I love butches. In particular, I love a butch who knows she's a butch. A butch that owns her masculinity, is not afraid to spend a little money on a piece of eye candy such as myself...who knows how to treat a lady like a lady. So, when this caramel colored, statuesque accountant at my office, with shoulder length dreadlocks and dimples to die for, asked me out six months ago, how was a girl to resist? I know, I know, never date someone in your office, right? Well, I never was one to listen.
Her name is Reese. Reese Carpriella. She's not Italian, she's African American, like me. Except, as I said before, she's caramel colored, stands about five feet nine inches tall, weighs 210 pounds, works out at the gym three nights a week and
loves
a true femme. Now, I'm not your traditional looking femme. I'm five feet, five inches tall and dark chocolate brown. I shave my hair very close to the scalp and wear huge silver hoop earrings. I'm thick, or as they say down south, country fine. I have what the fellas call an "onion" of an ass, curved, round, full, and so perfect my lady says it brings tears to the eyes. Add on full perky breasts, big bright dark brown eyes, full lips and that's me. Oh, my name is Georgia by the way. I wear long skirts and oversized tops so as not to flaunt the goodies in the office. Reese can be quite jealous sometimes. And everyone in the office knows we're dating, including both of our bosses who have mentioned their disapproval. Their stance? They don't want any theatrics at work, so keep our personal shit at home.
As I said previously, we've been dating for about six months. And things are going quite nicely. We've discussed moving in with one another but wanted to avoid the dreaded lesbian U-Haul syndrome. You know, the one where once you find a lady you like the two of you move in together a week later and break up the week after that? So, we're waiting. That doesn't mean we're not fucking. Don't get me wrong, I'm not
that
good
a girl! A girl has her limits. I need to feel loved. I don't care if it means I'm insecure or needy, I just want to feel loved by a beautiful, butch woman.
*
So, as I said, things were going nicely. Reese still wined and dined me and remembered to buy something nice for my 32
nd
birthday. She didn't conveniently break up with me around Christmas (come on, you know how trifling some people can be). And she calls me every night and every morning so hers is the last voice I hear before I go to sleep and the first voice I hear in the morning. She is sweet, thoughtful, considerate...
So imagine my surprise when my supervisor up and quit one day and for some strange reason
my
entire world was turned upside down.
It took them weeks to find a new vice president. They didn't want to hire someone internally because they were looking for a "fresh perspective". I just knew I would be working for another white male, considering the prestige of the position and the pay. I believe the job started in the very comfortable six figures. Nothing in the world would have convinced me that they would hire a woman or a black...or for that matter a black woman.
*
Anyway, let's get back to what happened. Reese picks me up for work every morning (I hate to drive, especially during Philadelphia rush hour traffic) and I was running a little late this morning. Reese had her angry face on when I finally slid into the Escalade and I smiled sweetly, leaning over to kiss her cheek. The face didn't change considering she absolutely hates to wait, so as she made her way into Center City I made it a point to bring a smile to her lips. She loves when I go down on the "package" she straps on every morning. I strummed her clit as I deep throated her until her thighs tensed and I knew she was coming. When I sat up, she was her old self again. I smiled when she kissed me hungrily at a red light.
We had about five minutes to get up to the office and the elevator was jammed packed. As more and more bodies pressed in, Reese and I were separated. I continued to step back until I felt someone's hands around my waist, catching me just as I stumbled, steadying me. After I regained my balance, the hands remained around my waist. I looked over to see Reese staring from across the throng of bodies. She could see the hands on my waist and she was growing more pissed by the second. I tried to step away from those hands holding my waist, tried to ignore the energy radiating through my body from that one simple touch, but the hands held me securely, preventing me from stepping away. When I felt the owner of those hands lean over and inhale my perfume, I knew Reese was about to lose it. So, when people began to exit the elevator, I moved away from those hands. But the person was still behind me. I glanced at Reese. She was staring heatedly at that person. I moved over to her as soon as I possibly could and took hold of her hand. She snatched her hand away from me. I was still unable to see the person who had put their hands around my waist.
I was relieved when we finally arrived on the 8
th
floor. I stepped from the elevator first and then waited for Reese. Reese was watching a woman leave the elevator. I couldn't help but notice this woman. She was honey colored and a little taller than Reese which probably made her around six feet. Her nose was narrow, lips thin and her eyes were almond shaped, framed by thick, dark lashes. She had broad shoulders and a tapered waist. She wore a navy blue pantsuit that seemed perfectly tailored to her body. Her hair was pulled back and, as she walked through the entrance to our main offices, I realized her hair was braided into a single braid that hung midway down her back. She wore a cologne I recognized although the name escaped me at the moment. She carried herself like she knew who she was. And I knew she was pure stud from head to toe.
"That's the bitch who put her hands on you."
I realized Reese was absolutely fuming. I sighed, "baby, you know I belong to you and no one else. Come on, didn't we have a good morning?"
I could see her struggling to get her anger under control. I told you she could be quite jealous sometimes. I glanced at my watch and grabbed Reese's hand, pulling her toward the office. "Come on, I'm going to be late. I don't have a big wig job like you, I'm just a glorified secretary."
I punched in just as the clock read 9am. Reese and the other muckety mucks didn't have to punch a time clock. It bothered some of the other support staff members, but I didn't care. This job paid me well as an Administrative Assistant and they had excellent health benefits. Some things just had to be rendered unimportant.
I was stuffing my purse into the only drawer that locked on my desk when my intercom buzzed. "Georgia, please come and meet our newest VP."
Mr. Calganetti was the head honcho in our office and when he beckoned, you jumped. I straightened out my ankle length charcoal gray skirt and pink form fitting sweater. I never bought or wore pink before I met Reese, but she liked the way this sweater hugged my frame and showed off my full breasts. I felt a little uncomfortable in it, but I'd do almost anything for my sweetie.
I hurried through the office and knocked lightly on Mr. Calganetti's door before stepping inside. He was sitting behind his huge cherry wood desk and stood when I approached. The person he had been talking to also stood and I felt my breath catch. My new boss was, of course, the woman from the elevator.
"Ashley Caldwell, this is Georgia Ashton, one of our most efficient Admins. She'll help you get acclimated and track down whatever you need. Georgia, Ms. Caldwell is replacing Peter."
She extended her hand and I slid mine into it. Once again I was forced to ignore the current that raced through my body. I had a chance to see her face up close this time. It seemed harder, and there were lines etched into her forehead and around her mouth. I doubted they were laugh lines. But it wasn't her face that drew me in, it was her eyes. They were amazing. Hazel brown with flecks of green. She had the kind of eyes people read about in fictional novels. They were absolutely remarkable. I wondered if they were contacts. I then realized I was probably staring.
"Welcome to the company Ms. Caldwell."
"Call me Lee."
Her voice was not what I expected. It was deep, raspy...it washed over me in a most titillating way. I smiled and nodded. There was no way I was calling her anything other than Ms. Caldwell. Reese would be pissed for days about this, if not weeks.
I followed behind them as Mr. Calganetti showed her around the office, introducing her to the people she would work closely with and/or supervise. When they arrived at her office, Mr. Calganetti asked me to get them some coffee. I bristled at first, considering my previous supervisor never made such a request of me, but I snapped out of it quickly and asked how they wanted it. Ms. Caldwell said she didn't want any so Mr. Calganetti changed his mind. Mr. Calganetti dismissed me and I went back to my desk, right outside Ms. Caldwell's office. I sat down with a huff, wondering what it would be like to work for a woman. I had been working as an office administrative assistant since I completed my master's degree in sociology four years ago. Don't ask. I thought I wanted to teach, thought I wanted to be a college professor, but then decided while I loved the subject I didn't want to deal with the bullshit of academia. So, now I had a degree that wasn't worth shit and no marketable skills other than typing and my rudimentary knowledge of Word and Excel. So, here I was. Of course, I was paid a little more because of my education, but I was basically just a glorified secretary.
As I sat at my desk, doing nothing until Ms. Caldwell requested my assistance, I wondered who this woman was. As I said before, this was a serious position she was occupying. Oh, I guess I should tell you a little about the company. I've been here for four years and I'll be honest, I'm not sure what we do exactly. We conduct market research, or at least that's what our brochure says. I know we've done some research for IBM's newest laptop and a few products made by Johnson and Johnson. Those were our biggest clients. Before my previous boss left, I was under the impression he oversaw the research piece of the puzzle. He designed surveys, conducted polls, put together focus groups, etc. The reason I was placed with him, I assumed, was because I had a bit of a background in demography. I wondered if Ms. Caldwell would have the same responsibilities. I was still surprised they had hired an African American woman for such a prestigious job.
Minutes later Mr. Calganetti left Ms. Caldwell's office and I waited, patiently, for her to summon me. She hadn't done so by 12:30 and I knew Reese would be picking me up soon for lunch so I tapped on Ms. Caldwell's door and waited for her to respond before opening the heavy wooden door.
