The 33-floor Condom House on the corner of Erection Avenue and G-Spot Lane almost toppled over as all 2389 females who worked in the building rushed to windows. With pounding chests and breast turgid in disbelief they watched a distinguished looking male waiting to cross Erection and enter the artistically shaped entrance to their building that the filthy-minded recognized as replicating the shape of a wide-open vulva.
These women had arrived at 8:30 to find an email marked 'URGENT'. It read:
Attention Girls
Thomas B. Weaver, recently appointed as head actuary, carries a secret. The job of his exalted department housed on the 32-floor, immediately below senior management and above Treasury which indicates its importance, is charged with predicting the results of failures of condoms as a result of structural failure, penetration of teeth when being pulled on or teeth nipped or from sabotage at the hands of jilted lovers.
Armed with little more than mathematical theory, Tommy Weaver and his team of sixty-nine, mostly egg-heads, are responsible for evaluating future threats facing condom investment, manufacture and usage; finding creative ways to thwart such undesirable events; and reducing the accidents or culpable events that do occur, thus easing company liability for damages.
We have learned that two women in this building have dated Mr Weaver and found that sexual ejaculation internally, on their being or at the hand of a female is something he's never experienced because he's not interested in attaining such experience.
This is an absolute disgrace. It behoves every woman in this building to put this uncooperative male to bed and make him a real man. But don't rush – there's enough of the actuary for everyone actually. Being a boss he arrives at 8.55 – you'll see him waiting to cross Erection, recognizable because he's the only male not attempting to undress the women bystanders. There is no suggestion he is gay; he does suck breast and pussy but that's about all. He won't allow his genitals to be touched, poor guy. – ANONYMOUS.
Thomas looked up at the Condom Building, admiring its realistic shape. Being rounded it let more light through on to the street. Noticing women lined up at the windows he waved impulsively and was staggered to see them all wave back – or at least as many as he spotted.
What a friendly bunch, he thought, and automatically calculated how many days at two dates a week, changing to three a week on alternative weeks, and changing to four on weeks when the moon was full, would it take him to work through that lot. He blinked at the number that came up – he was going to be a busy boy for quite some time. Nah, not many would be interested; the two so far were lucky strikes.
Thomas took the elevator to the 32nd and found it crowded with women, all of whom were giving him funny looks as if they were on heat and shoving notes into his pockets and even down the front of his trousers. How strange.
Miss Cold&Frosty as he called her – his PA – followed him into his office and locked the door. Before he knew it she had him backed against his desk and was lifting up a breast to his mouth. How she managed that one-handed was a bit of a mystery; a mechanical hoist would have had difficulty.
"No thanks Tina, I only have milk or yoghurt on Thursdays. Express that lot for your baby." Tina kept a small electric milking machine in her office; the first time he'd heard it going he rushed in thinking she was riding a motor-cycle in the office without prior permission.
Side-stepping from her grasp, Thomas bent and bit her ass to ensure she knew she was appreciated and watched fascinated as she repacked her superstructure.
Ten minutes later Thomas received a call to go to the office of the financial controller. Mrs Jobbins was slumped in her chair holding her dress up to her chin. "Come around and have a look at this, Tommy."
Dutifully he went around the desk and was confronted by a hairy vulva the size of a dinner plate. He fled and locked his office door and told Tina no calls. She called him fifteen minutes later to say he had 144 emails on his computer, all from females in the office, all soliciting dates.
"Reply to them all – they'll have to wait until I ask them; no exceptions."
"Thank you Thomas – I'll send one to myself and copy it to you as a reminder. I will clear all those other emails from your computer."
"Back up my disk before you do that, Tina. Evidence of an approach could be critical if I'm sucking pussy of someone who decides to change her mind and lodges a complaint." Quickly he copied all emails to CD just in case Tina decided to delete the lot without replying to them as an act of possessive sabotage. He knew that was an ungentlemanly thought and continued to feel bad about it even though that's exactly what happened.
Felicity Smith became famous throughout the entire building when she secured the first date since 'the incident' as it became known – the morning everyone lined the windows to watch Thomas cross the street. Everyone's clit had been throbbing – well, almost everyone's – and they watched this man of mystery cross Erection Avenue. It was even more exciting than years ago when they lined windows to watch Monica drive down Erection Ave in a white limo like Miss America.
Felicity (45) was the head chef in the company's dining room and Thomas had noticed she would serve him personally and when he chose steak it would be a half-inch thicker than the steaks of anyone else received. So he asked her to promenade with him one evening – down the waterfront promenade, of course.
They walked, Felicity with a bra two sizes too small, tight T-shirt and thin shorts, kept rubbing her pussy. Finally, the curious actuary after working out the risk of having his face slapped for asking such a leading question enquired, "Have you an STD or something?"
Although appalled that anyone would think that about her, Felicity gritted her teeth and said no – she just had a dried pussy.
"Oh, I'll fix that for you," Thomas offered. He lifted her on to the seawall, removed her shorts and pants and began licking her – passers-by giving them a wide detour, shocked looks and covering the eyes of children up to the age of twenty-two. Well, Felicity told her workmates next morning, if it hadn't been for his expertise in cunnilingus she would have bopped him one. Instead she put him on the wall after he'd finished with her but he refused to allow her touch him. "I ranted, stamped and cried, to no avail."
Email discussions on Felicity's fearsome fate from the flathead left everyone frustrated.
A deputation waited on Coral, the super-sexy model on whom development egg-heads tried out condoms with trial embellishments including a time alarm and an auto emptying device. Coral agreed to make a sortie and asked which gym Thomas attended.
Coral was pressing weights when Thomas approached – "Sir, kindly help me please. The weight of this press is pushing me out of my Lycra sport cami top."
Thomas could see she was oozing, substantially; he did not recognize her because usually when he saw her at work she was stretched out on a bench having the next trial condom inserted.
"What do you want me to do – take the weights from you?"
"No, that will spoil my routine. Just push me back into my top. Don't bother being gentle, I like a man who's hard."
The boobs were warm and cooperative and popped back, much too fast to Coral's annoyance.
"Sir, sir. Stand in front of me and allow me to suck you off – the result will allow me to power through the rest of my routine."
"I don't engage in fellatio," Thomas said stiffly, and walked away without any further titillating.
Coral took two days off work citing sickness – sexual emotional stress, but she did send a global email to females at Condom House explaining her failure – the first time in her entire adult life she'd not induce a male to shoot his load.
For three months Thomas survived. Every woman in the building now had what was purported to be Thomas genitals as the background screen graphic on her computer – fudged a tad so men couldn't recognize what they were looking at; but women visitors spotted it from fifty feet.
* * * *
Finally Thomas lost his virginity.
The Swedish nurse operating the Sick Room, Quinby – that's Quinby spelt with an 'n', not a 'm', invited Thomas along with two other men and two other women to share in her favorite weekend pursuit – barrel rolling down a reasonably fast waterway. They all loved it, having a great time, going down the race in pairs in the rubber barrel. Quinby went down three times with Thomas, not touching his genitals even when both he and she were thrown together going through rapids. She made sure that one of her sizeable boobs found its way to his mouth – not easy to accomplish in the dark but it was a small barrel.
Thomas told her he loved the action and she promised to invite him again. She called him on Friday night – "Sorry, it's short notice, can you come barrel rolling tomorrow?"
"Yes," he said delighted.
"Good, I'll call you back after contacting the others."
Quinby called back. "Sorry, the others all have something on. It's just you and me. If you don't find me exciting there's no need to come."
Noticing she'd not put any emphasis on the word come, Thomas felt excited, relaxed and unthreatened so meekly said he'd come.
"Oh, you are such a kind man. There's been rain so the river is running high – we'll probably catch a two-mile roll or perhaps three, equaling my record. I'd not like to travel alone over those distances."
