with him for over a year and have been trying to do long distance. None of that seems to matter to him, so why should it matter to me?”
As I throw my car into park and walk the short distance from the parking lot to the Happy Alligator — a restaurant with a ridiculously quirky sign and delicious smells emanating from it no matter what time of day or night — I think, Because you’re better than that. You’re not so mercurial as that. So what if Dennis can’t be bothered to show interest or be hungry for you? Does that give you the right to have thoughts about someone else? I cross my arms, stomping down the sidewalk, still feeling rejected. No. But I have a right to want to feel appreciated, don’t I? I have the right to want to feel and be acknowledged for my efforts, don’t I?
As I jostle for a position by the door to The Happy Alligator, I remember how thankful Tommy looked this morning. For me. For my skills with his wardrobe and his hair. How honestly and legitimately touched he seemed by my words, by the effort I made for him. Tommy made me feel appreciated. He made me feel acknowledged and important. Like I have something to give that someone needs. As I step into the familiar dark and sultry entryway to The Happy Alligator, filled with spices and the buttery, greasy smell of frying sausage and crawfish, my mind is still on him, Tommy. There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s something wrong with liking or thinking about someone when they’ve shown appreciation for you, is there?
No, says the rational part of my mind. The part of my mind that is still mad and preoccupied over Dennis’s lack of interest in our video chat this morning. There’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing dirty or bad.
Just as another part of my mind, a more anxious, more self-judgmental part of me is about to speak up and say I’m just rationalizing something I should — and quite obviously do —feel guilty about, given that my fears about Dennis possibly seeing another woman are just that — fears — and that I’ve actually done something worse by imagining Tommy as an object of any affection — my eyes catch a face I’m not expecting to see here. Tommy’s.
He’s sitting in a booth, to one side of the restaurant. The one closer to the games and jukebox this place is also famous for. He’s alone at the moment, but it looks like there’s a place set up for someone else.
For a second, our eyes don’t meet. He’s too busy looking somewhere else, at a menu, or at the tabletop. But the moment they do, I feel the electricity between us. It feels something like bubbling or floating or the way air bubbles in a pot of water might feel when heated. I feel excited. Like I’ve been walking around with some part of me missing, and he’s been the puzzle piece I didn’t know I needed.
There’s nothing wrong with coincidences, either. If God stopped me from thinking about another man while driving, he also brought me here. Now. Today.
Tommy waves me over, and I can’t help but smile. I feel like I’m being drawn to him like I’m a part of his soul connected to him by a gossamer string.
And I’m going to go over and talk to him. Just a little bit. Just to see how his interview went. Nothing more. Nothing less. I think this, but my heart already feels differently. We’ve got some kind of connection, Tommy and me. And it’s nothing less than divinely guided. I feel that as I make my way up to his table.
He looks at me with those big brown eyes and says, “Hi.”
I’m breathless. Never has one word meant so much. “Hi.”
Chapter Twelve
Tommy
There she is. Melissa.
Like I’ve somehow subconsciously summoned her, she’s right there in front of my table. For a moment, all I can do is stare at her. I drink in her curvy figure and slightly sharp features. Her black hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes are like magnets to me. They draw at me, even when all she’s said is, “Hi.”
For a moment, we do nothing but stare at each other. I can’t be sure, but I think I see a little bit of color on her cheeks, a slight tremble to her lips, and a bit of flushing on her neck and chest. I’m not sure what it is, but I get the feeling she’s just as surprised and happy to see me as I am to see her.
I clear my throat, reminding myself that I have other things to do besides stare at her wordlessly, like thank her and before my boss gets back from the bathroom. Serendipitously, she’s come over just as Ms. Vanacore’s stepped away. But my boss won’t be gone long, and from what I know of her already, she’s not going to allow Melissa and I to keep chitchatting with her sitting right there.
In my first few hours with Vanacore
, I’ve learned one thing very clearly: when she’s here, you’re here. When she’s giving time to you, you better give yours back. Otherwise, she’s going to get nasty with you.
“Um,” I say, made breathless by how much attention Melissa instantly gives me, “I wanted to thank you, Melissa.”
“Thank me?” Her eyebrows arch. Her eyes widen, and her lips stretch into a bit of a smile. “What for?”
Internally, I smile and blush. I know she knows what I’m thanking her for, but I also know she’s teasing me. She’s acting humble for my benefit. Out loud, I say, “For your help before my interview.”
Knowing — though I have a feeling she already knew — dawns on her face. It spreads across her playfully-beautiful features like a sunrise across the ocean. “Oh, yes! That interview! How did it go?”
This time I can’t suppress my smile. “I got it,” I say.
Melissa squeals. Not as loudly as some women do, but loud enough to get some of the conversations in the room to die down. She claps in a way that matches her squeal. She says, “Wonderful! That’s worth celebrating! Worth going out to eat for!” And I can’t help but think that her mouth forms those words beautifully. Though I think with those lips, how full and luscious they are, anything would sound good coming out of them.
“It probably wouldn’t have happened without your last-minute style and organizational help,” I say, really feeling that way. Part of me knows that I got the job because Vanacore wanted me to have the job. She wanted me to be the one near her, but that doesn’t diminish Melissa’s contribution. It wasn’t just organizational or stylistic. It was emotional as well, but I don’t feel like I can tell her that. That’s too personal. That’s too emotional for me right now, or in this situation, where I’m in a restaurant waiting for my boss.