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It started with the pen. I wouldn’t call it a stupendously fancy pen, but rather a clumsy, space aged like missile from a hotel vendor visit, where sales people fob off cheap little gifts so you’ll book them. If you click the pen, different chain names spin around in a tiny display on the barrel. It belonged to my team leader, Pam. She loved that pen. Pam also loved to think she was hot shit because she had a degree in travel from a university, while the rest of us have travel school certificates under our belts. I would say she’s not a team leader because of this. She’s a team leader because she doesn’t mind sticking her head up our boss’s ass. What have I done with this pen? I’ve moved it a few times so she had to look for it, stuck it in my mouth, licked it, doodled penises with it and took it into the bathroom. Why? Let’s just say I had sexual relations with it. I know it wasn’t consensual, but who is the pen going to tell? Besides the little bugger was so uptight I didn’t even come. Still, I got some satisfaction planting it back on Pam’s desk, watching her face when she realized it was sticky and trying to figure out what it was before she wiped it with one of those antibacterial wipes for anal retentives. Pam left me a chastising note on my desk about someone whom I like to call Passenger Thirteen. Why Thirteen? I like to think that this row of seats on an airplace is the travel agent’s row of hell. If a passenger pisses me off, I put him in that row. Well, this guy really yanked me around over a trip to Des Moines, so every time since I’ve tried to deposit him there. Apparently, he wasn’t too happy about being in a middle seat again either, but it wasn’t my fault since he rest of the seats were under airport control. Well, they weren’t, but we won’t tell, will we? I crumpled up Pam’s note, tossed it in the trash and picked up my book. Between calls, management doesn’t care what we do as long as we are ready to take a call. Some girls knit. Some read fashion magazines. Some write bills or clip coupons. I read porn. Not outright crotch shot magazines, but rather anthologies of porn pretending to be erotica, but there are still a lot of muffs and cocks bouncing around, only in a more civilized manner. Reading about a girl who was having an erotic thrill ride on a cable car in San Francisco, I started to get all squirmy. I thought I might have to go to the bathroom to relieve myself in that special way, when Passenger Thirteen rings in. On and on he went about being in the middle seat again. It’s uncomfortable, blah blah blah. Well you shouldn’t have been such an ass to me about Des Moines, I wanted to tell him. My gaze swept back to the open page of my book. He was doing what to her? Could I slip a finger under my skirt? Looking up, I realized Pam had on her head set and her eyes were on me. She was monitoring me, the bitch. “I’ll definitely try for the aisle seat next time,” I said to him. “I’ll do that. I will.” The operative word there was try. The moment I hung up, Pam put down her headset and wrote something down. That night, I threw her pen.away The next day, I watched her look for her pen, and I felt the thrill of a job well done. I had wrapped it in several layers of toilet paper and stuffed it in the sanitary disposal bin the bathroom. It was long gone. Actually, I was feeling quite good over all because I forgot to wear underwear, and the seam of my tights were riding up into my crotch. Suddenly, Miranda, Pam’s boss, strode over to me. I thought she was going to say something about the pen, and I quickly concocted several stories about where I saw Pam with it last, but instead she hauled me into her office and chastised me about my clothing. Apparently I’d forgotten it was a client walk through today, and I’d worn a short corduroy skirt, a slightly ratty, white cotton blouse and my regulation black tights, instead of business attire, which meant a suit. After giving me a long lecture on the difference between business and business casual, she released me to my desk. Feeling like my neck had been whip lashed from nodding to convince her I was listening when I really wasn’t, I tossed myself down on my seat. Oh great. Now my key board tray was now stuck. I couldn’t pull it out to do my travel agent duties. I called the maintenance man, Ayad. A lot of girls thought he was thick because of the language barrier, but I thought he was adorable. Moments later, he was under my desk, fiddling with my tray. I kept checking him out. Was it warm in here? “Do you want to know why I wear dark tights all the time?” I asked him. He looked up at me. I tried not to imagine him giving me that look between my legs in the bedroom. “Tattoos. I have tattoos of flowers on my legs,” I said. He paused, a blank look on his face. Did he even know what a tattoo was? How could I explain it? “Do you want to see what I’m reading?” I asked him instead and showed him my book. He flipped through the pages. Now, I got a reaction out of him. He raised an eyebrow. “You read this at work?” he asked. I nodded, happily. He shook his head, handed me back the book and checked the batteries on his cordless drill. Surely what I had to say was more interesting than that piece of cheap plastic crap. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” I said in a low voice. “I’m not wearing panties.” Slowly, I opened my legs. He looked. “You’re still wearing something over your legs,” he said. “But nothing underneath. Use your imagination.” He shrugged and peered in closer. Just when I thought I had him, Miranda approached us. I clapped shut my legs “The clients are walking through,” she said. “You can either put this on or you can go wait in ticketing.” She held up the cast off sweater from the closet. No one knew who it belonged to. It had been in there forever, and for good reason with its light blue knit and ruffled collar. I wasn’t wearing that sweater, so I choose ticketing, a cave of a room where underpaid employees who got bad grades in travel school shuffled ticket stock together. Pam breezed by with a smirk at me. That bitch. I had to do something else to get her back. Plus, Miranda was on my shit list as well because she told ticketing I could help them for a half hour if I showed up. I wasn’t about to stamp parking coupons with our logo as instructed by a timid girl with a set of chin whiskers, so I set out to find a suitable box for my next project. An empty staple box became my voodoo box. I drew hex signs all over it with black magic marker, and by the end of the day, I had acquired an earring of Miranda’s and a miniature green frog eraser off Pam’s desk. I loved the way they rattled inside it, sort of like little bones. The next day, I decided to add someone else to my voodoo box. Crystal. She had been sexually harassing me for the longest time, and I was finally fed up. You wouldn’t believe the things she said to me like: I love it when you wear purple. I like it when your hair is all wild like that. Women don’t say things like that to one another. They say “cute skirt” or “nice blouse.” Also, she’s always brushing up against me or stroking my arm. I’ve tried to put her off by talking about how much I like men whenever I’m near her, but it’s not working. The last time, I told her how much bone I had in me that weekend, but she said all I needed to do was to make love to a woman. I was in the lunch room, chewing on a hangnail in front of the vending machine, as I contemplated what I should steal from her desk for my voodoo box when she made an appearance. Ayad came in as well to stuff his lunch in the fridge. Crystal leered at the candy bars. “You wouldn’t believe how much I like eating boxes of goodies,” she said. “Especially a mound.” I rolled my eyes and let out a deep breath. “Listen, I like guys,” I said. “I like a good, hard cock, and you don’t have one. Stop hitting on me, or I’ll report you for sexual harassment.” With that said, I bought a package of old-fashioned caramel creams, shot Ayad a look, who had his eyebrow raised at me once more and flounced back to my desk. She must have told her little group of friends what I said because for the rest of the day they all kept giving me dirty looks. Give me a break. I saw them waiting for me in the hallway after work, like they were in Junior High, waiting to beat me up. Little did they know I had a secret weapon. The fish eye. Yeah, I got some crazy genes in my gene pool. My mom, for example, was truly nuts. I whipped it out, glared at them, and strode past them like shit wouldn’t even stink on me. They didn’t say a word. The next morning, no one was waiting for me in the hallway, but my water cup looked odd. It was one of those plastic tumblers you get at the dollar store, but the water inside it had a yellowish tint. I smelled it and took it straight to Miranda. “Someone pissed in my cup,” I said. She smelled it. “Probably the cleaning people,” she said, handing it back. I looked at her, waiting for her to say something else, show some indignation at this appalling act, but she acted like the matter was already closed. Disgusted, I went to the sink to pour it out when Ayad came by. “How are you?” he asked. “I’m being sexually harassed by Crystal, and someone pissed in my water cup,” I said. I tossed the cup in the trash. “I’m pretty sure she did it,” I said. I realized he wasn’t making eye contact. Rather, he was looking down at my tights. “How is your drawer?” he asked. “It’s still sticking,” I said. “You never did finish fixing it.” He followed me back to my desk. It was like he had never left. As he adjusted the screws, I kicked off my shoes and rubbed my foot slowly up his leg. I dug my toes in his crotch and wiggled them around. Then I pushed the ball of my foot up his chest where he took my foot in his hands and bit my big toe. He ripped the seam, his tongue touching flesh. I nearly fell off my chair. Miranda stopped by my desk. Thank god she could only see his legs and tool box. “There are calls on hold,” she said. “Can this wait?” Once more abandoned to a sticky drawer and a throbbing mound, I watched him gather up his tools and leave. Reluctantly, I put on my headset, feeling buzzed from the flirting. Across the office, I realized Crystal was watching me. Her hunger for me simmered in her eyes. Why shouldn’t she want me? I was hot stuff. I should make love to a woman. I always felt bad about the austerity of my desk when everyone else had their trophy photos all over the place because of this innate need to prove to the world they are loved. Finally, I had a photograph to bring into work. Last night, I visited my childhood friend who happens to be a stripper. One of her friends gave me a lap dance and we took a picture. I showed it to Crystal, who at first looked so pleased I had walked over to her and then so sheet white at what she saw. I don’t know why. Everything was covered. My hands were on my pretend girlfriend’s, her tits in my face, but that was it. Like a proud mother of a freakish sense of justice, I displayed the photo on my desk. Word of it zipped around the office like a plague. It took no time at all for Miranda to stomp over. "Take it down,” she ordered. I wrested up an expression of mock indignation. “Everyone defends Crystal,” I said. “So I took her up on her advice. She told me to make love to a woman so I did. This is my girlfriend. I’m allowed to have pictures of my loved ones on my desk.” Miranda snatched it down and opened my drawer to toss it in. Her gaze locked on my voodoo box. “What is that?” she asked. I did the only thing I could. I acted like I had never seen it in my life. Acting as if it was covered in rat shit, she picked it up and opened it. Her earring and the frog came tumbling out. I’d never seen her speechless before. Mostly it involved her turning quite red and acting like she couldn’t swallow. Of course, she felt compelled to go through the rest of my desk. The sanctity of my travel agent’s rights being violated, I stormed off, spotting Crystal’s cigarettes and lighter left on the water cooler. As quick as a bee, I snatched them off and headed for a smoke in the storeroom to calm my nerves. I spotted Ayad, bending over as he looked at a wall socket. He did have a fine ass. I thought about my toe poking through the hole in my tights, his tongue on my skin. Suddenly, my legs felt unsteady. I sauntered over to him. “Does your mouth taste like toe cheese?” I asked. He looked up at me, a hint of smile on his mouth. I gave him a come hither look. He stood up. I shrugged in the direction of the conference room. Like someone with their pants on fire, which they were, I scooted inside and hold my breath. Would he follow? Would he be up for it? For a moment, the suspense was stupendous. He appeared in the doorway. I shut the door behind us, letting out my breath, a little more than dizzy now. Jumping on the conference table, I kicked off my shoe. My big toe poked out. “I think I need to file a lawsuit. Someone ripped my tights,” I said. It was sort of romantic, the way he looked at me with lust in his eyes, his package standing out and how he got down on one knee. The moment he put my big toe all the way in his mouth, I nearly passed out. A giggle escaped me that shook my rib cage. He ripped open my tights further, working his tongue between my toes. It was the best foot massage ever. All these knots in my shoulders relaxed, and I felt my body melting into the table. He pulled my foot out of his mouth and stood up. “Now I have toe cheese on my breath,” he said. “Yes. You do,” I replied smiling. I waited for him to do something else to me. Anything. Really. For a second, I thought he might turn around and leave, that maybe he was just a foot guy, but he ripped my tights a little more. “I think these need to come off,” he said. I couldn’t get out of them fast enough. They got caught twisted down my legs. He helped, yanking them down. Thank god, I hadn’t worn my old cotton panties, but my blue sparkly ones instead. He didn’t even bother pulling those down. He unzipped his pants, pushed aside the thin fabric and entered me. God, he felt big. I was either tighter than I thought, or he had a really big dick. I tried to hang onto him, but he was fucking me too hard. So I flopped back on the table, let him pull my hips to him and went along for the ride. I was just about ready to start pinching my nipples when I heard the conference room door open. To my horror, I saw Miranda standing there with the nicest looking man I ever saw, tall, dark, brooding, oozing masculinity and mystique. He was New York and Ayad was a suburb outside Detroit. I couldn’t believe I was checking him out with another man’s dick in me. “Oh my goodness,” Miranda cried out. Like I was suddenly made of battery acid, Ayad zipped up and jumped away from me. Sheepishly, I pushed down my skirt with an oops I accidentally fell on the table, devil may care, attitude. Miranda didn’t buy it. “Ayad, I would have thought better of you. Getting caught up in her shenanigans. This has to be the most appalling thing I’ve ever seen here. You’re treading on thin ice, Mister.” Ayad shot by her through the doorway, deserting me. Suddenly I wasn’t so impressed by him, big dick or not. I picked up my tights and my shoes, very aware that the slickness of our love was beginning to trail down my thigh. “And as for you ... ”she started to say to me. “Yeah. I know,” I said. “Daphne Greenwood is a screw up.” “Exactly. See me in my office in fifteen minutes.” They were still in the doorway. I had no choice but to squeeze by them. Good looking man was looking highly amused. Glad I could make your day, I wanted to say to him. Instead, I got a whiff of him. Damn. He smelled good. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Andrews,” Miranda said. “This will never happen again. The girl is plain crazy.” I shot a glance back. That was Mr. Andrews. Passenger Thirteen! I still had Crystal’s cigarettes and lighter. Why not have a smoke before I faced the firing squad? Now I needed it more than ever. I was so pissed off at Ayad for abandoning me, and I was terrified Miranda was going to have a Daphne Greenwood ass buffet when she got a hold of me. She had plenty of chafing dishes filled with my misadventures?a picture with a stripper, a voodoo box with one of her earrings in it and me, screwing the maintenance man on the conference room table. Behind me, I locked the storeroom door and stood by the vent, where I lit up. A cigarette never tasted so good. In the corner stood an old vending gumball machine. It must have come from the lunchroom at some point. That was soon going to be me?empty, forgotten. Cigarette still in hand, I pulled my panties back on. My tights were useless. Everyone was going to see my tattoos. Another thing for Miranda to yell about. Great, why not just parade around naked. I try to fit in. I do. And look what happens. I could talk my way out of this. I could tell her that the stress of being sexually harassed by Crystal had made me doubt my heterosexually, so I took up with a stripper, had a break down and I had to screw Ayad to find myself again. It wasn’t my fault. It was Crystal’s. I was using the fabric of my tights to sort of clean between my thighs when my cigarette fell from my hand and landed in an open box of file folders. At first, I thought nothing happened. The stupid thing disappeared. Maybe the fall had snuffed it out. I poked around in the box. Nothing. Maybe I should just dump the whole thing out, but the box was huge. Pulling out some of the folders occurred to me, but when I saw it. A wisp of smoke. The box was smoking my cigarette. All that angst from travel agents and travelers was inhaling. I wasn’t sticking my hand in there. How on earth was I going to put it out? There wasn’t a fire extinguisher in here. What did fire need? Fuel? Air? The door looked pretty air tight. Being the good citizen I was, I fled the room and shut the door. Please go out. Please go out. I glanced at the crack at the bottom of the door. Blast it. Smoke. Then there was this sound like a whoosh and an intense crackling. Orange light joined the smoke at the crack. What do I do? I wasn’t about to leave the building without my purse. As calmly as I could, I walked back to my desk. I didn’t see Miranda. She must still be in the meeting with Thirteen. Just as I sat and opened my drawer to get my purse, I heard the fire alarm go off. Everyone leapt up. “This isn’t a drill. We have a situation on the third floor, please leave the building.” Anyone who was on the phone, got to say there was an emergency and hang up on the client. The one time we get to do that, and I missed it. Down the three flights of stairs, I traipsed with the others. You could smell the smoke now. Once we were outside we were supposed to meet in a designated spot in the parking lot, far from the building, in case it blew up or something. You would have thought it was a national emergency or something with all the fire trucks that pulled up, even the kind with the long ladders. I stood away from the others, including Pam, Crystal, and Crystal’s friends. Not on purpose or anything. It just happened that no one else stood with me, not even Ayad, who was shooting me dirty looks from beside a tree. It takes two to tango, buddy, I wanted to call to him. You’re the one who had my toe in your mouth. I couldn’t believe his dick had just been inside me and now this. He was the owner of a seriously defective character. Miranda finally came out, wearing a fire Marshall red vest. She must have stayed behind to make sure everyone was out. How very brave. She shot me a look that could have burned Lycra off a hooker. I managed a wan smile in return. Not in a million years was she going to believe my sexual harassment break down story. Not after today. Especially if they found out who started the fire. I’d never get out of my crappy trailer or get a better life. I didn’t belong here. It was so obvious with us standing out in the open. No one else was standing apart. What had I been doing at this place? Torturing myself trying to fit in. Who was I kidding anyway? I wasn’t an office girl, a travel agent. I never traveled because I couldn’t afford the hotels or the food even with a free airline pass. Someone cleared their throat behind me. I turned. It was him, devastatingly handsome him. “Passenger Thirteen,” I said. “Thirteen?” “That’s what I like to call you. A nickname of sorts.” He looked mystified. “Haven’t you notice you frequently end up in row thirteen?” I asked. “Oh, that. Actually I probably deserve it. I can be quite abrasive sometimes.” How had I ever been shitty to such a fine man? “You probably shouldn’t be speaking to me,” I said. “I’m a doomed woman.” He smiled, obviously not heeding my warning. “That was some meeting you were having in the conference room,” he said. “You liked that?” He nodded. “You could probably do better with the choice in colleagues though,” he said. I glanced at Ayad. “You can see someone’s true colors when the chips are down,” he continued. “Or when the skirts are up.” I blushed. I was so blatantly flirting with him. Hysterical flirting. “I probably won’t be booking your travel any longer,” I said. “I think I’m all through here.” I was debating on going back inside to get my things when the fire was out, but it was all crap wasn’t it. I realized Thirteen was looking at my legs. “Nice tattoos,” he said. “Do you want to see a picture of my pretend girlfriend?” I asked. He looked at it. For a moment, I thought shock was registering, but then I saw that same bemused look I saw in the conference room. “This is a very interesting photograph,” he said. “I think we should get together sometime.” “You do?” I asked. “Even if I’m working as a waitress at a strip club? Because that’s what I’m going to be doing next.” He nodded. I heard Miranda shriek. The fire was out. With a fireman in tow, she headed over to Crystal. I saw something glint in his hand. I knew what that was. I’d left it in the storeroom. The lighter! Thirteen got out a scrap of paper and a pen to write down my phone number. “Nice pen,” I said. “I know a lot of uses.” The sexual tension between us was crackling. I never wanted to fuck someone so bad in my life. All that conflict on the phone between us had been like some sort of intense foreplay. I knew he was feeling it. I could see it in his eyes. He raised an eyebrow at me. “I have a lot more pens in my car,” he said. And just like that, I trotted off after him toward his car, like a dog in heat. Miranda caught sight of us. “Where do you think you’re going, missy,” she called out. I waved her off and caught up with him. “This could cause you problems,” I said. “No. It won’t. I wasn’t going to use your travel agency any longer anyway. That’s why I came in for a meeting.” His expensive car was parked in two hour parking. The moment I got inside with him, I forgot all about the pens. He was as horny as I was. Over the console, he pulled me into his lap so I straddled him. Pushing my panties aside much like Ayad, he was inside me lightning fast. I was really tight today, or he was big as well. Very big. “Don’t you think it’s perverted you met me with another guy’s dick in me and now you’re screwing me?” I asked. “Yes.” “And you don’t care about sloppy seconds.” “No.” I shoved my tongue down his throat, licked his tonsils, and bumped his uglies with a passion I never knew. The moment I came up for air, I realized the entire office was watching us with open mouths, Miranda, Pam, Ayad and Crystal. And there it was. The end of my travel career. Hitting the window button with my elbow, I leaned out my head as Thirteen was grabbing my hips and ramming me into him. He was quite the fucker. “See Crystal. I do like a lot of bone,” I called out. |
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12.07.06: Scarlet Letters -- in case it isn't glaringly obvious -- is currently
on an extended hiatus. The web has changed, we've changed, and
we're trying to figure out how we both fit together now, which isn't a process we want to rush. If you're looking for more current SL-related content, you can
have check out upcoming books from editor Heather Corinna and previous co-editor Hanne Blank, check out Heather's current sexuality sites, or explore sites through the femmerotic network. We hope to be back with you soon, as fresh, challenging and
unexpected as ever.
In the meantime, by all means, enjoy our years of past content,
all of which still remain in the public and subscription areas.
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