Choppy (Desk Surfing Series Book 2) Page 4

  Drinks by the pool was a riot, once again, thanks to the platinum account. Platinum members had their own area by the pool. We got to lay on canopied beds in the shade. A waiter brought us whatever we wanted drink-wise. We wanted quite a lot. We got into it deep. Six cocktails and a beer, if I had to guess. We were still drunk on the plane, flying back to Honolulu. The thing about alcohol is that it had its way of letting you know the party had ended. By the time Jessie drove me back to my car parked at the Key Way building, the Blue Beaches and the Budweiser had reeked havok on my sinuses. I had a small headache. I hugged Jessie hard. She had just comped my entire weekend. But more than that, she was real. As I drove home, a random thought rallied in my hungover head. If I were lesbian, I'd have it made. I would go for Jessie, in a heartbeat--no more random thoughts, no more random dicks. I chalked it up to luck. I had a great friend, who cared about me. And she was lesbian. I just wasn't lucky enough to be lesbian with her.

  Even though I went to bed immediately, it didn't make the morning any better. Coffee was the word. But the word seemed misspelled. The coffee didn't prick me like a normal morning. Usually after the first cup I'm good to go. I did go. But I wasn't good. Karen, the VP of Actuarial Services, came to me with my first slip up, as soon as I got to the office. Apparently, the office manager has to request an actuarial statistics update report from the actuary department for the first of each month. The information for the report was ready but the request wasn't made. It was way technocratic. But there had to be a request, so the actuary department knew operations was ready to receive the report. Why they couldn't just email it to my inbox was beyond me. I had to review the report and start a business plan for how we would adjust our rates at the half-year mark. That meant I had to coordinate with the marketing team, my old team. Introducing new insurance rates was always a bit of a push and pull. And long-time customers always wanted to feel like they were grandfathered in. Karen made the suggestion that I keep track of all the important changes in actuarial statistics in a spreadsheet. That was how Brianna did it. I was going to hear that a lot in the next few weeks. That was how Brianna did it.

  Another thing I had to do was talk to the assistant accounting manager. I didn't know who that was. I had to go back to the company directory, before making that phone call. I had to talk to the assistant accounting manager about our margins. That would let me know all about how to adjust our insurance rates. Then I could get with marketing about how to promote our new rates. Just because my brain was moving weight didn't mean it wanted to. I was still fuzzy from the Blue Beach cocktails with Jessie. I wrote down to contact Karen about the statistics report on the 12th of each month, or the next business day. That wasn't how Brianna did it. But that was how I was handling it.

  My first real week came in like a lion and out like a bitch. But there was no Ile Grove resort at the end of the tunnel. It made me think I should have saved the weekend getaway for my second week as office manager. But come Saturday, I didn't even want to call Jessie. I had too much catching up to do. It was me and some markers, and coffee. I went back to primary school. I needed that simplicity. I broke down a chart of all five senior managers, blue for boys, red for girls. Dealing with dudes was a bit more simple. Only two were blue, though. I was now the youngest senior manager at Key Way. And I tipped the balance of four female managers against two dudes. But, it was that way when Brianna was around. Being the youngest would be the problem. Older women always wanted to take younger women to task. I knew I had to warm up to the blue managers. Then I could have half of management on my side, including myself. Yehuda Stein and David Addox, the male senior managers, were my new best friends at work.

  It was one of those weekends where I was unplugged. I wasn't about being on my laptop. I wasn't about checking my email. I printed out the twenty-six page statistics report that came to me at the end of the day Thursday. It had a four paged addendum, which I ignored. I was supposed to pick out the important info from the report. My time on the marketing team helped a lot. Maybe Longboard knew what he was doing, when he promoted me. The actuary people knew the stats. The accounting people knew the margins. The marketing people knew the customers. And the customers were the business. The hard part was that we would be developing our business strategy on what I emphasized in those reports. I had to dream up new insurance products based on that. But only if I thought launching a few new products fit the new strategy. I didn't know if Brianna handled all of that. A lot of business strategy was communicated to us through Longboard. He met with Brianna because two heads are better than one. But we gave our marketing presentations to both of them. But it seemed Longboard made the final decision. Maybe he wanted it to seem that way. But Brianna and Longboard were gone. Here office was filled by me. Longboard’s office was empty.

  The next week I tried to focus on what I could do. I didn't pay much attention to Camille, since my promotion. But when I saw her, I remembered. I told myself if I got the promotion to office manager, I would make sure she was taken on permanently. Why? Because I was sure I could do it. My job was still open. I was just learning the ropes as office manager. But I knew my old job, assistant marketing manager. I was the best person to say who to take my place. I picked Camille. Technically, all hiring decisions had to go through the CEO, Longboard. But a brief message sent to his email asking for approval went unanswered. Where ever he was, he wasn't checking his email. Or he wasn't replying to emails, a bastard either way.

  I don't know if Longboard was needed. He might have made it worse. He would have to take sides. Olina Pires was the HR Manager, one of the three female senior managers I had to deal with. I met her during my hiring interview. After that, it was only ever emails. But I had to powwow with her to see if I could get Camille into my old job. I decided to meet Olina in her office. That way I could always just walk out. Olina meant joyful in Hawaiian. Apparently, Ms. Olina didn't know that. She wasn't a bitch. But she was a bitch's intern. She spent four minutes telling me how hiring was an HR decision. The office manager didn't have the power to select someone for a promotion. Only the CEO could do that. My job was operations, ya-da-ya-da-ya-da. I left my phone in my office. I never took it when I met with people. But it suddenly flashed into my mind. I thought about it. I had an app for everything on my phone. Going to my phone was a reflex. Maybe there was an app to deal with this chick!

  I left her office after we agreed on office protocol. I was still gonna find a way to get Camille that job. It was an apology to her. In the beginning, I couldn't stand her Barbie's kid-sister act. But she wasn't acting. Camille was a sweet girl, genuinely. So I had to make it up to her for being a jealous bitch. It was why I missed high school. I was never that jealous of my girls back then. If one of them dated a cute guy. I could give ups to them. Most of the time it was a cute guy, but not the one I wanted. Camille was cute and I wanted something for her. I had to get shit together. It was all new, even in my third week. The big new thing was finding out I was the liaison between Key Way and our 401(k) plan administrator. Any changes to the plan had to be spelled out in the summary plan description and distributed to all Key Way employees. There were some changes. It was my homework for the weekend. I had to go through the changes in the 401(k) and organize a meeting. A representative from the insurance company that acted as our plan administrator was required to come meet with me and give me an update. I had to go over the plan myself to make sure we were on the same page. It would be another weekend dominated by Key Way crap. But I wasn't just dominated by Key Way crap. That weekend, I got dominated by something else--someone else.

  Chapter Four

  I would have preferred the call on Friday night. I wouldn't have gone out on Friday but I could have planned my Saturday better. I got a call from Stefen. The older-than-me-but-seemed-younger-than-me jet-ski jockey. I was so full of work when I got back to Honolulu, I didn't take him serious. But the fact was he had my number. I remembered him. But I couldn't remember my impression of him. He was nice enou
gh. He gave me a ride to the clinic at the resort. But that could have all been customer service. If he wanted us to recommend his little Jetovator business, he'd have to go above and beyond. But something made me give him my number. I decided to explore that something.

  What I did remember was his body. Longboard was bulky with broad shoulders. But there was no definition. Stefen was athletic as fuck--washboard abs, bulging biceps, strong forearms, all of that. And half of him was shoulders. He was a white guy, but more tan than a lot of dudes with Hawaiian blood. He earned his living in the sun. But he could've earned a living between the sheets. The sex was so good it had a cash value. He called on Saturday morning. I met him Saturday evening, at seven. I needed all of Saturday afternoon to get through everything for Key Way. I wasn't sure if I told him I was office manager or not. The only reason that was important is I didn't want him thinking I was blowing him off. Busy meant busy. And I was. I told him I was free after 6 pm. He said OK. It was the best arrangement I could make on short notice.

  He surprised me. He was basically a beach bum with a business. I expected cargo pants, if he wore long pants. And I expected something like a '98 Mitsubishi Eclipse with a dent somewhere. He drove up in front of my duplex in a '68 Firebird, platinum blue. Blue was for the best. Red or black would have done something with my panties. I don't know what but something. Blue I could manage like a lady. And he wasn't in cargo pants. And he was clean-shaven. He wore a crisp white shirt, beaded-bracelet on the right hand, Breitling watch on the left. Dark denim jeans were nice, slacks would have been too serious. He was wearing cowboy boots but with the classic car and overall package, they fit.

  "You didn't say where you were taking me."

  "And I still won't," said Stefen.

  "You seem like you know Honolulu well."

  "Yeah, I worked the bars and clubs here when I came over," said Stefen.

  "Came over from where?"

  "Mobile, Alabama," said Stefen.

  "Jesus."

  "Yeah, he's popular there," said Stefen.

  "How'd you end up in Hawaii? School?"

  "Music," said Stefen, "I came out here looking for axe work at the local places."

  "What's axe work?"

  "Electric guitar," said Stefen.

  "I get it."

  "It was ok, but you're not gonna make a livin' here in just music," said Stefen.

  "No, you're not."

  "So that's how I got into the hospitality industry," said Stefen.

  "Why'd you wanna come to Hawaii?"

  "Did you not hear me just say I came from Mobile, Alabama?" asked Stefen.

  "I heard ya. I heard ya."

  "I mean, I like deer and all but come on," said Stefen, "I've heard of livin' and dyin' in LA, but not Mobile."

  "You're a musician. That sounds like a song you could write."

  "About livin' and dyin' in Mobile?" said Stefen.

  "There's something there."

  "There is," said Stefen, "We'll have to explore it later."

  "Promise."

  The place was called Dozen Liners. It was a comedy club. All those mojo clouds that were forming began to dissipate. I had never been to DLs. And I heard it was a nice little laugh shop. But I didn't think it was the best thing for a first date, maybe date number three. But I only met Stefen while he was at work, getting us on the Jetovator. I really wanted to hear him speak. He didn't have a southern drawl. But he was a Bama-boy. Why was that? There was something interesting about him. But comedy clubs were about the comedian. Some self-centered guy would be rallying behind his own troubles with women and making jokes about it. I just wasn't in the mood, then the rescue.

  "Ok," said Stefen, "Tonight's festivities will be a mystery dinner theater."

  "Say what?"

  "Dozen Liners is having a mystery dinner theater," said Stefen.

  "Break that down for me."

  "There will be actors playing out this mystery scenario. We'll have some hors d'oeuvres, a salad, and a tasty porter house steak. And we'll watch this play and there will be a guy playing a detective and we'll ask the actors questions and tell the detective what we think and ask him questions as well. We'll try to solve the case for ourselves before they explain to us who dunnit," said Stefen.

  "So we have to try to solve a case?"

  "Yep," said Stefen.

  "I'm game."

  "I like that!" said Stefen.

  "Yep, we 'bout to solve this case."

  Stefen was right about everything but the detective. It was a she, not a he. But the steak was tasty, butter and rosemary. Stefen was winning points, lots of points. I always managed my hook ups. I didn't just hook up. And I always liked to have it at his place. My place was only for long-termers. If he was willing to stick around and I was willing to have him, I'd let him do me at my place. But the first time had to be at his place. Plus, it allowed me to do recon. Seeing how he lived was seeing how he lived. The problem with Stefen was he actually live on Kaua'i, so he bunked at a friend's guesthouse when he came to O'ahu. It didn't bother me. The place was clean. And, at least, it showed he had friends. It was one of the things that got me over Jessie being lesbian. What would I become if I ditched people everytime they did something that I wouldn't? People with no friends were too in to themselves. Self-absorbed would be the word. If dude had a bro who was cool with him hanging out in the guesthouse for a few days, he must have been well-rounded. He was. And he didn't waste time.

  When we got to the guesthouse he offered me a blackberry cider. He handed me the bottle-opener and held each bottle, while I opened them. It was a subtle and sweet gesture. I always liked to see my bottle opened. It was good feminine hygiene. I could see him slow sipping his cider. A little bit was like a performance-enhancer. Too much and he'd have whiskey dick. He was gentlemanly. But he wanted it to be on. I finished my cider.

  "What else you got?"

  "We've got dessert," said Stefen. That was all he needed to say. His body language was open as he leaned against the pool table.

  "It's on the table," said Stefen. I closed in. He tucked his arms around me grabbing my ass with both hands. I felt like I actually had an ass. I went up. I went around. And I landed on top of the pool table. My straps came off. Air came in. He pulled. My dress went his way. I straightened out. He pulled it passed my heels. Heels stayed on. He climbed on. He extended. His shirt went up and over. My boob job was there to make people look. He didn't. He found my nipples, while looking me in the eye. Just fore finger and thumb, that was it. He snapped them. Coordinated, he snapped them again. His nails, they were groomed, not jagged. They were rounded. He snapped my nipples. It was the tip of his nails this time. Then my shoulders, he pushed them down, to the table. My panties were on. His belt came off. He looped the buckle through my panties, the right side. He put his hand through. He pressed the cold metal of the buckle against my outer surrounding, my pink. I could feel it turn blue. It was cold. Then it left. He pulled the buckle through. He used two hands, one on each end of the belt. He pulled. My panties went with it. They melted down. He pulled them over thigh. He pulled them over knee. He pulled them over my heels. He pulled them off. He let go of one end but held the buckle. Panties to the floor. He slung the belt over his left shoulder. He grabbed my calves. His forearms were the same size, with more hair. I felt his strength. He pulled me. He wedged his hips between my legs. He turned round. Like he was trapped in an elevator, he stayed between there. He grabbed the belt. He wrapped it around my ankles. He didn't buckle the belt. He tied the belt. A loop for my right ankle, a loop for my left, it was a special knot. Boy Scout. My ankles were locked. He trapped himself, between my thighs. I could move my feet, just not apart. He turned back around. He held my right thigh down with his left hand. His right hand went to his button. I looked down. I could see the multiple bends of his hard form. His pecs bent in. His abs puffed out. It was schooling, biology. I could see all muscles involved, just to handle a button and a zipper. His stout man-tits wer
e winking at me. Sun-cooked and flawless, parted pec muscles just flexed their way into my mental space. There were no moles or freckles. He shaved. It had been a week or so. The heads of hair were there on his chest. I stuck my hands center mass. I just hassled his hard muscle. I dug my thumbs in. I pinched. I stuck my fingers in. I scraped my fingers down his tough chest, down to his nipples. I did it slow.

  It hurt him. I knew by the exhale, the long exhale. He was man enough to hold in the grunt. I scraped his chest again, jammed my thumbs in his nipples. It was a red flag for a bull. He charged. I wanted him riled up. He was. I don't remember his briefs coming off. But they were off. My legs were tied at the ankles. No where for him to go. I could see his dick angled upward. I could see the dark blue of the vein under it. He forced it down with his right hand, prodded me with his right thumb. There was a skirmish. He broke me open with his, thumb and my whole vag went stiff. My heart got fast. He came in slow. Both his thumb and his thing were up front. I could feel both. They didn't penetrate. I didn't know why. He rubbed his thumb around my outer flaps, then grabbed his dick. He lead the tip of it around the outside, tracing the path of his thumb. It had the comfort of dealing with a doctor. He told me with his thumb, I'm going to touch you hear. My toes were curling but couldn't. My heels were still on.

  It wasn't baby making sex, the kind where your ovaries flare. He was hard sawing on my baby-making cells, didn't feel like I had any ovaries. They felt like venom cavities. I got a reptilian feeling, predatory. I started to buck him, as hard as he was bucking me. I was working on saw-boy like he was working on me, made him fight hard to hold in his load. Competition breeds excellence. We were competing against each other as much as for each other. I even teased him.