The Pest

It's after seven when I finally leave work. Today has been a long, tough day. Aside from a couple of short breaks to visit the Lady's powder room, I've had my head in a spreadsheet for the last twelve hours. That's not healthy. I ache in all the wrong places.

The reason? You guessed it. My boss.

He's called Justin, a Special Executive dropped into the post by our Corporate Overlords. His mission is to turn around this failing section, to bring costs under control, and to improve staff retention. Morale and productivity are at an all-time low, so he says.

Alas, poor Justin faces something of an uphill task. The previous management ran this team into the ground over too many years and most of the remaining staff are simply biding their time until another assignment comes along or they're made redundant.

So, Justin is an appropriate name for this wandering financial troubadour in that if he doesn't succeed then Justin will become Just-out. That's his joke. Not ours.

Yeah, right.

And, predictably, he's making our lives difficult. So much for staff retention and morale. Like I said, nearly everyone I can think of is heading for the door, myself included.

Whilst my productivity isn't bad - actually it's pretty good - it's the least of my concerns. My issue is that Justin seems to have the hots for me. He's made two rather blatant passes this week alone and it's only Tuesday.

Truth be told, I have no interest in the man. His is hair is long and greasy, his suits are naff and shiny, and his handshake feels like you've just grabbed a rather flaccid Turbot (it's a fish). Simply put, he's just not my type. At all. He gives off the wrong kind of vibe, and his energy is all twisted up and knotted.

Even though I've either politely declined or simply ignored him, and on one occasion, suggested that I'd rather stick my head in the cat's arse than go on a date with him, my no-go attitude doesn't stop Justin pressing his luck. Which is why I try not to be alone with Justin.

Thankfully, my desk is in the middle of the main office area and I'm usually surrounded on all sides by co-workers so he tends not to do or say anything inappropriate when there are witnesses. Similarly, all of the floors in this building are covered 24/7 by CCTV so I'm safe so long as I don't spend too much time in the corridors or on the stairwells. I've even invented a fake fiancee, Adam, and taken to wearing an engagement ring I bought from a charity shop for a couple of quid as a means of discouraging his advances. A shame then that Adam hasn't made any real difference to Justin's efforts.

I'm at my most vulnerable after hours, when the office clears and everyone else heads for the hills. That's when Justin prefers to make his move, and that's why I'm heading for the door earlier than usual. I'm actually delighted to be out of that place even though I have three hours of self-inflicted misery in the form of a visit to the Gym ahead of me.

I'm in the main car park when I spot Justin leaving by the rear entrance. His Beamer is parked in the Executive ranks so his walk is shorter than mine but I'm ahead of him and pulling out of the main gates by the time he's even started his German-built Behemoth.

Alas, a quick glance in my rear-view mirror suggests that he's behind me. Some distance behind me but... I'm kinda worried, frankly.

Fifteen minutes later, I pull into the gym parking lot and head for Reception. My friend, Dotty, is waiting impatiently within. I'm her coach, her sponsor, her Godsend, in her war on her weight. Poor Dotty is clocking in at just over twenty seven stones - nearly four hundred pounds in old money - and I've offered to provide help and reassurance on her journey back to a healthy BMI. Dotty is eager to get going, and to keep going. She's down by twenty pounds in just two months so we're moving in the right direction.

Dotty heads up to the Torture Chamber to get the ball rolling. I need a shower so I make my way up to the Changing Rooms to freshen up.

Showered and buzzing, I join Dotty in the Ladies' section a few minutes later.

"Oh... fuck..." I whisper to myself as we mount the Ski-Walk in tandem.

"Wassup?" asks Dotty.

"My Boss," I reply. "He's just pulled up out front..."

"Where?"

"There, next to the red Ford."

"Oh... I see him," says Dotty. "The Silver Beamer? He looks like he's a right prick. A long way up himself. He's headed for Reception..."

"Oh... shit..." I hiss.

"Well, colour me purple and spray me with Barbecue sauce but this smacks of being majorly uncool," whispers Dotty. "This could end badly."

And it does...

An hour later and Dotty and I are relaxing by the weights. I've raised my personal best and can now deadlift eighty pounds without straining. My goal is one hundred.

Justin enters by the main doors, accompanied by one of the Instructors - the usual "Welcome to our Gym" speech.

This is our cue to return to the Changing Rooms. However, rather than dressing, we instead slide into some swimwear. Our suffering isn't even close to an end. We have around one hundred lengths of the Pool ahead of us before we can call time on this evening's torment.

We're well and truly in the Deep End when our problems begin. Justin is now lounging in the Jacuzzi and obviously waiting for us. He's all waving and smiles, and indicates that we should join him. Nope. "Sorry," I explain as politely as I can. "We have a training regime and a Bubble Butt to fix!" (That's Dotty's term, not mine!)

An hour later and Justin is still in the Jacuzzi. He's spent the last sixty minutes watching Dotty and I crawl around the Pool at a pace that would make a sea slug look speedy. In fact, he's been in the Jacuzzi so long, his arse must be starting to look like a wrinkled prune. Worse, the Poor guy is clearly not enjoying himself. He's surrounded on all sides by men of a mouthy, uninhibited nature and he plainly wishes he was somewhere else. Like here, with us.

Dotty scoots off to visit her Personal Trainer who is supervising her weight loss programme so I hit the showers in an effort to restore myself to a more comfortable state.

I'm in the shower when I hear a sound that is foreign and alien and has no place in a Ladies' Changing Room. I realise that I might not be alone.

Actually, I'm convinced I'm not alone.

There's someone else here.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. Peeping Toms are rare so I'm on my guard.

Chances are, this is an accidental interloper, an exhausted and inattentive fellow punter who has made an innocent mistake and somehow stumbled into the wrong room.

Maybe I'm just being jumpy.

Then again, what if this isn't completely innocent? What if this situation is altogether more sinister?

I'm scared, frankly. I could scream but whoever is lurking out of sight might just panic and then attack, and I'm hopelessly vulnerable. I need to be cautious.

The whole place is monitored closely by TV cameras. There are people about. I can hear them, which means I can summon help. But I also need to keep the perpetrator distracted long enough for him to be discovered, and then apprehended.

My sixth sense kicks in once more. A voice whispers in my ear. Yeah, I already know the identity of this would-be spy. I strongly suspect that my furtive admirer is Justin. He's looking for a thrill, nothing more.

But hang on. He's also clever enough to have thought through the inevitable consequences of his thoroughly reckless behaviour. Maybe he thinks his position makes him invincible? He wouldn't be the first to imagine he can use his influence and his authority to get away with a myriad of sins.

What's he willing to sacrifice for a peak at the goodies, a flesh show? Some bare ass and a look at my tits perhaps? Is it worth it?

I decide to take a chance.

I take my time washing. I figure that if he is looking, if he is peeking, then he's already seen everything I've got so there's no point in making a loud, uncomfortable scene that will afford him an opportunity to escape. All the same, I open the door to the shower cubicle a little further so that I'm sort of visible but not quite, and then see if I can spot any sign of an intruder.

It takes an eternity to work up a good lather such that I am able to completely cover my tits and ass with as much shampoo and body wash as I can manage. I take my time washing all of the suds away, and then meticulously check my tits and armpits for any usual lumps or bumps. (You don't? You should...)

When I'm done, I turn off the water and listen. I can hear something. Breathing? The faint flicker of a heartbeat? Maybe not? Maybe I imagined the whole silly business?

I open the cubicle door and peer out into the cold, sterile room, pausing to look left and right, and then left again. Now I'm sure I'm alone. Once again, I wonder if this is just my imagination running Hog Wild? Wouldn't be the first time, would it? Nevertheless, I check each of the cubicles in turn, just in case.

Yeah, I watch way too many horror movies and read far too much Stephen King.

Relieved, I retrieve a bottle of body lotion from my locker and park myself on a bench before applying said lotion fairly liberally over all areas of exposed flesh. I'm alone so I figure I can go about my business as nature intended.

I check my ass in the mirror. Looking good. Tits also. Nice and perky. Very perky. Me like.

Important question. Do I still have that big ass mole on my butt? Yeah, it's still there. Doesn't seem to be getting any bigger, though. Maybe I should get it checked out by a Doctor.

Oh, and yeah. My piercings? I haven't dropped one in the Pool again, have I? I have a quick feel down there and count them all with my fingertips. One. Two. Three. All there, just as there should be.

Dotty enters through the double doors. She looks happy.

"I'm down another six pounds..." she says, barely able to contain herself.

"Cool! Well done," I reply. "I'm pleased for you."

"Wassup?" she asks. "You look a little stressed."

"I thought there was someone in here," I say, sighing. "I checked everywhere but..."

"You sure?"

I nod. "Fairly..."

Dotty is out of her swim suit and heading towards the shower clad in one seriously large towel when...

"WHAT THE FUCK!!" she screams.

And then she screams again.

And again.

And again.

I'm partially dressed at this point but... Yeah, I scream too as a figure, a man, darts out of one of the shower cubicles (the only one I didn't check, incidentally) and makes a run for the door. However, he slips and slides across the floor on his ass, barrelling hard into the first of the double doors.

Dotty charges and is on him in an instant. She slams into him like an impossibly large and very pink Express Train. He doesn't stand a chance.

With fists flailing and legs kicking, the man screams as Dotty powers into him with renewed vigour. He tries to stand and attempts to regain his balance. Undiminished, Dotty knocks him sideways and they fall to the ground in unison, her full weight landing atop his hips. He screams again as something cracks.

Dotty swings herself around to avoid getting kicked in the back and then body punches this poor bastard has hard as she can in the Love Spuds.

Dotty then pins his flying fists to the ground and screams one more time at the top of her voice. Of course, she's lost her towel so this guy, this poor, poor guy, has the full weight of Dotty's four hundred pound ass resting on his chest, smothering his face.

And, yes, friends! It's a big, big ass.

He can barely breath but... Wow! What a way to go! What a view!

From the look on her face, Dotty is seemingly annoyed but conversely she also appears to be enjoying herself. And why not? She has a guy pinned to the floor, and her full weight is resting on his head. She starts laughing. Wouldn't you? Dotty starts grinding her butt hard into this guy's face and chin. He tries to scream but his mouth is fastened shut in an instant.

The guy manages to shout! "Get off me, you fucking Space Hopper!"

This only serves to make Dotty laugh harder. She grabs her tits, rolling them around like a Baker rolling bread buns, and starts bouncing up and down.

I can't help myself. I double over laughing.

"It's been years since anyone had a good look around down there," she shouts, all the while laughing like an idiot. "Gal's gotta take it wherever and whenever she can."

The Gym staff pile through the door as one and, strangely, Dotty seems utterly un-phased by the swarm of uniformed heavies who advance on her like a pack of Lions surrounding a stricken Antelope.

She hauls herself off the prone form lying on the hard tiled floor and stands aside as the swarm of men and women grab the interloper's extended limbs and haul him into the corridor.

That's when I see his face properly. Yeah, you guessed it. It's Justin.

And I'm just standing there with my mouth open, like some kind of freshwater Guppy.

And Justin looks... shocked. Shocked and utterly bewildered. His face is red, his hair black and heavily matted, his eyes are filled with tears, and bloodshot and purple around the edges.

The Cops arrive in short order - two great burly males, who look like they just crawled out of a Judge Dredd comic, and a smaller, leaner female, who takes statements from Dotty and I, and from two of the gym staff.

Later, the Gym Manager confirms that they'd been watching Justin ever since he arrived. They called the Cops just as soon as they lost track of him on their cameras. They explain that their policy is to contain where possible and not to intervene unless someone is at risk of physical harm, which is why they waited until the Cops were on the way before diving in. Best to leave apprehending the bad guys to the Professionals, I guess.

We're allowed to make ourselves decent but it's after eleven o'clock when Dotty and I get through with our statements. We're advised to say nothing to anyone. Justin has been arrested and taken to the Police Station where he'll be charged.

Sleep does not come easily that night.

The next morning, I roll into work as normal, looking rough. Very rough. I note that Justin's parking space is empty and that it remains empty for the rest of the day.

I receive a text from Dotty around eleven o'clock. "Has he turned up yet?"

"No sign of him," I reply.

"He's probably been suspended, or fired."

"Already?"

"Has anyone else said anything?" she asks.

"Not a thing..."

"Shame," she says. "He got my pussy wetter than an Otter's pocket. Is he available for a second date?"

I shake my head and smile. Typical Dotty.

Several days pass and Justin's parking space remains emptier than a Cabinet Minister's conscience.

Friday morning rolls around and I arrive at my desk to discover an invitation to attend an interview in front of the Human Resources Manager. I am advised that I may bring a witness, should I feel the need.

Ten minutes later, and I find myself sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the very bowels of the building, the sad and lonely domain that is the Human Resources department. This place is about as friendly and homely as an Abattoir.

Yes, I'm frightened for my job. I really am. Whilst I'm close to the end of my Probationary Period, I can still be sacked at a moment's notice, and for any number of reasons. Two of my co-workers resigned yesterday and another was grumbling about signing on long term sick this morning. Maybe they're just going to can the entire department? This does not bode at all well.

I'm made to wait for what seems like an eternity. I detest HR. Nobody ever looks you in the eye. Nobody is ever friendly. I'm convinced that, in their eyes, you're just cannon fodder, a resource to be exploited as they see fit.

The HR manager appears in the doorway and beckons me forwards, like the Grim Reaper wriggling his bony finger.

Within, I am invited to sit. A faceless and anonymous drone is parked in the corner behind the Manager's desk, presumably there to take notes and to act as the Company's witness.

I note that my seat is still warm, the previous occupant having only recently departed. My heart skips a beat. I wonder how long it will take to find another job? Can I get a reference? Will I meet my mortgage payments this month?

However, I am in for surprise.

I am informed by the HR Manager and his assistant that Justin has left the company and, indeed, the country. He's gone home, to deal with a family emergency, apparently.

In front of him, resting on his desk, is my Police statement, albeit in a heavily redacted form. I am asked if I have anything relevant to add. I shake my head and decline. Justin's goose, it would seem, has already been cooked. No need to ruin his dessert, too.

"We would be grateful if the events of Monday night were not made public," says the Head of HR.

"It was Tuesday, actually," I remind him. He seems unconcerned.

"Justin's position is presently available," says the HR Guy. "And since you are the best qualified in your section, indeed the only person in your section even vaguely qualified, then we would be pleased to offer you the position, complete with salary rise and the usual perks, subject to the usual probationary period."

Do I accept?

Of course I do.

First published 2012