Gifted Grifter #12: Julie Whips Wall Street
Our seed money now in hand, we opened up two online stock trading accounts, one in my name and one in Julie's. To avoid the suspicion two separate accounts doing substantially similar trades might generate if noticed, we set our accounts up with different brokers. For an additional fee, we arranged for the brokers to pay estimated taxes and capital gains out of our accounts as needed, leaving us free to just do day trading. With any luck, they would be up and running by the time we got to New York.
I wanted Julie to control her own portfolio. I knew that was what she wanted, that she relished the challenge of succeeding in a completely different domain. I also knew that she would defer to me if I wanted to do her trading for her. But this was an area where my feelings about Julie were still somewhat paternalistic; I wanted to see her develop her skills and her self-confidence in her abilities outside of the bedroom. I recognized that fostering her personal and economic independence would likely hasten what I considered inevitable; that she would outgrow me and move on to someone better. But because I loved her, I would rather help her grow her own wings and take pride in watching her soar on her own someday than try to selfishly clutch on to something that deserved to be free.
As soon as the stock trading accounts were set up, we got back in the truck and left Las Vegas. We made it into Colorado on the first day; the second day was even longer but late that night we pulled up in front of my apartment. I was embarrassed by the state it was in; I had left a week ago expecting a two-day rendezvous with Julie. I never expected to be bringing her back with me, or that when I arrived I would have just a couple of days to get my affairs in order before moving on to the Big Apple.
My situation was a little different from what Julie's had been (see
Gifted Grifter Ch. 10: A slight change of plans
). She hadn't wanted to just empty her condo out because her ex-boyfriend was still living there (as confirmed by her stepbrother). Me, I was renting and needed to get everything out by the end of the month, when my lease was up. We decided to just box everything up and pack it up on the truck, then dump the nonessential stuff in a storage facility, either upstate or in Jersey. It soon became clear that we would need a bigger truck, so we trade in the one we had been driving for a 16-footer. It was now my turn to face parents disappointed with my sudden decision to move far away. I did, however, introduce Julie to them, something she had avoided. There was a bit of raised eyebrow at my new, hot, young and gorgeous girlfriend; I'm sure they took her for a gold digger and expected her to break my heart after she was done with me. In some ways, I agreed on many counts—but I knew that it was well worth the ride while it lasted. Not to mention, my money-making scheme wouldn't work without her special talents—when eventually she did outgrow me, I would hopefully be financially set for life.
Two long days of driving later, we arrived in New York. For our first home together, we rented a room in nice, relatively unknown hotel just past Verdi Square on the upper west side. It was primarily a residential neighborhood, and the rooms in this hotel were actually mini-apartments with living rooms and kitchenettes that could be rented by the day or by the month.
We were both nervous about whether our plan would really work in real life. Julie, for her role as the extractor of information, kept worrying about how to dress the part. I told her that she should look like a Wall Street professional that just so happened to also be young and beautiful. A business suit seemed a must, but a skirt cut well above the knee and maybe a suggestive yet not overly revealing neckline would help her gain attention. She didn't really have anything that fit the bill, since pretty much her whole wardrobe was way too revealing, so we hiked over to Fifth Avenue to find her some business attire.
At one store, Julie was trying on shoes. She was mostly in the market for basic pumps, but she also tried on a pair of those stiletto heels that have the little ankle strap to keep them from falling off. I watched Julie walking around the store in them, getting a feel for them on her feet. Her shapely legs were accentuated by the sexy little ankle strap, and I started to get hard watching her. As discreetly as I could, I adjusted my pants to better accommodate their suddenly-larger occupant. Julie happened to see me adjust myself, looked down at the shoes, and put two and two together.
"I'll take these," she told the salesperson, "do they come in any other colors?"
She ended up buying three pairs of them, just because they had gotten a rise out me in the store. "Are you sure? Are they comfortable?" I asked.
"They're fine," she said, "I wouldn't want to walk all he way to Battery Park in them, but that's not what they're for." As she said that, she surreptitiously stroked the outside of my pants, forefinger and index finger parted in a V-shape so that one stroked each side of my penis on the way up. In response my dick did its best to break through two layers of cloth and leap into her hand, but fortunately the fabric held. But that, friends, is my Julie in a nutshell.
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On day one of our plan, Julie wore a sapphire blue business suit and a white blouse. We took the subway downtown and assumed our positions at the restaurant he had picked as our first target when it opened at 11. She sat at the bar, in a spot people would pass on the way to the bathroom, and picked at a salad. I sat at a single table in the back corner. We both had our mindreaders on.
Julie wasn't wearing a watch. When likely men went by on the way to the bathroom she would ask them "Can you tell me what time it is? I have to meet with my broker about my stock portfolio at..." and she would pick a time 45 minutes from then. The idea was that the keywords "broker" and "portfolio" would make businessmen who had inside information to think along lines of "don't invest in Company X, they're missing earnings" or "if you only knew that company Y is in talks to be bought out by Company Z." It was rather frustrating work, though; most of the people Julie talked to were essentially grunts, people that did the real work and didn't know the kinds of information that would cause stock prices to sway. Over the course of three hours of lunch, however we would usually get one or two good tips.
After the 1:00 lunch, Julie and I took the subway home and logged in to our trading accounts. We discussed the day's tips and what we thought we should do. One broker knew that a major retailer would miss its earnings estimate when it reported at 4:00; that stock was due to come down, but how much? The other good tip was that a private equity firm was looking to buy out a truck rental firm—but we had no idea how soon, or how good the offer would be. They were, however, due to make a quarterly report. We decided to split the different; Julie shorted the retailer, I bought the truck rental firm.
Four o'clock hit, the markets closed, and news announcements were made. Julie put in a limit order to buy at $3 below what she had short sold in the after-hours market. As soon as the announcement came, the stock dropped a buck-fifty, but then seemed to stabilize. She then put in a stop order to buy at $1 less than she had sold. As it happened, the price never trigged either in after-hours, so she set up to buy to cover at market price first thing in the morning; she ended up clearing nearly $2 a share on 2500 shares. Nevertheless, only one of our tips had come in, and we had cleared almost 5 grand in day one (mine would hit two days later). We were ecstatic.
We went out to dinner to celebrate. Afterwards, we walked around exploring our neighborhood. Still, we were home by 9, leaving us in an unfamiliar position: down time. In our previous meetings, we had either been short on time or doing other things, and usually both. As a result, we usually had sex right away when we got to where we were sleeping that night. But we weren't going to have sex for four hours straight—at least not every day—and it was much too early to go do bed. Thus, we found ourselves with unstructured casual time to spend with each other, time to do something together that wasn't sexual in nature. I'm not much of TV watcher, at the moment neither of us had books, and we didn't have an Internet connection yet. We sat and talked some, but neither of us really had anything in particular to say, having spent most of the last week driving a truck cross-country with nothing to do but talk. Eventually Julie sat in an armchair in the living room watching TV while I sat at the kitchenette counter re-reading the newspaper. We weren't doing the same thing, but just sharing the same room with her had a nice feel to it.
A couple of article I had missed in the financial section caught my attention, so I was immersed in my reading and not paying close attention to Julie. At one point, I noticed the sound on the TV being turned way down, but didn't think much of it.
I heard a soft grunting noise. I looked up from my paper and over at Julie. She was slunk down low in the chair, one leg resting on each of the armrests; her panties dangling loosely from one her ankles. She had pulled her skirt up, and was playing with herself. Well, playing and displaying; she was opening herself up wide with her hands, giving me a full beaver shot, then stroking her clit or sinking fingers into her pussy. It must be bedtime!
Julie was watching me watch her. I dropped the paper, but I stayed sitting in the chair—this was a show worth watching. Julie bit her lip seductively, spreading her lips open once more. Then she used her left hand to lift her shirt up over her breasts, one side at a time, while masturbating with her right. She watched herself tweak one nipple then the other to make them erect; it didn't take very long for that to happen. Then she turned her attention back towards me, continuing to rub her clitoris with her right hand.
She beckoned for me with her free hand. I engaged all the self-control I could muster so that I just walked over towards her at a normal pace; my insides, racing, would have had me scamper over to her like a lab rat, and that would not have been very dignified—or sexy. I stopped at a 45-degree angle to the corner of the chair, within her reach and yet at an angle where I could keep watching her play with herself.
She looked up at me with lusty eyes, then bit her lip again and closed them. She spread her sex wide with both hands, then darted the index finger of her right hand quickly in and out of the opening while rubbing her clit with the index finger of her left. She started breathing deeply; I'd never seen her masturbate like this, and I suspect she could bring herself to orgasm in just a few minutes this way. But I wasn't going to wait to find out—if Julie was having to masturbate to get off, clearly I was shirking my responsibilities!
