In the interest of story cohesion, and your possible enjoyment, please read the first installment of My Revelation.
My Revelation
Chapter 2
The next morning, it wasn't so much the images I'd seen on my laptop that crowded my consciousness, but the memory of me lusting so strongly, even desperately, to be the happy woman in the final scene that I'd watched. I sat up feeling not so much confused as completely unprepared to see this newly exposed version of myself.
"I'm a cocksucker," I whispered.
I thought back to my days in high school. Sure, there were signs of this. I remembered gym class, which I despised. The instructors made a point of seeing that everyone got into the showers after the class. They'd patrol the locker room with an eye out for anyone dressing when they should be heading for the shower room. I was very self-conscious of my penis which, judging by the myriad sideways glances I'd dared while my fellow students were undressing, was strictly in the lowest percentile. The ones with normal-sized dicks or bigger, all but celebrated their good fortune, rough-housing and hooting it up. John K was often in the center of such scenes. He was slim, sweet-natured and boyish. And he had a jaw-droppingly beautiful penis. I was in the same aisle of the locker room as he, but separated by eight or ten other boys. I played a game of cat-and-mouse with his cock. If he were turned the right way, and if the guys between us were not in the way - bending over to tie their shoes, for instance - I would see it from the corner of my eye, swaying slightly, as it must, due to its length. In a moment, someone would step into the line of sight, or John would turn away. But such glimpses were heaven. I would replay the brief moment going home on the bus many times, savoring my secret arousal and awe. I rationalized this fascination through comparison with my own meager member. I thought that it made sense to want to look at and study a cock of some proportion, in the same way that one could be entranced by a rare bird landing on the lawn. It was something you'd never seen the likes of before. But the excitement I'd felt went misunderstood or, as I now see in retrospect, was presented to my conscious mind in a tamed, rationalized form. Beneath it lay the measureless, desiring mass it had been cleaved from, pushed down,as it was, into the psychic depths. But now, here it presented itself, risen and insistent.
My sexual fantasies began to center exclusively around Steph and James. One would think that a sense of dignity might have stepped in and reminded me that Steph had rejected me and subsequently taken up with James in the most wholehearted and lustful way. But, to the contrary, the fact that I was all but forgotten, and Steph, as anyone with a pair of eyes could see, was wholly devoted to James, made the situation all the more stimulating for me. I renewed the fantasy that had taken shape as I peered at the two of them through the bedroom window the night of the office party. I imagined myself living in their home as their butler/slave. An unpaid position, naturally. Could I make this a reality? It seemed crazy to think it could come to be. But the fantasy involved me deeply and, at one point, I vowed, with no small sense of trepidation, to work toward its realization.
But how to start? Where to begin? Maybe they would feel repulsed by the very idea of having a slave. I did recall, though, gossip at the office about James and his weekend indulgences. It seems he liked to "party hard", as they say, and this apparently centered around drugs and sex. And a party, you know, seems to imply more than two people. Who knows what kinds of scenarios he might have been a part of. Steph, for her part, always seemed to take a kind of imperious pleasure in upbraiding me when I didn't satisfy her to her expectations in bed. She would also sometimes scold or belittle me in public, and this, too, seemed to give her satisfaction. Reflecting on these factors encouraged me. Maybe the two of them could find some special pleasure in having the man they'd cuckolded bowing, scraping, and jumping when they snapped their fingers. I intended to find out. I thought fondly back to Mrs McGuinty's address to the senior english class exhorting us to discover what it is we truly love, and then to give everything we had to fulfilling it. I decided, with wicked glee, to write to her anonymously when the time was right, informing her that one of her former students had decided to become the very best ass-licking, cumsucking doormat the world had ever seen.
My plan began simply enough. At the stationery store I bought a distinctive notepad with pages of varied pastel colors. I kept it on my desk. Every few days, at a time when I knew James would be occupied, I would compose a brief note on one of the colored pages. Here is the first one I wrote:
You are a symbol of true manliness, to me.
I would fold these missives in half, and take the elevator to the garage. If I were the only one on the elevator, I would use this privacy to kneel and hold the note to my chest, feeling the emotion and ardor of the written sentiment, and imagining James standing before me. In the garage, I would go to my car first, open the trunk, and pretend to look for something. When there was no activity, and I could see that the elevator was on one of the higher floors, I would tuck the note beneath the windshield wiper of James's car. I was careful to not allow myself more than just a respectful or appreciative expression in the notes - nothing hinting at my sexual longing. This went one for several weeks.
Meanwhile, I secretly courted Stephanie. I sent flowers every saturday, and with them a note. Here is an example of the notes I sent:
You are a queen on her throne.
I am your devoted servant.
Invariably, I sent purple irises and casablanca lilies. I knew these to be her favorites. This alone must have made her wonder. After the third delivery, I began to notice something different in Steph when we crossed paths in the office. Where before she would have breezed by with a perfunctory "hi", she now would cast a quizzical look my way.
The following monday, I was in my cubicle, wrapping up a phone conversation. I hung up, leaned back stretching, and swung my chair about. A shock ran through me as I faced Steph standing in the entry. I leapt to my feet, unnerved, but at the same time excited at the prospect of....what? Who could say? But something, certainly something was beginning to bubble in the laboratory, shall we say.
I cast my gaze down onto the carpet. I had no idea of what to say. I clasped my hands in front of me and slowly looked up to her.
"Hi, Steph," I said, my voice weak and constricted.
Steph leaned against the partition, her arms folded.
"How's it going, Jack?" she said, giving me that same quizzical look I'd begun to see.
I cleared my throat, "Oh, I'm getting along okay. You know."
I ventured a compliment. "You're looking well."
I felt my forehead begin to bead up, and I fidgeted with my hands.
"I want your opinion on something," Steph said. "Got a minute?"
"Sure!" I said, wondering what this could possibly be about. Steph gave me a small smile.
"It's at my desk," she said.
Walking down the hall, I followed behind Steph at what I considered to be a respectful distance.(Already, however discretely, I was occupying my role.) On Steph's desk was a monthly chart that she was responsible for setting up. It showed on which days agents needed to be on call during their off time.
Steph pointed to where I was scheduled. "I'm wondering if you could do these two days in a row. Phil will be on vacation. Anyway, if you're willing, Max said he'd toss in a C-note for you."
I realized that Steph was waiting for a response, but all I could do at that moment was look at the small flower arrangement in a slender vase on her desk - a single lily and a single iris.
"Those are nice," I said, excitement quickening in me as I spoke.
"Yeah," Steph said offhandedly. "They're my favorite flowers. I took them from an arrangement at home."
"Yes, I recall that you liked them," I said, acting as though absorbed in the chart.
"Do you, now"? Steph said, turning to me. "That is interesting. Actually, I've been receiving bouquets of them for a few weeks now. It's a bit mysterious. Just the flowers and an intriguing, rather flattering note attached to them. No name, though. I'd love to thank whoever is sending them. It's all so complimentary."
"I can do the extra day, just as you have it laid out, Steph," I said, keeping my eyes on the chart. I was having a little difficulty controlling my breathing.
"Jack", Steph said, "Have you been sending these to me?"
