Good Girls Swallow
Chapter 1: A Hard Man Is Good To Find
Copyright© 2008 by wordytom
Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1: A Hard Man Is Good To Find - She wants his baby. He wants to get far away from her. Her crippled husband wants him to make babies while he, the husband, watches. Bad guys want to kill him, the US government would not mind if he was dead and the President of the US is an idiot. Otherwise just another day at the office.
You know how it is on a new job; everyone smiles a lot, very insincere and tells you how glad they are to meet you and all that phony bullshit. At the same time they are also making up their minds if they really want to like you or not. It's pretty much the same anywhere you go. It was my first " Casual Friday" on the new job. I began to work for Hundley Creations the previous Monday week and at the time had barely started to get settled in and organized.
The office staff mostly came to work in jeans and tee shirts on Friday feeling they had really done something daring. I wore what I always did, jeans, plus a tee shirt with a "message" printed on it. Those shirts were my trademarks. I started wearing them right after I first got out on my own. They were the symbol of my independence and "maturity." This time the message printed in bold letters across my chest stated in black letters, "Good Girls Swallow." Barely two months past my twenty-second birthday, I had two major interests in life, work and sex, but not necessarily in that order. However, because of my chosen profession, my two main interests in life were usually mixed together.
Hundley Creations designed and created everything from custom-made models of ships, cars or whatever you wanted a scale model for, to molds used in injection plastics. In my department, I did lay ups for precision molding and custom prosthetics. Or as far as that goes semi working arms and legs for the movie industry. The mixed bag of people working in my department ranged from the mostly gay "creative staff" to the mostly straight fabrication crew. Fiberglass lay ups and mold making for special projects was a part of my job. Technically I was considered as a member of the "creative" team. But I was straight and got in a couple of fights when I explained "no" did not mean "perhaps. No matter their sexual orientation, there are always a few pushy assholes everywhere you go.
Pert, sexy Nadine Wrigley had been hired the same day as me. Her shoulder length light brown hair sat off an innocent pixie like face highlighted by the most delicious looking lips any woman could dream of owning. I wanted to kiss them the very first time I saw her in personnel. Her non-intellectual job was to push a delivery cart around to the different departments delivering mail, memos and whatever else needed delivering.
The rest of her matched her face. She had just recently graduated from some religious school where copping a feel was more than enough to send you to hell where you burned for all eternity. To me she was a blank page waiting to be written on and I wanted my pen to be the one that did the first writing. Unfortunately I never did get the chance.
That Friday morning she stopped her cart by my work area, brought me a package to sign for and read my tee shirt message. She read it again, frowned and asked, "Swallow what?"
What the hell? I thought as I mentally shrugged my shoulders and explained. By the time I finished my short explanation she was very pissed.
"You filthy creep!" She slapped my face hard and I laughed and rubbed my cheek as she stormed off to make her next delivery. That was on Friday morning.
The following Monday morning my time card was missing from the rack. In its place was a note, "Charles V. Harwood, please report to Ms. Hundley. Oh shit, the Dragon Lady, I thought. Someone else had called her that and it stuck in my mind as being entirely appropriate. I had forgotten all about the Friday slap.
"Ms. Hundley wants to see me," I told the receptionist at the front desk. She sneered at either my tee shirt or me, or both, nodded and buzzed me on through.
I pushed the gate open and hurried through to Ms. Hundley's office. A small brass sign on the door with black lettering stated a simple, "Roberta Hundley." As I stepped through the door she looked at me and frowned.
"Close the door," she commanded.
Still in the dark I closed the door. Her glistening black hair hung down her back. The charcoal pinstriped power suit fit her lean form accentuating her almost greyhound like body. Pert breasts, I estimated them to be probably a B-cup, or even a generous A, made small twin mounds in her suit coat. Grim, just like the Addams Family, was my only thought. I closed the door as she commanded and said "Hi, I'm Charles."
"Yes, I know precisely who you are. The next task is to find out exactly what you are. What do you have to say for yourself?" Right then she did look just like the Dragon Lady in an old black and white war movie I saw on TV not long ago.
"Say about what?" I asked her. "I don't know what you're talking about." I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was deep shit. Just what that problem was I had no clue. I scanned my conscience for something, anything I could have done to piss somebody off. I had forgotten all about sweet looking Nadine.
"I'm referring to the incident on Friday morning when you solicited oral sex from our newest delivery person, Nadine Wrigley." She paused for the longest time before continuing. "Sexual harassment is not tolerated in this company in the least. Now, before I write up your termination papers, perhaps you can shed some light on the matter. I have your complete personnel record from your last employer, so please save me any futile protestations of ignorance or innocence. Speak." It sounded like she was giving a command to a dog.
"This is total bullshit," I told her. "Besides, those personnel files are confidential. You can be sued for mere possession them. That is an invasion of my privacy."
"Charles, from what I have read here," she paused and waved a thin sheaf of papers at me, "you have nothing private about you anywhere. It says here you cast multiple molds of your erect genitalia and created what you called cocksicles. You did this on company time, using company resources. The only reason you weren't fired then and there was the frozen pops were only handed out to the females in your department and none of them would sign a complaint."
"Hey, lighten up. My department head helped me a whole lot when I made that mold. First I had to mix up the casting plaster and then I had to."
"Yes, yes, I am aware of the kind of help your supervisor gave you. The help, ah," she emphasized the word "help." She coughed and continued, "Her help was quite extensive, I imagine. I am aware of the steps such a project would entail." I could not read the woman at all. Her face was stern as a general ordering up a firing squad.
She continued, "Then there was the matter of five pregnancies in your department. There were you, eighteen women of varying ages and one other male who had no interest whatsoever in women all working together. What are you, a sexual plague? How many of those women did you have sex with?"
"That is none of your business," I told her. I needed that job badly. Right then, though, she had begun to piss me off big time.
A small smile creased her thin lips. "Very commendable. Most men would have bragged their heads off when asked such a question. What about the five pregnancies?" This woman was not going to give me any slack at all.
"Look, if you're going to fire me, go ahead. I need this job very much. I have three balloon payments coming up and if I get fired right now I'll lose my car, my Harley and in time, probably my condo." I took a deep breath. "Either fire me or send me back to my job." I looked at her and waited.
"You'll go back to work when I tell you and not before. You are on company time, not your own so I say when you work and where." She leaned forward and looked up at me, "Now how about those pregnancies?"
I wondered what was so interesting about pregnancies. "What in hell do you want from me? One of the girls who got pregnant never had sex with me in any way that could get her pregnant."
"How so?" she asked, openly curious now.
"We went sixty-nine every time," I told her angrily. I fought desperately to control my temper. It seemed I might not get fired, so I tried to play along and hope I'd somehow not lose my new job.
"Ah yes, that is what she told her friends. I thought her parents aptly named her 'Monica'. What about the other four?"
"Buffy I never touched. She named me as the father because her boyfriend walked out and she wanted someone with a job. I was the designated daddy. DNA testing also proved I wasn't the father of two more of them."
"What about the final woman?" Her eyes narrowed and she looked at me as if I was a knife carrying rapist.
Oh hell, I figured, Let it all hang out. "Not that it is any of your business but Brenda is fifteen years older than me and a very nice lady. Her husband couldn't get her pregnant and they couldn't afford fertility treatments. Her husband had an almost non-existent sperm count. She was desperate to have a baby; so she asked me to help her and I told her okay. Then we did the deed for a month. She missed her period, told me thank you very much and that was that. It was a coincidence all the others got pregnant close to the same time. Okay? Just another thing, Brenda loves her husband dearly and convinced him he is, miraculously, the father. Don't do anything to hurt her, okay?"
"Did the deed for a month," she said in a mocking way. How noble of you. "Do you remember this?" she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out the one thing I least expected. She held high up one of the wiener molds I used to make the cocksickles as if it was a trophy. It had a blue ribbon tied on it that proclaimed in gold letters, "First Prize." Her face broke out in a big grin that changed to a belly-shaking laugh.
"Lady," I told her, "You been fucking with me."
"No-o-o," she grinned, "but that is the next subject of conversation. "Just relax and sit down and let me explain."
I grabbed a chair in the corner and pulled it up to her desk. For the first time since I had entered her office, I began to relax. What in hell was the matter with her? If she wanted sex all she had to do was say so and I would tell her either yes or no, Why all the runaround and head fucking before the good fucking began? "So?" I asked.
"I want a baby," she told me. "I don't have much time left and I ... I ... I..." she had trouble finishing the sentence.
"You're gay," I stated.
"Good grief no!" she exclaimed, "not in the least."
"Well then, what's the problem? There are a thousand guys out there in the world that would love to get it on with you. Why in hell play head games with me?" Like Alice when she went through the looking glass, things kept getting "curiouser and curiouser." (Or was that Paris Hilton?)
"My husband is extremely ill. He has an untreatable paralysis and his condition is worsening. It is imperative that I have a baby. Unfortunately I am unable to conceive with him. His father left his entire estate to our child or children. This company is a part of it. Both our parents opposed our marriage and did their best to break us up. Normally I would not go into such intimate detail, but when you agree to help me, you will learn all this anyway.
Suddenly everything clicked into place. Daniel Hundley was supposedly the heir apparent of the majority of voting stock in a holding company. Hundley Creations was the flagship of the conglomerate. According to scuttlebutt, Daniel Hundley was also very ill of some undisclosed sickness. Now I thought I knew what that illness was. I also realized why I had been designated stud of choice. I closely resembled Danny boy right down to both of us being left-handed.
We were both black haired and violet eyed. Even more important were the high Magyar cheekbones and what some people called my "belligerent chin." He had almost the same jaw line. His mouth was thinner and weaker looking than mine. All in all, she made a very good choice when she chose me. I still resented the manipulations. Her next words pissed me off all the way.
"Your old job at Morgan Inc. is waiting for you if you refuse this request. We own Morgan also." She sat back in her chair and looked anxiously at me.
Suddenly I realized what had been going on. From the very first I had been manipulated. I was fired because this slicked down bitch had played with my life like I was a pawn on a chessboard. "Fuck you, Lady and the fucking horse you rode into town on. Tell personnel to send my check to my home. It will take at least six months before I lose it. I'll lose my bike and my car a lot sooner, thanks to your bullshit. However, fuck you very much with someone else's dick, but never with mine. Just ... fuck you." I started to rise.
She looked at me panic stricken. "Please! Please wait. I ... I apologize. I went about this in the wrong way..." Her voice trailed off. I stood up and kicked the chair I had been sitting in back out of the way and left the office, slamming the door behind me.
I saw the one I blamed for a large part of my troubles. Nadine was headed up the hallway toward me as I left the personnel office. "Fuck you too, bitch." I told her as I stormed by.
"Wait," she called after me. "I can explain."
"Explain to that cunt in the office there." I stormed my way to the locker room and emptied out my locker. A minute later I walked out the side entrance and into the parking lot. I straddled my Harley and left Hundley for what I figured was the last time.
Two hours later I walked out of the state employment office. I had applied for unemployment and did a job search with no results. Lay up men and top grade model makers with my skills were prized when one of the few jobs came open. Of course, when there were no openings we were a drug on the market. In spite of my age, I was considered one of the best in both fields, but there were still all too few jobs to be had. I felt the first desperate pangs of fear strike me. Yet I was too angry and proud to run begging for my job back. I swore to myself I would become a male go-go dancer first.
The next few weeks I made the rounds of all the private employment agencies. Times were hard, everybody was cutting back, bla-bla-bla. I began to run low on money. Then the unthinkable got thought. As I started to leave the latest employment agency on my list the rough looking fiftyish woman behind the desk asked, "How big is your whang?"
Oh shit! I thought to myself. Lady, there is no way I am going to have sex with you. "How big is what?" I asked in a neutral voice.
"Your unit, bonehead," she all but snarled at me. "What's the size of your package? You got a big bone or a wish bone?" She looked like she would be more at home as a lineman for the NFL than someone working in an office.
"Lady, what I got is my business and none of yours. There is no way in Hell I'm going to have sex with you." I protectively grabbed my crotch through my pants and began to back my way out of the room.
She let out a bug guffaw. "Boy, I am a one woman kind of woman. I guarantee you that neither you nor any other male will ever be my first man." She laughed some more and then got serious. "There's a special club across town in need of a waiter. The tips are as big as your dick. Big dick, big tips. Little dick, no tips. They need male entertainers. You fit the first requirement, you're good looking."
"You also need to be well hung and have a sense of rhythm. So, can you dance and wait tables at the same time" More important, how big is your prick?" She leaned her elbows on her desk. Well? Show me." The job pays a hundred a night plus tips. No drinking on the job."
"Say what?" I exclaimed. This big old dyke almost floored me. I stood in front of her desk totally dumbfounded. "You're getting a little personal, aren't you?"
"Look, sonny, there's a woman at home has been my companion for thirty years. I see no need to add the complications of a man to my life after all this time. My only interest in your pathetic little peter is to see if it might barely measure up to their stiff minimum standards, pun intended. Show me."
The promise of a hundred a night plus tips was enough of an inducement to bare my all to this crude and ugly woman who made Rosie look feminine. I unzipped and pulled it out. It hung down in front of me. "An uncut pink fucking python!" she exclaimed, "Perfect. I hope you can get it hard without draining all the blood from your brain. Can you?" I nodded warily and mumbled a yeah as I put my "pink python" away.
Quickly she scribbled on a referral card and handed it to me. "The name of the club is Tiffany's. Go home and shower and put on a pair of posing briefs or a thong if you have either and get your sweet young body out there. I'll phone and tell her you're coming," she snorted, "no pun intended this time." She waved me away and I left.