Strip Poer Set Up

A Little Foreplay

My name is Charles. My full given birth name is Charles Daniel Smith. Right away I know what you're thinking; anybody with a name as dull as that should be consigned to a life of mediocrity. Whoever heard of a Charles Smith, a Charlie, ever making it big at anything? I might as well have been named Mr. Nobody, Mr. Pastel Walls. And with a first name like Charles, Charlie, Chuck, Chuckie, one can be damned certain I wasn't going anywhere. The ladder of success, the stairway of upward mobility was never intended for people like me anyway; at least that's what I thought for a long time.

For sure I was Charlie the Nice Guy, Good Old Chuck, Charlie the Chump, Good Ole Chumpy Chucky behind my back. And believe me, I had every name coming. I'd earned every damn one of them.

I want you to believe it. I really did earn the name Charlie the Chump. At the office where I worked I was Mr. Helpful, Mr. Always Available to help somebody with 'their' project, 'their' ambitious new plan. Then when it came time for me to get my work done, well; you know the story. I was always late, tired, and never quite right. No matter what I did, it never quite measured up. What's the old slogan; nice guys finish last?" That was me every time, Mr. Nice Guy, Mr. Finishing Last.

Now don't get me completely wrong. I did good work. I had good ideas. I was creative and talented. Hell, I was a Mensa caliber worker. That's right a card carrying, one hundred percent pure genius, but still an asshole all the same.

I suppose by now you've figured out what I look like. Well you could be wrong there. Look, I'm no Russell Crowell, but I'm not Don Knotts either. I stand at just six feet, weight in at one hundred eighty pounds, and have a thirty-three, not thirty-four which is more typical, inch waist.

I shave every day, no scruffy beard for this guy. I have dark blue eyes, sandy hair, a little unkempt, and no disfiguring scars or birthmarks. In fact I was pretty popular in high school and college. I had my share of girls. I'm not bragging; some of them were pretty girls.

I guess it's partly the nature of my job; kind of a research type of thing. I scour the Internet looking for ideas, inventions, and inventors. I'm supposed to contact them, and find ways to help get them off the ground or into a better frame of research. Yeah, that's a big part of the problem. I'm paid to help other people. I'm so busy helping other people, I forget to help good ole you know who.

Then there's the other thing. I like girls. I like them too much. I don't just mean the sex. By the way I'm a flaming heterosexual; could never see myself with another man. What I mean is, it's not just about the sex, I really just like girls. I like to look at them, talk to them, and I especially like to help them. It's that last part that's been the killer; at least it's been the big killer for me the last several months.

You see there's this girl who started work here about eight months ago. She's no voluptuous babe, but she's certainly no wall flower either. She's what I'd call kind of the kittenish type. She's pretty, she's cute, she's personable, and she got my number, yeah she sized me up right away.

Her name is Lauren Amber Railsbach, and to put it simple, she's a dish. There are maybe twelve other guys my age or a little older working in the company, not to mention an approximate equal number or so girls. Some of the guys are married, some aren't, but they're all interested in Lauren. She knows it too!

Crap, I'm interested in her, been interested in her since day one. That's been my undoing! Let me explain.

Lauren started work here just about eight months ago. She's got about the same academic credentials as me, just lacks the experience. She's smart, pretty, and personable, I know I already said that, and she's really inside my head.

Since her first day her desk has been just a few paces away from mine. She's so pretty! She comes to work wearing these beautiful little outfits. They always set off her best features, and believe me; she's loaded with best features.

She's sort of short; not quite five foot four, not thin but not plump either. She's no hard bodied athlete, but she's well put together. She has reddish hair, a little on the thin side, but it's so damn soft looking, all wispy. She has big green eyes, long lashes, a smidgen of freckles, the cutest damned ears, this pert little nose, and this great heart shaped mouth. Sometimes I pretend I'm deep in thought so I can sort of look through her but still look right at her too. I sit there at my desk; I fantasize about kissing those lips. Oh and did I say, she has dimples too. It drives me half mad to talk about her!

Her shape is just right. Her breasts look a little on the smallish side, maybe 34B. But she wears these prim little button up blouses, and she has this way of sort of moving her arms in front so that she squeezes her breasts together. I don't know what kind of bras she wears, but her nipples stick out a lot. The other men in the office are always walking by her desk just to get a look. Shit, that's my problem. She's there all the time; I can't not look!

I love the way she talks. Some women, young women, have these screechy voices. Not Lauren. Hers is soft, sweet, and melodic; like a lilting little love song, easy on the ears. I love it when she uses my name. I literally fall off my chair. She never says Charlie; it's always Charles. I could sit and listen to her talk all day long. In fact sometimes I do.

Like I said, she's had my number since day one. Of course, somebody had to be on hand as a kind of mentor, someone to show her the ropes as it were. Our boss, the big cheese, picked me. When she first came he said, "Charlie, this is Lauren. She's new here. We have high hopes for her. Show her the ropes." And that's exactly what I did.

I was Mr. helpful, Mr. considerate, and Mr. Go the extra mile from the first day, and brother did she thank me. How did she thank me? She kept doing all this smiling, and eye blinking, and doing shit with her pencils and pens. Some women have a way with writing implements, the way they fiddle with them I mean. If you ever watch, really watch, they can take a pencil, put it to their lips, twirl it around a little in their mouths, and put their tongues on the erasers in ways that can keep a man awake at night thinking about it.

Remember my desk is only a few paces away. I see everything; the curve of her legs, the twist of the ankle, the way she bends her wrists, puts a cup of coffee to those luscious lips, the way she cocks her head when she's thinking, even the way she puts a handkerchief to her nose and wipes it. I wish sometimes I was that handkerchief so I could be near that beautiful little turned up nose.

She wears these pretty little blouses with these little skirt things. They're miniskirts, but never so short as to be indecent. But for me, I see her sitting down. It's like she never just sits at her desk. She always seems to have a leg just off a little. It's like I get a little show; a hint of thigh, a glimpse of calf, a peak at knee. Some guys would say she's flirting, but I know better. This is all natural, and I love it. I really love it!

We better stop just a second. You might be getting the wrong idea. I'm no voyeur. I'm not spending my whole day just staring at her. I'm a perfectly healthy, normal man. I'm no pervert, but she's so damned pretty, so perky, and so bubbly! What can I do?

I've taken out quite a few of the girls in the office, and I've had a few semi-steady girlfriends over the last two or three years. I think girls like me. They act like they do. I've never been turned down for a date. In fact I think a couple of the girls here would like to take things to a higher level. Maybe I will someday, but I'm not quite ready just yet; not with any of them. I think I could go for Lauren though.

Honestly, I haven't asked Lauren out or anything. We've had lunch in the lunchroom several times, and twice we've gone out to the deli across the street. But I haven't asked her out. I'd like to take her out. I just don't think the time is quite right yet; maybe soon, but not quite yet. Besides what if she's the first; the first to turn me down I mean. Like I said, I've never been told no I don't want to go out with you, and honestly, from a lot of girls, being told no wouldn't be a big deal. But it would be awful if Lauren told me no. I'd be crushed; like totally blown away. Anyway, after what happened last, week I probably shouldn't ask her out. In fact, after last week, I know I'll never ask her out.

I hope I'm not boring you too much. This really is going someplace, and the title of the story really does come into play pretty soon.

What happened last week was absolutely devastating. I told you the boss had high hopes for Lauren. I did, and do, too. I want everybody to succeed. Well as it happened there was a new job opening coming up. It was going to be a promotion for somebody, and in spite of everything, I've been considered the high man on the totem pole. I was told that's what turned out to be the problem.

Well Lauren and I were both on the interview list. She was glad just to be on it. I expected to be on it. I expected the job to be mine. To make a long story short Lauren was real insecure about the interview so I helped her out. I gave her some tips, some pointers, and some ideas. Well you guessed it. I set myself up.

I'm not a scruff, but I'm not a tie guy either. I keep clean and neat and I wear good regular clothing. OK sometimes I wear jeans and a T-shirt, but mostly I'm pretty professional. Of course, you know Lauren is always pretty, pretty in a young looking way, the way that makes guys want to be helpful.

Came the day of the interview I completely forgot to get dressed up. I was clean and neat, but not all Mr. Madison Avenue if you know what I mean. Lauren got me! The day of the interview she showed up in a beautiful dark blue business suit, a slack outfit, dark shoes too with low spiked heels, and a great button up blouse; she looked adorable. I remember it. She left three buttons open at the top, just enough to give everybody a thrill, but not so much as to be over the top.

She looked great, the consummate professional. I looked; well I looked like I always look. Worse, she had her interview ahead of mine. You know what happened. She had ideas to share, my ideas, and my thoughts.

Now I don't think for a minute she did anything deliberately to beat me out. I mean she didn't deliberately plan to rip me off, but that's exactly what happened. A couple days after the interviews were over I got called like everybody else. The boss explained Lauren got the job because she had better ideas, she looked like a supervisor, and, here's the killer, they needed a woman in the slot. She got my job!

I'm not sore. Sure she got my job. She got my pay raise, my extra vacation time, and she got the window office, while I'm still stuck in the hallway.

Beyond that nothing's really changed. They brought in a man to take her desk. Now she's way down the hall in a private room so I never see her like I used to, but you know what? She keeps coming down to see me. She comes down and takes a seat and talks to me. I really miss her, but I wish she wouldn't keep coming back.

I keep thinking she really likes me. Most of the guys tell me I'm stupid. They say she only comes down to pick my brains. That's OK though. I've already interviewed with another company, our biggest competitor. I'm gone in two weeks! I'll miss the place, and I'm going to miss Lauren, but you know how it is; a man's got to do what a man's got to do.

Now let's get to the story.

Oops! Not yet!

The story will have to wait until you've heard my side. My name is Lauren Amber Railsbach, and I got hired at this 'think tank' a few months back. From what you've been told you might think I'm some kind of sexy babe, or some flirt, or worse some money grubbing bitch out get somebody else's job. None of that's true.

The fact is I got lucky. I got a job at a great company right out of college. They put me with this guy who was supposed to help me get started. His name was; can you believe it, Charlie Smith. He was anything but a Charlie Smith.

Charles, I call him Charles, is one of the most handsome men I've ever met. Not only that; he's kind, helpful, gentlemanly, and he's got a great personality, I mean a real dreamboat. I think he has this protective streak when it comes to women. It didn't take long, and I was in deep like, and after a couple of months I was in love. Scratch that; not was, am in love. I mean real love, as in maybe getting him to marry me!

I'll tell you, he's all I think about. I used to go home at night and plan what I was going to wear the next day hoping he'd notice. I tried every girl trick you could think of; squeezing my tits together, slipping him some thigh, those quirky little come on smiles men like so much.

I know where he lives, what his phone number is, what his favorite restaurants are, and I even how he likes playing computer games on the Internet. I got that information by hacking into his PC. Now would I hack into a guy's PC if I didn't like him? And don't tell me I hacked in to get at his ideas; he was always telling me that stuff. Hell, I didn't understand half of it anyway.

Now I'm not stupid. I'm pretty smart, as smart as he is, but I'm not very smart in some ways. I did everything I could to get him to pay attention to me. I don't mean being nice at work. I wanted a date; I wanted him to take me out. I wanted people to see me with him.

I tell you he's a catch! He's the kind of guy girls like to be seen with! I'd like to be seen with him; like all the time!

I'm sure you know most guys are egomaniacs. They dress up, act out, and play macho games. Not Charles, he's cool. He doesn't tell smutty jokes. He doesn't make like every girl's in love with him, and he never brags. He ogles a little bit, but I wanted him to do that.

At work he dressed nice, but he never went overboard.

He's casual and cool. I especially like it when he dresses down. He's no muscle man, but he's got good biceps, and real shoulders. I mean he probably works out a little, but I doubt if he's what you'd call the gym guy type. Who'd really want one of them anyway? They're more into themselves than anybody else. I want a guy who's into me. I wish Charles was more into me.

He probably has some weights he fiddles with at home, and maybe he jogs a little. Tell the truth he does jogs, and he jogs slow, and at night.

How do I know about the jogging and the restaurants and stuff like that. OK, I'm not a stalker, but I really like this guy. I've been trying to figure out ways to like accidentally run into him someplace, but I have the damnedest luck. I'm always just a step behind. That's how I know he jogs at night and jogs slow. I bet he jogs after dark because he is a slow poke, and, well everyone has their pride. No one sees how slow he goes in the dark. There's something about that I really like. I mean he's proud, but he's quiet about it.

There's a lot about Charles I like, I mean really like. He's quiet, hardworking, considerate, and so sweet. He has this low modulated voice. It has a calming, warming, affect, on me. Sometimes when I'm home alone in front of the television I fantasize that I'm all curled up with him beside me; we're relaxing, kissing, and cuddling. Does that sound like some self aggrandizing bitch to you?

Let me clear something up about Charles. He's not one of those strong silent types. God, I dated one of them once; strong and silent means dull and boring. Charles is interesting. He talks about things I find interesting. I like listening to him, and guess what? He listens to me. Try to find a guy who will listen! I mean really listen; like if you ask, he'll answer because he was really paying attention.

That's a good way to describe Charles. He's the kind of man a girl could cuddle with. And not be afraid he'd try to take advantage. Look, tell the truth, if he took me out, I'd want him to take advantage of me.

Let's be clear. I'm not a virgin, but I never slept around. Two guys, count em, two, in twenty-three years, and both were mistakes. The next guy is going to be the right guy. Charles looks like the right guy.

That's part of what pisses me off about him. I know he's dated other girls in the office. Girls talk you know. They all say the same things about him; gentleman, sweet, good date, and never pushy. He could have any girl he wanted. He could have me!

He's never even asked me out! Why not? I'm not Natalie Portman, but I'm no Joan Rivers either. I know I look nice. For craps sake I've bought out the stores trying to find something I thought would get him to make an offer.

Let's back up a little. I'm sorry about the damn job, the damn promotion. I wanted the interview, not the job. Even after I got the job I told the boss I didn't want it. I told him where all my ideas came from. I told him Charles was the brain. It should have been Charles's job not mine, the boss said there were other considerations. I knew what that meant. I mean I do want equal pay, and equal respect, but I wanted the better person to get this job. The better person was Charles. He shouldn't have picked me just because I'm a woman.

Look Charles is cute, handsome, muscular, lithe, a really wonderful human being, and I want him! I tried to get him by playing fair. Now I'm not only going to get him; I'm going to keep him! He says he's leaving the company; that's what he thinks! I won't allow it!

What do they say; all's fair in love and war. Well sweet cakes, sometimes a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.

So now let's get back to the real story.

Hold on a second!

You're not ready to hear any story, not yet! My name is Gerald Flynn. My wife and I, my wife's name is Tiffany, started this company from scratch. We worked our tails off to get things going. One thing we found out early on was good companies, successful companies, are only as good as the people they hire.

Tiffany and I got our hands on Charlie Smith early. He's the best! We love him. He works hard, has great ideas, helps others, and knows how to get the best out of other people without pissing them off. You don't believe me; look at what he did with Lauren. She was a raw callow kid out of college, and in just a few months he turned her into a magnificent professional. We love Charlie, and we love Lauren too!

We made a mistake! We thought we could kill two birds with one stone, and not hurt anybody. Our company is a lot bigger than it used to be. We're big enough now that we have to pay attention to certain Federal guidelines; guidelines about who to hire and who to have in the workplace.

Well we're a little light on women supervisors. Tiffany and I thought Lauren would be a good fit. We completely overlooked our clean up hitter. We missed the bus on this one. Now how do we keep Lauren, and keep Charlie too? Charlie is unhappy. He wants to leave. We need him. We want him. He's one of the key players in the company.

Now for sure, everybody is like a finger in a glass of water. Take out the finger and it's like they were never there. It's not that. It's that we want Charlie's finger in our glass of water. We can't lose him, and we want to keep Lauren too.

Tiffany and I aren't stupid. We had to come up with a way to get this right. That's how we happened on the idea for a party. We talked to Lauren about it, and got her on board. We knew it was a stupid idea, but it's the kind of stupid idea that works with extra smart people.

The Party:

Charles read the invitation. It said, "You are cordially invited to a special party at the Flynn's. A Special surprise awaits those who come, r.s.v.p. requested." He thought about it. At first he was absolutely against going, but Tiffany had personally asked him to come, and Gerald had personally brought the invitation around. He said it was important that I be there.