Pro Boner
There's a first time for everything.
First, there's the knock at my door that almost makes me fall from my chair, and then there's that same monotonous tone from my secretary.
"Mrs. Blair, your client is ready. Shall I let him into your office now?" she asks from behind my closed door.
Ugh, great. Naptime just has to be over, doesn't it?
I think to myself in my sleep-deprived stupor. An hour ago, I was doing research for around six different cases before dozing off.
"Uh, give me a moment, Linda. I just need to clear some things up first," I drowsily reply, almost slurring. After a couple more seconds of shut-eye, I finally force myself to get up. I'm really going to miss laying my head on my cool desk.
Once I'm finally up, I stand in front of the mirror on my door to fix my messy, long black hair. Usually, I tie it into a bun, but this time, I just straighten it out. When I finally accomplish that almost-arduous task, I take one final glance at myself to make sure I look alright for my client. Clothing-wise, I'm in my gray, sleeveless turtle-neck sweater for today, as well as my black blazer, my ever-so-slightly tight office skirt, my black strapped high heels, and my thinly framed, square-rimmed glasses, which often leave people lost in my dark-blue eyes due to how strongly they emphasize them. Figure-wise, at twenty-eight years old, I'm taller than average and unintentionally voluptuous; my ass subtly protrudes from my skirt. Adding to this has been my biweekly visits to the yoga studio near my home since last year. As for my breasts, they have always been on the larger side, much to the amusement of my friends in high school, and the arousal of all the boys, who loved ogling at nerdy little me all too frequently. Even today, men approach me everywhere I go, and it sure as hell isn't for legal advice. To my disappointment, my skin still looks kind of pale, despite the hot summer weather as of late.
"At least it looks flawless as ever," I mutter under my breath. Finally, I turn around and gaze at my office. It's an oak-paneled, grey-carpeted room, with my desk right in front of me, displaying on top of it my transparent acrylic placard that has my name in bold white lettering: Heather Blair, Attorney at Law. Behind it is a vertical window that covers one section of the wall, and on both sides of that are my bookshelves loaded with most of the basic research I need. On my far-left is a black leather couch I lay on every once in a while, when I have time to kill, while on my far-right is a small table with a coffee machine on top of it and a bottle of strong, four-year-old whiskey in one of the drawers.
Beautifully, the afternoon sun shines through my window, and I find myself almost lost in it, until I shake myself back to reality and clear up my desk by stacking all of my papers and books in one corner of the room while all of my pens go into my desk-drawers.
"Okay, Linda. Let him in," I say afterwards. The door opens, and a young man in a red flannel shirt and denim jeans walks into the room.
Woah, he's handsome
. Along with the flannel and jeans, he has a stubbled, sort of chiseled face, chestnut hair, and sun-kissed skin, and through his shirt, I can even see some slight muscle.
"'Evening," he says, his voice rather husky. "I'm Derrick Smith. So, you're that lawyer lady on those commercials, right? Heather Blair?"
"Uh, yeah, that's me, alright. Ha!"
"Well, it's nice to officially meet you. You're even prettier in person."
"Oh, thanks. You too, hands- I mean, Mr. Smith." Almost immediately, I feel the room temperature rise a couple degrees. Even more-so, my heart starts beating so fast and hard that I feel as though Derrick could see it through my clothes. When he stretches out his hand to shake mine, and I shake it, I feel a strong, yet gentle grip.
Oh, come on, Heather. You're pushing thirty...and married for crying out loud!
I curse myself.
I just...need to compose myself and breathe slowly. He's just really handsome is all. I'm faithful to my husband. I'm faithful to my husband. I'm faithful to my husband.
Throughout the conversation, I repeat this mantra to stay focused.
"So, Mr. Smith. What've we got today?" I continue. Taking his hand, we walk over to my couch and begin discussing his defense.
After about an hour or so of talking, we finally come to an agreement that we would expand more on this the next time we meet. During this time, I gradually become more and more comfortable around him. And yet, simultaneously, I couldn't help but feel mesmerized by his own deep-green eyes. And then, out of nowhere, it hits me with the force of a freight train, and my heart suddenly stops.
Crap, I forgot about...that amendment!
It all started about last year or so, with the case of a man who was wrongly convicted of murder. All the evidence seemed to point to this -- his nervous behavior around police, his reactions to the questions asked of him, and his overall tendency to uncontrollably shake and stutter; he simply couldn't help it. With the cards stacked against him, he was sentenced to life in prison -- until he appealed his sentence and brought up his medical documents pertaining to his diagnosis regarding his shaking and stuttering. He served eight months of his prison sentence before finally being released, and in the wake of this, there was outrage about the way the justice system handled things. As a result, a new amendment to the constitution was passed -- the twenty-eighth amendment.
Also known as the Wilson Amendment (named after the wrongly convicted man), it declared that all lawyers were to receive proper instruction in the realm of oral sex in relation to their sexual orientation. Lesbian female lawyers performed cunnilingus on their female clients, gay male lawyers performed fellatio on their male clients, et cetera, et cetera. Both clients and attorneys became required to disclose their sexual orientation to each other. Orgasms through oral stimulation became just as important as a proper legal defense so as to ensure that clients were as relaxed and comfortable as they could possibly be. And unfortunately, I became a lawyer in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or so I thought.
Derrick proceeds to get up from my couch. Unsure as to how to address this part of my career, I impulsively get on my knees and place my hand on his crotch. Surprised, he quickly recoils from my actions and wears an expression of borderline fear.
"Mrs. Blair! What the hell are you doing?!"
Damnit! Why did I do that?!
For a short moment, I close my eyes and swallow, before slowly informing Derrick of this part of the business I find myself oh-so hesitant to describe, let alone perform in.
"Oh...um, I apologize for the suddenness of my actions, Mr. Smith, but I was under the impression that you read the full contents of our contract before-hand."
Confused, he replies, "Err, no, I didn't. How was I supposed to expect...
that
? I mean, aren't you supposed be a lawyer, not a hooker?"
"Ugh, please don't refer to me by that term, Mr. Smith," I say, shuddering at that word. "Anyway, to explain, as part of the rule of Attorney-Client Privilege under our contract and the laws of the Constitution from the passing of the twenty-eighth amendment, you are automatically granted the privilege of utilizing my mouth in any way you see fit pro bono."
God, it's amazing I didn't stutter at all while saying that mouthful...speaking of which.
"I'm sorry, but could you put that in actual English, please?"
Oh, come on! This should be obvious to you already.
Slightly impatient by this point, but still wanting to remain professional, I continue in a much blunter fashion.
"You are entitled to free fellatio from me, as per the twenty-eighth amendment of the constitution, which was passed just back in January."
And just like that, Derrick's face transitions from a look of surprise to one of childish excitement. Boys, they really are all the same, aren't they? Furtively, I giggle, and I see that Derrick notices the ghost of a smile on my face.
"Wait, you've got to be kidding me. 'free fellatio' as in a free blowjob from a hot lawyer like you?" he says.
"Thank you for the compliment," I say as I feel a faint blush grow on my cheeks.
This is so weird. I get told that all the time. Why is he any different?
"And yes, you are entitled to a free blowjob from me under the rule of Attorney-Client Privilege. Studies have shown that the world of law is extremely stressful for both attorneys and clients, which can lead to all sorts of legal problems. Hence, all lawyers are now given instruction in oral sex, even myself."
"Awesome! I could really use a blowjob right about now." Derrick excitedly moves my hands to the lower part of his hips and unbuckles his belt. However, before he gets down to unzipping his pants after unbuckling his belt, I stop him in his tracks, putting my hands on his.
"Wait. Before we do this, I..." A pang of reluctance suddenly hits me as the rest of my sentence fails to come out of my mouth.
"What is it, Mrs. Blair?" Derrick asks with a hint of concern in his tone.
Damnit! Just tell him already!
I take a deep breath and sigh, before finally getting the full extent of my thoughts out.
