I hadn't set out to do it. I had never thought about it or planned such a thing. It just wasn't me, it was not my thing, well it had never been until then. Something must have changed, but was it with me, was it circumstances or what?
*
I was Acting Head Copywriter in a big ad agency. Acting, because I was not a full time employee, but a freelancer, as they call self-employed contractors in the ad business. Things were booming and the agency was stretched. With the typical lack of loyalty and 'sell yourself to the highest bidder' attitude of that crazy business, job jumping was rife and good employees were on a merry-go-round of moving from agency to agency. Hence the agency's need for an 'Acting Head Copy Chief.'
I usually worked from home. The three storey and basement Edwardian house in Islington, in London was both my home and work place. It was certainly big enough and the great views over the out towards Highgate and Hampstead Heath in in one direction and the City of London in the other were highly conducive to the creative mind. The sort of word orientated mind needed to produce elegant plagiarism, which was the 'grist to the mill', for most copywriters.
I had been there three years at the time and was still single. Nearing forty and I was redefining myself. I was trying new things, experiencing new adventures, working out where I was going and where I would like to go; life-style re-engineering as some of those 'up their own arse' magazines term it.
The main aspect of my life that was being re-engineered was my sexuality. For most of late teens and early twenties I had thought I was, as many term it, normal. From then until my mid-thirties I had considered myself to be lesbian and for a year or so when I worked in Berlin, I had lived a full on lesbian life style. Over the past few years, though, back in London I doubted myself and was now adjusting to being bisexual. Yes you are right I was a bit fucked up. Too much booze and weed, pills and weird sex, I guess.
I had not wanted to take the job. I do not like the pressure of managing others and I do not like going to work. Working I don't mind. Hard work I relish, but I hate the corporate bullshit of companies, especially ad agencies. That, and it made easier for me to live the life I wanted was why I was freelance. Oh yes, I also didn't like the macho, totally non PC way of agency life anymore. Whilst by no means a feminist, I do feel females are entitled not to be continually sexually or verbally harassed in the work place, but that is a concept that has not reached the ad business: especially where thirty something single women, 'who must be gagging for it', are concerned.
Working from home let me set my own hours, which often were from early evening to the middle of the night. I slobbed around during the day writing little stories, submitting stuff to Literotica and other story sites and I played the chat rooms.
Before succumbing to an ad professional's silken tongue, by persuasion not cunnilingus though that was on our agenda as well, I had become a bit of a recluse. I would go days without going out or seeing anyone. And during those days I would usually be naked or just in panties. I love nudity and not I hasten to add in any way because of naturism it is purely sexual for me.
Mike, the MD and largest shareholder and I went back a very long way. We went back to before I had started to revert from being a lesbian, in fact he was one of the reasons for my 'conversion' to being a lipstick. He was as much of a lover of big tits as I was finding myself to be a lover of big dicks.
"Look Teen, we're in deep shit," Mike said.
"So tell me something new," I replied into my mobile as I sat in my apartment naked apart from a pair of pale blue, lacy shorts.
He went on to tell me about the agency's staffing problems, the projects he had in process, the backlog of copy to be written and the new business pitches he had lined up.
"So why call me? You know I'll take all the work you want to give," I asked idly stroking my right breast with my fingertips.
I have large breasts, 34 DDs on a good day with enlarged areola and highly sensitive nipples. I can lift my tits and suck my own nipples. I regularly make myself cum that way, although a hand between my legs, mine usually, does help.
As part of redefining myself, I had found chat rooms and from that, exchanging mails with people I met on there. Obviously, the content of both was 'intimate and personal?' No, let's call a spade a spade, it was fucking horny, well most was, some was just pathetically pornographic and I quickly got away from that.
"You should write stories," one of the guys said in a chat room one day.
I had previously exchanged a few mails with him describing some of my sexual experiences. I found that interesting, quite sexually stimulating and strangely cathartic. I think that was the start of my life-style re-engineering process.
"I couldn't do that," I had said to him.
"Why not?" He had persisted.
"If they were published someone who knows me might see them."
"Not if you published them on Literotica," he suggested.
I looked it up, liked it, read some fantastic erotica and was on my way.
"I need help in the agency," Mike was saying.
I was only half listening for I was proof reading a piece I had just written for Lit. I aroused myself and ended up naked on the floor of the apartment masturbating in front of a floor to ceiling mirror. As I chatted to Mike, I glanced over at that mirror wondering ...?
"Really?" I murmured probably sounding absent-minded as I read my lengthy description of me sucking my full, heavy breasts which I was fondling as I read about them.
"Teen are you listening to me? I'm in deep shit and I need your help," Mike said, dragging me away from my sexual meanderings. I closed the story and let go of my breasts, although they were still tingling and I had that lovely warmth of arousal all through my body.
In the end I agreed. I would do three months, pretty much full time. I would spend the mornings in the agency, the early afternoons with clients, but would generally leave to be home by four when I would then continue working from home. We agreed a great package, including a Porsche 911, my dream car.
****
I was two months into the contract. It was working well. I had sorted out many of the problems, had called on a number of old contacts to overcome the copy backlog and do the pitches and had recruited a few key creative and production staff including four copywriters, one of whom was a senior writer, earmarked as my replacement.
I was running a weekend workshop for the copy team. I had set it up at a lovely country hotel, not far from Windsor, just outside London. The arrangement was to meet for dinner on the Friday evening and discuss the loose agenda I had prepared. The overall objective of the workshop was to improve both the quality, but as importantly the speed with which we turned copy projects round, at present it was too slow and cumbersome.
On the Friday morning we would discuss the overall problem as a group, have a brainstorm and develop loads of potential ways to improve, irrespective at that stage or their practicality. We would then break into four smaller groups of three and investigate the suggestions and come up the best three workable suggestions from each group. Later, maybe the next day, these would be presented to the main group and fully discussed with a view to developing one from each group into a workable system the next morning.
The back end of the Saturday afternoon was to be one-to-one counselling and coaching sessions pairing the more senior with the more junior team members; this was recommended by the training facilitator I had invited. He paired us by the most experienced with the least experienced and so. I was thus paired with the second least experienced, Sammi.
She was twenty two or so and had just left Bristol University with a solid 2:1 in English and Psychology, a perfect combination for a copywriter in the ad industry. She was on the company's graduate trainee scheme and would spend a time in different departments eventually finding a permanent home with a job in a department that was most suitable for her. She had spent a few months in accounts, which was where all the grads started, and had been in copy for just a few weeks.
