Stetson pulled low, eyes wide in terror, young Tom Briscoe rode into town in a Yellow Cab. He would have preferred a horse but couldn't find the hitching rail outside his terminal at JFK. After taking a look at all the traffic and the tall buildings holding up the clouds, he was pleased as a well-fed Texas Rat Snake that the cabbie agreed to take him on the journey to Madison for one hundred bucks.
The kind cabbie turned into Madison and said, "This is it pal; your hundred has run out of steam."
Tom was left with only five bucks so didn't attempt to negotiate or toss the cabbie out and drive himself on an avenue with vehicles were as thick as ants on the way to a fiesta over a Turkey Buzzard's dropping. He began walking with an iron hard-on; it just wouldn't go down, not with all the late morning tit swells over the top of tight black dresses and sweet little asses that bobbed and bucked as the high heels clicked on the pavement.
He'd write home about this but there was no sense doing that, the nearest mailbox was fifty miles west of his family home. His father sold gas and operated a one-horse hire business. In the area where they lived in Loving County there were eight horses and three vehicles for every person so the horse had never been ridden in thirteen years and that meant it was being run at a loss. Uncle Jed visited once a year to fuck Tom's mother and swap yarns with Tom's father who was his brother.
Jed had replied no to Kate when she said, "Take me away from all this," not that there was much to be taken away from. Jed told Kate she was becoming a little too heavy in the ass and tits to compete for his attention in New York and anyway his wife would object. Instead he would send young Tom an air ticket and hire him to run coffee in the office for artists and copywriters and people who mystified him why they were on the payroll. Tom would stay with Jed's family.
Tom had asked his parents how could a guy pay people month in, month out without knowing what they did? His dad scratched his nuts, that initiating his mom to scratch her left armpit, and they reached for their drinks and said they had no idea. Because neither was enthusiastic about lifting a hand to do anything they were probably telling the truth; being industrious wasn't a concept they understood.
By lucky accident Tom found Brown's Building in which Uncle Ted's business occupied floors fourteen and fifteen. Tom had seen too many disaster movies involving elevators so took to the stairs, having to sweep aside cobwebs. A pretty young woman at reception with her boobs practically spilling out over her keyboard just in the way Microsoft had designed a receptive shape on its curving keyboards said, "Howdy partner."
Tom took off his white Stetson, flashed teeth honed on almost raw meat for all but the first two years of his twenty-four years, said 'Howdy ma'am'. The woman's eyes rolled into her head, her body convulsed hugely three times and her eyes rolled back in place and she cooed, "Oooh, that was nice. It's not everyday I'm fucked remotely. Do you have an appointment?"
"No ma'am. Could you kindly have me rustled along to Uncle Ted Briscoe?"
"Oh God, you are the protégé."
"What's that?"
"Never you mind. You won't understand. You are from Texas. Please follow me Mr Briscoe."
"You know my name. New York has half a million people..."
"Or so."
"... half a million or so people and you know my name? You must be psychic?"
"What's that?"
"Never you mind. You won't understand. You are from New York."
Jed leapt out of his chair ready to lay Fiona from reception over his desk when he saw someone was with her. He took another look and saw it was his favorite nephew. This was even better than shafting Fiona.
"Tom, welcome to City of Dreams. What's you dream Tom?"
Tom who'd followed Fiona from reception said, "I'd like the butt of this receptionist twice a day."
"Right Fiona," Jed grinned, winking at her. Give Tom your butt at the first opportunity."
"Very good sir. I'll wait outside."
Jed asked how much had the cab fare cost from the airport.
"A hundred."
"The cheating crooked swine. Just because you're Texan there was no need to fleece you. Pity you didn't get the number of the cab."
"I did sir."
Tom told Jed the number and Jed called in his PA who reminded Tom of a bulldog. Jed told her the story. "Call the cab company and demand a refund and compensation and ask that cabbie to be severely remanded. If they tell you to fuck off tell them we'll sue, taking them all the way to the Supreme Court if necessary."
"Yes sir," said the bulldog, snapping a salute and walking off rubbing her hands gleefully.
"I thought you'd have a PA you could fuck?"
"Tom this is your first lesson in advertising agency. Your Aunt Clement comes into this office so I have a PA who scares everyone shitless including Clement. Your aunt is left with the impression that she and only she is the one I fuck."
"That's brilliant sir."
"I knew it Tom. You have 'executive' written all over you."
Jed called in his son. Carl wearing a snappy suit entered. Carl, almost twenty-eight, was broad-shouldered counting the pads, with dark good looks spoilt by a curled arrogant lip. He looked at Tom disinterestedly.
"Carl, you'll remember cousin Tom don't you?"
"No."
Tom sunk a jab into Carl's belly. He folded to the floor gasping, and his father looked on impassively. Tom helped Carl to his feet.
Carl still breathing heavily asked, "What the fuck was that for?"
"You'll never forget me again, will you?"
"Oh correction, senior executive material," Jed beamed. "Carl, I'm placing Tom under your wing. Start him at the very bottom and let him find his own level. If you mistreat him he has my permission to hit you."
"He won't catch me napping next time."
"I advise you to watch it Carl. Tom is coiled steel -- have him on your side, not against you."
Tom said he'd be back at Carl's office in fifteen minutes and excused himself.
Fiona took Tom by the hand and led him into the women's rest room. She took a free condom from the dispenser, handed it to Tom and hitching up her skirt, leant over the beach. She wasn't wearing panties.
"Which hole?"
"You choose," she cooed.
They worked away, women coming and going without raising a fuss. Tom assumed this was how ad agency business works in New York.
The bulldog, who Tom had been formerly introduced to as Miss Isaacs during his tour, came to him later all smiles and handed him an envelop. "Here is your cab fare reimbursed plus another hundred in compensation."
Tom was soon running non-stop, making and delivering coffee.
A graphics designer with a ridiculously bushy moustache said, "Take this back and fetch another. It has a small spill."
"That's what the paper napkin is for sir."
"I repeat, fetch me..."
