I was going on a work-related trip the following evening. Got a gig to get to at the techno center, to repair computers and systems, but what awaited me there was to become an issue later. The madam was alone in her office, I didn't know that at the time. Not until I arrived on the ninth floor and walked the long passageway that leads to nine hundred and twenty-six and wrapped on the door.
"Come on in, the door is unlocked," the voice came to me through the front door. I turned the latch on the door and pushed it open.
She was sitting there at her desk, seemed all steeped in a hodgepodge of paperwork. But at the same time, she was wrapping up a call on the telephone line.
She stuck up a well-manicured finger and mouthed off the words; "give me a minute." Then pointed to the sofa, "Have a seat," she again mouthed off the words at me. I didn't bother to sit, I just glanced at my wristwatch, she got the message, I'm sure, she's bright. The managerial business type that she is and all, she knows the value of time. She did not get up from the desk and walked over to take my hand that I'd offered, as would have been proper.
"Manley," I said while extending a ready right hand in greetings.
"I know," she said, "I know who you are, and why you are here. Let's get to it, shall we?" She spoke further as she handled the mouse and foray through a series of clicks on the computer.
"This thing needs some urgent attention," she said, "we'll get to it in a second. "Just give me a moment, let me close these here and then, clean up this mess."
"Take your time," I said, "I've..."
"There, all done, come around this side," she directed me to the right side of her desk, "where you can see more clearly."
She pushed back the swivel chair slightly, leaning back in her seat, both elbows resting on the side armrest. Her purple nails, polished shine, and in sync with her earrings, eyeshadow, and lip gloss, swayed to the rhythm of her shaking hands and feet. She looked me over, in a quick and sweeping analytical scan. Then looked me square in the eyes. "Are you going to stand there, or did you come here to work? Come on, come over here."
In utter puzzlement, I questioned this. "Are you going to be sitting there while I work?" I asked this across my pointy indexed finger, straight at her, sitting there in that comfy leather chair of hers. "I can't, I don't work like that, ma'am."
"Well, I'll need to show you what you need to do here, won't I?" She chided me quite sternly. I inched my way around the desk via the far side and voila.
There she was, looking rather regal.
Leaning further back in her seat now, with her chest protruding forward in confidence, her well-tailored navy-blue jacket opened down the front, obediently laying smooth over the white cotton blouse. The topmost button on the blouse was already undone. Even though the cut was already too low to begin with, for modesty, or even for one to refer to it as "the topmost button," it wasn't anywhere near the top of those, and that.
On her feet, the shoe heel of the purple and black spike heel shoe she wore was long and so thin that I winced somewhat at the mere thought that someone would even try to walk in them. Her legs crossed, the shoe on the top, (or crossover leg,) was just dangling there from her toes. While the shoe heel tilted downward and hung there shaking with her every move below her heel, and the arched sole of her foot. I couldn't help myself; I had to take a second lingering glance at the cleavages, look! Wow!
On the far side of where I was standing to the right of her, the generous peel away of the blouse from the left breast, allowed for a sumptuous serving of eye treats dangling at me, even down to the darkened circle somewhere around the nipple. But the nipple herself seemed like she was too shy to come out of the closet, or maybe she was downright mean, she stayed hidden from view, however she could.
My business card reads "Techno Manley-For all things computers. From hardware to programming and software to design. Call us. We'll get your system up and running in no time."
No, I did not forget about that part. I would have mentioned in all of these descriptions of her upper bodily attire and even her foot on down to the footwear, but not from the waist down. That is because there was nothing there. Nothing other than for the faint marks where the stockings had anchored themselves onto the upper thigh not too long ago. Probably just before I walked in there.
"Like what you see?" She asked cheekily.
"How did you find out about me? I mean, how did you get a hold of my contact info?"
"Are you operating on some closed level, like, like a private network or something?" She shot back at me. "Your business cards and adverts are everywhere, with information on everything about you and what you do, and your profile is prominently featured on LinkedIn, and yes, that's where I got it, satisfied?"
"No, no, that's not how I roll, you've got the wrong guy here. I don't work like that," I said.
Pointing my nose back in the direction from whence I had come, I headed for the door. "I hope you will find the right person to get your system up and running again." I said this over my shoulder while I was leaving, "Sorry I was not able to help you out here."
Me: While reaching for the doorknob, I turned around to say, "I know someone who..." hoops.
I was just in time to catch a glimpse of the spike-heeled shoe as it zipped past my head, long before I'd even managed to duck out of the way. It crashed into the door and bounced back to the middle of the open space in front of the desk.
Me: "Take very good care of yourself, miss." I pulled the door open and tried to squeeze through to get out. Just then, her right hand went down as the left leg heaved itself upward to meet up with the violent, ready-to-launch-another-attack right hand.
I bet she was reaching for the other shoe. Almost in sync with the click of the lock on the closing door, came the big bang, then a thud and a rattle. I was right, I bet she'll be picking up a pair of purple and black spike-heel shoes off the floor, somewhat damaged, before clearing out of the office later today.
Me: Waiting for the elevator to get out from there, while I was standing in the hallway. I ran my finger through my hair and wondered out loud, "What the hell just happened, has someone been flying over the Koo-Koo's nest of late? When, and how did I get to such a place as this, where I'm now scampering away from such a ready and willing, no-stress, no-frills-attached Sex Fest?"
And that's when Bubbles spoke up again.
"So what's preventing you from just turning around and going right back in there to finish off the job, the woman is still there you know, just as hot, wet, and ready as before." Who is Bubbles, you'd asked? (Bubbles,) is my split personality, you know the type, that smart-ass voice inside who sometimes cracks wise-guy jokes just to piss me off. Then there are the odd moments when he talks sense into me.
Me: "Will you just shut the f--k up." I rebuked him, Bubbles that is. But if you or anyone else was looking on, you might have thought that I was just someone who was going off the deep end talking to myself. Well, perhaps I am.
"You don't even know a rat's ass what you are talking about," I said. "Don't you know that a scorned woman is the best one to stay away from, and this one right here? She's the Chief of them all. Everything about her spell's danger."
Bubbles: "Dangers are ever-present in the high-stakes games dude, and those are the ones that you love to play most, no? Frankly, they are the only ones that are worth your time playing, right? Where the focus of your attention is, that's what makes the difference, remember?"
Me: "I'm not afraid if that's what you're here implying, it's just that I haven't been thinking straight of late. I'm not quite sure what has come over me lately."
"Libby, perhaps?" Interjected Bubbles again.
To be continued.
"Come on in, the door is unlocked," the voice came to me through the front door. I turned the latch on the door and pushed it open.
She was sitting there at her desk, seemed all steeped in a hodgepodge of paperwork. But at the same time, she was wrapping up a call on the telephone line.
She stuck up a well-manicured finger and mouthed off the words; "give me a minute." Then pointed to the sofa, "Have a seat," she again mouthed off the words at me. I didn't bother to sit, I just glanced at my wristwatch, she got the message, I'm sure, she's bright. The managerial business type that she is and all, she knows the value of time. She did not get up from the desk and walked over to take my hand that I'd offered, as would have been proper.
"Manley," I said while extending a ready right hand in greetings.
"I know," she said, "I know who you are, and why you are here. Let's get to it, shall we?" She spoke further as she handled the mouse and foray through a series of clicks on the computer.
"This thing needs some urgent attention," she said, "we'll get to it in a second. "Just give me a moment, let me close these here and then, clean up this mess."
"Take your time," I said, "I've..."
"There, all done, come around this side," she directed me to the right side of her desk, "where you can see more clearly."
She pushed back the swivel chair slightly, leaning back in her seat, both elbows resting on the side armrest. Her purple nails, polished shine, and in sync with her earrings, eyeshadow, and lip gloss, swayed to the rhythm of her shaking hands and feet. She looked me over, in a quick and sweeping analytical scan. Then looked me square in the eyes. "Are you going to stand there, or did you come here to work? Come on, come over here."
In utter puzzlement, I questioned this. "Are you going to be sitting there while I work?" I asked this across my pointy indexed finger, straight at her, sitting there in that comfy leather chair of hers. "I can't, I don't work like that, ma'am."
"Well, I'll need to show you what you need to do here, won't I?" She chided me quite sternly. I inched my way around the desk via the far side and voila.
There she was, looking rather regal.
Leaning further back in her seat now, with her chest protruding forward in confidence, her well-tailored navy-blue jacket opened down the front, obediently laying smooth over the white cotton blouse. The topmost button on the blouse was already undone. Even though the cut was already too low to begin with, for modesty, or even for one to refer to it as "the topmost button," it wasn't anywhere near the top of those, and that.
On her feet, the shoe heel of the purple and black spike heel shoe she wore was long and so thin that I winced somewhat at the mere thought that someone would even try to walk in them. Her legs crossed, the shoe on the top, (or crossover leg,) was just dangling there from her toes. While the shoe heel tilted downward and hung there shaking with her every move below her heel, and the arched sole of her foot. I couldn't help myself; I had to take a second lingering glance at the cleavages, look! Wow!
On the far side of where I was standing to the right of her, the generous peel away of the blouse from the left breast, allowed for a sumptuous serving of eye treats dangling at me, even down to the darkened circle somewhere around the nipple. But the nipple herself seemed like she was too shy to come out of the closet, or maybe she was downright mean, she stayed hidden from view, however she could.
My business card reads "Techno Manley-For all things computers. From hardware to programming and software to design. Call us. We'll get your system up and running in no time."
No, I did not forget about that part. I would have mentioned in all of these descriptions of her upper bodily attire and even her foot on down to the footwear, but not from the waist down. That is because there was nothing there. Nothing other than for the faint marks where the stockings had anchored themselves onto the upper thigh not too long ago. Probably just before I walked in there.
"Like what you see?" She asked cheekily.
"How did you find out about me? I mean, how did you get a hold of my contact info?"
"Are you operating on some closed level, like, like a private network or something?" She shot back at me. "Your business cards and adverts are everywhere, with information on everything about you and what you do, and your profile is prominently featured on LinkedIn, and yes, that's where I got it, satisfied?"
"No, no, that's not how I roll, you've got the wrong guy here. I don't work like that," I said.
Pointing my nose back in the direction from whence I had come, I headed for the door. "I hope you will find the right person to get your system up and running again." I said this over my shoulder while I was leaving, "Sorry I was not able to help you out here."
Me: While reaching for the doorknob, I turned around to say, "I know someone who..." hoops.
I was just in time to catch a glimpse of the spike-heeled shoe as it zipped past my head, long before I'd even managed to duck out of the way. It crashed into the door and bounced back to the middle of the open space in front of the desk.
Me: "Take very good care of yourself, miss." I pulled the door open and tried to squeeze through to get out. Just then, her right hand went down as the left leg heaved itself upward to meet up with the violent, ready-to-launch-another-attack right hand.
I bet she was reaching for the other shoe. Almost in sync with the click of the lock on the closing door, came the big bang, then a thud and a rattle. I was right, I bet she'll be picking up a pair of purple and black spike-heel shoes off the floor, somewhat damaged, before clearing out of the office later today.
Me: Waiting for the elevator to get out from there, while I was standing in the hallway. I ran my finger through my hair and wondered out loud, "What the hell just happened, has someone been flying over the Koo-Koo's nest of late? When, and how did I get to such a place as this, where I'm now scampering away from such a ready and willing, no-stress, no-frills-attached Sex Fest?"
And that's when Bubbles spoke up again.
"So what's preventing you from just turning around and going right back in there to finish off the job, the woman is still there you know, just as hot, wet, and ready as before." Who is Bubbles, you'd asked? (Bubbles,) is my split personality, you know the type, that smart-ass voice inside who sometimes cracks wise-guy jokes just to piss me off. Then there are the odd moments when he talks sense into me.
Me: "Will you just shut the f--k up." I rebuked him, Bubbles that is. But if you or anyone else was looking on, you might have thought that I was just someone who was going off the deep end talking to myself. Well, perhaps I am.
"You don't even know a rat's ass what you are talking about," I said. "Don't you know that a scorned woman is the best one to stay away from, and this one right here? She's the Chief of them all. Everything about her spell's danger."
Bubbles: "Dangers are ever-present in the high-stakes games dude, and those are the ones that you love to play most, no? Frankly, they are the only ones that are worth your time playing, right? Where the focus of your attention is, that's what makes the difference, remember?"
Me: "I'm not afraid if that's what you're here implying, it's just that I haven't been thinking straight of late. I'm not quite sure what has come over me lately."
"Libby, perhaps?" Interjected Bubbles again.
To be continued.