This piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment. It contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you are offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO NOT read any further.
All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to any persons, places, individuals or situations is purely coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities described in this story.
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio (firstname.lastname@example.org). This story may be freely distributed with this disclaimer attached.
Copyright © 2003 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.
A knock on the door summoned Graham from a ruminative silence. He looked at his watch and realized it must be his two o'clock appointment. With a quick check to make sure his desk was in order, he stood and walked toward the door.
"Dr. Moscowitz?" Graham asked the man at the door. The man nodded and Graham stepped aside, motioning for him to enter.
"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Turner."
"Certainly, certainly. Come in. Have a seat," Graham said, gesturing at one of the comfortable wing-back chairs in front of his desk. "And please, Dr. Moscowitz, call me Graham."
"Graham. Of course. I am Saul."
Graham seated himself behind his desk and looked at the man across from him. Dr. Saul Moscowitz was short and plumpish, with wire-rimmed glasses and a prominent nose. Male pattern baldness had actually improved his appearance, Graham decided, softening his face and giving it much-needed character.
"You know why I asked to see you," Saul said. At Graham's nod, he continued. "It's about Howard Bloom."
Graham felt his heart race. "Of course, you realize I can't disclose..."
Saul nodded and withdrew a slim manila folder from his briefcase. "Here is all the necessary paperwork," he said, passing the folder across the desk.
Graham scrutinized the papers--authorized releases allowing him to breach confidentiality and discuss Howard's evaluations. Once satisfied that everything was in order, he sighed deeply and withdrew a significantly thicker folder from the file drawer in his desk.
"Where should I start?" he asked, more as a rhetorical question than a request for guidance.
"Why not start at the beginning," Saul said.
Graham smiled tightly and flipped open the folder.
"Well, Howard David Bloom, Junior: six feet tall, 180 pounds, brown hair, blue eyes..."
"I expect I'll learn all that when I meet him," Saul said, interrupting Graham.
"Of course. I'll have to evaluate him for myself."
"Are you sure? I mean..."
Saul nodded firmly.
Graham shook his head and continued summarizing the document in front of him. "He graduated magna cum laude from Stanford, double major in Psychology and Criminal Justice, minors in Sociology and History."
"Impressive," Saul said.
"Indeed. Did you know he was recruited by the FBI?"
Saul's eyebrows rose, then he shook his head.
"He was. He joined the Marine Corps instead and went off to OCS. Followed in his father's footsteps, you see."
The two men went through a substantial portion of the file before Saul held up his hand.
"Betsy Powell. You've mentioned her name several times. Who is she?" Saul asked.
Graham chuckled humorlessly and shook his head. "She's the lucky one."
Saul's brow creased with impatience.
"Here. Read the transcript for yourself," Graham said, handing a sheaf of papers across the desk to the other man. "It's from a recording I made during an early conversation with Howard. I asked him about Betsy, and this is his account of how they met."
I don't sleep well. I haven't for as long as I can remember. I guess I've always felt like sleep was a waste of time. I've got too many important things to do to take up much of my day with sleep.
Besides, nighttime is my favorite time. People generally leave me alone, and I can think without anyone fawning over me. Usually, I like to be the center of attention, but nights are for me, and me alone.
Maybe it was that need to be alone that led me to walk the streets. Maybe it was just that I didn't want to deal with Kristi and her insufferable wailing. She loved me, she said. She needed me, she said. She'd do anything for me, she said.
Actually, there was nothing wrong with Kristi. I was just done with her. She had become tedious. For the past two months, she'd done everything I wanted--even gotten into hot water with her boss about too many missed days of work.
It sucks to be her.
I chuckled at the thought. Actually, it did suck to be her. I'd made her give me a long blowjob in the cab on the way home from one of the trendy dance clubs she liked so much. She was having fun with her friends, but they were more interested in each other than in me, so we left. Kristi was disappointed, but it wasn't about her, now was it?
She didn't want to blow me, especially with the cabby able to see everything. But again, it wasn't about her. After we got to my apartment, I told her to gather up her shit and get out. It had only been a couple of months, so she didn't have much stuff there.
I loved the look on her face when I told her we were through. I wasn't upset about it, why was she? We'd had fun while it lasted. I'd had fun, at least.
I was tempted to fuck her before she left, just to shut her up, but I decided against it. After all, I was breaking up with her, I didn't want her to think I loved her. Love was for before, not after.
She didn't want to leave and I didn't want to watch her go, so I locked my apartment door behind me and walked to the elevator without a backward glance. She'd be gone when I got back, I was sure of it.
It was a bit late to find someone new, but I'd manage somehow.
I always had.
A cute waitress worked the night shift at the all-night diner on the corner of 59th and Tenth. She'd given me the eye a few times when I'd gone in for coffee late at night. I decided to walk the few blocks to see if she was there.
I'd never given her any sign that I was interested in her, but I thought she'd fill the not-void left by Kristi. Oh yes, I thought to myself, imagining the waitress' smooth curves and healthy farm-girl breasts, she'd fill the void nicely.
The diner was nearly deserted and she was wiping up the tables. The few times I'd been in before I didn't talk much, and she got the message I wanted to be left alone. Once, however, she chattered on, telling me she was a student at one of the local colleges and worked nights because her classes were early. I didn't remember the college, but I remembered her name: Janey. Janey from Wisconsin, or Wyoming, or wherever.
I took a seat in one of the booths and she came over with a coffee cup and a pot of regular.
"Hiya," she said, perky as always.
"Hi, Janey. How're things tonight?"
She looked at me for a moment, surprised I'd actually talked to her.
"You doing okay?" I asked, turning on the understated charm.
"Yeah, I'm great."
I decided she must be from Wisconsin. She had that upward lilt at the end of everything she said, kind of like she was asking a question with every statement. She set the coffee cup down and filled it efficiently, giving me a look that was equal parts suspicion and interest.
"Can I bring you anything else?" she asked, reverting to the safety of routine.
"I feel like pie," I said. "What's good here?"
She leaned down confidentially and whispered, "Anything but blueberry."
"What do you recommend?" I asked, trying to draw her out.
"I like the apple."
I laughed genially. "Really? That's my favorite." She was from Wisconsin, dairy country. Would she like it with ice cream, or cheddar cheese? I looked at her with counterfeit suspicion. "You eat it with ice cream?" I caught the briefest hint of her disapproving expression and continued. "Because that would be just plain wrong. You've got to eat it with cheddar cheese."
"That's my favorite way to eat it," she said.
Of course it was, I thought smugly. Personally, I couldn't care less about apple pie, with or without cheese or ice cream. I liked lemon meringue, but pie wasn't the point of the exercise. I gave her my warmest tired smile and nodded. "Then I'd like a piece of that apple pie, with cheddar cheese."
She practically beamed at me and turned to get it.
I smiled at her until she turned away, then took a sip of my coffee. It was hot, black, and strong, just the way I like it. That's one thing I didn't miss about the Corps--the coffee sucked.
When she returned with my pie, I pasted on my best charming smile and she actually blushed. I chuckled to myself. This was going to be easy.
"I warmed it up for you in the microwave," she said. "And I gave you an extra big piece."
"Thanks," I said. "I don't know if I ever introduced myself." I held out my hand as she set the plate down. "I'm Howard."
"Pleased to meet you, Howard." She reached out and took my hand.
.... There is more of this story ...