Chapter 2

Sunday evening I was restless and cranky. My mind repeatedly conjured the smell of her from earlier in the day, and I masturbated three times before bed.

Monday I arrived at work a half-hour early and Teddy stopped me at the time-clock. He looked sheepish and shy, and I knew he was going to ask a favor.

"Need a favor, Meg," he said.

"You got it," I replied.

"I want you to run 614 today, and train Aaron on 616," he said. "Sam is out with a heart attack and I need the parts off 614 right away."

"Aaron is a chauvinistic asshole and 616 is mine," I said.

"I need the help on 614," he said. "Please?"

Whenever he got that tone in his voice, I couldn't refuse. It was the same tone I'd heard the night he'd asked to eat me. And the night he first touched my tits. And a few others, too, I thought.

I thought, "Double shit!" but I said, "Ok."

614 was one of the smaller bar-feeders, close to 616. Once it was set up and had the right diameter material in the feeder, the thing would run all day. The parts were small and one got kicked out of the machine into the basket on the door about every minute and a half... I set it up, loaded the feeder and turned it on. I made a minor adjustment after the first two parts, and went to see what Aaron was doing. I set my lunch box and thermos on the table and he leered at me.

"Hi Honey!" he chirped. "What's up?"

I knew if I responded to his comment either way, I'd never hear the end of it. Aaron had limited experience and was dumber than a box of rocks. His wife worked in the front office, and that had been his entry into the workforce on the floor. Nothing like a little nepotism to make the place run smoothly.

I sat down in my - now his - chair, and poured a cup of coffee.

"Check each part when it comes out," I told him.

He looked at me arrogantly and asked, "Why?"

" 'Cause I said so. You're the trainee here," I said.

He backed away and gave me that tolerant look, then checked the computer screen.

"One coming out in about three minutes," he said.

"Make sure your mikes are set correctly," I replied.

He checked the micrometers in their gauges, and the door opened with a soft whoosh.

He started to grab the hoist and I said, "Check it in the machine. No use handling it ten times."

It took him five minutes to check the four critical dimensions, then he lifted it out. He put in a raw part, made sure the spindle was locked, and pushed the start button. I heard the whine of the hydraulics and the door closed. I now had forty-three minutes of dead time to inhabit with an asshole. I thought God didn't like me much.

By the end of the day I was tired and thoroughly pissed off. Aaron had input a tool offset incorrectly, and made three bad parts before I caught it. He had waited too long to replace a worn insert, and that had cost another bad part, plus replacement of the tool. I was tired of repeating which screen would show him the various functions, and the asshole hadn't written anything down. The only good news was that 614 had produced 300 good parts, and they were on my production card.

"You want to sign this?" he asked, handing me his card.

"Your machine now," I said, "You sign it!"

He shrugged and signed it, then walked off. I had to sweep and mop the mats and put away the mikes, plus clean up his mess from lunch. I was in a hateful mood.

Tuesday morning he arrived late. 614 had filled one basket already, and 616 was working on part number two for the day. He looked subdued and angry as he put his lunch pail next to mine on the bench.

He tied his apron and asked, "Where we at now?"

"On number two," I replied.

He nodded and took a new spiral notebook and a pencil from his shirt. I watched him change screens and mark down the values for thirty minutes, then he sat down and poured a cup of coffee. He didn't look at me in that weird way he had of undressing me with his eyes; mostly he stared out the door at the back parking lot and smoked.

He checked the parts faster, did all the manual labor, and cleaned up his lunch debris without being asked. By two-thirty, we hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words, and all of those had been related to work. He was paying attention, and we didn't lose a part that day. He swept and mopped without me saying a word.

By Friday we were on better speaking terms and traded a few mild jokes. He was learning fast, and I thought of telling Teddy he could turn Aaron loose on his own in about another week. I was checking the screen for tool six and thinking of adding a couple of thousandths to the offset when I felt his hand on my ass. The warmth of his palm first, and then the tips of his fingers as they tightened to squeeze.

I hate being touched without my permission or invitation. I reacted immediately by bringing my elbow around and connecting with his jaw.

He stumbled back holding his jaw and said, "What the hell was that for?"

I picked up a four-foot crowbar I used to clear jams from the conveyor and held it like a baseball bat. "Your hands, asshole. Your hands."

I put as much menace as I could muster into my voice, but I could hear it shake with anger. He must have heard it too, because he laughed at me.

As he laughed, he said, "We're just havin' a little fun here. Calm down."

I thought 'fuck it', and swung the bar.

He held his arms up when he saw me start to swing, and I hit him on the left arm between the wrist and elbow. My hands shuddered with the impact and he went down with a shriek of pain, holding his arm.

Bennett ran up and asked, "What the hell is going on here?"

Bennett was the lead man, the guy who assigned work if Teddy wasn't there or who we went to with our machine problems.

"The bastard was playing with my ass!" I cried.

"I hope you're tellin' the truth, Megan," he said. I backed away and kept the prybar ready. The plant nurse arrived on her golf cart and checked him over, then called an ambulance. A sizable crowd gathered, and all of them were asking questions. The one face I didn't see was Teddy's.

My Union steward, Alvin Hodges, came over and asked me a few questions, which I answered truthfully. I related the entire week for some background, too. Alvin made some notes and told me not to worry. I punched out a little late and drove home.

Teddy called me at seven o'clock, just as I was getting ready to leave for Sulli's. He referred to it as an 'incident', and told me not to sweat it. There was no overtime scheduled for Saturday, and I had the whole weekend off. I called Janice and invited her along for the night, and she declined. She sounded like she had a cold.

That night Sulli's wasn't crowded at all. There was no band and the jukebox was playing softly as I entered and ordered a beer. One of the pool tables was vacant, so I fed it some quarters and racked the balls. I took a few shots and tried to relax. My aim was terrible and my hands shook.

I had dressed for the evening in a black denim outfit; a tight-fitting western-style shirt and knee-length skirt. The shirt didn't need a bra, and I had decided on no underwear. The draft coming up my skirt from the fans on the floor was tingly and mildly erotic. I played for about an hour and gradually calmed. I began to sink my shots as I envisioned them and started to feel a little better. I sunk the five ball in the side pocket and straightened up. I sensed someone near and turned my head.

Debbie smiled at me and said, "I bought you a beer."

She was wearing saddle shoes, lacy socks, and a white frilly blouse that was open to her navel. Narrowly open, but open. I didn't see a bra strap or cup. The swell of her left breast was barely visible. Her hips were encased in an impossibly short pleated skirt, and I had a clear view of her panties. There were daisies or some kind of flower printed on them. Her legs were smooth, tan, and nicely muscled. Especially the inside of her thighs.

I cleared my throat and said, "Thanks."

She extended the bottle and I took it from her hand. She smiled once more and put her hands between her legs, concealing her treasure from my gaze.

She peeked at me through her brows and asked, "Is there somewhere we can go and talk?"

I hesitated. The last time I'd answered her questions, and I was in no mood to repeat that performance. On the other hand, she seemed to know she was dressed to provoke a response. I didn't feel making it any easier for her.

"What about?" I asked. "I think I answered all your questions last time."

"I just want to talk to you," she said plaintively. "Please?"

"Gimme a minute and meet me by my Jeep," I replied. "You know which one?"

She nodded and quickly walked to the door. She hadn't looked over her shoulder and she wasn't giggling. I went to the bathroom and peed, then stuck a few folds of toilet paper between my legs. No sense ruining the skirt.

I opened the doors and she got into the Jeep. Before she could say anything, I started it up and drove around the corner. I backed in between two large vans that belonged to the furniture company and shut it off. We were alone and out of sight of any streetlights, hidden from all but the most direct view.

I lit a cigarette and said, "Talk."

Her silence gave me enough time to reach in the cooler and pick up a beer, then she said, "I want to apologize."

I took a deep swallow and said, "For?"

"Sunday on the mountain," she said softly.

She sat with her back to the door and one thigh on the seat. The other leg was stretched out on the floor and she had her hands between her legs again. I watched her play with her shoelaces and let her squirm.

Finally I asked, "Why'd you do it?"

"I don't know," she said. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Her answer sounded phony to me and I said, "That doesn't answer my question."

"We're here alone and we're talking," she said.

"It was a funny way to get me to notice you," I said.

She giggled nervously and said, "It worked, didn't it?"

I checked and found my crotch a bit damp. Her nearness was beginning to arouse me. I wasn't reacting like Janice would've, but a tingle was definitely there.

I took a pull from my bottle and asked, "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to... to show me things," she said, and lowered her head.

"Why me?" I asked. "There's a lot of girls in Sulli's who would jump at the chance to get you into bed."

She grabbed the door handle and straightened in her seat. Her face was red and her eyes were bright with tears. "Look," she said, "I met you eighty-five days ago in there. I've played with myself every night since then thinking about you. I don't want some other girl. I want you."

I was surprised and very flattered. I usually had to work pretty hard to get a date or talk someone into my bed. And here she was offering me her body on a silver platter. I was interested, but I didn't want to be used to satisfy her curiosity. Her eyes were watering and she sniffed, so I handed her a tissue from the box on the dashboard. The console was between us, and she gripped it with both hands as she stared at me.

"This isn't a dare or something, is it?" I asked softly.

"No!" she exclaimed. "You don't know how hard this is for me! It's embarrassing as hell! And I've never said anything like that to anybody before!" She took a couple of deep breaths and added, "If you don't want me, I can leave."

"Oh, I want you," I said, "but what if you don't like it? What happens then?"

She turned to me with a smirky little grin and said, "I don't think that will happen."

I decided to take her offer. I liked her attitude; she was cute and young, and I didn't have much to lose. I got another beer, lit a cigarette, and started the Jeep.

Forty-five minutes later, I pulled into my driveway. The ride had been mostly silent, and I'd caught her staring out the side window with an uncertain look. Her hands had remained in her lap, clasped together for safety.

I let us in and shut the door, then played hostess and got us a beer. I didn't have a fireplace, so I lit a candle and put it on the coffee table. We sat at opposite ends of my small couch facing each other, and she stretched her arm across the back. She was nervous, and I lit her cigarette.

I took her hand in mine and kissed her palm. "I'm going to freshen up," I said, using my mother's words from long ago. "Make yourself at home."

I stripped off my clothes and gave myself a quick sponge bath. I dabbed a drop of perfume between my breasts and in the top of my pubic hair, then put on my robe. I fluffed my hair and walked to the living room. Her head turned as I entered the room, and she gave me a shy smile. I sat in my previous spot and smiled at her.

Her foot was wiggling from the ankle down; the kind of restless activity that betrays nervousness. She lit another cigarette and took a pull from her bottle.

"What now?" she asked.

It was plain she was not only nervous but scared. She was miles from her home and her friends, in the company of a stranger whose attraction she couldn't deny but didn't fully understand. I'd felt the same way in ninth grade with Karen the first time.

I said, "There's a clean robe in the bathroom. You can wash your face, use the toilet if you have to, whatever. Don't worry; I'll be here when you get back."