To Betty and Bob, following up their wedding with a movie was the logical thing to do. I felt too weird to join them - wedding couples should have time alone, no matter how eccentric their choice of activity - and the drive from Minneapolis plus the 6 am wake up call did wipe me out. Besides, that chick from breakfast was going and there just wasn’t enough room to hide her body in my trunk.

I excused myself so I could crash, planning to throw together a dinner for them before Betty and Bob returned that night with their parents in tow. We all stopped back to change clothing, and I assumed Mark would disappear to his family’s place across town.

 As soon as we arrived, I shot into the bathroom and changed to my jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. I was such a quick change artist - a leftover habit from my sluttier college days - that Betty, Bob and their friends were still milling around their house when I emerged. As I sank to the couch to zone out, I realized I made a grave miscalculation. Mark was still with all of them. I kept very, very silent, hoping that he would not notice my presence in the crush of people.

It almost worked.

Bob stood at his bedroom door and bellowed, “Everybody on their way to the movie, out the door now!” Everyone followed suit except for me. Mark trailed behind, and looked set to go, when Bob said, “You sure about staying here, Zee?”

Fuck.

Mark paused at the door, looked back at me, and then changed his course. “I’m staying here to hang,” he said to Bob. “I hope that’s OK.”

Betty turned to Bob and wiggled her eyebrows. “Use some condoms, kids!” she said. I flipped her the bird. They laughed and left, and Mark sat down on the other end of the couch. 

I grimaced and grabbed the TV remote; they kept an Invader Zim  DVD in the player at all times. I could generally watch about two episodes before it went from funny to grating.

I stared at the screen, zoning out and half-hoping I’d doze off. After all the wedding, travel, and additional pressure of Mark’s presence, I needed a fucking break.

Mark sat beside me, saying nothing. I made it through two episodes, and realizing he was going to stay planted on that couch no matter what I did, I rallied myself into the kitchen to wash the gigantic stack of dishes despite my exhaustion.

Mark followed me a few moments later. He stood in the doorway, watching my hands scrub back and forth at the crust on a cereal bowl. “Miss your dishwasher?” We’d had a six month argument about what I paid in rent for my place - just for the convenience of a full size dishwasher.

I grit my teeth, scrubbing harder. “Yeah.” 

“I’d be afraid to touch any of that.”

“I am, but I’m not letting it stop me.” Betty had a baby on the way, and Bob didn’t know yet. I figured reducing some of the daily biohazard might give the kid a sporting chance.

“Can I help?”

I swallowed a sigh. I wasn’t getting rid of him, and the not-quite of our situation made confronting him about my feelings totally inappropriate. I had told him how I felt about him when we’d known each other three months. He friend-zoned me. It wasn’t going to happen, I knew it wasn’t going to happen, and yet hear I stood two years later washing dishes while part of my brain had us fucking on the kitchen floor. And catching God-knows what diseases.

If I had to go through the hell of standing beside him, unable to touch him, I might as well get some shared labor out of the deal. “There are towels in that drawer,” I gestured with my head. “Dry.”

Mark began wiping down dishes with a thorough touch, his broad hand completely covering each utensil. They were large enough that he could easily cup my breasts in his hand, encasing it completely.

I scrubbed harder on my dishes, trying to find something so gross it pushed the image of his hands rubbing my nipples and sliding down my body from my mind. Think about penguins. White elephants. Mark’s cock springing free from his - dammit!

We worked in a speechless rhythm,  the shhh-shh of my scrubbing and the occasional clink making the only sounds as Mark stashed dishes in the cabinet. At last, he broke the silence. “Where have you been?”

Avoiding you. Avoiding that you just want to hang out. Avoiding that I have to struggle not to throw myself at you whenever you’re within a mile of me. “Same place as always. Home, work, stuff. Mostly I just go to work and go home, with stops for groceries.”

“That can’t be healthy.”

“What?”

“Just staying home all the time? That doesn’t sound like you.”

I was on my last dish, a wooden cutting board that looked like it came from a tree dinosaurs ate. If I scrubbed much more, it would reduce to a splinter. I kept my eyes on it, rubbing at the wood with the steel wool pad - probably the worst thing for it.  “I’m not the party girl everyone keeps making me out to be,” I snapped. If I was out, I was avoiding my feelings. I had already accepted that I could not run from them, and my liver was not about to let me run from them this time.

The year I’d had was hard, not made easier by my reality that I was in love with a man who did not reciprocate and now seemed dead-set on spending every second of this trip with me. Any woman in my shoes would have opted to stay in more, too, and watch Buffy reruns if just for the hope of relationships that didn’t end the world.

I paused in my scrubbing as the tears and snot made their appearance. Ah, a wedding followed by the maid of honor’s humiliation. I brushed my sleeve across my face and went back to scrubbing. The way I was going, there was going to be nothing left of that cutting board.

Mark’s hand closed over mine, and then, towel wrapped around his other hand, he deftly pried the cutting board from my hands while holding me in place. I felt my pulse rise and my breathing speed. Without letting go of me, Mark set down the cutting board, dropping the towel.

His fingers wrapped around my wrist and tapped my pulse; there was no hiding my feelings here. He rubbed his thumb deliberately against the fluttering point in my wrist, a small smile playing around his lips at the increase. He raised my hand above my head, out of the way of our bodies and stepped into me. “So you’ve been avoiding me,” he said conversationally, as though every inch of him wasn’t pressed into me.

“What makes you say that?” I gulped for breath and licked my lips. The smell of his cologne made me dizzy to the point of cross-eyed.

“This,” he said, gently increasing the pressure of his thumb. With his other hand, he traced the fluttering pulse at my neck. “This,” he said, and, dropping both hands to my waist, kissed and savored the galloping vein while I shivered. “The rapid breathing that changes whenever I leave the room clues me in, too.”

“Stupid small house. No damn secrets here!” I said.

His hand cupped my face, and he tilted my chin so that our glasses never touched. He exhaled gently on my lips, eliciting a moan from me before I could stop it. I could feel his teasing smile before he pressed his lips against mine, fitting his lips so that nerve met nerve. His tongue licked mine, gently. He coaxed my mouth open, slowly, cleanly, while I melted.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned into his embrace just to stay standing. Balance seemed to disappear; Mark would have to stay standing for both of us.

The liquid pit of longing at the bottom of my stomach became roast flame, and I became aware of my breasts pressing into his chest, of his slightly callused hand stroking the side of my neck as his other hand placed gentle pressure on the small of my back.

Mark broke the kiss slowly, reducing the intensity of his tongue and giving my lips a playful nip before he stopped. He stopped both his hands to my waist, steadying me, and then took a step back. I could feel the shadow of our heat in the space between us. As the space cooled, this sudden confident Mark disappeared, and I saw uncertainty in his ice blue eyes.

“I’m glad to know you wouldn’t kick my ass for that,” he said, and I could sense a small amount of agony in his tone.

Kick his ass? I was fighting the urge to knock him on the floor and grind on him until we both came. I took a deep breath, then another, then three more.

Inhale, exhale, that’s how it goes. Cool down, Zee. I hated this moment, whenever it came: it was the moment of decision. It was a moment I gave up ever having with Mark, and now, because it was Mark, I was more sure of myself and how I wanted him than ever – and less sure of him than I had ever been before. A moment’s calm could wipe it all away, and as it was I was in danger of that fucked up hookup zone when you hooked up with someone you friend zoned, and then the person you did it with was stuck with feelings that would stay after you found someone else to have an orgasm with.

I already knew how the rules worked: if I walked away, cleared my head, and asked myself what I really wanted, I would lose the moment. For all I knew, this was just casual seduction on Mark’s part, a way to pass the time until we returned to our regularly scheduled lives. 6 hours away, the painful talks over coffee awaited. I hated him for a moment - what he was doing was exactly what you DON’T do with a woman that’s in love with you, not if you have a conscience.

Mark pressed his hands into my waist. “Say something,” he begged. He looked terrified. 

“I’m scared,” I said. It was the truth. I didn’t want to lose Mark, but I didn’t really have him the way I wanted him, and the only solution to that as far as I could tell was to distance myself. Which wasn’t happening with those hands on my body right at that moment. I also guessed saying “I’m in love with you,” would kill the mood faster than “Does the blow up sheep need batteries?”

Mark pulled me closer to him, his beard tickling my cheek. “When you wouldn’t see me, or answer my calls, that hurt. That hurt more than I thought it would.” He pushed me back, both hands on my shoulders, looking earnestly into my face. “I’d be out with other women, and thinking of you.”

“I called you,” I said mildly. It was always me calling him. I’d gotten tired of it.

“I know. You were so chipper that I knew something wasn’t right. I’d finally worked up the courage to tell myself how much I really wanted you, and then you started slipping away from me –“ his eyes filled, became an ocean of agony that matched my own.

My heart broke for him, and in the riptide of emotion, I kissed Mark with all the passion I ever held for him. Every memory, every casual touch, every thought whether passing or longing, flooded through me in that kiss. What began at his mouth moved to his neck. My hands took on their own agenda, unbuttoning his shirt as my lips followed in their wake. I pushed the shirt off Mark’s shoulders, pausing to run my tongue around each nipple.

Mark gasped at my boldness. I pulled his shirt off, shoving it over his arms and onto the floor, pausing as his kisses on my lips and fingers distracted me. I gave Mark a lingering kiss, taking back my attention span and control as I did so, dropping to my knees,  fingers working his belt buckle made clumsy from both my exhaustion and my arousal.

Mark clasped his hands over mine on his belt, pressing them into his erection. “Stop!” he whispered.

I looked up. Mark’s hair was the mess I had fantasized about making it, and he looked a bit rattled. His glasses were slightly crooked. I gazed up at this man I adored, my hands over his rising cock, waiting for him to find his breath. He gazed back, and then croaked out, “Condoms.”

I walked over to the kitchen shelf where Betty hid her liquor, and reached behind the gin. Betty and Bob both hated gin. Sure enough, behind them was a box of Trojans. I pulled out two, and grinned at Mark.

He gaped. “How did you know that was there?” he asked.

“Betty and I kept condoms stashed all over the places when we were in college,” I explained. “It’s an act of courtesy.”

Mark’s eyes widened as I, more sure of myself this time, undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants. I ran my hand beneath his boxers, delighting in his gasp. “I think it’s safe to quit thinking,” I whispered in his ear. God knows that last thing I wanted right now was for either of us to come to our senses.

 Mark planted himself next to me at the post wedding breakfast despite my best attempts to plant myself elsewhere. I focused intently on the friend Betty seated across from me, because the homicidal rage she stirred within me helped distract me from how much my desire for Mark was depressing me. I hated her. She was exactly what I needed.

She loved country music and carried on about the greatness of Montgomery Gentry, and then, upon discovering I was divorced, out of the blue brought up  gaming conventions and called them Man Mall of America. When she jumped to husband shopping as though that was the way to deal with post-divorce grief, I grabbed a fork and dug it into my thigh.

Mark interrupted her, speaking with a strident urgency about an Ikea opening in Madison as though it were the most important political happening of the decade. I bit back the obvious Fight Club comments, and as he carried forth, withdrew with my cell phone.

Even talking to an imaginary person on the phone relieved the heartbreaking intensity of that much time close to Mark, especially after what amounted to being verbally attacked by a stranger for having a man and tossing him back when he proved, well, mean.

I wanted away from Mark, away from my friend’s glowing happiness, away from ambitions that started and stopped at penis-gathering, away from the endless talk about RPGs that just weren’t my bag. I was happy for my friends and in hell for myself. It was Betty’s day, and I was not going to inflict the feelings I was eating via Cheetos on her. I flipped the cell phone closed and slipped it in the pocket of my trench coat. I closed my eyes, feeling the sun and inhaling hard to gather the cold wet air of fall in Wisconsin.

I was able to take two breaths before Mark appeared at my side, intruding on my peace and yet making me ache to bring him closer.

“How are you?” he asked again.

“I already answered that this morning,” I told him. “Thanks for the coffee by the way.”

Mark exhaled, then rephrased, pushing a hand through his sandy hair. “How have you been?”

“Busy.” I saw Betty and Bob gathering their coats and their individual checks. “I think it’s time to go,” I said, and stepped away, falling into the stream of people pouring out of the Country Kitchen.

 ”Zee -” Mark said, but I waved my hand.

“See you at the house,” I said, cutting him off.

A hand dangled a mug of steaming life above me. “Here, Zee, coffee, Zee.” I reached a hand above me from my prone position on the couch, and another hand wrapped my palm gently around the warm mug. I sat up, pulling from my stomach muscles to slow my ascent and avoid spilling any precious bean on my favorite pajamas.

As I took a sip, I blinked my eyes a few times and focused. I was still unsure as to the location of my glasses, but I was pretty sure that it was Mark who sat at the end of the couch I just crashed on. “So how have you been?” he asked, as though we were in some Minneapolis coffee shop, on one of our casual (boring) evenings out that ended with him excusing himself and me eating my way through a bag of Cheetos in frustration.

I wiped the crust from my eyes. Any attempt to look alluring and distant was utterly fucked; Mark had ambushed me. He then trapped me with coffee, my greatest morning weakness. It was unfair.

He leaned towards me from the couch arm in  jeans that fit perfectly and a dark blue button-down shirt that fit him exactly. I forced myself to grip the mug; my hands wanted to do other things in my weakened and typically horny morning state. I sipped the sweetened blackness.

Three weeks of perfectly good avoidance, swept away by our best friends’ wedding to each other and my inability to afford a hotel. “Fine,” I finally answered, gulping more coffee and then yanking blankets off myself.

I sat upright, moving to the farthest side of the couch from him. A-ha! My glasses rested on the end table next to my side of the couch. I slipped them on, and tried to ignore the bedheaded version of myself reflected in the television set.

The muffled voices of Bob and Betty carried from their bedroom, just a few steps from my couch. The clock on their VCR - why in the hell did those two still own a VRC? - read 6 am. Their appointment with the Justice of the Peace was at 8.

According to Beth’s planning meeting the night before,  it took half an hour to get to the courthouse. Given my state after the drive, it might take me 45 minutes just to look not-homeless. I scalded my tongue swallowing the remaining coffee in one gulp. “Ow, fuck!” I said, shoving the mug in Mark’s hands before stumbling toward the bathroom.

Mark be damned, we had a wedding to get to.

The bathroom for some reason was behind the kitchen; I emerged from it in the pale blue dress I chose to stand next to Betty on her wedding day. Mark greeted me by the door of the shower, silently  proffering another mug. Mark opened his mouth to say something, but was disrupted when a loud thunk and Ben swearing “Damn coffee table!” interrupted us.

Ben appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, otherwise undamaged, and headed over to the coffee maker himself. Betty followed behind him, and we all stood agape. She looked amazing in a white skirt suit with white tights and black heels. A string of blue pearls at her neck perfected the look. 

I looked between Betty and Ben, and tried to suppress my eye roll at how they’d kept me up all night loudly rehearsing for their wedding night. They both looked flushed and satisfied – the kind of satisfied advertised by romance novels and De Biers commercials after a wedding.

“Get her fueled, Mark?” Bob asked, setting down his mug and straightening his tie. I didn’t bother glaring and I knew that Betty would kill me if I poured coffee on him right then. They had fought for hours over what he would wear to the wedding, and the white shirt and blue striped tie was the only alternative to his one man 1970s lifestyle theme.

In Bob’s mind, he was helping. He didn’t know that I managed to stumble to my day job before my first cup of coffee every single day without any assistance. Mark looked vaguely disappointed.  “One depth charge, and she shot through the shower before I could inhale.”

Bob grinned lecherously at me. “Aw, Mark, you missed a photo opportunity!”

This time I glared, and Mark deftly removed the mug from my hands before I could use it as a weapon. “Wedding!” I barked, and marched out the door to the car, grabbing my coat on the way.

The social outings that included Ethan were excruciating. Since Betty and Brian were my best friends, I spent plenty of time with them, single or with my partner. Ethan frequently came along too, and we would joke, or his hand would brush mine, or at picnic tables our legs pressed into each other.

I had to lock myself in the bathroom and get friendly with the shower head so regularly that I broke the hanging clamp.

Then, one June afternoon, the four of us went on a picnic at the Stone Arch park, located along a strip next to one of those tourist-friendly buildings with restaurants on the first floor, but lots of out-of-business or on-vacation type offices on the second floor.

We sat next to each other, passing cheese and chit-chat while Brian and Betty did the whole “You’re pretty,” “No, you’re pretty!” thing while Ethan and I surreptitiously rolled our eyes at each other. I pretended not to see Ethan flinch every time his brother and sister-in-law kissed. At last, Brian and Betty decided they wanted to stroll across the Stone Arch bridge that connected the park to downtown Minneapolis.

Ethan and I knew that meant that one would likely delivery oral sex to the other on one of the wooded trails surrounding the bridge.

This left us alone, a bottle of wine between us.

We both reached for it at the same time, his hand wrapping over mine.

I inhaled. He wore that cologne again. Fresh, dirty fantasies flew out of brain cells long dormant.

We looked at each other over the bottle of wine, and then, as the newlyweds retreated in the background, we kissed.

His lips explored mine with amazing skill. Kissing was usually a prelude to eroticism for me, something you did while the rest of your body warmed up for sex.

But Ethan’s kiss was in itself a form of sex. I heated, then melted, then evaporated. I forgot other people were in the park with us until a man there with his son gave a disapproving throat clear.

Ethan, on top of me, blushed as I felt his hardened cock pressing into me. “I may need to uh - stay here a few moments.”

“Yeah,” I acknowledged. “There are kids here. I think one is watching.”

He turned bright red, and suddenly his body retreated. “Thanks,” he muttered, not sounding particularly thankful.

“We’re out of wine,” I noted. “Perhaps we should go see if something harder is available at that bar in the Main.”  I allowed my eyes to wander below Ethan’s beltline, feeling the heat of his blush as though it touched my skin like sunlight.

“Uh, yeah,” he said and stood up, giving me a hand up after. He pulled me into him.
His fingers brushed my neck as his lips touched mine in a fresh experimental kiss. When I invited him in further, his tongue teased the edges of mine and he ran a deliberate finger down the back of my neck, making me shiver and draw closer to him. I could feel my belly and pussy filling with ticklish heat.

I broke away. “Let’s see about that wine,” I said, and took an unsteady step toward the large brick building. Ethan grabbed my hand, and we both scrambled our way far from the prying eyes of anyone who might report us for lewd public acts.

Inside, we found a corner beneath a stairwell, and he pulled me close for another kiss, this time his large hands exploring my body. He slid a hand beneath my shirt and bra, brushing a thumb over my nipple. He pinched it, then circled with a finger, until I gasped. “How’s you know about that one?” Women all have moving erogenous zones, so how he knew about my only other stationary point…

He smirked. “I do listen when you and Betty talk,” he murmured, planting kisses down my neck and shoulder. He suddenly yanked my shirt down and sat up straight, leaving me reeling for a moment. Realizing what happened, I felt a grim pleasure at his erection and how hard he had to work to breathe it down before the building security guard walked by.

I leaned into him, wobbly from the hormonal onslaught. Our breathing synced together as we both calmed down, and as the guard walked by and out a nearby exit.

“Where can we find some space?” he whispered thickly in my ear.

I ignored my melting panties situation and forced myself to think. I’d seen an empty office the last time I’d wandered upstairs on a photography walk. I grabbed his hand. “I have an idea,” I said.

The old massage parlor, true to a foreclosed business, left its doors unlocked and all its furniture except for the massage tables behind.

I pulled Ethan in, into one of the back appointment rooms. He pinned me against the counter, his scent overwhelming me as his hands teased my nerves to ecstatic hysteria. His kiss captured me again as his hands slid behind my ass. I hopped up, on the counter, never breaking our embrace.

Ethan’s kisses continued with their psychotropic impact as his hands ran expertly over my body. He touched my nipples after I began arching my back, and then he began running those long, gorgeous fingers down my sides, over my thighs.

He inserted a hand beneath my skirt, fingers lightly brushing my pussy as I mewled into his mouth. In another moment, he pulled my panties aside and jammed his fingers into my pussy, rubbing persistently at my clit with his thumb until I came, hard and fast against his hand. As I lay breathing hard on the desk, I heard the telltale zip and the brief fumble of cellophane.

“Give me that,” I said, raising my head, still breathing hard. “I do the christening on an inaugural voyage.”

Ethan handed me the condom. I sat up, ripped the package open neatly, and with condom in one hand, stroked his cock with my other. I continued with light touches around the head, finally grasping it in my palm and circling with my fingers until his mouth opened in a gasp, and I felt my pussy tighten at the helpless arousal in his face. I rolled the condom over his lovely cock and whispered in his ear, “Please fuck me.”

Ethan’s sharp intake of breath and the tensing of his cock, still in my hand, told me how willing he was. I leaned back and pulled aside my panties so he could enter me, his lovely cock sliding by as my eyes rolled back in my head . A grunt escaped him as he brought his hips to meet mine. Every pleasure center in my pussy trilled.

He began to move, slowly, encouraging me to keep up with him. I kept cumming from the sheer force of his presence – the smell, the way he teased my erogenous zones, his hands. Just my wanting him for so long would have been enough to bring me, but that he had so much skill and passion brought me completely over the edge. “God you’re a tight fuck” he whispered, pushing into me harder.

I lifted a foot and pressed it on his ass, encouraging him inside me as hard and deep as I could take him, cumming every few seconds along the way. At last I giant wave overtook me, and as my own body convulsed I felt the pause where Ethan’s own orgasm caught up with my parade of them.

When he at last pulled out of me and we cleaned ourselves up, we sat next to each other, in awkward silence for a moment. Finally, I broke the silence. “Thanks,” I said. “I needed that.”

Ethan leaned over and kissed me, his cologne filling me with horny thoughts all over again. “Any time.”

We stopped at the bar and bought four bottles of hard lemonade, agreeing to claim the long line as our cover story to Betty and Brian.

The pair emerged from their “stroll across the bridge.” Ethan and I clinked bottles, and exchanged a look when we saw the leaves in Betty’s hair.

Everyone else complained about Ethan’s cologne. To me, it was catnip. It had this masculine texture that made me think of licking his skin after I worked him into a sweat, and every time I inhaled I found myself dizzy and hot. One whiff  and Ethan starred in a fantasy where he plugged every hole in my body.

He wore it at the groom’s dinner for Betty and Brian. I sidled up to him, as everyone else’s attention was diverted to the happy couple.  “What cologne are you wearing?”

I’d heard of it before, but never experienced it the way I did on him. “Huh,” I said. “It’s unique on you.”

“Is that a good thing?” he looked a little uncertain, his green eyes sliding sideways at me, his voice betraying a tiny flick of lost little boy.

“Probably a little too good.”

Ethan emitted a brief chuckle, and I slid away, my partner wanting my attention and with pictures to endlessly snap.

I had a sneaking suspicion that Ethan was a bit torn up about the wedding. After some observation, it looked to me like Ethan was in love with Betty.

That was fine with me. I didn’t want his heart, I wanted his cock.

At the wedding, he looked utterly fuckable in his black tux and red tuxedo vest.  I imagined unbuttoning the fly and his dick springing free, into my hot and greedy hand.

At the reception, he was seated next to me.

I leaned into him and whispered in his ear, “You’re wearing that cologne again.”

He smirked down at me, our height difference apparent even while sitting down. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

I laid my hand on his arm and leaned in so he could feel my breast press into his shoulder. “It’ a little too good.” I could feel his smile radiate through him. “Besides, I was hoping you’d wear it again.”

Ethan emitted a short, embarrassed laugh, and blushed.

I had put some hope in a brief and sexy dance the night before, him hard against me as we moved around the floor, but no luck. He was shy about dancing.

When the time came for the garter toss, I was enlisted to round up the single men and present them for the execution. I playfully pushed Ethan and another single man towards the center of the floor; the other man ran ahead dutifully. Ethan, after his compatriot moved ahead, deliberately slowed so that my hand was on his back; I could feel the muscles moving beneath my hand.

At the end of the night, we shared another cigarette while the wedding guests packed up cars with reception flotsam. His hand slipped over mine as we passed it back and forth, and I did my best not to leave any lipstick on the end. He wrapped his arms and around me, and pulled me close for a moment, and for a crazy moment we looked at each other.

But I went home with who I came with, and he went home alone.

I miss the length of you. Your long legs, your tall fingers, the way you had to fold yourself to get into anything from a car seat to a restaurant booth. I miss the way your fingers brushed mine when you passed me a cigarette, and the cool way you simply shared a light with me - intimate, and yet as though it were nothing. You never offered anyone else a drag, and if it was just you and me, there was never a question of me having my own ciggie.

I miss your green eyes, and how you always felt compelled to tell me that they used to be blue. I miss how you would try to act so cool, but then I would make you smile despite your stoic efforts, and how sexy that smile is. The half smile would creep out, as you pretended you were too aloof for my camera, for my jokes, and then you’d surrender and show me the full light of you.

I miss the way I could make you laugh, whispering something outrageous in your ear like “I was hoping you’d wear that cologne again,” or “You’re my favorite.” It came from deep within, involuntary, and I could feel the heat off your body as you’d flush afterwards.

I miss how you would touch me, wrapping your hand around mine when I passed you my phone, or bumping fingers to mine after I dropped a business card. I could never tell if you touched by accident, or deliberately. I did have reasons to doubt.

I miss how you used to try to make me laugh, imitating people we both knew who were sublime and ridiculous. You always tried to lead me to the compassionate view of people, and I always thought you stashed your admiration in people that didn’t really love you. When I was aggravated with another situation, you did Nerd-on-Caffeine voice, imitated an angry gay seeking clove cigarettes, and once, just to make me smile, you did a full on Wonder Woman spin in my living room.

You drank a lot. You kept whiskey by your bedside. I worried about you. I still do. I worried you, too. You would try to play marriage counselor, and while you might not have loved me, you never refused my love, either. It drove me crazy. It’s not like he didn’t know. I told him, even though I didn’t want to. Your first thought when I told you I loved you was “I have nothing to offer,” about yourself. It was not “you’re married,” or “you’re a madwoman.” It was about what you could bring.

It’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard you say. Nobody your age has a good job these days. Nobody has a house they can keep. It’s all about the heart now, and I loved you and him both, and I was up front about it with both of you. If you judged me for it, you kept it to yourself. I thank you for that. We were richest when all three of us were together.

I miss how you were vulnerable with me. I never saw you show that side to anyone else. When I teased you about girls digging you more if you danced, or bugged you about unemployment, you let me see the part of you that hurt. I so wanted to kiss you and love that pain away. Instead, you danced with me in that precious moment alone, four steps, looking down at our feet so you didn’t tangle me in your climb-me legs. You cared about the world, about your family, and sacrificed your happiness to it. I have already learned the world doesn’t pay back virtue, and I was in pain at my own conflict. You wanted more than anything to be a good person, and could not conceive that you already are good.

I don’t believe in the same religious stuff you do, and I don’t think you really believe it either. To me, sin consists of taking away another being’s choice. All else is a matter of personal contract, and social contract can go fuck itself. You struggled to understand this about me, and I could see that you loved that about me - and you feared it.

You are a good man, one of the best men I’ve ever known. I love you. I fell for you because of your goodness, your sweet nature, the generous spirit that drove me crazy because I felt you should conserve something for yourself. I think that you wanted to love me back, and you and he tried to connect to each other for my sake. The attempt itself is a priceless gift of your collective regard for me.

One lie, maybe a series of lies, and it all fell apart. I was accused of something I did not do, and you cut me off as though I didn’t exist. You never asked for my side of it. You never gave it another thought. All those moments between us, gone, forgotten. If I did not have the picture of you looking at me, your eyes shining, I would think that I meant nothing to you at all. I’m sure you feel enormous betrayal; from what I can glean of the lies spread, what else would you feel? I am the one who was betrayed - and not even by you. I’ve learned that silence is from the ones who care more, and I know your silence, your cutting me off, tells me that you care the most.

I’m leaving for a little while, and I know things will be different when I get back. Perhaps I will simply forget about you, leave my pain across the ocean, leave my tears in the back alley of some arrondissement and then move right on into my future. He is still by my side, and I know he always will be, whether you come to join me or not.

All the same, I miss you. I am sorry for the pain and anxiety I caused you. It was a long winter, eating at my soul, and in the end, it consumed whatever we were to be to each other.

Boss heard the rustle at the door that told him Beth arrived. While the full on brain-fuck left her happy with her job, he could still see she was pissed that he ordered her presence on a Saturday. Still, she followed his commands and showed up wearing the short-sleeved Oxford blouse and pencil skirt he requested. Presumably she followed instructions on the underwear, as well.

Boss allowed Beth’s anger; her triggers went twelve times deeper when she felt conscious resistance and anger. The set of triggers he wanted to test were a little treat he designed for himself; perhaps a bit tame by the standards of some, but the potential was so gratifying to him he had to stop himself from stroking off at the thought of it, not to mention Beth’s slack face as she stared at the metronome repeating his new commands.

“Good morning, Boss,” she said, smiling through clenched teeth.

Boss smiled. “Good morning, Bethy.” She glared. Conscious Beth still fucking hated the patronizing nickname, but conscious Beth also loved her work.

Boss took her purse and coat out of her hands. “I’ll take care of those. You just stand there a minute.”

Beth stood as requested. Boss took a little extra time putting her coat and purse in a drawer in his office - he needed her ID to find a suitable apartment for her nearby - and dawdled just long enough that Beth would get impatient.

Beth did. She started to put her foot forward, to look for Boss, and found she couldn’t move.

“What the hell?” at least she could speak.

Boss heard the protest, and that was his cue. “Something wrong Bethy?”

She gave him a panicked look. “I can’t move!”

“Hm, that’s strange,” he said, stopping in front of her. He slide his hands down to cover her breasts. “Can you feel that?”

“Yes I can feel that, and what the hell are you doing?”

Boss began deftly unbuttoning her blouse. “You may move your arms enough to take off the blouse, and then resume their position.”

Beth found her arms, seemingly against her will, take the blouse off the rest of the way. She realized she forgot her bra, and now stood half naked and frozen in front of her boss. This must be some messed up dream from working too much.

Boss took in her breasts, enjoying their smooth look and their lovely hang. He then placed his hands over them. Beth’s eyes widened. “What the hell?” she said, unable to move, not understanding what was happening.

“Look in my eyes, Beth,” Boss commanded.

Beth looked, unable to stop herself. As she did, Boss moved his hands deftly over her nipples and the sudden, violent arousal took Beth down, all the way down until she was the hypnotized horny slave, mindlessly hot for her Master. A moan escaped her lips as she remained frozen, now so happy that Master controlled her body.

Boss leaned in, still stroking her breasts, hitting every trigger he had programmed into her he possibly could. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Deeper Bethy, deeper,” and down she went, murmuring “Yessss master,” as her will and consciousness glazed completely away.

“Very good Bethy,” he said, and she shivered, the nickname sending orgasmic shivers through her body. He slid a hand up her skirt, and fingered her gently, a light touch that made her want to squirm if he would allow it.

Boss found she wore no panties either, and that he had not commanded. It looked like his Bethy was going to have a great future at HypnoTech.

Boss eventually let Beth go home, calling her awake after informing her that she absolutely loved her new job and saw a permanent career in it.  She would gush about it to anyone who asked, but be simply …sleepy, so sleepy as soon as she got home that she would need to go to bed and dream the script he planted in her, the script where she dreamed about crawling on her knees toward him all night and it got her so hot, so horny. Too sleepy to really give anyone coherent details about the job, which she were left soft and foggy in her mind until he could get her away from a network that would get suspicious about the new, submissive Beth. He would turn her loose on the population again once the programming was complete, of course, but that would be at least six months.

He took care to implant the idea that Beth must move closer to work, it was simply less stressful as she should expect to work (fuck) late often.

Consciously, Beth still retained her slight dislike of him, and Boss planned to capitalize on that. When she came in at 8 am sharp the next morning, wearing a straight skirt, heels and jacket he was pleased; he did need her to do some actual work and found that making her think of herself as a slut but dress otherwise created a lovely cognitive dissonance that he could easily exploit.

“Good morning Beth, did you sleep well last night?”

She looked at him, a touch glassy already, but with a still-slight hint of contempt. “Er, yes - I guess I need some coffee.”

“Of course,” he said. “But first we need to get you to focus.”

Her face slacked, and Boss pulled out his favorite gold pocket watch. “Yes, focus Beth, completely focus. Focus for Master. Do you remember who your master is?”

“Yes..” she slurred, her body slumping as she stood, staring at the watch while Boss hit her every trigger. “You are my Master.” He could see her make a slight face. Good.

“Does this bother you, Beth?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Don’t like Master.”

“Focus on the watch and obey, Beth.” He smirked. He loved adding the next suggestion. “The more you resist, the more you obey. Your resistance makes you obey. When you resist, your only choice is to obey. Obey. Horny. Obey. Resist, and obey.”

He could see the wheels turning as Beth’s own attempt at fighting him took her down into deep submission.

“What do you do for Master?”

“Obey.”

“Very good. Obey. Obey. Repeat after me, I obey Master.”

“I obey Master.”

“Keep repeating it until I tell you to stop. Stand there, and keep repeating it. Go deeper, every repetition gets you horny, every repetition takes you deep.”

He pocketed the watch, and left Beth standing in the middle of the reception area, chanting “I obey Master.” Sheila had come in, and was staring at Beth glassy-eyed, getting hot just watching her.

Unfortunately, Boss actually needed Sheila to work today. “Focus, Sheila,” he whispered in her ear. “You are very focused on recruiting today. Master wants you to recruit, and he will play with you later.” Sheila nodded, and accepted the command to begin poring over resumes and psych profiles. In Sheila’s mind, Beth’s chanting was no different than the buzz of a radio.

He placed his hand on Beth’s shoulders and whispered, “You may stop chanting now. Go into the conference and sit down. When you sit down, repeat “I obey master, what master tells me is true. Obeying master makes me horny, I need to fuck master. You must sit and chant, getting hornier and hornier, but you may not move until I allow it.”

Beth went into the room and sat primly, while she vocalized the words he put in her mind. He could see her arousal building. After a few moments, he came in, and said, “Awake, no memory.”

Beth blinked, and looked at him. “Oh, good morning, are we getting to our W-2s today?”

He pulled out the pocket watch and dangled it in front of her; Beth’s eyes glazed even before he said “Focus, obey, deeper and deeper. You are to listen to me with full attention. Obey. You enjoy being hypnotized by me. You want to be hypnotized daily. I am your master, and you are my slave. You want to fuck your master. You need to fuck your master. Obey. Horny. Obey. Horny. Obey.”

Beth’s eyes locked on the watch as her helpless mind drank Boss’s commands. She had to obey, she was too horny, to resist was to obey obey horny aroused helpless submissive must fuck her master because Master told her she wanted to fuck Master. Master continued to pound her helpless brain: “The more you resist the more you obey. Fighting my commands causes you to surrender. You become even more submissive, completely submissive, so in need of my cock and command.”

“The more I resist, the more I obey,” Beth heard herself repeating. Her mind drifted. Horny. Clothes, off, very good, she slide her hands over her body as Master took her thoughts and gave her helpless, submissive, aroused feelings about his command - and at last he blessedly ordered her to fuck him, fuck him like a submissive little slut, please her master must because she was so horny and fucking master would make her a helpless submissive nympho, must obey her master.

Reality blurred completely, and she was soon riding Master’s cock and chanting “Obey Master, Master’s cock hypnotizes me, Master hypnotizes me, Master’s hands hypnotize me, obey, horny, obey,” as Master played with her tits and planted in her new ways to control her mind and body.

Boss watched from his office window as the newest recruit came in: a fresh-faced Ivy Leaguer, magna cum laude, with red hair and a pert body. Boss stroked his hardening cock through his pants and glanced at her psych profile. It seemed like a waste to turn her into what she would become, but the imaginative ones were always the best for this kind of hypnotic training. She would be able to do her job without a thought in her head unless Boss put one in it. Besides, why hire a trained monkey when you can get yourself a deeply trained and conditioned sex slave?

 The report indicated that there was already lots of progress made before Beth’s first day. Her considerable imagination combined nicely with her sense of entitlement: she didn’t even recognize the low-level hypnosis his assistant initiated with her, and she had no idea that when she left her interview, she also left with her brain riddled with post-hypnotic triggers, including a trigger that had her calling in every single day for reinforcement. She even still thought of herself as reasonably assertive, despite her decreasing inability to ignore ringing phones or to say no to low-level upsells while shopping.

Boss’s phone rang, and his trusty assistant came on the line. “Good morning Mas – Boss,” she corrected quickly. “The new girl is here.”

 “Thank you Sheila. You sound like a happy girl today. Your tits are very happy,” he said. She’d done an excellent job on the training and reinforcement with Beth, she deserved to spend a day playing mindlessly with her tits. Besides, even before he hypnotized her into a workplace sex toy Sheila proved herself loyal, inventive and industrious – so industrious that she unwittingly did all the research that resulted in making herself his favorite slave and recruiter. Boss made a note to ask Sheila if she’d like a little work done on her body; he still found her sexy, but Sheila had some insecurities about the hang of her breasts he could not hypnotize out of her.

 Boss came out of his office to greet the redhead. “Welcome,” he said, distracting Beth from the way Sheila’s mouth was rounding into an aroused and helpless O. He needed to distract Beth before Sheila’s hands actually made their way to her breasts. He placed his hand on the small of Beth’s back, steering her away from the sight of his self-pleasuring entranced assistant. “The conference room is right this way,” he said. “We’ll just have you watch a few videos and get oriented.”

 Beth stepped away from his hand and ahead of him to the conference room. At the door she paused and met his eyes. “Look, I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot, but I’m not really a touchy-feely person. I’d appreciate it if you respected my boundaries.”

 Boss suppressed a grin. More colleges were sending young women through assertiveness training, and in most companies, it probably worked. Here, he thought if it as famous and frequent last words. He stepped back, hands in the air. “Absolutely. Hands off lady.”

Beth gave a brief smile and nod of appreciation; he could tell she felt a touch smug for making her lines clear. Boss gestured to the TV and DVD set up on the end of the conference table. “It’s ready to go, just push play. I have a staff meeting so I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you.”

 She looked across the empty table. She saw not so much as a W-2 to fill out. “Is there a pen and paper so I can take notes?”

“We just want you to focus on the video for now,” Boss said, emphasizing the word focus. Beth’s face slacked slightly at the word. “We’ll have you out for a paperwork orgy afterward. You just focus on the work at hand.”

Shaking the cobwebs that crept up - Jeez, I guess I went to sleep too late last night, what was with that marathon masturbation session? - Beth grimaced, and tried to fake a smile. She sent up a silent prayer that she need not spend too much time working with this guy.

 Boss shut the door, leaving her alone with the DVD remote. She looked around the room – there was a panel of mirrors on one side, a nice way to avoid any staff having a claustrophobic meltdown. Other than that, there was nothing but the table, chairs, a conference phone hookup and the TV/DVD player – and the remote in her hand. Beth pushed play.

The video was the standard stuff: OSHA regulations, dress codes, absence policies and health benefits. The video maker used a lot of flashy graphics; a few times the lights made her head snap back as though someone had waved smelling salts beneath her nose. Beth checked her watch – four hours had passed? “How long will this damn thing go on?” she muttered, wondering if she should pause for lunch. Another flash of light hit her eyes, then another. It seemed like the DVD had some second track she couldn’t make out, and yet another flash in her eyes made her eyelids flutter. She’d close them, just for a minute – long enough to prevent a migraine.

Boss smirked from the other side of the one-way glass. Beth went down right on schedule. The pre-conditioning Sheila did during Beth’s job interview had her responding to one post-hypnotic trigger after another, and she had no idea how deep her conditioning already went. Boss adjusted his fly, thinking about slamming into Beth’s dripping, helplessly willing pussy.

A murmur in the soundtrack prompted Beth to open her eyes, and when she looked on the screen, a green spiral swirled on the screen. She stared blankly, critical thought sliding away into what Beth thought was mere boredom. Now, Boss thought, the training begins.

A gentle female voice – Sheila’s – began speaking firmly. “Beth, pay attention. Beth, please focus. FOCUS. Beth, it’s very important you focus on the screen. Beth, the most important thing right now is that you focus on the screen. The screen is the most important thing in the world in this moment. Focus on every word. Focus on every sound.”

 Beth leaned forward, slumping slightly but obeying. Yes, yes, pay attention. She wanted to do well in this job. If she did well in this job, she could go on to a more prestigious job. She might suck the boss’s cock as that would be prestigious. Where did that come from? It wasn’t important, what mattered more than anything was the screen and the voice, the voice telling her familiar things that made her feel so relaxed, relaxed, relaxed and aroused.

Pay attention, the voice urged. If you pay attention, you won’t need to think about your job. If you pay attention you won’t need to think Beth, don’t think Beth, Beth, no thinking. Just listen, no thought. No thoughts. No thoughts allowed without permission.

Beth drank it in, feeling light headed and relaxed, a slight tingle rising in her pussy. Soon all her attention focused on that tingle, and wouldn’t stop. The nice voice was telling her how horny she was, how very horny, Beth is so horny and clothing just felt wrong, it needed to come off so she could run her hands over her sensitive skin. Off, clothing off. Clothing must come off. Her first day on the job, and she should put in extra effort take it all off – it was important in her new job to respond, not to think, no thinking only responding and the voice began counting, so urgent, ten, her shirt came off, deeper and hornier, two her skirt and God the tingle that went through her, three and she stepped out of her shoes, by eight she was unfastening her bra and her breasts felt so sensitive more sensitive than ever before – and why was that lately? Ten Beth was naked and feeling so gratified at a job well done. She stared at the screen, the all-important screen that informed her, advised her, praised her, made her so thoughtlessly horny. Horny. The screen said no thinking, but she was allowed to feel. Beth felt horny.

On the other side of the glass, Boss unzipped his fly. Here the fun began. “Say hello to the rest of your life,” he said, watching her nude form standing up, gazing blankly into the screen, nipples hard and running her hands over her shaking and aroused body.

Beth’s breasts had never felt so good; she had no idea that her pre-work talks with Sheila instilled an increased erotic sensitivity in them that would make it easier for Boss to control her. She pinched and tweaked while her brain told her that by teasing her breasts she also teased her clit. Beth was horny. Beth was always horny. Work made Beth horny. The way Beth felt about work was horny, aroused, ready to fuck. Beth was a slut. Her hands drited down to her clit, and the voice on the monitor changed from Sheila’s gentle command to a man’s baritone. The voice allowed her to sit down, allowed her to spread her legs and stroke her clit. The voice increased her pleasure by 20 times, by 50 times, and just as she was on the edge of cumming it dialed her back to a 5, and then counted up again over and over, just taking her back as she was about to cum.

Beth heard moaning, and in a distant way recognized her own voice begging for release, begging for the voice to release her, she would do anything, she would be anything, just let her cum because she felt horny, the voice allowed her to be horny.

Then the man’s voice said yes! She could cum, as long as she said the magic words, as long as she believed the magic words, as long as the magic words became her. Yes, the magic words. 20, 50, 1000, so horny and needing to cum. The green circles had a red word in the center, so simple, so brilliant. Obey.

Say you obey, said the voice. Say you will always obey, and you can cum. Say you will obey and be an unthinking and horny slut, and you can cum.

A voice in the back of Beth’s head said no obey. Bad thinks. But that was thinking, and Beth wasn’t allowed to think. The arousal count went higher, the voice holding her back from orgasm until she obeyed. 20, 30, 500, 1000, 2000 god all she was was her need to cum, needed to cum, can’t cum until she obeys. Obey would make her cum. Obey. Obey. So helplessly aroused, and at last the arousal over took her.

“I obey,” came out of Beth’s mouth, an involuntary response from her softened brain, and she came. She came hard, and began to chant, “I obey,” and she would come. “I obey,” and she came again. It became a chant, self-reinforcing. “I obey,” cum. Obey, cum. Obey, cum. Obey, cum. Each orgasm left her mind a little more open, a little more blank, so much more submissive and willing to be controlled.

Beth at last stopped, her body exhausted and her mind helplessly open. She lay, naked, legs spread open over the office chair. Boss let himself into the room through a sliding panel. His low voice said firmly, “Obey, Beth.” Another orgasm shot through her, making her moan even louder at her complete absence of control.

Quivering and blank, Boss pressed on with training his new employee. “Yes Beth, you love to obey.” He paused as another shudder ran through her. “Do you know why you love to obey?”

Shudder. “No…”

“No what?”

“No Boss.”

“Beth, that’s not my name. My name to you is Master. It is the only name you have for me. You need to call me Master. You must obey Master. Saying yes master gets your horny. Repeat after me: I must obey Master.”

Another orgasm. “Must obey Master.”

“Say it again.”

“Must obey master.”

“Again.”

Beth eventually began to chant it, and then Boss allowed her to stop.

“Beth, I’m giving you a little gift: your very own thought. Master is letting you have your own thought, one of your very own, one you can keep forever. You think that you must obey master. Tell me what you think, Beth.”

“Must obey master.”

“Tell me what you think until I tell you to stop thinking.”

“Must obey master, must obey master, must obey master…”

“Very good Beth. That’s the only thought you need to have today. Sleep now, and the only thing you may think while you sleep is that you must obey your master. Sleep.”

“Yes Master,” and with that, Beth slept, floating on swirling colors and the single thought of obedience.