So, that was on the Thursday. And I have to admit, I didn't brush my teeth that night: I liked the idea of some random young man sperm swimming around my mouth. Does that make me weird? Whatever. I swear when I woke up the next morning, I could still taste that hot young spunk in the back of my throat, so I went to work -- teeth brushed by now -- smiling.
It didn't take long to take the smile off my face. As soon as I got in, my friend behind the main counter went, 'Oi, Marianne, Shit-For-Brains wants to see you. Urgently!' Shit-For-Brains is our name for our manager, Mr. Bright. Steve. Steve's actually OK and I think a lot of the resentment comes from the fact that he's just 30, if that, and more or less all of us in the pool are older so it galls a bit to have to take orders from someone who is, basically, my grandson's age.
Anyway, I left my bag under my counter and went along the corridor to Mr. Bright's office, more a cupboard than an office but he's put plants in there and a month planner so it looks real. I knocked on the door and heard him say, 'Come in', so in I went.
'Marianne,' he said, sounding concerned, 'how are you getting on at the counter out there? Please sit here...' He pointed to a chair at the corner of his desk, near where he was sitting, I supposed to make things feel friendlier, not doing the conversation across a desk.
'Oh,' I said, surprised, thinking that this must be some kind of early assessment or something. 'Good, I think...' Trouble with Steve is, though you try to hate him, he's actually really attractive. Shaved head because I think he must be losing his hair, always done out in a white shirt, navy blue suit and navy blue tie, shiny shoes... you know the type. He's definitely handsome: longish nose, cheekbones, thick lips, no stubble ever.
'It's just that I've heard the strangest rumour...' he said. Fuck, I thought. Has he seen the grafitti I spotted in the men's toilets (more of which another time...) saying 'Marianne is a cum-guzzling slut', which I decided I liked and would leave? 'Oh, really?' I said. 'What kind of rumour?'
'Well, it's not really something I want to repeat,' he said, a bit of a smirk on his face.
'So, let me get this clear, I've been accused of something but you don't want to let me know what it is?' I said, perhaps a bit too confrontationally. 'I don't know how that would stand up in a tribunal.'
'Well, I'm sure it's nothing,' he said, loosening his tie... and he never loosened his tie. He was famous for never loosening his tie, so I suppose it made me curious. 'I'm sure we can make it all go away...'
At this point I looked down and fairly obvious in his pressed suit trousers was what looked very much like an erection. Tie? Erection? What's going on here? I wondered. 'I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement so these rumours stop right here in this room...'
'I'm not sure I know what you mean, Mr Bright...,' I said, looking down as he started to rearrange himself in his trousers. Well, I thought he was rearranging himself, he was actually touching himself, rubbing his cock through the material.
And, I don't know how I got the courage... maybe it's being older and basically not caring what people say or think about you... but I called his bluff. Maybe he had heard something but I wasn't going to be blackmailed over it so I just said, 'I don't know what you're talking about Mr. Bright but if you think you have something over me, I think you're forgetting that since you started stroking your cock in front of a staff member, I now have something over you...'
At this he blushed, crossed his legs and blurted out, 'Well, I think that will be all...'
'I don't think it will,' I said, smiling at him - well, you know my weakness for men who blush. 'And I certainly don't want it to be all. I'd actually like another look at what it was you were rubbing there.'
With that the tables absolutely turned... He changed from aggressive and cocky to shy and intimidated. 'Really?' he said. 'It's OK, we can forget any of this happened...'
