Thank you to A.S. for helping me edit this story.
***
I am a female Disk Jockey, a DJ, who has a great job playing some of the best rock music on the planet with my co-host Christina; we work the evening show from nine to midnight every weeknight. Not to sound full of myself, but we have one of the best shows in that time slot in the local area. The studio where we work is not that big. We're only a small radio station compared to most others, but it's comfortable and I enjoy the work. The only thing I can gripe about is my boss.
Jason takes great pleasure in screwing his people over. The bastard would walk into the studio in the middle of our show and tell us to get out because we were fucking up his airwaves. He should talk! All Jason did during his show was play long-ass songs and try to get inside the panties of the so-called female "DJ's" that he hired on a nearly daily basis! On other occasions, he would just randomly appear during our show and stare at us. That bugged the hell out of me. I would often get into arguments with him over these issues and they always ended up with him threatening my job and me walking out of the office cursing his demise.
The only reason we put up with this crap is because we are good at what we do. More listeners tuned into our show every week than any other. Jason was well aware of this. He knew that we made better hosts than he did on any given day, which is why he tolerated my frequent outbursts.
Then, a few days ago, Jason crossed the line. Without so much as a warning he moved us from the evening shift to the morning shift because the newest girl he was anxious to nail said that worked better for her. As you can imagine, we didn't take this well. Christina made the mistake of trying to reason with the jerk and get our old time slot back, but that only ended in screaming and crying on Christina's part.
She came over to my apartment afterwards with tears streaming down her face saying she was going to quit. Seeing her so upset got me really pissed off at the prick. So, after I sent Christina home early the next morning, I made plans to ambush the son-of-a-bitch that night during his shift at the station.
Jason liked the graveyard shift. It was the only time he got away with playing crap on the air while he screwed his whores in the corner without anyone being the wiser. The only problem is that I knew. I knew, and that night I was going to make him understand that he couldn't go around treating people like shit; and I would enjoy every minute of it. Boy was I wrong on that one.
I dressed to intimidate, which wasn't so easy considering that my height was average and two inches shorter than Jason. I was wearing my tall, black lace-up boots, my tightest pair of dark jeans, and a black tank top with my duster jacket over it. It wasn't my intention to look hot, just serious. My straight, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. I added just a touch of my favorite maroon lipstick to finish the look. I checked myself in the hall mirror before I left. My reflection appeared both serious and hot.
"Tonight, he's going to listen to what I have to say," I told myself, then grabbed the keys and was out the door.
Upon my arrival at the studio, I was surprised to see that he was alone. I silently guessed that the little whore wasn't good enough tonight, or maybe they started wising up and raised their standards a notch above him. I smiled at this last thought. A girl can dream.
I already knew that he would be wearing a ragged, old shirt with some forgotten logo on the front, baggy jeans and street shoes. Those were the type of clothes he always wore during his shows. When he was trying to impress the ladies, he would put on a blazer over a tight fitting shirt and nice slacks.
As I looked through the door, I couldn't see his face in the darkened studio, but I already knew he had piercing grey eyes, dirty blonde hair, medium sized lips and a chiseled jaw. I sometimes overheard women commenting on how handsome he was, but I didn't see it. Of course, that's probably due to the fact that I hated the bastard. Speaking of the devil, you should have seen the look on his face when I opened the door and walked in.
"What the fu...Jane! What the hell you doing here?" He asked me in that gruff voice of his that often made me irritated.
He was up and out of his chair in a flash, standing behind it for protection or something stupid like that. He probably thought I was a pissed off little fucker just looking to kick his ass, which wasn't too far from the truth.
"I still work here don't I Jason? We need to talk."
He took a gulp and stared at me. Perspiration immediately formed on his brow. The sweat beaded and rolled down the sides of his face. Either the outfit was working and he was intimidated, or he was genuinely scared.
"Okay...so talk!"
"First off, where's your little whore tonight?"
"I told her to fuck off. Now talk!"
He answered that a little too quickly, I thought. He looks nervous and a little scared. I laughed to myself and smiled a little before continuing.
"What the hell did you do to Christina? She came crying to me at 4 a.m. yesterday, babbling about something you did. I want to know what it was."
He seemed to relax a little then because he moved the chair out of the way and stood facing me.
"Oh, so that little bitch of yours went crying to you? I knew she would. She's so weak."
"Please tell me that you did not just call my co-host weak!"
"I'll call her whatever I damn well please! She, like you, is just another little whore who works under me!"
He was standing closer to me, invading my personal space. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked every bit like the pompous ass he was. It was infuriating.
"Little whore? Do I look like one of your little whores to you?"
He grinned while looking me up and down. I knew in that moment that I said the wrong fucking thing.
"Right now? Yes, yes you do."
If I wasn't pissed off before, I certainly was now.
"You asshole!"
I came at him with my hand raised, about ready to slap the shit out of him. Then he grabbed my arm, swung me around and slammed me up against the wall, pinning my wrists in his strong hands. He was on top of me, our faces were almost close enough to kiss. I could smell his aftershave and made a note of how good it smelled. That thought made me hate him even more.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Jane. I could just pick up the phone and call the cops on you for assault."
"What are you going to tell them? That I almost bitch slapped you like the cocksucker you really are?"
That pissed him off. Jason leaned back and slapped me across the face. It hurt like hell, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of showing how much. Instead I glared back him like I wanted to kill him. The anger and intense hatred I harbored for that sorry excuse for a human caused me to spit in his face. When he pulled back to strike me again, I used my free hand to punch him in the face. My hand hurt like a motherfucker, but he just increased his hold on my wrist.
"You call that a hit? What's the problem, bitch? Can't handle a real man like me?"
"Jason, stop fooling yourself. You're not a real man, just a pathetic excuse for one. That's why you have to fuck little whores every night."
