I open the building door with a deep sigh. It has been an exceeding long day. Given half a chance, I would sneak into the apartment and settle into the deep whirlpool tub, and forget everything about my life for several hours.
I look longingly at the elevators, as the door slides over and several people steep inside, a few faces among them I recognize but can't recall their names. Every once in a while it surprises me how few people I know in this building, even after 6 years.
One last glance towards the elevators, then I turn and head for the stairs. It is only four flights, walking them is good for me. I know this, and this is why he insists that the elevators are only for when we are loaded down with groceries or other heavy parcels. Often I want to be angry that I can't take advantage of this one little convenience, but how can I be angry when he also takes the stairs.
As I start up, I feel how weary I am, and it occurs to me, he would never question me, when I got home. He never asks if I did indeed take the stairs, and after so many years, although I find it wearisome, it doesn't wind me like it once did. He wouldn't doubt for a moment that I took the stairs. Yet, I know it would only be moments, before I would confess what I had done. If he were suspicious, if he asked every time I came into the apartment if I had taken the elevator, perhaps I would feel justified in doing it, but he trusts me, and the guilt of omission would eat at me. I laugh at myself as I round the 3rd floor landing. This is precisely why he can trust me, because he knows how much his trust means to me.
Stepping out of the stair well onto out hall, I straighten my skirt. The thoughts of the nice warm bath already fading, in the comfort of knowing he will be inside waiting for me to come home. He has become my world. Sometimes during the day I wonder how I can live this dual life, in the moment forgetting how free I am in his presence.
I unlock the door and step inside. As I put my purse on the table, and hang my coat by the door, I can already feel the comfort of being home again.
I take a deep breath and walk into the living room, and sit down in my chair. His smile warms me as his eyes move from the news program over to my chair that sits next to the television.
"How was your day?"
This is my chance to spill the worries of my day. I use to hate this part of the day. I hated sitting in this chair, but he insisted that this was best. It took me a long time to admit it, but he was right.
Everyday after work I sit in my chair. The one that allows him to just shift his eyes and take in me, and the program he is watching. I use to think he ignored much of what I said as I sat there, feeling like I was competing with the television for his attention, but every time I challenged him, I lost. He was much more aware of what I was saying that I realized, even when he choose not to cast his eyes in my direction.
"My day sucked."
"Oh?" His head turned towards me in interest. My response, although perhaps more adamant then usual, wasn't unexpected. I feared one day, he was going to point out to me, that he warned me the promotion with more money and responsibility was going to be more stressful.
"That nitwit, Thomas."
"Oh."
"He seems to think because we are working on a project together, he can just do whatever he wants, and I will do all the leg work."
"Isn't he in the concepts department?"
"So what?"
He shrugs. "I would have thought ideas where his business, leaving everyone else to deal with the follow through."
"I have ideas too. I don't mind doing the leg work, but I should be able to contribute." He is paying attention to the television. For a moment, I am tempted to make a smart ass comment, but think better of it.
He gives me a lot of leeway. I am lucky that he enjoys the fact that I am intelligent and can hold down a job and support myself. He doesn't need me to, but it makes him proud to say his girl, heads up a department in a small but successful marketing firm. His girl. That has always been how he refers to me, when we are among his friends. They know we live together, but are well aware he hasn't talked of marriage or dating me. There is no talk around the water cooler about fights we have had. I am just his girl, and after 6 years, whatever I am, they are assuming I am here to stay.
"We had a meeting on Monday. We had thrown around ideas, and decided on which one's to role with. It seemed like we were merging our ideas, and although I had the leg work end of it, I was good with that, but today, when we got in the meeting and I started to go over what we had discussed, he jumped in and announced he thought better of it this morning, and pitched his new concept."
"And did you say anything?"
"What could I say? He had just gone through, point by point, why the prior concept was wrong."
"So his new idea was better? If so why are you upset?"
"Because he should have talked to me first."
"If he had?"
I shrugged. "I would have agreed with him."
"So just agree with him, and get over it."
"I can't believe you!"
His gaze turns towards me, and his eyebrow lifts. It is an expression I know I should be careful around. "You can't?"
"It's not about the idea. It's about how he treated me."
He turns back towards the television. "Perhaps he recognizes you for what you are."
"What I am?"
"Yes."
"What is that suppose to mean?"
He sighs deeply and without look at me says, "Take off your blouse."
"What?"
"You heard me."
His head doesn't turn. His attention seems to be entirely on the television. He doesn't do this. This time, in the chair, is the time for me to transition, he told me. It is my chance to tell him how my day was in the real world of business and coworkers. This is where I sat and talked about the things that happened in the office. This is where I sat and told him about the construction worker that yelled obscenities at me, until I lifted my skirt enough that he could see my thong because I was in that kind of mood.
This was my time to deal with the world outside, and when I was done, I would go to his bedroom and change into whatever had had laid out for me, and then when I came back, it didn't matter what happened outside that door, when I came back, I belonged to him.
"Well?" he suddenly asked. He wasn't looking at me, but I could see his eyebrow twitching to come up.
I started to pull my blouse from my skirt and over my head, feeling the silky fabric brush against my skin, causing a little shiver to run through me.
"Not like that. Slowly. One button at a time."
I bit my lip slightly, but let my blouse fall back down. My hands twitched nervously for a moment in my lap, then I started to play with the bottom button until it fell open. My hands moved up to the next one, and as it slipped through the button hole, I could feel the edges of the blouse brush my stomach sending a shiver through me. My hands continued to move up the row...
"Now, don't you think he might have recognized you for what you are?"
I could feel my breathing getting a little irregular, as I tried to respond and keep my fingers moving. "I'm not like that at work."
He chuckled. "You don't act like that at work, but dear, you are what you are, and some of us see it right off."
As the next to the last button slipped free, I answered, "Even if he did, treating me like that at work isn't appropriate."
"It is hard for someone who knows, to give a slut respect."
My fingers fall from the last button, my blouse pulling back, one button above my cleavage holding my blouse together, the bottom spreading open and sliding to the sides.
He glanced up and smiled, seeing the look of surprise on my face. "Maybe you should give him a nice warm blow job next time you see him, then both of you would be sure of where you belong."
I felt my body stiffen. It wasn't that he hadn't had me treat others before, but this was my work. There had been a line in the sand, and he had never crossed when it came to work.
"Your blouse isn't off." He said.
My hands moved back to the last button. "Now don't you think if you just got over it, and gave him a treat you would both feel better, maybe then he could communicate with you better, and you would get less stressed over his not respecting you so much."
"I... I don't think that would be a good idea."
"No?"
I arched slightly as I let my blouse slide down my arms. It is an automatic movement that comes from so many years of showing myself to him. "No. I have to work with him for who knows how long."
"It might be good to have someone who could give you a little relief at work."
The blouse slides off, onto the chair. "If anyone found out..."
"I know you wouldn't tell, and I doubt your friend would tell, it wouldn't be to his advantage to tell."
