Chapter 3

A few weeks later, I was actually getting a bit frustrated with my sex life. Angelica could not get away from her husband to meet with me. I had hoped I would enjoy some quality time with Kim and/or Opal (meaning finally get to have full sex), but Opal was now going steady with the basketball captain and didn’t want to mess that up. Kim did find a couple of occasions to sneak me into the ‘strip joint’ to give me blow jobs, but that was as far as she would go. On the other hand, she was happy for me to play with her tits and let me lick her snatch, so I was learning a little more about how to please a woman.

I know, most fifteen year old guys would kill to have such a ‘limited’ sex life, but I was used to girls coming on to me and lately to actually getting my rocks off with some cute females. Was getting to go all the way really too much to ask? I was tired of being a virgin.

At school, Ms. Stein was still being very nice to me, and I decided that Ms. Dague really was smiling at me more than the other boys, so I allowed my mind to play a ‘what if’ game about them. Not that I really thought there was much of a chance there, but it was fun.

Then the school announced a special event for freshmen. On the upcoming Friday there would be Family Day, where a parent could invite their student to spend the afternoon at their place of work. (That caused me to wonder: What if the kid’s father was a garbage man? What kind of afternoon’s fun would that be?) The next Friday, we would have the usual invitation to have a parent come in to our English class and discuss their work with the students. Then we would be writing essays about different careers and what we had to do to prepare for them. Ms. Stein was enthusiastic about the assignment, so naturally I was too.

When I explained this to my mother, she invited me to have family day at her office, as I couldn’t very well go to my dad’s. Maybe his schedule would allow him to come to the in-class discussion, which I thought would be way cooler than having some marketing person from a cosmetics company talk about feminine health and beauty. Not that I had anything against that, of course. It just didn’t sound really up my alley.

Naturally, when the day came I acted as enthusiastic as I could. We drove up to this big, drab looking building on the outskirts of town and she parked in her personal parking space. Then she took me in and introduced me to the receptionist, who was a very nice looking young woman who politely said “Hi” to me.

The rest of the ground floor was where various test products were manufactured. The actual manufacturing of products for sale was farmed out to different companies. There were all kinds of soaps, perfumes, and other cosmetics. The only thing really interesting to me was that almost all of the workers were women of different ages and sizes, although most of them were wearing bulky overall suits and masks.

The next floor up was the research lab, where other women were mixing chemicals, doing research on computers, or other stuff my mom said led up to them trying to create working products on the floor below. Many of the women were attractive, but some were old or dowdy. It really didn’t matter to me. Well, sort of. A vast majority had checked me out as we went past, and I wondered if it was just because they didn’t see many guys here of any age.

As we entered the stairwell to the final level (we would never have taken an elevator up for less than two levels), I asked my mom the question that had been bugging me.

“Why are there so many women working here? I mean, I haven’t seen even one guy.”

“Hmm, yeah,” she gave a slight shrug and quirked her mouth. “Our owner is a -- well, a very independent woman. But that’s actually only a tiny part.” She sighed. “Are you really interested in that?”

What was I going to tell her, that this place made me feel like a kid in a candy store? Which, okay, I sort of was. Instead, I got all logical on her. After all, she was a really smart woman.

“As you know, Mom, this visit is part of an assignment. I’m going to have to write about it. I just thought it would be good to learn about the -- what you call it? -- the business model.”

“Oh, right!” She beamed at me and stroked my shoulder lovingly. “That is very smart of you, Mark.”

“Thanks, Mom!”

We stopped on the landing between flights so she could explain without disturbing anyone.

“Okay, so you know what we do. We make products strictly for women. Ms. Stevens, our CEO who finances and runs all of this, thought: Why not hire people who are potential users so we can use them as our initial test group? A really smart idea. But then she went a step further.”

Now I really was interested. “Which was?”

“Well, almost all of those products include an element of scent. Even hand cream and soap must appeal to the nose as well as the touch and the final results. In fact, when a customer opens most products, the scent is the first impression they have as to whether or not they like it.”

“Well, that makes sense. I mean -- well, you know what I mean.”

She grinned at my unintentional pun. “Yes. So, anyhow, every potential employee is tested for their sense of smell. You do know that all animals and people have different levels of that, right?”

“Geez, Mom, we do learn something in school, you know!” I felt a little guilty at the hurt look on her face. “I mean, sure, I know like dogs have like a million times better sense of smell than humans, and we all have different levels of skills, which includes smell. So, sure, that makes ... I mean, that was smart of her.”

She gave a tiny smirk, but just led me up the rest of the stairs. We got up to the third floor, which was the executive offices, before she spoke again.

“I’d introduce you to Ms. Stevens, Mark, but she’s not in today. She’s brilliant and an extremely interesting person. Maybe some other day.”

“Sure,” I shrugged. “Some other day.”

“Anyhow, before I introduce you to a couple of the other execs, let’s go to my office so we can get some water or maybe a cup of tea.” She smiled apologetically. “Sorry, we don’t have any soda or other artificial beverages in the building, and I know you don’t drink coffee.”

We trudged down a long hallway past a lot of doors, but no windows. There was one door at the very end, which I saw said: Ms. Stevens, CEO. Just before that on the left was a sign that said ‘Mrs. Fuller, Marketing Director.’ Mom opened the door and we went in.

As soon as we entered the outer office a young woman rose from a small desk. I literally stopped in my tracks, although my mom did not seem to notice.

“Mark, this is my secretary, Alice Timlinson. She’s the person who helps make everything happen for me. You’ll have to interpret her accent, as she’s very British.”

Probably in her late twenties, Alice Timlinson was a true English rose. She was only a few inches shorter than me and had thick, deep auburn hair that hung to the middle of her back. Her figure was quite full, and might turn heavy in later years, but for now was exactly of all the right proportions for her height. Her pale skin, which she emphasized by showing bare arms and somewhat more than the usual amount of décolletage, was so smooth and white it reminded me of fine dinner china. Her eyes were an almost violet shade of blue, capped with long, lustrous lashes, and her nose and mouth were perfectly shaped. When she spoke it was like someone singing an Irish lullaby, and her laughter was a stream of crystal clear water running over a bed of smooth rocks.

She held out her delicate hand. “Sure, ‘an I’m pleased t’meet ya, young mister Mark. Call me Alice.”

Was that what they called a Cockney accent? I had no idea.

“Ah,” was the best I could respond as I took her hand in mine. Her skin was soft and silky, but her grip was firm. I could just imagine--

She suddenly inhaled deeply, and seemed to sway a tiny bit. She quickly snatched her hand away and backed up a couple of steps. I wondered what I had done to offend her.

It would have been a terribly embarrassing moment for me except that we were interrupted by a soft knock on the door, immediately followed by the entrance of an older woman who looked Middle Eastern.

“Hi, Dr. Faizal,” my mom said pleasantly.

“Hello, Erica,” the woman replied, not seeming to notice me. “I wanted to ask you if you could do some marketing research--”

She stopped cold. Her head lifted a tiny bit, her nostrils flared, and she took a deep breath the same as Alice had done. She looked directly at me and her eyes went wide. Then she practically ran out of the office muttering something that sounds to me like ‘fair moans’, which, of course, would have been silly.

Now I was getting paranoid. All of my life females had generally responded slightly to strongly positively toward me. However, in the space of two minutes, two women had backed off like I had a communicable disease. What the hell was going on?

“Oh, my goodness!” my mom fretted. “I should go check on Dr. Faizal to see if she’s ill.”

“Mebbe she just forgot somethin’ she wanted to show you, about the research an’ such,” Alice conjectured, although with no conviction.

“Maybe,” my mom said doubtfully. “Well, if she’s not ill, then I should get the details on what she wanted me to do.” She looked at the two of us speculatively. “Whatever it is, it’s probably best if you don’t go with me, Mark. Alice, would you mind if Mark sits quietly in my office just for twenty or thirty minutes? Maybe you could get him something to drink?”