Chapter 3

May 7

I was going to give her Thursday and Friday ‘off’ from my attentions. But as lunch approached, I called her.

“Martha Hamilton.” She answered the phone with the clipped, busy executive voice.

“Are you on a speaker?” Well, I certainly could not say what I wanted to say, if I was addressing a room full of people.

There was a click, as she recognized my voice. “No. And there’s no one here anyway.”

“Did you bring the balls to work with you?”

“OF COURSE NOT!” She was annoyed.

“First of all, you will not take an annoyed tone with me. I was the man who had nine inches down your throat last night. Do you remember being fucked, girl?”

Her voice was small and quiet. “Yes, sir. I remember. I couldn’t get the slime out of my throat for hours. And I most certainly do remember being fucked. It was the first sex I’ve had since the Christmas Party here at the bank.”

“Oh? You had sex at the Christmas Party?” I don’t think she meant to give out that little morsel of information.

“Um ... not really.”

“Sorry, girl. I’m not buying that. You were at the party and ... what happened?”

“Umm ... well I had a little champagne and...”

“How little?”

“I had two martinis at the pre-party. And then three guys from the trading desk were pouring. I don’t know really ... like maybe six glasses? ... Anyway, they backed me into the copy room and before I knew it, I was getting spit roasted over the copy machine.”

“Spit roasted?” Jesus, she really was into the porn lingo.

“One in the mouth, one in the pussy ... Anyway, they kept it up until they couldn’t keep it up anymore. They were pretty drunk, too. They were high-fiving it, while I pulled down the LBD I wore and went back to the party. I think I made it to the hotel room alone. I know I was alone the next morning and the bed wasn’t messed up.”

I was silent while she confessed this episode. Like I may have mentioned, Marty drank too much. I doubt she would have said this at all if we were face-to-face; speaking anonymously – although it wasn’t anonymous – into a phone was apparently easier, somehow.

“We will discuss this later. Have you been tested for STDs, since the party?”

“What me?”

“Well, you the one who fucked Tom, Dick and Harry.”

“Yeah,” a small voice, “ ... well, no.”

“That’s not the reason I called.” I wanted to change the subject. “Do you have the balls with you?”

“Yes. I couldn’t leave them at home.”

“So you lied before?”

“Yes, sir. I ... uh ... I just didn’t...”

“We will talk about that later. You won’t lie to me again ... Now, put them in, and leave them in all afternoon. You can take them out before you leave for the day.”

“NOW?”

I was silent. It was echoed by silence on her end. There was no sound for several minutes.

“Yes, master,” it was the small voice again. “They are in now. I had to lock the door and get them from my purse.” The voice got even softer and smaller. “I had to lift my dress and get under the pantyhose.”

“I haven’t forbidden the pantyhose on days you’re not serving me. But it does not please me. Can I assume that you’re not wearing a thong.”

“No, master. I’m not.”

“That’s all, girl ... Except I have an assignment for you. Very important.”

“Sir?”

“When you terminate this call, you will immediately find and contact the nearest clinic. Get tested for STDs today.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’ll be if you’ve given both of us AIDS, girl.”

“Yes, well ... I never thought about that ... The balls are distracting, sir.”

“They’re supposed to be ... You’re fucking around like that and you never thought about STDs? GET TESTED.” I disconnected.

...

May 9, Saturday

That was two days ago, on Thursday. She called me from her home that night, and I was invited to come over for a cookout on Saturday.

I arrived at about two, with a bottle of Johnny Walker Black – it was Carl’s favorite, and his eyes lit up when he saw it. The youngest Hamilton, Robin, had a mop of blonde hair, like her mother.

“Hi, Uncle Bill.” That was Robbie, the thirteen year-old. I had been coming over regularly since Sue had died. I was ‘Uncle Bill’ in this house. She was a younger version of her mother: long coltish legs, sparkling blue eyes, but with a long mane of blonde hair, worn loosely; it came down to the middle of her back. I noticed that she was growing to be a beauty. Clearly she was approaching puberty early: she needed a bra to keep her young breasts out of the view of the boys who would be pawing after her soon. She didn’t wear one today, as the cropped t-shirt she wore told. But she was with family today; I was almost a fixture in the house.

Marty displayed her legs beneath well worn denim shorts, of the mid-thigh type. She was following her daughter’s bra-less look, though on her the puppies were wrestling with each other beneath her t-shirt. I gave her an awkward hug; between the scotch in my hand and the dinner preparation in hers, there wasn’t much opportunity for more.

“Hiya, Rob. You’re growing up. Gonna be a cheerleader soon, huh?” I passed through the entry and found Carl. I could tell from the semi-glassy look in his eye that he had started early today. That meant I’d be cooking ... I didn’t want to trust him near an open flame. He latched on to the bottle.

“Uncle Bill! There’s no cheerleaders in seventh grade. But I’ll be in junior high next year. Maybe then. C’mon in and I’ll let you lose to me in my new soccer game – it’s an early birthday present from Mom.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the den.

Marty disappeared into the kitchen, while Carl grabbed a pair of glasses and headed out the back door to the deck. “When you get a chance, Bill, join me outside. The game won’t be on for a couple of hours. We can talk like guys. ‘S the only chance I get to get a word in edgewise ... too much estrogen in this house.”

Marty’s comment came from the kitchen. “Pour me one, too, hon. And don’t give me the ‘girls rule’ story.”

“I’ll pass for now, Carl,” I said. Stopping in the kitchen, on my way to the den, I picked up Marty’s glass, and said in a low voice. “And you won’t start drinking ‘til later. I want you sober, later on.” The glass went into the sink, upside down.

She gave me a look, as she was putting food on the table. She took a knife in hand, and cut some cucumber slices for a salad. “Don’t start,” she said softly, waving the blade.

“And put on a dress when we eat,” I whispered.

“UNCLE BILL,” came the demand from the den. “You gotta see the intro to the roster screen. It’s cool.”

I followed the voice. “Cool? What are they teaching you in school? ‘Cool’ is just not used anymore – except by old folks like me.”

“It’s coming back. Anything THAT old, is back.”

...

We passed a few hours, pleasantly. Me getting thoroughly trounced at video soccer, Robbie sitting next to me on the couch, playing all the best women’s starters. I was getting the scrubs. At least that was my story.

“How’s it really going, kiddo?” I asked quietly in a lull, while the game was loading a new scenario.

She put on a nasty face. “I hate him. He’s drunk all the time. He took out the mailbox with the SUV on Tuesday. Didn’t even notice, I think. I’m worried that he’s home for hours ‘til I get out of school.” She sniffled. “Can’t you do something?” She wiped her nose with her right forearm. “I mean ... I had to call somebody to put up a new mailbox. It’s only temporary. How would we get mail? ... He even pawed at my boobies the other day.”

“Was he drunk?” I asked.

She nodded. “Silly question. He’s got a snootful all the time.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Robbie. But I’m only here sometimes.”

“You can sleep in my room, Uncle Bill. I have a big bed. Then you can be here all the time.” She laughed, as the game restarted itself.

I looked at her. “That’s illegal. You’re too young.”

“I’m growing up,” she said in a not-so-young voice. “But anyway, where would Mom sleep? She won’t even get into bed with him. Says he snores too loud.”

“Speaking of your Mom, I think we ought to help out in the kitchen.”

Out in the kitchen, dinner was coming along. Marty was sitting in a rocker with her legs tucked under. She was showing a lot of leg under the tennis skirt she’d changed into. As she rocked, she quietly moved the skirt a little higher with each ‘rock.’ Eventually she was showing her thigh up to the waist. Her left hand had a wine glass – now about half full.

“MOM! Your skirt is well ... you’re showing a lot of leg there.” Rob pointed.

“Oh, that’s okay. Bill won’t mind. He’s here so much he’s probably seen everything.”

I chimed in. “It’s okay, Robbie. I won’t get grossed out. Her legs are her best feature.”

Marty took a sip of wine, then ran her free hand down her throat. “I kinda thought my throat was my best.”

I nearly spit out my beer.

“Gross, mother.” The teen turn to look at me. “O.M.G. O.M.G. You’re getting turned on.”

“No, I’m not,” I said, my erection to the contrary.

“Yes you are!” And her little thirteen year-old left hand brushed against the front of my shorts. “SEE!”

“ROBERTA!” Her mother said quietly but forcefully. “We’ve talked about that.”

My attention shifted to Marty immediately. Why was she so calm? And what did she mean ‘They talked about that’? I decided to ignore the hand groping the growing penis inside my sweat pants.