Sales Rep

'

Troubles come not as single spies but in battalions'

.

I read that somewhere but had forgotten about it until I lost my job at the car dealership. I hadn't worked there long enough to qualify for a severance package so I was already on the back foot when my boyfriend, Brandon, told me I was 'suffocating' him and he walked out (but not before he emptied our joint savings account and posted nude photos of me on a revenge-porn site.)

It was about then that my car had to go into the shop, the sink backed up and flooded the apartment which left me broke and living with mouldy carpets.

There's some cliché about 'when life hands you lemons make lemonade' but that's bullshit, the best you can hope for is a break before life kicks you in the teeth again.

The employment centre was a bust; part-time hamburger flippers or waitressing on minimum wage was all they had to offer but Stuart & Sons (suppliers of fine linen to the hospitality sector) were hiring, apparently all you needed was a car, a clean licence and 'some experience in sales'. Selling Girl Scout Cookies probably didn't count so I brought up my resumé on the computer to see if I could massage my profile without it being too obvious.

At the dealership I'd been a Clerical Assistant in the Sales Department; thoughtfully I deleted the words 'Clerical' and substituted 'Team' for 'Department' and it read much better.

I filled in the application form, attached my resumé and sent it in. About a week later and slightly to my surprise I was invited to go along for an interview. On the day I dressed in my best outfit, not too much make-up, sensible shoes and spent 20 minutes practicing my 'interested and intelligent' expression in the mirror but all I saw was 'confused and desperate'. I sighed and critically examined my reflection; twenty-four, good skin and nice hair (which needed cutting). Attractive in the 'girl-next-door' category but hardly Miss World material, 5' 6" with a good body and excellent teeth but that was about the end of it. Damn, I needed this job, it was either Stuart & Sons or I'd be selling that 'good body' around the bus depot, it was only later I realised that working for SS came down to the same thing.

Peggy-Jo, the office manager and a motherly lady in her sixties interviewed me, I don't think she believed a word of my resumé but must have taken pity on me because I was actually offered the job. She gave me the standard 'welcome aboard' speech and a tour of the building whilst explaining what to expect, she had been a rep herself and had no illusions about what the job entailed.

"You'll be selling to anyone who needs linen and you have to have an edge" she explained "something that makes the clients want to put their business with you". We had stopped in front of the 'Employee of the Month' board where a photo of a young blonde girl with a big bust in a tight sweater, was on display. "Charlene" said Peggy-Jo with a sigh "doesn't have an edge, she has a peak, more precisely two of them" she looked at my more modest endowment. "They do say size doesn't matter, it's what you do with it that counts. You might want to think about that."

Peggy-Jo then showed me a map of my 'patch', it was a big one, which may sound like a positive but it's not, it means your 'marks' are further apart and it takes more time to get from one appointment to the next. Time is important, the basic salary is lousy, to eat you have to earn commission on sales and fewer appointments means fewer sales which means... well, you get the idea.

Peggy-Jo pointed to a hotel on the map. "There's one good thing about your patch, you're going to meet Sally at the Sanctuary" I must have looked blank "It's a hotel that caters exclusively for women" she went on "it was Sally's brainchild, If you see a pair of trousers in that place it's because a woman is wearing them. She gets most of her business from women visiting town who don't want to be hit on."

Stuart & Son buy sheets, pillow cases, table cloths, bathrobes, anything made of cotton, in bulk, and it was my job to sell it retail, mostly to hotels, guesthouses, hospitals and restaurants but hotels are our best customers. You wouldn't believe now much stuff gets spoiled, stained or goes missing, I don't sell to the big chains, they go direct to the mills, but to the small/medium independent outfits who don't have that kind of negotiating muscle.

At first it didn't go well. Oh, I got a lot of appointments, I was new and the Purchasing Managers were keen to see if they could screw a good deal out of me, or if I would agree to being screwed. They were an assorted bunch, mostly male but a few women, some old some young, some nice and some not so much, a cross-section of middle-America. I soon had a few favourites, the ones who would always make time to see me, offer me a coffee and sit down for a chat, even if they didn't put much business my way I was always happy to see their names on my schedule.

Paul Cooper was right at the top of my list, I always over-ran my time when I called on him, Paul managed a small boutique hotel near the park and had a dozen different jobs, one of which involved buying in supplies.

He was a really good-looking guy, always well-dressed, nice body, perfect hair... and married, I thought he was a gentleman until the day he charmed the pants off me and had me on his office carpet. Hell,

he

was the one who should have been in sales. But I wasn't complaining, I liked him and hadn't had sex for weeks, if he was cheating on his wife, well that was his concern and I thought no more about it.

Or I didn't until a week later when I had just finished my sales pitch to the buyer at the Bellavista, he was quiet for a moment, gave me a speculative look and said "Paul tells me your, ah,

personal services

are well worth paying extra for, did I mention we're replacing all our towels next quarter?"

My first thought was: 'Paul, you bastard!' my second 'Not a chance' but then I carried out a swift, mental review of my finances; a checking account that was underwater, credit cards maxed-out and the Landlady threatening to evict me. The Bellavista has 220 bedrooms and the commission on all those towels was worth having. I swallowed my pride, undid the top button of my blouse and said, in what I hoped was a sexy voice, "just what did Sir have in mind?" That's the problem with bloody hotels, there's always a vacant bedroom just down the corridor.

I promised myself it would just be the once but it's not like that, you step onto that 'down' escalator telling yourself that you can get off anytime but of course you can't. Word quickly got around and suddenly my order book began to fill up, my self-respect might have been in the toilet but my pay-slips were way up, the red ink disappeared from my bank statements and I had paid off those credit cards. True, my Landlady was still moaning about late payments but she was no longer threatening to put me out on the street. I soon got into the habit of carrying condoms and a pack of tissues in my bag when I went to site meetings and tried not to think too much about what I'd become.

And then one day it all came crashing down. I was at the Central giving Tony Manson his monthly blow-job when the telephone rang, he grinned down at me as he picked up the handset and, in a relaxed voice, said,"Tony Manson." Suddenly he sat bolt upright, his dick pulled out of my month with an audible 'plop' and shrank back into his pants "Yes sir, yes, she's here with me now" a pause, "yes sir, of course, straight away." Tony replaced the telephone looking worried, "that was the hotel manager. He wants to see you in his office." I got up brushing carpet fluff off my knees and wiping my mouth with a tissue, "Okay, where is it?" I asked, wondering if I should be concerned at Tony's obvious agitation, "sixth floor, turn right out of the elevator, it's at the end of the corridor."

I found the Managers Office without any problem and a very pretty, very young girl sitting at a desk in the outer office gave me a frightened smile as she waved me through into the inner sanctum. The boss was sitting behind a massive oak desk reading a file; my first impression was not promising, a big, fat man with a permanent five o'clock shadow on thick jowls. Lank, greasy hair curling over his collar, small piggy eyes and thick wet lips, the man looked like a gross toad.

"Shut the door and sit down" he gestured to a chair in the middle of the room. The voice was unfriendly, my mouth was dry but my palms were beginning to sweat. Referring to the paper in his hand the toad said "okay Miss..." he glanced down "Peters, will you please explain why I'm paying 30% more for linen that any other hotel in town?" I began my usual sales pitch about it being top-quality American cotton, locally finished but he held up a pudgy hand to stop me.

"Bullshit, I've been in this business thirty years, do you think I'm stupid? My Purchasing Manager is screwing you and you are screwing me. Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't cancel your contract and fire his ass?"

'One good reason' didn't sound much like a come-on but I assumed it was, I'd sunk so low I was prepared to have sex with this greasy, fat slob to save my commission. Slipping my coat off my shoulders to give him a better view of my assets I said "maybe we could work something out? I'm sure I have something you'd like."

He grunted "I thought so", and stood up. "Bend over the desk" it was an order, submissively I crossed the room and did as I was told, the toad moved behind me. For an awful moment I thought he was going to spank me but then I heard the sound of a zip. "There are condoms in my bag" I said helpfully.

"I have my own." I grimaced, I could guess who they were for and felt a pang of sympathy for the pretty young thing in the outer office, I should have saved it for myself.

A foil wrapper was flicked onto the desk next to my face and I felt a sudden rush of cool air as my skirt was lifted up. "Open your legs." Meekly I obeyed. "Wider" he ordered and kicked my ankles apart, I felt his hand on the small of my back pushing me forward until I was practically lying face down on his desk. Fingers hooked inside the material of my pants and he ripped them off me, I heard the fabric tear and the elastic cut into my skin before it broke.

I felt a cock probing at my pussy and then, without warning, the bastard slammed it all the way home. I screamed with pain at the sudden, shocking insertion, thank God that condom was lubricated because I sure as hell wasn't. He then began to thrust, hard and fast, into me, it was a big, solid desk but with each stroke everything on it rattled, I knew I would carry the bruises on the front of my thighs for weeks. It was brutal but thankfully quick, in less than a minute he began grunting, I felt his thrusts getting shorter and faster and then, with one final heave that lifted me off my feet I felt his cock pulse a couple of times as he ejaculated and I knew it was over.

He paused, savouring the moment, before withdrawing, I watched, sobbing quietly as he walked back around the desk pulling a condom off the biggest cock I have ever seen in my life and dropped it into the wastepaper basket. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped himself down before stuffing that horse-dick back into his pants.

Brokenly I pushed myself up and staggered back to the chair.

"Don't sit down slut. Your contract is terminated, pick up your things, get out and don't ever come back to my hotel. And on your way out you can tell that little shit Manson he's sacked."

Sobbing I grabbed my sample case, snatched up what remained of my pants and ran out of the door.

I sat in the car crying for about ten minutes trying to pull myself together, I kept repeating over and over again 'you bastard, you

bastard

' I felt sick and sore but most of all,

dirty

, I wanted to find a rock, crawl under it and die. Finally the sobbing subsided and, still sniffing, I got out my diary and looked to see what was scheduled for the afternoon, fully intending to cancel and go home. There was only one appointment and that was with Sally at the Sanctuary, another of my favourite customers, a bubbly, cheerful blonde in her thirties, not a whole lot older than I was and her office was en-route to my apartment. I decided I'd just put my head around the door to say 'sorry' and then keep going.

One of the best things about Sally was that she rarely kept you waiting and, if she had to, would always come out of her office to apologise and ask if you minded waiting? I did my best to fix my face but I knew it was still red and blotchy, so attractive. Anna, Sally's chubby, Hispanic PA looked at me curiously as she announced my arrival over the inter-com and I heard Sally's cheerful "send her in Anna. Be a dear and see if you can rustle up two coffees" but I'd hardly got through the door before Sally looked up and said in a shocked voice "Good God, what's wrong sweetheart?" I started to say "it's nothing" before dissolving into floods of tears all over again..

Sally got up, took my arm and led me over to the couch, "Sit" she said, and made herself comfortable next to me. "Now, from the beginning, what's happened?" and, between sobs, I blurted out the whole sordid story. Sometime during all this the coffee arrived and Sally poured me cup, "drink this honey, I'm sorry I've got nothing stronger but the caffeine will help", what was really helping was her holding my hand, a calm, reassuring presence. She heard me out, nodded and said; "It's okay peaches, you haven't been doing anything wrong, women have had to sell themselves for thousands of years to put food on the table."

She had a sisterly arm around my shoulders and began drying my face with a tissue, "it's alright sweetheart you're safe here" she said, giving me a hug and leaning across to kiss my forehead. It just felt so good, I wanted to be comforted, I wanted someone to tell me that I wasn't a worthless piece of shit, above all I wanted someone to kiss me and make it better. "Chin up" said Sally tilting my face up a little and then she really did kiss me, at first her lips just brushed mine but it soon became a proper kiss.

I place kisses into three categories, the first is the 'next morning' sort of kiss when the guy has someplace else to be, a quick, almost apologetic sort of kiss. Then there's the kind of kiss you have before sex, hard and hot, a passionate 'I want you' sort of kiss. Lastly there's the kind of kissing you do after sex, intimate, warm and friendly. That's how Sally kissed me, her lips full on mine, a real deep kiss.

Perhaps I ought to have been shocked, repelled by a woman kissing me but I wasn't. Emotionally I was in tiny pieces and the fact that someone liked me enough, male or female, to want to kiss me was all I asked.

She drew back, "now, I'm going to call Peggy-Jo and say that you came by but I sent you home because you were poorly, okay?" I nodded mutely. "It just so happens I keep a spare pair of pants in my desk" (later I found out why) "would you like to borrow them?" Again I nodded and managed a weak "yes please." I got to my feet a little unsteadily as Sally went to her desk, opened a drawer said "here you go" and took out a pair of briefs. She handed them to me and politely turned her back as I slipped them on, It says something for the state I was in that I felt a whole lot better just to be wearing pants again.

"All done?" Sally asked "Good, Now go home and take long shower; you won't be able to forget what that bastard did to you but remember what I said, you've done nothing wrong" she took up a business card, wrote something on the back and handed it to me. "This is my home number, if you can't sleep or just want to talk, call me, any hour, promise?" I felt I was about to burst into tears again so just nodded. Sally saw me to the door and kissed me again, "you can bring back the pants next time you call", she winked, "you don't need to launder them!"

When I got home I took Sally's advice and stood in a scalding hot shower for an hour, scrubbing myself raw, trying to wash off that feeling of being defiled. Gingerly I felt myself 'down there', normally two digits is all I can manage but tonight four fingers slipped into my abused girlhood with no effort and I reckoned my whole hand would fit if I tried. I didn't.

Later, in my dressing gown with a towel around my hair, curled up in a foetal position on the couch and clutching a large glass of Gallo, I cautiously reviewed the events of the day. My mind shied away from the toad so I focused on Sally, what had happened there? She had been kind, understanding, supportive... and she had kissed me, twice, and they weren't sisterly kisses either. How did I feel about that?

I remembered back to when I was thirteen, my friend Rebecca and I had sneaked up to her bedroom, locked the door and undressed. We were fascinated by our budding breasts and the peach fuzz that had appeared between our legs, we examined each other closely, comparing notes as it were. It had been exciting but had I wanted to kiss her? No, not even a little. There were a couple of girls at school who were openly gay and we used to laugh and call them the '

lets-be-friends'

, we were straight and it never occurred to us that sex with another woman was acceptable let alone pleasurable.

I made myself think back to the couch, trying to put aside the tears and the feelings of utter worthlessness, Sally had kissed me, how did it feel? But it was like shaking up one of those glass balls with Christmas scenes inside, immediately a snowstorm of conflicting emotions erupted. I gave up in disgust and poured myself more wine, after much fruitless deliberation I came to the conclusion that, at the time, I had liked it but, as they say, 'the balance of my mind was disturbed'. I finished the wine and went to bed.

I was back to work on Monday and found that things had changed, word of Tony Manson's abrupt dismissal had got around and all the boys were running scared. It wasn't exactly that they blamed me but I was definitely toxic, no more hanky-panky it was all business, the juicy margins were yesterday's news and suddenly they were negotiating my prices down to the bone which meant my commissions were flat-lining.

Like a coward I put off going back to see Sally but, inevitably, one month later her name appeared in my diary. 'She's nice' I told myself sternly, 'she was very good to you, you don't have to let her kiss you again if you don't want her to', the problem was I didn't know if I did.

Entering Sally's office was déjà vu, I shuddered as I felt an echo of the nightmare I lived through a month ago but Sally came out of her chair to greet me, obviously delighted to see me again "Tina! Sweetheart, I guess you don't need me to tell you that you're looking better" I had braced myself for another kiss but she gave me a chaste peck on the cheek and I tried to analyse if I felt disappointed. "Come and tell me all that's happened" and we made our way over to the couch. I told her about the guys suddenly blowing cold and playing hard-ball on the contracts and my income suffering as a result.

She laughed "Oh, they'll get over it! give them a few weeks and they'll have a row with the wife or she'll want the kitchen painted and they'll start remembering the fun they had with you." I was feeling better already. Reaching into my bag I said "before I forget, here are your pants (I had washed them), thanks so much for the loan, it feels weird to go around with a draught around your bum". Sally took them from me "Oh, I was glad to help, I was a bit worried that they'd be too big for you, I'm built more for comfort than speed!"

I replied that they'd fitted very well but then Sally asked "what do you normally wear? briefs? a thong?" I made a face. "I tried a thong once but it rode right up into my crack, I had to keep fighting the urge on the subway to pull it out!" We both laughed at that and Sally said "I'm a big-knickers girl myself" and pulled her skirt up to reveal a pair of pants with a teddy bear motif and the words '

I Like Nooky

' embroidered across the front. "My girlfriend has a pair like these only on hers there are five teddy bears and it says '

I Like Lots of Nooky'

." I was a bit taken aback, both by the sudden display of underwear and the news that Sally had a girlfriend. "That's her" said Sally pointing to a photo of a dark haired girl on the desk, "her name's Alice."