Mrs. Swanson was a very successful attorney who specialized in the defense of women who were sexually harassed in the workplace and women who were abused by their male boyfriend or husband. I was her very first male employee. It was her plan to hire a male assistant, knowing the older woman who had long worked for her would someday retire.
She had interviewed dozens upon dozens of young men. After hiring me, she shared the reason why I'd been chosen. She explained that many of her clients were afraid of men due to what they'd been put through. She wanted her clients to be in the presence of a 'man' that wasn't intimidating, overly masculine or a threat to them whatsoever. But she felt strongly that the harassed and abused women needed to be exposed to a man, a kind, gentle, young man. She had hired me because I was short, skinny, polite, dressed nicely and treated women with respect.
Mrs. Swanson was a tall woman, made even taller by the block heels she wore each day to the office. She was mature, easily old enough to by my mother. She had an exaggerated hourglass figure with wide hips, thick thighs, and enormous breasts. Her hair was gracefully greying and her face exuded the supreme confidence which was the first thing I noticed about her. She was the type of woman who always got what she wanted. I had no doubt about that.
Every day at work, she wore tasteful slacks, matching jacket with a silk blouse beneath. She was always very careful never to expose the slightest bit of her cleavage. I always tried to look her in the eye like my mother had taught me too. But I was barely in my twenties and she was so pretty. I often struggled not to take quick peeks at the impression her enormous breasts made beneath the blouses he wore. During my first day in her employ, she caught my eyes dropped to her chest.
Mrs. Swanson called me by name and asked, "Chris, what were you just looking at?"
Biting my lip and lowering my chin, I replied, "I'm sorry Mrs. Swanson."
Even while looking at my shoes, I could tell she crossed her arms under her chest. "Young man, you didn't answer my question."
I squirmed where I stood. I moved my hands behind my back which was a nervous habit I had. I suppose it was due to the many spanking I'd received from my mother. Tears welled up in my eyes as I whimpered, "I-I-I was looking at your blouse."
Her voice was firm when she asked, "Is my blouse stained? Or was it something else about my blouse that attracted your attention?"
The tears that had formed in my eyes were now rolling down my cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Swanson. I-I-I was looking at her breasts. Please don't fire me! I promise it'll never happen again!!"
She rose up from the chair she'd been sitting in. She stepped right in front of where I stood. In a soft but firm tone, she said, "Chris, the women I defend have been treated like objects by men."
I whimpered, "I know and I feel terrible for them."
She laid her hand on my shoulder while I continued to look at my feet. "The way you just looked at my chest..."
I interrupted her and looked up into her eyes, "I know! I'm so sorry!" Tears were rolling down my cheeks. I was a blubbering mess.
Mrs. Swanson took hold of my hand and lead me to a couch that sat along one wall of her office. She put her arm around my shoulder to console me. My emotions often got away from me and while I sobbed, I began to babble, "My mom would be so disappointed! She never allowed me to do things like I just did! If she found out about this, I wouldn't be able to sit down for a week!"
She rubbed my shoulders while asking, "Your mother used to spank you for looking at girls inappropriately?"
I looked at her through tear-filled eyes, "She-She-She still does!"
She didn't sound surprised at all. She honestly sounded very pleased, "Chris, do you still live at home with your mother?"
I nodded my head while I began sobbing anew.
She went on to ask, "Just the two of you?"
I bit my lip and explained, "Yes, it's always been just the two of us. My dad left before I was born."
She removed her arms from my shoulder and scooted back a little so she could turn to face me. "Chris, I forgive you for staring at my chest. But I don't want it to happen again." She paused to see the relief begin to appear on my face. "I know you're a young man. But the only chest you should be looking at is the chest of your girlfriend."
Nibbling on my lip, but forcing myself to look into her eyes, "I don't have a girlfriend."
She looked a little sad when she asked, "Have you ever had a girlfriend?"
It took all the strength I had to keep looking into her big brown eyes, "No, not ever. My mother won't allow it."
She smiled and said, "If every mother raised their sons in the same way you're being raised, there would be no harassment in the workplace or spousal abuse. Men would be treating women with the respect they deserve." She hesitated for a moment before asking, "You didn't drive yourself to work this morning, did you?"
Nibbling on my lip, I answered in a soft voice, "No, my mother brought me. I don't have a license." I sobbed softly for a few moments before offering, "She even waited in the car during my interview."
