(This will make more sense if you read the first chapter, but honestly, you seem like a bright person and should be able to figure out what is going on with very little effort.)
*
It took me a few minutes to gather my thoughts after Yvette's incredible blow job. I resumed my quest for the bathroom, and after opening only two doors I found it. After relieving my bladder, I decided I needed a shower. Yvette's post blow job tongue bath had been delightful, but I had a feeling I would smell a little funky to someone I hadn't just had sex with. After a very refreshing shower, I stepped out into the narrow hallway just as confused as I had been all morning.
"There you are!" A rich sultry voice said from my right. I turned towards the voice. An attractive older woman with rich auburn hair strode down the hall towards me on five inch stiletto heels. Her stylish dark skirt was cut at least two inches above her knees and showed off a tasty peek of her white stocking clad thighs. She wore a pale ivory blouse with shoulder pads in it big enough to land a DC-10 on.
She stepped in front of me. Her makeup walked the line perfectly between whorish and clown-like. Yes, her makeup was over the top, but it did highlight her smoldering violet eyes.
I glanced down. The top two buttons on her blouse were undone and the cleavage this woman was rocking was incredible. She made poor Yvette look like a cub scout.
"Dick!" She snapped. My eyes moved back up to eye level with an almost audible click.
"Why on Earth are you wearing those ridiculous pajamas?" She demanded looking at my sweats. "I didn't think you wore pajamas," she said glancing down at my crotch and absentmindedly licking her lips.
She looked back up at me. "Can you hear what I'm saying Dick?
"Rick," I squeaked. The word just came out on its own.
"What?" She was looking at me like I was an idiot. I noticed I was getting that look a lot lately.
"My name is Rick." I muttered only because that is my name. (It's Rick Martin, sorry I didn't introduce myself sooner.)
The woman rolled her eyes at this news. "I don't have time for your shenanigans today Dick. Just put your suit on, so you won't be late for work." She marched away from me, but sneered, "Again," right before she walked down the stairs.
Work? What the hell happened to my weekend? I headed to "my" room to get dressed, because quite frankly that woman scared me.
When I got in the room I opened my closet and didn't feel warm and fuzzy about my wardrobe choices. There were three pairs of knock off designer jeans, some cheap long sleeve casual western shirts, a tennis outfit, and three Saturday Night Fever white polyester disco suits. Seeing as the woman had said suit, I slid into one of the sets of disco duds. The only shoes that were even remotely dressy were some two inch platform brown bombers. I looked at myself in the mirror and muttered; "maybe I'm a dance instructor?" I gingerly walked out of the room and tried to walk down the stairs without turning an ankle.
I found my way into the kitchen. The older woman was looking out the window sipping from an oversized martini glass. My first thought was "who the hell has a cocktail at, "I glanced at the clock on the wall above her, "8:45 in the morning?"
She glanced up at me and smiled. "There is my darling son." She walked up to me and gave my cheek an air kiss. She smelled exactly like straight gin. "Don't you look professional this morning?"
Son? I thought, gulping as that word sunk in. The older woman didn't give me a chance to say anything. "Well your car keys are on the table. Have a good day at work."
I picked up the playboy key chain on the table and glanced back at the older woman. She was in the process of sucking down another ¼ inch of gin from her fishbowl martooni glass. She just raised her penciled in eyebrow at me as if to say, "You're still here?" I turned and tottered out the door.
I walked outside and came to an immediate halt when I saw "my" car in the driveway. My jaw dropped on a hinge and I heard myself say "no fucking way."
Parked in the drive way was a humungous orange and white muscle car. I dimly remembered a TV show from my childhood where two cops had dispensed justice from a car that looked just like this one.
I walked over, got in the car and settled into my orange and white stripped nogahyde bucket seat. The car started with a throaty rumble. "Well that's not too bad," I thought to myself. I pulled out into the street.
The house I had come from was one of a long line of almost identical track houses that lined both sides of the street. I slide the car into drive and headed down the street.
Actually I was starting to feel good about this whole going to work thing. In a car it would be easier for me to find a landmark or a street sign that would let me know just where the hell I was at, and if worst came to worst, I could always stop at a gas station and buy a map.
I reached the stop sign at the end of the block and made an arbitrary left hand turn. I drove about two blocks through an almost deserted suburban neighborhood and came to a stoplight on a busy city street. I smiled and made a right hand turn. My plan was working like a charm. I began to scan the sides of the streets for signs or landmarks.
And the next thing I knew I was pulling into a parking space in front of an office building. What the hell? Apparently I had a blackout for an unknown period of time. It's a wonder I wasn't in an accident. I got out of the car to figure out just where I was now.
"Hey Dick," a voice rang out. I turned, a guy my age in an almost identical disco suit came walking up to me. He had a dirty blond mullet and a Magnum PI mustache. Not only that but his disco shirt was unbuttoned down to his navel and he was flashing more chest hair then Yogi Bear. "Ready for another day in the salt mines buddy?" He said with a big goofy grin.
I was at work? Great, I guess there was no way I was getting out of this work thing. "Uh sure, pal."
