On Friday, February 14th 8:43am, I pulled out the chair and sat down at my little desk in front of Mr. Madison's office. A sigh escaped my mouth almost against my will. It wasn't easy, being a personal assistant to one of the wealthiest entrepreneurs in the country. For the most part, I was sort of a male secretary, which was something I didn't want my buddies from college to find out. But the job did have its benefits, and it was better than doing bookkeeping for my mother to help pay my way through school. I want to get my degree in business law, a so a little bit of secretarial work for one of the biggest men in town isn't going to kill me, and I'm secure enough about my manhood to take a small blow like this every once in a while.
"Daniel, will you come here for a moment? I've got a special job for you," Mr. Madison said in his deep, confident voice. He was waving a paper at me though the open door. I stood up promptly and walked into his office. He slammed the paper down on the wooden desk and I reached out to examine it.
"This document gives you temporary rights to make medical decisions for my daughter Dominique. I need you to pick her up from football practice and drive her to her yearly check-up. Then do whatever she wants you to, and take her home. She'll probably want to go to the mall. I will of course reimburse you for whatever purchases you make on her behalf."
I examined the note more closely and was taken aback.
"Sir, it says here that your daughter turned eighteen last month. Wouldn't she have to make her own medical decisions?"
"This is a family matter, which I don't need to discuss with you. The bottom line is, she signed back over her guardianship to me until such a time when she finds it fit to settle down with a husband. Thus, she is still under my protection." Mr. Madison batted his hand against the document in my hands. "And now, she's under your protection," he said with a sly wink, making it clear that I was to leave his office.
What did he mean by that? I wondered as I waited for the elevator down to the lobby. Mr. Madison couldn't have been suggesting that I take advantage of his high-school-age daughter. That was too vulgar to even imagine. Wouldn't that imply Mr. Madison had a less than conventional relationship with this Dominique? That was such a dirty idea, I wouldn't even let myself think of it.
My mind swam with images of a beautiful busty blonde, whimpering for me to touch her, to make her writhe with pleasure. The elevator descended lower and lower, and my thoughts became more and more base. I could take her, feel myself in her body, push up against her cervix and make her moan. Oh, it was too much! I was beginning to swell in my dress-pants. This could be embarrassing.
I guess you've noticed that I'm a bit hard up. Well, the truth is, I'm a twenty-year-old virgin. It's not that I'm a total nerd or anything. I'm actually trying to save myself for someone special. Yeah, it's old fashioned and clichΓ©, but I've read a lot of dime-store romance novels over the summers while growing up, because that and stale coffee was all the entertainment my mom kept in her office to keep bookkeepers from going insane from too much number-crunching. Well, some of that garbage just stuck. I don't tell my friends about that. Had I told them, it would take a miracle to convince them that I'm not gay.
And what kind of a girl plays football? I asked myself, getting into my black 2000 Jetta, my dad's old car I inherited when I graduated high school. Mr. Madison was one hundred percent, ancestors from the Mayflower, American, and proud of it, so I doubted he meant his daughter played soccer. Ugh, she was probably some sort of butch lesbian, that was the only kind of girl that tried out for football teams. No wonder she would rather be daddy's little princess than just get herself hitched to some guy.
I hate to admit it, but that thought crushed the lovely fantasy I've been having in the elevator. Not that I expected a girl named Dominique to be my one true love. Really, what were people with so much W.A.S.P. pride doing, giving their daughter such a name? It was odd. But then again, rich people always seemed to name their children something weird. It wasn't really any of my business.
I opened a personal file and examined it. There was her legal information, name, social security number, driver's license number, cell phone number, pager number, home address, name and high school (oddly, it was a public school, maybe because they have better sports teams), and a list of her doctors: gynecologist, dentist, personal trainer, dietician, psychologist. All rich girls seem to have shrinks.
I hoped I was not scheduled for a gynecological visit. I didn't feel, um, qualified to make these kinds of decisions.
I put down the file on the passenger seat and began backing out of my parking spot. Why did I feel so nervous?
I guess it was because she was the boss' daughter. If I did anything wrong, anything, I could lose my job in the time it took Dominique to make a cell phone call to her father's office. That thought sent cold shivers down my spine.
She could get me fired for any number of things, even though I was disciplined enough not to act out my little fantasies on unwilling women. If she didn't like the color of my tie, or didn't think I was polite enough, she could have me fired. If she didn't like the way my large nose sat on my face, she could have me fired. The whole word revolved on this girl's opinion of me. My very future was at stake.
I drove along the streets of New York City, feeling stupid and irritated and trying to calm myself. Why would anyone drive in a city like this? It would be faster to walk. But my job contract clearly stated that I was supposed to drive a "nice car" to work. I guess it sends a classier message than showing up by subway.
Traffic was horrible, but since Mr. Madison had the foresight to send me off early, I arrived shortly after practice had ended. The coach was supervising the cleanup and half the boys were already in the locker room.
I decided the best idea was to approach the coach and explain the situation to him. I didn't want to risk calling Dominique's cell phone; the last thing I wanted to do was to make her think I had her on a leash or something. I didn't want to complicate our relationship right off the bat.
It was bad enough that my brain kept imagining my hands on her breasts and stomach and the soft feel of her skin. She's probably a butch lesbian, I told myself, almost in self-defense. It was easy to believe this, after getting a look at some of the fellows on her team. They were buff enough they could probably break me like a twig without batting an eyelash. And I'd have to walk past them in order to talk to the coach. How would I explain myself? Would he think I was some sort of a pervert?
I put on my best lawyer face and marched up to the coach as though I couldn't see the players gawking at me. I shook his hand politely and explained that I was hired by Dominique's father to escort her home.
The coach wiped his hand after I touched it, as though there was something slimy on it, but politely informed me that Dominique was in the locker room and ordered one of the boys to escort me.
The way the fellow sized me up, I wasn't flattered. Either he was thinking of pounding me into the ground, or had homosexual tendencies. Either way, it put me off a bit.
"Hey, we're heading to the boys' locker room!" I exclaimed. I was somewhat afraid that this guy was trying to take advantage of me. He was big enough that I couldn't fight him off with my muscles. I had to keep my wits.
"You're looking for Dominique, aren't you?" he said blankly. "She's in the men's locker room."
"What? But she's a woman!" I exclaimed. I couldn't believe that a red-blooded, American high school football team could handle any woman, no matter how butch, sharing the showers with them. It would dissolve into an orgy in no time. What sort of girl was this Dominique?
"She's part of the team, and she insists on being treated just the same as everyone else," my escort said flatly. "Her father donates a lot of money for our uniforms and equipment and stuff, so she's earned certain privileges."
"Ok. I'd better meet her," I said. Dominique had to either be some sort of extreme feminist, or a major slut, to want to strip with ten high school guys glaring at her, and I wasn't really anxious to meet either. My mom was bony, liked to wear suits to work, and decided to keep her name after she married, but she wasn't what I'd call a hard-core feminist, and I had gotten enough attention from sluts in high school.