==========
Back at work after lunch, I pull up my contact lists. Most of the Accounts Managers have their own Receptionists, and I usually get along okay with them because they understand I'm just doing my job. It's only after they can’t get answers from their bosses, that the mean, often rude, Accounts Managers call me... and the hell begins.
I can't understand why the Accounts Managers do this. The expense report is generic. It's always the same. Just like the TWENTIETH of each month. Nothing changes. Fill out your mileage. Fill out the clients you 'wined and dined'. Fill out the products you picked up for your potential and/or existing clients. Fill out any incidentals. Give me the receipts. It's always the same. It is exactly the same every month. I never change the report. I never change the due date.
I never change.
Okay. Pulling up one particularly obscene jerk, I make the call. When his Receptionist answers, I ask in my best, most non-confrontational voice if she has all the expenses and receipts ready to send over to me, ‘at her earliest convenience’...of course.
"No," she replies.
"Ah, will you have them ready soon? I know Mr. Craig is busy, but there are only six days left to process his expenses." Jerk.
Giggling, Tamara says, "Um, Mr. Craig was fired on Friday, so I'm not really sure how to get the expenses from him. He was fired right after I left for the day." Why is she giggling?
"Oh. Okay. That creates a whole lot of issues. Did his Supervisor state to you how and when his severance was going to begin?" Damn. This is going to get messy for me, I know it.
"No. I just met his replacement an hour ago over lunch, so I don't really know anything yet. Z says he’ll contact all personnel with any updated information he figures out. He says he’ll be going through all Mr. Craig's reports, and he’ll be asking me to help catch him up. Z wants to take this slowly... so he can fill Mr. Craig's shoes properly and efficiently. I can ask him to call you if you want." Tamara sounds almost giddy. Why?
"Um, does Z have a last name? I would like to establish contact with him without calling him ‘Z’.” Who calls himself Z in Corporate America? Is he for real? What an idiot!
"His last name is Zinfandel. Like the wine. So he goes by Z. Isn't that cool?" Uh huh. What the hell? Zinfandel, like the wine?
"Don't you mean Zinfandel, like the, ah, Zinfandel?" I ask.
"What? Oh, yeah... Mr. Zinfandel like the Zinfandel. I get it. Anyway, I'll give him the message that you called. Thanks, Babe." And she hangs up.
Zinfandel? Zinfandel? Mr. Z? That's it. I lose it, and laughter pours out of me. I can't help it. Tamara sounded so excited about her ‘Zinfandel, like the wine.’
What does someone named Zinfandel even look like? I can't stop laughing. Why is this so funny? Shit. I've got to stop this. Maybe I am going crazy. Oh! Maybe I’m already crazy. That would be better. Being crazy is infinitely better, and cooler, like a good Zinfandel, than merely going crazy.
==========
Around 3:30, another email comes in with the expense report attachment. I really like this man- Michael Devon. He is late every single month, but he’s always so apologetic about his lateness, I just can’t be annoyed with him.
Usually, he gives me a charming made-up story about rescuing trapped orphans from a burning building, which sadly delayed his report. Or once he told me about his unexpected trip to the African Serengeti, and how as much as he tried to complete his expense report on time, the Tour Guide wouldn't let him use the fax machine from the touring bus.
He is always funny, and I almost hope each month he’ll be late, just so I can talk to him for awhile. Usually, I sit and listen to his elaborate tales, 'umming and ahhing' during appropriate pauses, while his story becomes more and more incredible and elaborate.
By the end, when I laugh and ask him to please send me the reports immediately, he asks me to come work for him,‘to keep him in line’ as he states it. Always, I tell him his tardiness would drive me insane, and therefore, for my mental health, I must sadly decline his offer of employment. And each month our conversation ends the same... I thank him for his time, he laughs and says, "I'll talk to you around the twenty-fourth next month," and I laugh when he hangs up.
See, I can have fun. I'm not always so serious. I'm not always so reserved. I'm not always so invincible.
==========
By 5:30... I'm done. Number crunching and receipt preparing have made my eyes hurt, and my brain tired. I can’t wait to go home.
I know Marcus will be late. He’s always very late on Monday nights. Marcus likes to stay late on Mondays to catch up on all the work he could have been doing over the week-end, if he hadn't been stuck at home... with me.
Of course, he would never say something so heartless, but the message is always implied. Marcus enjoys working week days. Marcus tolerates being married to me on week-ends. He is actually a much better husband to his career than he is to me. But at least he’s nice and stable.
Grabbing my purse, I remember Mr. Zinfandel and smile. That sounds good right about now. I think I'll stop for a bottle at the grocery store on my way home.
==========
Reading in my sunroom, with a glass of Zinfandel in my hand, I finally relax. Its 8:30 and I settle into my newest raunchy novel. I love this author. She is absolutely filthy. Oh, Kayla should write a novel about her sexploits. God, Kayla's novel would be a best-seller at porn conventions.
I’m alone with my book, and no one knows that I'm reading this filth, yet I still blush and shimmy in my chair constantly. I'm always so afraid Marcus will sneak up on me and see what I'm reading. I can just imagine the look on his face. Oh, the horror! Actually, I think I'm more afraid he’d think I want this kind of dirty sex with him. Ugh. Never.
He is lovely, and a catch by most women's standards, but hot in the bedroom, he is NOT. I don't think Marcus has ever been kinky or dirty or wild in bed, at least he’s never been with me. He did tell me once about one of two girls he dated in college who was pretty ‘kinky’. Afterward, he stated, she was clearly not marriage material, and I had nothing to worry about. Yeah... like I was worried.
By 10:30, I'm tired-really tired. I think the Zinfandel did me in. Marcus still isn't home, and I'm relieved. I feel a little 'keyed-up' after reading my dirty book. Maybe I could slip into the shower for a few minutes. My shower-head has brought me some pleasure over the last two years, but standing, I realize I have a ‘zinfandel buzz’. Shit. How much did I drink anyway?
Staggering to the kitchen, I see the bottle has less than a glass left. Giggling, I figure it seems a waste not to finish it. So after pouring myself the last glass from the bottle and hiding the bottle far back under the sink, I slowly move, unsteadily, to my bedroom. Once in my room, the thought of a shower seems like too much work on unsteady feet. I'm really, really, tired anyway.
Moving to my bed, I crawl in, turn off the light and sip my Zinfandel. This feels so strange, almost exotic or something. Maybe I'm an alcoholic? Maybe I'm a closet drunk? Maybe...? No. Drinking once every 2-3 months hardly qualifies me as an alcoholic. Oh, well. Being crazy AND a drunk would be too much for Marcus and my parents to handle anyway.
Sitting the wineglass on my bedside table, I decide to sleep. I'm so tired tonight, it’s weird. Usually, sleep is a longtime coming, but not tonight. Tonight, I can feel the pull immediately. If I close my eyes, I’ll be asleep within seconds. Thinking about sleeping usually keeps me awake, but not this time. This time, as I close my eyes…
I'm done.
==========
Kayla is stroking my back and kissing me gently on the lips in my bedroom. What the hell is going on?
"Relax Sweetie. We're okay. I won't hurt you. I promise. Just kiss me."
Shocked, I stagger back a step.
"No. I can't. I don't think of you that way Kayla. I'm sorry. I'm married."
"Okay. It's okay Sweetie. Just touch yourself, and let me watch." She says while smiling at me with pity all over her
face.
"What? No! I can't do that. Please stop this. Why are you here, anyway? You never come to my house."
"I'm here for you. Just touch yourself. I promise I won't touch you. I just want to watch as you pleasure yourself."
What the hell is she saying? Kayla isn't gay, is she?
"Um, Kayla... I'm not gay. I don't want to be with a woman. I think you're great, but I don't want to be with you."
"Always so polite," she smirks. "Sweetie, I'm not gay either. I just want you to ‘get off’... that's all. I figure, I could tell you what to do... you know, what will work for you. Just go ahead and touch yourself. I promise I won't touch you. You can do it. Put your hand on your pussy, and start feeling..." I gasp. God. That is such a gross word. I hate it!
"I don't want to. Honestly. I know how to do it. I don't need you to show me. Why are you doing this?" I ask, horrified.
"Oh, Sweetie... I'm not trying to freak you out. I just think you need to relax a little. I know a good orgasm can help me stay calm for days. Please try... for me?" She begs with a pout.
I almost start laughing at the expression on her face. Kayla's pout is legendary. Kayla can get anything or do anything, when she throws that particular pout out there.
"Kayla, you're nuts. I'm not touching myself in front of you. I'm not even sure why you’re doing this, but it's gross. I'm not going to masturbate in front of a colleague."
"A colleague? That's it? That's all I am to you? A colleague?" Kayla actually looks really upset. Shit. Is she mad at me?
"Kayla. You are more than a colleague, but I'm still not comfortable touching myself in front of you. I don't do that with anyone. I don't even really do it by myself. It's just not my thing. I don't really feel it when I've tried, okay? Please Kayla... Don't be mad at me…"
"If you don't touch yourself, and have an orgasm, than I can't be friends with you anymore. I'm sorry, but I need you to do this. You need to have an orgasm. I'm telling you. I know. You'll feel much better. What if I turn my back? Will that make it easier? Will you do it then?"
"Ah, okay. Turn around please. But you can't tell anyone... Ever. Promise me."
What the hell is going on here? Am I officially insane? I must be...
"I promise, Sweetie. This is just between you and me. I swear."
I can't believe this. Shit. What do I do? What should I do? Just do it. She's not looking. Do it! Loosening my pants, I slide my hands down my underwear. What now? Okay, rub my clitoris. Uh huh. No feeling at all. Nothing. Rub some more. Nope... still nothing.
"Wet your fingers, Sweetie. It'll feel better when you touch your clit." I flinch at the sound of the word. ‘Clit’ sounds as bad as ‘pussy’. I hate both those words.
Wetting my fingers, I start to rub against my clit-ORIS... Nope- I can't say it. Um, there is a little feeling, but not much. My vagina feels kinda full though. Ow! What’s going on?!
"Kayla. What's happening...?" Why does this hurt…? Holy SHIT!
"Kayla? Kayla, from work?" Marcus grunts.
"What's happening?" I murmur. Waking a little more... "What are you doing?" I gasp.
Shit. Marcus is having sex with me. Dammit. I'm not ready. I'm so dry it hurts.
"Marcus? Marcus, please stop so I can get some lube. Marcus, please?" Thump. Thrust. Thump. Marcus continues. Thrusting into me, he isn't even acknowledging me.
Am I Here? Can he even see me? Thrust. Thump. Hold breath. Groan. Marcus explodes inside me. Oh. My. God!
"Sorry, honey… but you asked for it. I can't believe you were masturbating in our bed. Why didn't you just tell me you wanted to have sex again? After this morning, I thought you were all sexed-out from your orgasm, but you could've asked..." Marcus says, as he pushes off my body. He looks totally grossed out by me.
OH MY GOD! Am I even here? Can he even see me? Am I asleep still? God... I hope I'm asleep.
"Good night, honey. I don't mind having sex with you, especially if you're talking about another woman, but you just have to ask me, and I'll try to do it with you, okay?" Kissing my forehead, Marcus rolls onto his side away from me. "But you don't have to masturbate... It's just gross," he sneers, with his back turned to me.
Staring at the ceiling, I am completely lost. I feel suspended between wake and sleep. I know I'm awake, but I wish to god I was still dreaming. I wish I had never wakened. I wish I didn't know Marcus had touched me.
What’s going on? Why am I thinking about Kayla, and being wretchedly screwed by my husband? I know I'm bleeding a little down there, but I'm too tired to shower.
I think I'm totally losing it. I'm losing it for sure, and closing my eyes...
I’m lost…
Tuesday, May 24th
CHAPTER 2
This morning begins like any other, except Marcus has decided he wants to talk to me, I can tell. Marcus is watching my every move, like he's looking for an opening. I hate his eyes on me. I hate when he watches me. I hate the feeling of being watched by him.
"What is it Marcus? What do you want to say?" I ask rather sulkily.
"Nothing. I was just curious why you wanted to think about Kayla while we were making love?"
"I didn’t want to. It was just a dream. It's not like I can control them," I state rather matter-of-factly.
"Yes. I know. But do you want me to be with you and Kayla?"
"Oh god, no! Why would you think that?"
"It’s nothing. You just seemed really into it last night, and I want you to know that it’s okay with me if you want us to be with Kayla. She's really hot. I'd like to have a threesome with her... if you want."
Oh. My. God. Is this happening? I think I’m going to lose it here. Too late- Snap. I've lost it.
"Seriously? She's really HOT, huh? You would be okay with a threesome, if I want!? You think I was really into it last night? Marcus... I. Was. Asleep! I wasn't into it; I barely knew what was happening. I drank a bottle of Zinfandel last night, and was almost in a coma when you were ‘making love’ to me. I'm glad it was so good for you, but it wasn't all that great for me. It was quite painful, and I'm pretty sore this morning. But I'm glad it was soo good for you, it usually is good for you ONLY, isn't it?" I scream. Dammit. Did I just say that? Here we go...
Marcus looks like I hit him. Stumbling backward rather dramatically, he's got his 'how can you be so cruel, to someone as good as me?’ face on. Shit.
"Marcus...?" I whisper, but he just shakes his head and walks out of the room.
Okay... great! How long will he hold this over my head? How long until the little wife is forgiven? How long until we can go back to the way things should be… according to Marcus, my parents, and just about everyone else we know? How long do I tiptoe?
==========
Arriving at work, I'm already exhausted. If it wasn't the twenty-fourth, I might have taken one of my many banked vacation days, but it’s just not a good idea. I still have over thirty expense reports to finalize and approve before Monday so the checks can be issued next Tuesday morning.
Kayla pokes her head in my office to say hello, and I blush immediately. Trying to look busy at my computer, I smile and nod as she asks if we're meeting for lunch. Damn. I hope I can make it through lunch with hot Kayla without blushing the entire time.
Once she leaves, I try to focus on the reports, but I keep seeing Marcus' face. He looked completely shocked by my words. Does he honestly believe his five minutes of thumping into me as hard as he can, is great love-making? Honestly? Forget it. There’s nothing I can do right now about my husband, so I may as well do my job well- it’s about the only thing I never fail at.
Checking my emails again, I see one more expense report in my inbox. Yes...only one more to hunt down. Once I enter this newest report, I still have to research the claims of all the last fifteen or so. I was lucky this month because a few of the Accounts Managers actually sent them in early, so I could start some of their claims last week.
==========
When my phone rings,
I try to focus...
"Good morning..." but before I can finish, I hear my boss grunt.
"Good morning, Sugar. Can you come on up to my office? We have to discuss this month’s expense reports."
"Ah, of course. I'll be right there, Sir." Gulp. What does that mean? He never wants to discuss the reports until after I have completed, approved, and submitted them.
Leaving my office, I pass Kayla talking to one of the outside Sales Reps. She’s flirting, and talking, and pouting. Oh. My. God. He is doomed. Laughing to myself, I continue on my way upstairs. Kayla is truly amazing at everything she does, flirting included.
Knocking gently on Mr. Shields’ door, I brace myself for the Texan. Mr. Shields is gruff, big, and very intimidating. Why are all heads of large companies from Texas? I think even Kayla watches herself a little around Mr. Shields.
"Come on in," he bellows.
Entering the room, I’m once again shocked by the sight of him. Mr. Shields screams inflexible and forceful. He’s like his own tornado… all you can do is run, find cover, or get out of his way when there’s a storm in the office.
"Good morning, Sir. Can I get you anything?" Like a coffee? Some antlers to wall mount? A small village to pillage?
"No, I'm fine. Thanks, Sugar. Take a seat."
Sitting in front of his desk, I can feel Shields’ eyes all over me. Looking over his head slightly, I don't make eye contact, I just pretend to. No eye contact is safe. I don't blush if there’s no eye contact. I absolutely HATE eye contact with anyone.
"Look, Sugar. I need you to be really thorough on the expenses this month."