Author's note: I had to laugh… even though I wrote the very first part of this story well over a year ago, the line where Tom read on the internet that "
Gas prices were up. The house market was down. There was some kind of a thing happening in Los Angeles today"
still pretty much holds true today. On second thought, maybe I shouldn't laugh…
Also, thanks for the comments. Keep them coming. They're why I write it…
*
Eight A.M. Thursday found Tom at his desk. With a looming deadline, a reasonable person would have expected him to be hunched over, tapping furiously at the keyboard. Or perhaps performing calculations, inputting a few equations into Excel, or at least making preliminary drawings on a pad of paper.
Not this Thursday.
Tom was sipping a cup of coffee, his feet on his desk.
It was this pose that brought him his best insights. He would sometimes sit for an hour, hardly moving, coffee getting cold, while he ran through designs in his mind. It was relaxing. Tom had an innate sense that this was a design that could be accomplished with some creative engineering. He just had to cull it out of his brain and onto a drawing.
Sandy was late again. Eight thirty ticked by and still Tom sat, almost motionless, at his desk. The design was forming. She was driving. They'd both arrive before the coffee pot was empty.
At eight-forty five, she strode by. She flipped a card onto his desk, hardly pausing. Before it landed, she was gone.
He blinked at the strange proceedings. No stranger, he supposed, than the events of the previous couple of days.
He picked up the card. It was in a red envelope, perhaps the size of a Christmas card. Hefting it, he could tell that there was just a card in it, nothing more. He fished out his pocketknife and slit the side. Removing the card, he began to read.
It is with great pleasure that I R.S.V.P. for the event scheduled for this Friday evening. I hope that semi-formal attire is acceptable; as I have not had the opportunity to procure a dress slinky enough for the expected activities. In any case, I expect any wardrobe choice I make will only become wrinkled as it lies upon your bedroom floor for a minimum period of four hours.
Expectantly,
Sandra
That smart-ass!
But Tom smiled. He expected her to make some sort of thrust at his boast from the previous day. He'd have been a little disappointed if she hadn't. Smile turning into a smirk, he took another sip. She'd soon find out whether it was a boast.
The design was finalized in his brain. It would involve some custom machined parts, but nothing a top-notch manufacturer couldn't handle. A precise shop drawing was in order to specify to the machinist what he required. This was what engineers got paid for.
Noon rolled around and he had hardly looked up. When Tom got in the zone, he was a whirling dervish of engineering creativity. The pumps he called out were standard, for the most part, with a few modifications to the normal blade lengths and intake valve diameters. A tweak to the diameter of the flow pipe at station 48+72 along the route ensured that the fluid velocity would remain within acceptable tolerances. The project was almost defeated. All that remained was to put it to paper.
His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten breakfast, per his M.O. For his entire life, he had preferred to sleep the extra 20 minutes it would take to feed himself in the morning. By noon, he was usually hungry.
Rising, he pondered lunch choices. Luciano's was a bit overdone lately. Perhaps something… more exotic… today?
"Thai it is!"
he thought to himself.
"Lunch plans?" Tom poked his head around Sandy's door. She was gone.
He hadn't seen her leave. Ah, well.
The pad thai was superb. He'd ordered it medium, as the Thai immigrants that manned the noodle stand were unforgiving to anyone who dared order it hot. They seemed to take it as a challenge. He had learned on his second trip to the place that if you ordered it hot,
HOT
was the way you were going to get it. Even crying uncle to the chef as he had, his forehead was beaded with sweat before he was done.
Tom arrived back at the office a few minutes before one. Sandy wasn't back yet. Odd, she'd left before him and would get back after. Wonder what she was doing?
He continued to work on his project for another 45 minutes before he heard the front door open and close. Seconds later, Sandy darkened his doorway and stopped.
"Yes'm?"
"Guess what I just did?"
"Flew to New York, had lunch, and flew back?"
"Nope!" She didn't flinch at his jab.
"Hm, made sixty three-minute eggs?"
"Nope!"
"Well, what then?"
"Went to the mall. Bought something for my… formal occasion tomorrow night."
"What did you buy?"
"You'll find out if you're good!"
She smirked, turned, and left his office.
"This was the best decision I've ever made,"
Tom thought to himself.
The day passed uneventfully. The project reached somewhere around the 10% stage. He spoke with Chris about the details, learning of a few minor modifications that needed to be made. Nothing major, so he didn't estimate any additional time would be needed. He should be ready to present his 30% proposal on the due date.
At 5:00, Sandy poked her head in the door.
"I'm going home!"
"Are you, then?"
"Yes!"
This good mood of hers was unprecedented. He cocked his head at her, not sure how to feel.
"Well, I hope you have a good night."
"I won't. But, I bet I will tomorrow night! And for that, I'm happy."
He smiled at her. To gaze upon, she was so innocent. A youthful face, deep blue eyes, honey-colored locks cascading down around her face. He imagined what she'd look like with his semen dripping down her nose.
"I bet you will too."
Friday morning dawned clear and crisp. The air was still a bit cool. Spring was underway, the trees cautiously pushing forth blooms to beckon forward the onslaught of summer. Without the pressing heat of the season, they could not reproduce. Within it, there was a chance they'd be beaten into submission by the burning rays of a July sun. It was a reproductive dance that dated back to eons long forgotten.
