Rick had never cared much for Africa. He imagined the vast continent to be little more than just desert-- way too dry for his taste. But as he slept, he dreamed of an African sun beaming relentlessly on his face and chest. He dreamed of sinewy thighs caressing and flexing along his legs, a tongue licking a snake trail from his nipple to his earlobe, warm, tropical wetness dribbling along his cock, and dripping from his balls.
The woman in his dream looked lost in her orgasm, reaching for another as if she were climbing a ladder. He felt her pussy squeezing and drooling around his dick. In his dream, Rick came continuously as his lover cooed and collapsed on him-- her hips moving of their own accord, her teeth grazing his chest, signalling another come. Rick came again inhaling sweet, clean air with the hint of patchouli, the sweat of his woman and the liquor of their sex. Rick awoke to a pool of semen cooling in his navel; he looked over at the talisman. The lovers fell apart from their embrace on the shifting surface of the totem, once again resuming the yin-yang symbol on the face of the sandstone.
The office was always quiet when Rick arrived. He flipped on the lights and the copier, and, while the copier warmed up, made a pot of coffee. There was a strange sense of empowerment to this ritual, as if it were he who brought the office to life. Today, however, was different. Starting the office up just didn't seem as important as it was last week. Rick ambled over to his desk, and switched on his computer. He sipped from his coffee, his eyes popping open, involuntarily. He made a mental note to go easy on the grounds for the next pot.
"Rick?" a female voice lilted and swerved from around a corner.
"Yeah?"
"You okay?" the woman was short, mousy, and rather plain. She peeked in from the side of the door, eyebrows arched with concern.
"I'm fine, Roberta. Why?"
"I was in the ladies' room on Friday when... when I heard..." Roberta's cheeks flushed a deep red, and suddenly found a new interest in her shoes.
"Bobbie, don't worry about it. The weekend worked out all right, anyway."
"There's more than that. Melissa was going out with--"
Rick raised a hand to cut her off. "Bobbie, I'm really not interested. Thanks for your concern, but it really wasn't that important."
Roberta looked up and smiled. "Okay," she said. "Coffee?"
Rick raised his cup to her.
"Oh, okay," Roberta said. "Um, what are you doing for lunch?"
"Working. I've got a report due tomorrow." Rick lied. The truth was that he just wanted Bobbie to go away.
"Okay. Well, see you... okay?"
"Oh - kay." Rick said, tersely. He thought Bobbie to be very sweet, but her "okays" were sometimes irritating. It seemed to him that she was always looking for permission to just speak. As a result, he treated her very dismissively. Their discussions always left Rick with a tinge of guilt at the end. He made a silent resolve (again) to be nicer to her.
"Got a second, buddy?"
Rick looked up at his next visitor-- Clifford. Clifford had the body of an obsessive gym rat; his bleached crew cut contributed to an almost Aryan appearance. Where Bobbie was sweet, Cliff was smug, swaggering. He was, in short, an asshole.
"What is it, Cliff?" Rick asked.
"I got into the 'mile-high' club last weekend, my friend," Cliff continued. "All it took was a quick flight to Vegas, baby."
"Who's the lucky lady, Cliff?" Rick hoped that humoring Cliff would make him go away sooner.