It had been a long, intense month of litigation. People who have learned about trials from television have no idea of how much energy a long trial can demand, the emotional drain that results from a long period of intense concentration.
My client had been sexually harassed, humiliated and demeaned by Vice President E, one of the top officers of the largest corporation in the state. They were defended by an entire platoon of lawyers. My associate had left me less than a month before the trial, and I had been on my own. Yet, I knew that I had gotten my case across. In spite of all their attempts to discredit my client, humiliate her again, I knew that the jury had seen through their case. The weeks of trial, the years of preparation were about to pay off.
When the verdict came in, I found I was right. The verdict was more than I had hoped for. The judge thanked the jury and dismissed them.
The next day, I got the message from Judge Santos. She wanted me to meet her in her chambers. Judge Santos is a tall woman, slender, about 50 years old. Dark hair (probably dyed), and piercing dark eyes. She is considerate and patient in the court room, but there is never any question about who is in charge. If you show any disrespect, or ignore her instructions, she can put you in your place with just a few words.
I went to her chambers, and was ushered in by her secretary, who left us alone. She was not wearing her robe, but even in a white blouse and long skirt, she retained her regal bearing. "Mr. Mike," she said, looking directly into my eyes, "I have bad news for you. One of the jurors confessed, after the trial, that she knew Vice President E, and that he had abused her when he was a young executive. You know that I should declare a mistrial."
I felt as if my entire life was collapsing around me. I didn't know if I had the energy to do this again. But something was off. Why was I here alone? Where was the phalanx of company lawyers?
"Your Honor, you know the verdict was right. The evidence was there. Surely this isn't necessary."
"Well, Mike, there may be an alternative. I've been watching you through the trial, and I very much approve of the way you handle yourself. I like a man who can treat a woman in authority with respect, without appearing either insincere or overly obsequious. However, there is a time for a man to show that he truly understands how to serve a powerful woman."
"Your Honor?" I gulped. For the first time I could remember in a legal setting, I was speechless.
"I am having a party next Tuesday for a few close friends," she said. "I want you to be the entertainment." She handed me a piece of paper with the address. "Be there at 8:00. Sharp. And wear that nice new grey suit. With this underneath." She handed me a paper bag. I started to open it. "Don't open it until you are getting ready to come to our party."
On Tuesday, I couldn't concentrate on my work at all. I knew I would do whatever Judge Santos wanted, but I couldn't bring myself to face it. I went home, showered, laid out my suit, and finally opened the bag. It contained a pair of black, thong underwear: an elastic for the waist, a strap for the back, and a bag for the front to hold my package. I'd never warn anything like that. I slid them on. The strap slid into the crack of my ass, feeling uncomfortable and yet, creating a tingling of arousal as well. The silk material of the bag felt wonderful on my manhood, which began to swell. I looked at myself in the mirror. Not bad for a 51-year-old. I keep myself in shape.
I put on my suit, with a new red tie. I looked very professional and distinguished. I drove to the address on the paper. A large, but not grandiose ranch style house in a quiet suburban neighborhood. My palms were sweating, my heart pounding as I rang the bell.
Judge Santos answered the door. She still looked very professional, a blue skirt falling just below her knees, and a red silk blouse. Not buttoned all the way to her neck now, though. She looked at her watch. "Ah right on time."
She led me to the living room, which was dimly lit, with music from the late 60's playing. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that there were four other women present. One was Judge O'Malley, a large, friendly, red-haired woman. Another, in her mid-60's, I recognized as a well known law school professor. The others were strangers to me.
"As you know" Judge Santos addressed the room, "Mr. Mike has agreed to provide our entertainment tonight. Before he begins, would any of you like him to refresh your drinks?"
I took their drink orders, and Judge Santos pointed me into the kitchen, where I found a bar laid out. I laid out the drinks on a tray, and grabbed a quick gulp of scotch to calm my nerves. As I carried the tray in, I heard Judge O'Malley comment that I looked good as a waiter in my suit.
"I'm sure he'll look even better out of it," was the reply.
I delivered the drinks, only confusing the orders of the two women I didn't recognize. Judge Santos then said, "We have heard that you are a good dancer. We would like you to dance for us."
"What? I used to be, but I'm not a young man anymore."
