Chapter 1: Gofer
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Fiction, Fairy Tale, Anal Sex,
Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1: Gofer - When a man hits rock bottom, salvation comes from an unexpected source. Note that story codes have been used parsimoniously.
My nemesis came in the form of Claire Warrender.
I knew I wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, so rather than struggle my way through college, incurring massive debts in the hope of scraping a degree in a subject at which I’d never excel, on leaving school I managed to land a job as a gofer with an advertising company.
My parents were disappointed, of course. They’d always wanted to see me do well. But that disappointment tempered by my ability to pay them a reasonable sum for board and lodgings now I was earning a wage.
The work was menial at first, even demeaning in some instances. And yes, I did have to fetch someone’s dry cleaning on occasion, as well as making the coffee, doing the photocopying and binding, lugging whiteboards around and even cleaning up spills which couldn’t be left until the cleaners did their rounds in the evening.
The majority of the people I interacted with on a daily basis were women, most only a few years older than myself as they tried to progress up the corporate ladder. Since I dressed smartly, had decent looks and an amiable personality, I was the subject of not a few ribald remarks and suggestions and even an offer or two, but as politely as possible I always demurred.
It turned out that I had a remarkable feel for how advertising campaigns would be perceived by their target audiences. Like those cities which always seem to correctly predict the results of elections, I didn’t know why and I sure as hell couldn’t bottle it, but I seemed to have good instincts. Although I was still officially a gofer, I was often included in meetings where development teams dry ran their intended advertising campaigns before presenting them to the paying customers.
My pay mysteriously increased way beyond the limit for my grade. I was able to move out of my parents’ home into a small flat, and even buy myself a little car, a no nonsense second-hand runabout which did the job.
Claire Warrender was the Office Manager’s latest Personal Assistant. As she frequently needed the services of a gofer, I had a lot of interaction with her. She was nothing special to look at, medium height, short brunette hair, quite shapely waist and hips but not a lot up top. Unless something remarkable happened, any future kids would probably need to be bottle fed. What made her stand out were her sparkling eyes, which always seemed to have a bit of devil in them, and a megawatt smile which could pierce the defences of even the hardest heart.
“Thanks Clark,” she said, as I sweatily finished manoeuvring the large whiteboard into position for a brainstorming meeting.
“My pleasure,” I lied.
“So what does the mysterious Clark Coldwell do in his spare time?”
Although she had never abused it so far, Claire had the power to make my life hell if she wanted, so I felt compelled to be polite and respond to her small talk.”
“Oh, you know, the usual.”
“Great. So on Friday, you’re taking me to see the latest Bourne film. Pick me up about six.”
“Claire...” I started, trying to find a polite way of declining.
Her face dropped.
“You have something else planned? You’re not gay, are you?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Trapped! In denying I was gay, I had also implied I wasn’t doing anything Friday. If I had been a bit sharper, perhaps I could have claimed a prior engagement.
She turned on that megawatt smile, vampirically sucking away my resistance.