WEDNESDAY
Sam was feeling more than frustrated when he staggered out of the revolving door and into the foyer of the Radley building, carefully balancing his precious payload of overpriced morning joe.
He hadn't slept well. The night before was filled with rabid onanism followed by uneasy sleep.
The fact that at least three of his neighbors were loudly engaged in wall-shaking sexcapades of their own didn't help. This--considering two of the adjoining apartments housed elderly retired couples--raised some interesting questions when considering the stomach-turning logistics.
Mrs. Meyer baked a mean batch of lebkuchen but relied on a walking frame to get around...
Sam shuddered and shook off the impending visuals. He didn't want that type of therapy.
"Morning, Mister Hall. You're in a bit earlier than usual, ain't ya?" A muffled voice greeted him.
Henry was solidly rooted behind the front desk as usual but with some notable changes in his getup. The gray-haired codger was waving from behind a perspex sneeze guard wearing the same rumpled suit as yesterday with a 'kiss the cook' barbeque apron, yellow cleaning gloves, and an army green gas mask that looked like it was borrowed from a documentary about the second world war.
"Henry... is that you in there?" Sam could barely make out the beady eyes and bushy eyebrows behind the round glass apertures. "Are you doing okay?"
"Fine. Doing just fine, Mister Hall. They ain't talking about in the news yet, but the Chinese won't be taking ol' Henry by surprise this time. Got my grandpappy's field mask outta storage, see?"
His voice echoed like a tin can telephone from the round metal canister covering his nose and chin. He tapped at it instructively as though Sam might have missed the nightmare fuel strapped to his skull.
"I do see. That's... nice." The junior accountant hedged, slowly backing towards the elevator bank and reaching surreptitiously for the call button. No abrupt movements. "Are you sure that's really necessary?"
"Oh yes, Sir. My buddy George reckons the government is trying to knock off the older generation to save on aged pensions, but I says to him, 'George, take my word for it. It's the godless Chinese cooking up a new horse flu to wreak havoc on good Christian folks and play merry hell with the US economy.' That's what I told him."
The chiming of a bell and the grinding of metal doors opening signaled the arrival of the lift. Miracle of miracles, it was waiting on the ground floor for once. Sam would have to light a candle in thanks to whichever patron saint was responsible for escaping awkward, politically charged conversations.
"I'm sure everything is fine." He wasn't. Not even close. "Look after yourself, Henry."
"Same to you, Mister Hall! Same to you--"
Sam breathed out a sigh of relief as the closing doors cut off crazy old coot's blathering and readjusted his burdens. The regular Starbucks coffee order and a large brown paper bag with a grease stain forming at the bottom.
He was arriving early; that much was true, hoping to steal a march on the madness outside.
Sam had woken with an epic boner, pointing the direction to heaven like a vengeful, veiny prophet. He had jacked off
twice
in the shower to great, spunk-spewing relief but little reduction in manly stiffness before giving up and getting dressed for work.
Clothing had been a bit tricky. His pressed business shirts and fastidiously creased chino pants had been a tighter fit than usual. Extra poundage straining the buttons and testing the stitched seams. Sam was especially self-conscious of the outline of an obscene bulge tucked midway down one trouser leg.
The weight gain shouldn't have come as a surprise; calories were just numbers like any other. Credit versus debits. And one column had severely outweighed the other over the last few days.
Sweater vests to the rescue.
The humble wool-knit garment covered a lot of sins. The unofficial symbol of his calling in life. Today, it was a calming robin egg blue v-neck that hid the tortured buttons of his white collar shirt. Unpretentious. Unobtrusive.
Nothing to see here, folks. Pay no heed to the man in the corner.
That was the vibe Sam had tried to project in the coffee shop that morning. Just another nameless face in the crowd with his back pressed to the wall to save his beleaguered butt from further abuse.
Sam had watched wide-eyed as a stunning redhead in maroon yoga pants and a white sports bra chowed down on two acai bowls and a plate piled high with ham and cheese toasties while he waited. She was lean, fit, and fantastically leggy, with tits so large they could have won awards. They kept dragging his stare into the gravity well of her creamy cleavage as she moaned orgasmically at every mouthful.
She hadn't been an anomaly either. If only that were the case.
Filling the streets and every eatery Sam passed were office workers stuffing their pie holes as though each bite were their last. A lot more women than men for some reason.
Bustling southern belles, often strutting about in provocatively dressed gaggles. Decked out in impractically fancy footwear, snug skirts, and dipping necklines, they prattled together, shooting any passing male come-hither looks and giggling like naughty schoolgirls around dainty bites of breakfast takeout.
Sam had never craved the security of his boring job in the nice, safe offices of Chandler Accounting Services more in his life, away from all the boner-inducing chaos of the outside world.
He would get in before anyone else, have a quick emergency wank in the bathroom to calm the restless beast in his pants, then get a headstart on the budget reports.
Those plans were immediately derailed when he stepped off the elevator and found his boss, Sadie, waiting by the frosted glass door, wearing an eye-catching new outfit with a gleam of intent sparkling in her sable eyes.
"Ah, Samuel, you're early. Good. I am pleased to see you showing some initiative at last."
A form-fitting skirt suit in a black and white geometric print complimented her mature body wonderfully. The slim-fitting blazer and short-cut skirt hugged her toned figure with no visible shirt or blouse underneath. Only a single silver button above her bared navel prevented the slim-cut jacket from bursting apart, revealing all the supple goodness it struggled to contain.
Yesterday's leather knee-high boots were making an encore appearance, and her rich burgundy hair was tied in a low, messy bun with runaway bangs spiraling down to frame her regal face. But it was the intensity of that stare emanating from behind her wire-rimmed spectacles that slowed Sam's steps.
"Um... hi, Miss Chandler. I--I didn't realize you would be here."
