Copyright 2012 by the A. Van Peebles, All Rights Reserved
[This is a revision of a story that I wrote nearly twenty years ago. While I thought it turned out well, the prose in the original seemed a bit stilted and stiff. So I've reworked it, providing the thoughts of the two characters in something akin to stream of consciousness. It's still the same plot and characters. The original is still floating about the net in various archives, and if people want to see the original version, I can post it here as well.]
It was turning out to be a pretty typical Monday morning when Becky looked up from her work as Mr. Barringer and a woman walked into her office.
Mr. Barringer just walked into my office. He never does that. If he wants to talk to me, he, or rather Ms. Riegger, buzzes me. He's with a woman. Older than me, probably about twenty-nine. Small, about 5'2", nice figure, pretty, and good taste in clothing. Nice shoes, Ferragamos, I think.
"Becky, this is Katherine Martin, our new associate," said Mr. Barringer. Turning to the new woman he continued, "Becky here is a law student doing a summer internship with us. If you need her for any research for you, just ask her, but clear major research projects with Ms. Riegger."
The two women shook hands. The new woman smiled and said to call her Kate, followed by a pleasantry about getting together for lunch, then Mr. Barringer took Kate off to introduce her to the rest of the staff. With his billable time pegged at $550 an hour, Mr. Barringer didn't like to spend a lot of time on this type of duty.
Another woman in the office, and a lawyer to boot. Best of all, someone closer to my own age, who I can talk to, not like the over-forty legal secretaries who only want to talk about the latest soft-porn novel or Dancing with the Stars. Not like the partners who don't socialize with law students. The other associates? Typical guys. They stopped talking to me about anything other than business when I made it clear that I wasn't interested in going to bed with them. The office was kind of dull; now it's looking up.
* * *
After Mr. Barringer had finished the whirlwind office tour, Kate settled into her office. The firm was pretty much what she had expected, small and conservative—in the professional, not political sense; Mr. Barringer was a big fundraiser for the state Democratic Party and had lots of high-powered connections that an ambitious young associate could take advantage of. That was all to the good. Best of all, the firm was awash with money, a rare thing in this economic climate when most firms were either laying off lawyers or just not hiring. Kate had done her time at the Environmental Defense Council, earning lots of moral capital but relatively little cash, and now this Barringer, Levy, Dunstan, Cooper, and Schmidt, LLC looked like it would change that.
Barringer and the other four partners, seemed like good, solid, WASPish people, and the other two associates, all men, looked like typical young, ambitious lawyers.
The young guys are probably dogs, sure to hit on me, but probably excellent lawyers. I can tolerate a lot of frat boy behavior if they're good at their jobs.
The support staff seemed competent, but Kate figured that they would have little in common with her.
That Becky though. A luscious number. About twenty-three or four, svelte, creamy skin, long black hair, small breasts—probably perky—overall assessment, absolutely stunning. Stop it, Kate. It's not good to be thinking like that. This is a small firm, and sexual relationships in the office aren't good for the career. While I seriously doubt anyone at this firm will have a problem with me being a lesbian, banging the intern is not likely to go over well. Don't do anything stupid like sacrifice the career for the sake of a rebound relationship. Besides, she's probably straight. Nothing says we can't be friends, though. I'll need a little girl talk around the office from time to time.
* * *
Two days later, as promised, Kate took Becky out to lunch to get the low-down on the office. Becky enjoyed the lunch itself, at one of the fancier, sit-down restaurants that were usually ruled out by the law student's budget—tablecloths and real china, not paper cartons and plastic forks—but she pretty much confirmed Kate's assessment of the firm. It was a good, solid place to work. No drama or scandalous gossip. The worst things about working there was, one, the lack of someone for a young woman to talk to and, two, getting hit on by the male associates. Kate had already discovered this last one; two of them had hit on her already.
Becky took an instant liking to Kate. The slightly older woman was very easy to talk to, and the usually shy Becky found herself babbling away. She told Kate about how she was a second-year law student who worked at the firm during the summer and a few hours a week when law school was in session and how she got the job through her dad, who was a tennis partner of Mr. Barringer. She grew up in the town, going to a Catholic girl's high school, and then Mount Holyoke, but got her own apartment when she returned to attend law school. It put a real crimp in her budget, but it was better than living with her parents. She had a boyfriend, Peter, who was the sweetest, nicest guy, and then to her own amazement Becky launched into how she was an "old fashioned girl," saving herself for marriage, and while Peter was nice, there was no spark, and maybe he wasn't Mr. Right, but he was very considerate and, while he clearly wanted more, understood and never pushed.
Oh God! Why did I just tell Kate all about sex life, or lack thereof? How embarrassing. Jesus, it just shows how desperate I am for someone to talk to.
Kate did not learn much about the office, but she did learn a lot about Becky. Her gaydar was pinging throughout the meal.
This Becky's a closet case if I ever saw one. Went to all-girl Catholic schools because she wanted to. Check. Went to an all-women's college. Check. Softball player. Check. Has a boyfriend, but still a virgin at twenty-four. Check. A sex life so unsatisfying that she told me, a perfect stranger, all about it. Check. And she's even better looking than I first thought. Athletic. Thin, but those were some broad shoulders, and some well muscled, but still very feminine arms. And my God, that ass and those legs. Verdict: probably approachable, but not worth the risk. If she is gay, she's clearly a first timer and will take a lot of work and care. I don't think I'm ready for that yet. I'm still not over Emily. I need a low-maintenance fuck buddy to bang for a while. Anyway, she's probably just another straight girl fucked up by Catholicism. Remember, not all softball players are lesbians.
* * *
That night, Becky was feeling lonely. Her lunch with Kate had made her itchy for companionship. She tried calling Peter, but there was no answer on his cell. He was probably at the library, where there was no reception in the stacks. She debated whether to leave him a message or not. If he came over, it would be late, and he'd want to stay the night, and every time he did there was unspoken pressure for them to "do it." And he might interpret this as a "booty call."
Peter never pushes, but he clearly wants to fuck me. God, that word makes me feel dirty. But even if we don't fuck (there it is again), he'll want to fool around. The kissing is nice. And he'll want to play with my boobs. Why I don't know. They're way too small. Not like Kate's. Those are probably very nice. Maybe I should let him touch me down there. No, that would be wrong. But I do give him a handjob now and again. That's different. He's a guy. And I don't have time to go to Confession before work, so no fooling around tonight. No message.
She hung up. If Peter saw the missed call and came over, fine. But she wasn't going to invite him.
Is this normal? Am I some kind of freak? Most twenty-four-year-olds aren't virgins. I may be the only one. Peter is a really nice guy, good-looking, smart, funny. Why don't I want to fuck him? I like spending time with him. I like the kissing. I like feeling the warmth and closeness of his body. I just don't want anything more from him. Yes, I'm a freak.
Oh, God! Why did I say all that to Kate. I am a freak, and she knows it. At least I didn't tell her about the handjobs, but telling her I was virgin was bad enough. How can I look at her again? There is something about her that makes me trust her. Maybe because she seems so open herself. That smile of hers, that laugh she has—it's infectious.
And Kate's a beautiful woman that's for sure. An athlete, like me, but not into sports. She said she was looking for a good, woman-friendly gym. Maybe if she joined the university gym—I think they take outside members—we could be workout buddies. She said she lifts weights mostly. But she's not like one of those freakish bodybuilders. She's toned, but not rippling with masculinity. If only my body were curvy like Kate's. She has real hips, an hourglass figure, and breasts. Very nice breasts, big, but not too big. C-cup. Nicely proportioned. Not like mine. A-cup Becky, that's me. What is it the boys used to say? Carpenter's dream. Flat as a board and never been screwed.
I wish I had breasts like Kate's. I wonder what they really look like. I bet she's got big, pink nipples, with tips that stand out like pencil erasers when she's excited. They must be nice to look at and to touch.
As she thought about Kate, Becky's hand had slipped down between her legs and she was absent-mindedly rubbing herself.
