Our Little Secret

This is a story that includes explicit sexual content. It was not written as a sex story, nor was it written simply purely to depict sex.

Chapter 1 -- Enlightenment

"Don't forget to take out the garbage before you go," Valerie called out from the front door. "And text me tonight when you get in," she reminded him for the third time.

"Yeah, yeah" Joel answered with unguarded indifference from the kitchen.

Don't forget to be a bitch

. He knew marriage was not supposed to be a storybook romance all the time, but no one ever told him it would be this sad. The feeble apartment building air conditioning wasn't able to moderate the sweltering late spring heat wave. It didn't change how Joel and Val felt toward each other -- it only made those feelings more intense.

He started dating Val when she was a quality assistant at Quinton Systems, basically a glorified title for a filing clerk. He worked at the same company as an intermediate systems programmer. Both their career paths had plateaued. Three years ago, they both got drunk at the Christmas party. Every year Quinton held the annual party at some low cost meeting room center located in a commercially zoned area on the far side of Boston. Most businesses around the meeting center are light manufacturing and warehousing enterprises, and can't afford more luxurious accommodations. The downtown convention center, or any of the hotel ball rooms was out of reach of Quinton's sparing employee appreciation budget.

Sometime after dessert, they left the dining hall, wandered down the industrial cinder block lined corridor, and locked themselves into a family bathroom -- the one moms take their young families in to change diapers -- and started necking and groping. It was pretty tame until Joel took the next step, and he lightly brushed the outer side of her boob through her tight knit sweater. "I don't think so," Val chastised him, and pulled away. She straightened her hair and clothing, and opened the door, leaving Joel behind. When Joel returned to the dining room, Val was nowhere to be found.

She ignored him mostly after that, punctuated by manufactured moments of oblique interest. She'd occasionally show up at his cubicle with some obscure reason to discuss quality documents, or pass him in the hallway and say "Hey Joel" with a tone ranging between dismissal and indifference. He interpreted her occasional lackluster encounters as random moments of forced tolerance, and accordingly ignored Val.

Joel never fancied himself a lady's man, and few ladies would argue. Girls like Jenny in HR, with her long, wavy brown hair, brilliant green eyes, inviting smile, firm large tits, and curvy hips wouldn't look twice at Joel. Only in his dreams did Jenny play a role in his life. Joel used to concoct outlandish scenarios in his late night fantasies where Jenny was compelled to thank him for vanquishing a gang of malignant thugs that threatened to sully her impeccable honor. Night after night, Jenny professed her eternal gratitude through carnal gifts, which Joel translated into orgasmic release using his solitary right palm beneath the bed sheets. Sometimes she offered him a blowjob, other times a fuck, and on those special nights she squeezed those sweet, large tits together and invited Joel to fuck the cozy channel between her fun pillows until he sprayed a thick, sticky glaze all over her tits and face. When Joel was on business travel, which occurred frequently, he masturbated to fancies of Jenny just before drifting off to sleep.

Joel and Val didn't cross paths again until the summer after that Christmas party when they bumped into each other at a park he frequented on weekends. He considered himself something of a nature photographer, and Joel would venture out to the park in the wee hours after sunrise, when the squirrels, chipmunks, birds, and other nature's creatures were plentiful with no people to frighten them off. He was snapping shots one early June morning, just past six, when Val just happened to walk past, scaring away the animals.

"Hey Joel," she called out with her disinterested demeanor. "I didn't know you came here," she offered. "I was just out for my morning jog." She wore new jogging shoes and shorts, and a new sports top. Joel didn't see any sweat on her brow. She sat at a nearby bench, claiming she needed to catch her breath, but she seemed to be breathing restfully to Joel. They talked for a while, led by her questions and judgemental narrative on life.

The coffee shop at the end of the park opens at seven, and so they walked together to get a coffee. Joel just seemed to go along, having no better prospects to pursue. That sentiment was apropos of their entire relationship. Nothing better came along, so Joel started going out with her, and when nothing better came along, he agreed to marry her.

Back in the kitchen, Joel checked his watch. He had ten minutes before the Uber taxi would arrive. His company required he use Uber when it was available, because it was cheaper. Now that he had been transferred to the customer support division, Joel travelled frequently. Since he was young, he had a knack for fixing things. The skill was not lost on his employer, who moved him out of software development and into on-site technical and customer support.

His company sold multiple platform information display systems for the transportation industry. Displays in subway stations, airports, bus terminals, and train stations -- those displays that listed the arrivals, departures, delays, cancellations, gate numbers, platforms, next stop time, and so on. Joel went out and fixed them when they broke. Simple problems, like a failed monitor were generally the customer's responsibility. But when all the monitors started shimmering, or when half of the monitors inexplicably went dark, Joel would fly out to fix a system-wide problem.

Joel was flying to Atlanta. All the Atlanta city busses had a Quinton display system in them, and monitors sometimes cutting off the bottom half of the display. They bus company had replaced the monitors, but the problem persisted, and so they called Quinton support to fix what was suspected to be a systematic problem. Joel was flying to Atlanta today to investigate the problem. Atlanta was actually out of his territory -- he was North East -- but Stewart, centered in Jacksonville Florida, had been off sick for two weeks. Joel knew the technology employed in the Atlanta system, so he flew from Boston as a suitable alternate.

By the time Joel finished his breakfast cereal and went to the bathroom, it was time to head down to catch his ride. He grabbed his carry-on luggage and his travel toolkit, which was really two smaller kits that fit into a large hardened travel case. It had to be checked in as luggage, not only because of its size and weight, but also because it contained several implements that could be fashioned as weapons onboard an aircraft.

Joel wheeled his heavy toolkit case and his carry-on suitcase out the apartment and locked the door. The hallway was ten degrees warmer than the apartment. Joel started sweating even before he pressed the down call button for the elevator. When it finally arrived after many minutes waiting, the elevator was already crammed too full with people. For some reason, Monday mornings were always busier than any other weekday. He let the car go, and pushed the call button as soon as the doors closed again, and waited in the stifling heat for another five minutes before the next one arrived. The next car was nearly as full, but now Joel was desperate to meet his taxi downstairs. He wheeled his large toolkit onto the elevator, apologizing several times as people shuffled inside the elevator car, pressing closer together. He rested his suitcase on top of the toolkit case, and squeezed in himself.

Joel stepped out of the building where the blistering sun made it ten degrees warmer again. It was early June in Boston, and even the green grass was wilting under the heat. The Uber taxi was still waiting for him. The driver already knew the destination was Logan Airport, Terminal B, and was therefore willing to wait a few minutes extra for a good fare. With sweaty hands, Joel hefted the heavy toolkit case into the trunk, and there was no room left for his suitcase, so he wheeled it around and put it in the back seat beside him. Mercifully, the Uber taxi had functioning air conditioning, and by the time Joel reached Logan Airport, he felt almost normal again.

The non-stop American Airlines flight was delayed an hour because the inbound flight from Minneapolis was late. Joel and the other passengers lined up at the gate when they finally announced boarding. As he stepped onto the airplane, Joel noticed it was an Embraer E190 -- a small twin engine jet that holds about 100 people. While he was waiting in the aisle for people to take their seats, Joel scanned the row numbers until he found his row 14 -- two behind the emergency exit.

A large woman was ahead of him in the aisle, and she stopped at row 8 to put her bags in the overhead stowage, but there was not enough room. She checked the overhead bins on the opposite side, and still no room. She put her case on her own seat, which prevented her from sitting down, and Joel realized she was probably too fat to bend over and shove it under the seat in front while standing. The woman looked around, hoping to spy a flight attendant, but none were within her sightline. She had blocked the aisle for so long the path beyond her was now clear of people. Joel started to suggest she hand her case to him, and he would find a place for it further back, when he heard a loud, gruff man's voice call out from behind "c'mon lady, sit that fat arse down!"

The woman snapped her head at Joel and scowled with a mixture of anger and resentment. Joel was starting to pantomime a gesture pointing behind him, as if to say 'it wasn't me' when she barked "You don't have to be so rude." Now the flight attendant arrived from the back of the plane, and took the lady's case and found an empty overhead bin further back, near row 12. The lady finally took her seat.

Joel was conflicted. He wanted to explain it wasn't he who made that comment, but he didn't want to publicly accuse the person behind him of such rudeness, and create a worse commotion. So Joel stepped past the flustered woman who bore holes in him with her angered eyes. With no one ahead of him now, Joel immediately reached his row, and put his suitcase overhead, only to realize an elderly lady was in his seat. "Excuse me," he said politely to the white haired woman, "I believe you are in my seat."

"Oh come on!" the same man behind Joel called out loudly, and this outburst brought the flight attendant back.

"Is there a problem?" the attendant asked with an annoyed tone. Boarding was taking far too long, and she needed to hurry it along.

"This woman is in my seat," Joel explained softly, not wanting to make a fuss. "I understand the flight is full, so I am not sure where to sit now." He was trying to sound like the reasonable one.

"Just take any seat but mine," the same guy complained from behind. The flight attendant realized that advice would just complicate matters further, so she asked the old lady for her boarding pass. It took a good two minutes of searching through her purse, pockets, and carry on items. Meanwhile the attendant and Joel stood across the aisle from each other in the empty aisle seats in the row behind the old lady. This way, other passengers could continue back to their seats. There was a young lady seated in the window seat beside where Joel was standing -- the seat behind the old lady -- and she looked affronted by his intrusion into her personal space.

Finally the old lady found her boarding pass tucked into her book as a placeholder. She showed it to the attendant, who realized the woman was supposed to be in row 15, not 14. The old lady should be sitting one seat behind -- exactly where the young lady was seated beside where Joel was standing now. Joel decided to expedite the matters, and asked the woman seated beside him for her boarding card. She indignantly refused.

"All right," the flight attendant said to Joel, "just stand at the back of plane, and take the open seat when boarding is finished."

Why am I the one being punished?

When all boarding was complete, there were no seats left. Joel walked the aisle back to front and back again. He reported his concern to the flight attendant.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "Come with me," she ordered, now upset they were late pushing away from the gate. She knew, like every other crew member did, that the airline paid a hefty fee to the airport if they pulled away from a gate more than five minutes late. Everyone was trained and motivated for on-time departures, and reprimanded, and ultimately fired, for too many late departures.

The flight attendant marched up the aisle with Joel in tow, but there were no seats. "Check the young woman behind the old lady," Joel was about to say, knowing that had to be the problem -- because no one else was complaining about seat assignments. But instead, the flight attendant told him "you'll have to deplane."

"What about my luggage?" Joel asked, worried that his company's expensive toolkit will go missing forever.

"You checked luggage for this short flight?" she accused Joel. She knew for certain she would lose her job if she allowed checked baggage to fly unattended.

Just do your fucking job!

Joel stood silently.

The flight attendant picked up the white phone at the front of the plane, beside the main entrance, and pressed the button for the cockpit, and waited for one of the pilots to answer her call. "We have an over-count," she complained. "No, the flight is full," she answered a question, and then she said "okay," and hung up the phone. Five seconds later, the cockpit door opened, and a tall pilot stepped out. "I'll start a row-by-row," the attendant advised the commanding officer.

"No, hang on," he put his hand up toward her, signalling her to stop. "Sir," the captain asked Joel respectfully, who was still standing beside the attendant, "may I please see your boarding pass?" Joel surrendered his boarding pass to the captain. He looked at it, and then kept it. The pilot walked down the aisle to seat 14D, and Joel followed. The flight attendant stayed at the front. "Madam," the pilot flashed a broad pearly smile at the white haired old lady, "may it trouble you too much if I could see your boarding pass?" The lady cooed at such polite attention from the pilot himself, and instantly found her boarding pass, and handed it to him with a fawning smile. He examined it, and kept that one too. "Madam," he asked the younger woman seated behind the old lady, "may I please see your boarding pass?"

The woman blew out an exaggerated huff of annoyance, and passed her boarding pass to him with a scowl. "Madam," he said, now with an official tone -- there was no respect in his voice anymore, "you are on the wrong flight."

"What!" she snapped. "That's impossible!"

"You're supposed to go to Chicago. This flight is to Atlanta." A murmur mixed with groans and snickering erupted from the neighboring passengers. The pilot handed back the elderly lady her boarding pass. "Mr. Winkman," he turned to Joel as he handed back his boarding pass, "would you kindly take the seat behind the one you were assigned?"

"Of course," nodded Joel.

The pilot looked at the flight attendant standing at the front of the plane, and then back to Joel. "On behalf of the airline," the pilot announced in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, including the flight attendant, "I apologize for this troublesome inconvenience." And now everyone on the plane knew just what really happened.

The pilot strode to the front of the plane, and handed the errant boarding pass to the flight attendant. If Joel were close enough, he would have heard him say quietly to her "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" But Joel didn't hear that. Instead, he saw her face collapse into anger and frustration as the pilot returned to the cockpit and closed the door. The flight attendant recomposed herself and walked down the aisle to supervise the orderly eviction of the stowaway and all her belongings. As Joel waited in the aisle behind the evicted lady, he realized someone inside the terminal had fucked up. Every boarding pass is to be scanned into the computer, or failing that, the gate attendant types in the seating assignment of every boarding pass. Joel had watched it happen a thousand times. The terminal-side computer then flags any duplicate seating assignments as part of the boarding process. The stewardess's incompetence had only compounded someone else's mistake.

The man in the aisle seat beside the departing lady stood up, allowing her to escape from her window seat, and then she walked up the aisle of shame toward the front door. "Have a good flight to Bolivia," an obnoxious, familiar voice rang loudly from the back of the aircraft, and the whole plane erupted into spontaneous laughter. Joel knew from his earlier remarks the intent was not to be humorous, but to deepen the woman's humiliation. The front door closed after the woman deplaned. At last Joel took his window seat, and the flight crew started their departure announcements.

Joel landed in Atlanta and waited for his toolbox case to surface from the airport's underworld onto the revolving baggage carousel. It was nearly three in the afternoon before he left the airport, and caught a proper cab to the MARTA regional command and control center. Uber was not allowed to pick up passengers at the airport.

Surprisingly, the Atlanta weather was more moderate than Boston. It was sunny and warm, but not scorching hot as Boston was.

It was a 45 cab minute ride from the airport, which was well south of the Atlanta, through heavy downtown traffic, to the MARTA headquarters in far north end of Atlanta. The building was a modern, glass and concrete six story professional structure. From the exterior, it belonged on any large, modern university campus.

MARTA ran a complex network of 100 bus routes that intersected with 50 miles of rail line. Half a million people rode the system every day. The command and control center, located at the MARTA headquarters, was one of the most advanced facilities of its kind in North America. Quinton Systems played a miniscule role in the overall command and control function. The problem MARTA was experiencing with the Quinton system was a minor, almost trivial nuisance compared to some of the more disruptive malfunctions MARTA had had to contend with.

Joel announced himself at the MARTA headquarters' front desk, and said he was from Quinton Systems. The receptionist had no record or knowledge of his visit. Joel explained he was visiting Keith Bradshaw, Director of Information Systems for MARTA. He was here to work on a problem MARTA was experiencing with the automated display systems.

The receptionist called Keith Bradshaw, and spoke with him briefly, being careful not to reveal too much from her end of the conversation, and then hung up. "Mr. Bradshaw isn't expecting you until Tuesday," she explained to Joel. "Would you like to come back in the morning?"

"Sure," Joel sighed. Another cock-up. Derrek, his regional boss, told Joel to report to Bradshaw this afternoon. He pulled out his work smartphone, and called up an Uber to take him to a nearby Holiday Inn, where he had a reservation. He could have walked the distance without his equipment.

Joel checked into the hotel and dumped his suitcase and toolkit case in his room. He sent a text to Valerie on his personal phone, saying he was at the hotel. Her only reply was

You forgot the garbage

. Joel never understood the principle behind Val's outrage when he forgot to take out the garbage. Every floor in his apartment building had a small garbage room, and you take your bag of garbage into the room, and drop it down the chute.

So how hard is that?

"I love you too, honey," he whined out loud at the phone. Joel left the hotel room and strolled down the street to a Target store, and bought a toothbrush and toothpaste after he realized he forgot to pack his. Around the corner he found a restaurant called the Fusion Bistro. Joel enjoyed an early supper, and returned to his hotel room. He set up his wifi, and watched a few episodes of American Horror Story on Netflix. Joel closed his laptop, turned out the lights, and lay in bed. He let Jenny from HR come to him once more as he jerked off into his underpants before fading off to sleep.