I'm not particularly smart, or careful. I just assume everyone is an asshole, pointlessly mean, stupid, or trying to put one over on me. Hence few events surprise me. I've found that this set of assumptions is a tremendous advantage in dealing with people.
I walked into Ellen's cubicle to tell her that Herb wanted to see her. She was at her computer typing. She had tattoos of flowered vines encircling her upper wrists. I looked at how the tattoos moved as her fingers tapped the keyboard. Cool.
I told her that Herb wanted to speak to her. I didn't know what that fatuous boob wanted with her, but she seemed shaken by my message, and she quickly closed up the windows on her computer. I shrugged to myself and walked back to my cubicle. I was about to start working again on the Mego account when a reckless impulse hit me. What had rattled Ellen so much? I walked back to her cubicle.
It was Friday afternoon, and a bunch of people had left already for one reason or another. She had only minimized one of the windows. I looked toward the entrance of her cubicle and opened the window.
I recognized the format of the website. It was from a ‘blog' group I've run across on the net. Her ‘name' was "SOworthless." I minimized the window again and went back to my cubicle.
I drummed my fingers and pondered the situation. I didn't want evidence of my visiting the site on the local server. Okay, I'm an adult. I'll wait.
I saw Ellen dragging ass back to her cubicle a little later. I finished some work. Mostly, I was trying to figure out a great way to sell this new comic action figure we're supposed to be marketing. I was getting nowhere, and Friday Fever hit me hard. Time to go home. Ellen looked like she didn't want to talk, so I obliged her and didn't say goodbye.
I'm tired of the El. It takes forever and doesn't even get me right to my doorstep. I know that creepy bastard is going to puke on me, or some wino will start to address the whole train with his hard luck story. I sometimes look at the women sitting across the aisle from me and wonder what kind of panties they're wearing. I want to smile at them, but everyone on the El adopts the ability to glance at everybody while making eye contact with nobody. At Paulina, I got off of the train and had to walk the 4 blocks home. I skipped going to the "y" at Lincoln and School Street. I'm tired of the vinnies ("eh, Vinnie! How ya doin'?") asking me about my cock piercing. I need a new health club membership.
I also kept wondering what Ellen was covering up, and why she was so shaken by simply having to meet with our dippy supervisor (who was much too apprehensive to issue any kind of reprimand).
After my usual evening routine (workout, shower, food, Simpsons, Seinfeld), I looked up "SOworthless" on the "My Own Private Weblog" site. I remember I found the site after Googling "My Own Private Idaho," a movie I really liked. I enjoyed the blog site also, and had kept it among my bookmarks.
Her journal name was apt. Ellen's life is clearly a mid-air plane collision in achingly slow motion. Family troubles, an ex that she can't get off of her mind, probation status at work (that must have been the subject of her meeting with Herb). She obviously hated who she was and what she did. She questions her own judgment throughout the journal, rethinking decisions made at seemingly every junction in her life.
All of this is quite interesting to read about. The urge that made me keep reading is probably similar to the one that compels us all to stare at car accidents, laugh at waiters when they drop a tray of glasses, and feel cozy and content when we watch other people trudging up the street in the rain.
Schadenfreude
.
By far the most interesting element of this journal, though, was its sexual side. Ellen has some VERY interesting ideas about sex and about who should be glancing at her body, and what they should be doing to that body. Her sexual submissiveness is a theme she touches on in nearly every entry. She refers often to how uncomfortable she is with this side of her, and often muses about her shame at various acts that she's performed clandestinely. If I didn't already know her, I'd say that they were lies she was posting to be funny. But she is a sad, sad woman.
Then, there are the pictures. She has been posting about once per week for a few months. Her shame somehow ends once she gets in front of the camera. This week's assortment includes one of her opening her pussy with her fingers, while her wrists are shackled; she samples the juice on her fingers in another one (still handcuffed); she turns her ass to the camera and places her cuffed wrists between her knees; finally there was a close up as she sucks on a really large, red dildo.
She was wearing a black lycra hood in every pic, which had holes for her eyes and mouth. This was fairly smart of her. The thing is, she could still be easily identified. The pretty tattoos on her upper wrists were a clear giveaway. The close up was also an identifier. She has a faint hair lip that one can't see unless you look very closely. The flash made it fairly obvious as her mouth stretched around that monstrous cock. Finally there is her long, curly, blondish hair, which stuck out from under the hood.
The pictures were supremely filthy. She has a cute, though chubby body. In the pictures she wore lingerie that flattered her generous breasts and big, round ass, while de-emphasizing her belly. In these pictures she wore a black pushup bra with a wide, old-fashioned garter belt, that made her waist look surprisingly sexy. This amazed me because at work she dresses in a stolid, doughty way. She wears a lot of unappealing tweeds and unflattering pant suits, as if she was trying to accentuate what's less attractive about her body. Her huge eyeglass frames contributed to an overall impression that she was a withdrawn, nerdish drip.
The tension of seeing all this insight into Ellen's x-rated side finally got to me. I quickly grabbed my cock and rubbed it while looking at these pictures. I came in a few minutes, less than usual. I prefer to work myself up for a while. This time, however, I had many things to do, and I couldn't be distracted by my nagging libido.
After I came, I cleaned up and got to work. I saved every along with a log of when the pic was posted. I then saved each written entry. I noticed that quite a few of them were complaints and insulting remarks about Herb and Herb's supervisor Terrylee. This was interesting information to be pondered later.
Over a solitary dinner, I ruminated over this situation, and planned every move. This will only work out well if I make no mistakes. In fact, if I do slip up, I can find myself out of a job.
On Monday I slipped an envelope into Ellen's mailbox. I didn't want to place it on her desk. She would immediately suspect someone who had a desk nearby. The key to keeping this cat and mouse game going was to keep the mouse as far away from her pursuer as possible. I was hoping I could get a look at her as she read it, but I knew that lust-fueled greed will ruin this little opportunity that's been thrown into my lap.
This is what the envelope contained: The first page had the picture of her opening her pussy wide for the perverse world to see. The second picture was a candid from the last company picnic, which was posted on the company website. In bold, red pen, I circled the tattoos on her wrists that appeared in both pictures.
The second page contained one of her rants about Terrylee, to whom she carelessly alluded by name (She had prudently referred to Herb as "B"). At one point, she described Terrylee as a "fat, uptight, ignorant , celibate." The entry was filled with fairly detailed information that would have made it clear to a knowing reader that she was referring to Terrylee Sledge of Brach, Brach, and Stanley, Inc. I highlighted that last line in the same red pen I used on the first page. Underneath it, I typed "I doubt that Ms. Sledge would agree with, and appreciate this opinion. If you agree, take this note to the statue in front of the building and hold it over your head at 12:00 today, 10-1-04. Wave it five times in rapid succession."
At 11:55 I heard some activity coming from Ellen's cubicle. I didn't look up, knowing that I may betray myself with a knowing look. I kept looking at my humble flat screen, turning my silly idea for that dumb doll we're selling into a real marketing concept. At two minutes to 12, I got my coffee cup and walked to the window. I glanced down to the statue of Goethe that's across the street. There was Ellen. Today she wore a magenta pantsuit, which made it very easy to spot her. The only thing I like about the outfit was that when she took off the suit jacket, the pants framed her wide ass nicely. There were people waiting for the bus by the statue. I stood back from the window about a foot and watched as she obediently waited for her watch to read midday. At 12:00 sharp she waived the sheets above her head five times. People looked at her quizzically. She remained standing there for a minute or so, and then did it again. I smiled to myself.
I ate my lunch while working on the Mego project. I heard Ellen sigh and sit heavily into her chair. I called to her, "Ellen, could you come here a second?"
She walked over and said, "hmmm?" Her voice seemed relatively upbeat and unburdened.
I stared at the screen and said, "I think I have the budget completed for the Mego people. Would you mind taking a look at it? I want to make sure I didn't forget anything."
"Sure, be glad to." I thanked her, printed it up and handed it to her. I watched her ass as she walked back to her cubicle. I saw that sexy panty line and that gave me a new idea. I quickly wrote up her instructions, hoping that she would get them before our 2:00 pm meeting. After confirming with Ellen that my budget was complete, I had to present it to Herb prior to the ‘big' meeting. I took all of the papers and went down to his office (which is around the corner from the mailboxes). I dropped off the note and then stopped in Herb's office.
He had a few minor quibbles about the budget, but he agreed with the marketing concept. He's a tedious person, capable only of predictable conversation. After the usual, obligatory chatter, I picked up one of the inside-line phones stationed around our office complex. I rang the direct line for Ellen's voice mail. I had decided before on a way of disguising my voice that she'd have trouble figuring out. It's kind of a cross between Dr. John's gravelly singing voice and Kevin Spacey's "John Doe" voice in the movie
Seven
. I said simply, "check your mailbox. NOW." There is a time and voice stamp on every message, so she would know when I left it.
I went to 1004, where our meetings usually take place. I began to set up my Power Point presentation. I wasn't thinking too much about Ellen's note. It told her to go to the bathroom and take off her panties. She was to have them in her pocket during the meeting. At some point during the meeting, she was to leave them in the recycling basket in that room.
At two, I began my presentation to the team, and, most importantly, to Terrylee. I outlined the proposal and the budget. I gave credit where it was due, thanking Herb and Ellen for their help. It went very well, and Terrylee brusquely told us to "go ahead and make it happen." She got up and left with hardly another word. This is typical of her dialogue with her subordinates.
