Chapter 1: Saturday Morning Awakening

Joan

My wakeup music started gently, but shifted to something far more energetic: “Nine to Five”.

Tumble outta bed
And I stumble to the kitchen
Pour myself a cup of ambition
And yawn and stretch
And try to come to life
Jump in the shower
And the blood starts pumpin’
Out on the street
The traffic starts jumpin’
The folks like me on the job from 9 to 5

Workin’ 9 to 5,
What a way to make a livin’
Barely gettin’ by
It’s all takin’ and no givin’
They just use your mind
And they never give you credit
It’s enough to drive you crazy
If you let it
9 to 5, for service and devotion
You would think that I
Would deserve a fat promotion
Want to move ahead
But the boss won’t seem to let me
I swear sometimes that man is out to get me

They let you dream
Just to watch ‘em shatter
You’re just a step
On the boss-man’s ladder
But you got dreams
He’ll never take away
You’re in the same boat
With a lotta your friends
Waitin’ for the day your ship’ll come in
‘N’ the tide’s gonna turn
And it’s all gonna roll your way

Workin’ 9 to 5
What a way to make a livin’
Barely gettin’ by
It’s all takin’ and no givin’
They just use your mind
And you never get the credit
It’s enough to drive you crazy
If you let it
9 to 5, yeah
They got you where they want you
There’s a better life
And you think about it, don’t you
It’s a rich man’s game
No matter what they call it
And you spend your life
Puttin’ money in his wallet

9 to 5, whoa
What a way to make a livin’
Barely gettin’ by
It’s all takin’ and no givin’
They just use your mind
And they never give you credit
It’s enough to drive you crazy
If you let it

9 to 5, yeah
They got you where they want you
There’s a better life
And you dream about it, don’t you
It’s a rich man’s game
No matter what they call it
And you spend your life
Puttin’ money in his wallet

Dolly Parton

Indeed, I stumbled to the kitchen, thankful that the coffeemaker was on a timer. My overall ambition, though, was potent enough without the coffee, but I’m just not a fast starter in the morning.

By myself, I sleep naked.

After coffee and juice, I slipped into one of the high-cut leotards, soft, worn, clinging, in which I liked to work out. I started on the elliptical trainer, and then did a brief resistance workout with a small machine and some dumbbells; my heavy workout would be later. From there, I moved to box the speed bag. ‘

Stripping, I moved to the shower, thinking about how I wanted to adjust its many sprays. I checked to be sure that my robe was on the towel warmer, and then put my light red hair into a cap. Oh, I’d need to tease and spray it, but there wasn’t any point to getting it soaked. I looked at my assortment of shower gels, and decided that chocolate mint was nice for a traveling day.

Starting with my loofah, I scrubbed all over. With a soft sponge, I continued sudsing my groin. Next, I folded down the shower bench, adjusted a couple of nozzles, and sat down, my feet on a small shower stool. Spreading my legs, it didn’t take much wiggling to get the pulsating water stream to caress my clit.

Hal

It’s appropriate that I like my coffee black, as I gazed into the dark fluid and wondered if my situation was also that black. I decided that it wasn’t that bad.

I had been working for a high-pressure government study, and had clashed with the Big Boss for being “irritable”. Given that my weeks usually were longer than 80 hours, much of which was in the dead of night, that really wasn’t surprising. One of the few redeeming things was his executive assistant, who, even in those days when miniskirts were acceptable at the office, had some of the longest legs, in the shortest skirts, that I had seen outside a club.

The civil service rules did require that I be paid for the rather large amount of overtime, and, indeed, at a premium rate unusual for my grade level, but triggered by the exceptional amount of overtime. So, I had several months of income and potential leisure.

Clubs hadn’t been that great a place for me. I just wasn’t having the social and sex life that I wanted. Maybe I needed some sexual relief. I had learned that sexual activity had mostly been decriminalized in New York City, under a reform mayor. I decided to take one of the new luxury buses to the city and find out.

First, though, I had responsibility. Sitting on my couch, a substantial orange tabby leaped to my lap, buzzed, and rubbed his face against mine. O’Reilly the Orange had, quite possibly, more emotional intelligence than any two- or four-legged creature whom I have ever met. He gave me a dirty look. “Yes, guy, I’m going to go away, not more than 48 hours. No, you aren’t going to have to wait to be fed. I’ve asked Lou, our neighbor, to drop in and give you fresh stuff. You like him and he’ll spend some time with you.”

“No, guy. I’m not leaving this second.” I moved to my couch, a wonderfully comfortable leather piece that I had found at a thrift store. It was most conducive to meditation, as was O’Reilly.

Joan

Out of the water stream, I still tingled, and was ready for the next parts of my morning ritual. Drying off, I slipped into a plush, emerald green robe, sensually heated by my towel warmer. I looked at my collection of bedroom slippers, selecting a pair of mules with five-inch heels. No, I wasn’t awake enough for the six-inch. Anyway, I have sufficiently great legs that super-high heels are accents rather than requirements. Yes, I have the sufficiently great modesty to boast about them, and other great attributes of mine, the greatest probably being humility. That sequence of thoughts always leaves me giggling.