Chapter 2: Joe’s Story

First of all I’m an extremely wealthy man, born into it and unfortunately inheriting it.

Obviously I also inherited my name. The first Joseph Allen Solomon, my grandfather, started JAS Industries out of his tinkering in my great grandfather’s garage. He created gadgets which he patented and sold, helping to pay for his mechanical engineering degree which in turn advanced him to systems improving automobiles and jets and missiles. Industries and the government wanted him, but his eclectic interests kept him from joining any single one, instead creating his own company of inventors like him, JAS, and continuing to be one of the inventors in his company. He married as if choosing her for a role in his company, a woman wise in business and accounting and she took charge of everything besides the actual work and ended up buying out companies tied to JAS, either as parts manufacturers or as purchasers of his inventions, although, because of the times, he always took the role of the face of it, society not ready for a woman in charge.

My father ended up taking his mother’s role in the company and my uncle took my grandfather’s role of tinkerer, continuing the family ownership of an ever broadening and wealthy corporation, a conglomerate really.

Few know JAS because it has always been a sort of behind the scenes presence, creating things that support the well-known manufacturers like testing equipment or sometimes advisors nudging A and R for those manufacturers to achieve success or, most often, manufacturing parts that enable the larger manufacturers to build their devices. In fact I’d say we might be the most successful unknown corporation in the States.

Now it’s time to get into the realm of unsubstantiated paranoia. JAS has never been interested in politics or who might be the enemy of the US at any one time, instead willing to assist any and everyone who might need their help. Perhaps it could be construed as greed, selling to whoever’s willing. My grandfather for instance worked for the Commies, although he knew to be clandestine about it and my grandmother’s genius was to keep the money trail convoluted enough to be mostly undetected. Mostly, because government contracts dried up for a while and the FBI and probably the CIA had a pretty big file on them.

It became the Muslim enemy with my father, along with his continued circumspect work for the Chinese. A lot of these clandestine meetings occurred within the academic world, daughters and sons, mostly sons as far as the Muslims, attending US schools becoming conduits of communications, a lot of them not even aware of it. JAS has a fair share of computer geniuses capable of hacking, in this case creating attachments to emails and such.

This came to a head with the Iranians and perhaps my father getting a bit greedy involving himself with too obvious a group there. Nothing threatening really, he wasn’t helping them build better missiles or anything military for that matter. No, he was helping them be able to streamline the manufacturing of automobiles, the assembly line, but also the car itself, cheap and efficient.

Anyway, once a year the family gathered in some fancy place, usually a Caribbean Island, something the private jet could reach without taking forever to get there, although they did gather in Monaco one time and the French Riviera another. This time they headed to St. Barts but never made it, supposedly pilot error had them crash in the ocean, all souls lost, except an explosion had been noticed and quickly suppressed.

I decided not to question the suppression. I had to run a huge corporation after all, being the only one left of my family. I made nice with the powers that be, and cut ties with anything in the least bit controversial, at least anything I felt could be the least bit detectable.

You’re probably wondering why I wasn’t on that tragic flight. It’s because I’ve always been shy and introverted to the point of suffering physically when around people. I’m also quite brilliant, extremely precocious as a child, not to toot my horn but to explain how psychologists or psychiatrists who my family hired to get rid of my phobia not only bothered me just being in their presence, but their attempts at curing me were just all too transparent to me. The psychiatrists attempted drugs but I refused. The cloud in my brain might have helped temper my reaction, but it also, unacceptably, dulled my mind.

My preferred seclusion had its benefits. I became the tinkerer my grandfather had been, but also learned the company’s business like my grandmother. In other words, I was actually prepared to take over the business.

Though it had been hoped I’d be an important part of the family business, my folks wondered with my extreme shyness how exactly that would happen so I showed them. A bit of coding wizardry, I’d created an avatar that actually animated, looking to mouth my words and I could turn off the images of those I communicated with so it was verbal instructions or information trading really, and then a lot of delegation. I had access to employee files so I knew the personnel’s strengths and weaknesses and even ways of finding promising new employees. More delegation would get the best interviewers to vet them.

I don’t know if my father knew what happened might happen, perhaps it was something he always considered, but on his death a large package was bequeathed to me which seemed to cover everything I needed to know about the family business even beyond what I already knew, like the new US president getting passed the proverbial football of atomic codes, and it even had his own codes in it for the various bank accounts spread out all over the world.

So out of my private office/laboratory of my family’s main manse, I took over, transitioned, pushed and threatened to get those I delegated to accept my weird presence. Meanwhile I had this home built on land that my family had bought as a sort of preserve, land which I asked them to buy by the way. I got the best builders I could find to build my design, had everything done, including the interior before I moved here.

The only real contact I had throughout this time was a woman, Gerry, a helicopter pilot. She became my only real friend because I managed to be with her, having her teach me how to pilot my own chopper. She’s a big woman, tough and strong, a bull dyke I guess you’d call her. She also taught me to become intimate.

I know, a lesbian teaching me about sex. But, in a weird way it was safer that way. She’d never expect me to fuck her, and since I remained clothed and she did trust me, my cock would never be an issue. And as close as we’d become, it became even easier than I thought it would touching her, pleasuring her, though she made sure I was clean shaven before going down on her, and even fucking her with a dildo.

The next step, probably the hardest, was her bringing an old girlfriend of hers she knew to be bisexual. A beautiful lipstick lesbian, and she was mostly gay but would have an occasional tryst when she needed dick I guess. Being a hot blonde with a slim hard body enabled those trysts, enabled her to acquire dick whenever she wanted. Ostensibly it was a two week vacation for Donna, one she enjoyed because she was the outdoors type, hiking and fishing and camping, the latter without me, but in a way I hired her for quite a lot of money, enough for her not to suffer any guilt of being mercenary, of being a prostitute. It also helped that we liked each other.

It ended up easier than I thought it would. Not at first, just greeting her had been difficult, and I took her in small doses in the beginning, her staying mostly with Gerry, including camping, but from a brief fireside chat to dinner to walking along the stream to a breakfast when she surprised me and we ended up talking all morning to the point I noticed less of her physical presence, the attraction of her beauty and her body in tight t shirt and shorts and the repulsion of my shyness, and just enjoyed the exchanges of thoughts.