Dark Passions (26 page)

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Authors: Jeff Gelb

BOOK: Dark Passions
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I'm not sure that I can go through with this; I'm not a violent man. But the thought of the two of them together is more than I can bear. I take a deep breath.
Gun in hand, I quietly open the door and step outside. My heart is pounding; my hands are trembling. I feel helpless. But we must all accept responsibility for our actions. I'm not a confrontational man, but I know what to do.
A familiar figure exits an adjacent office building and walks away from me toward a parking lot on the other side of the complex. I follow, the revolver at my side. “Hey, home wrecker! I yell.
He turns, and fear washes over his face. He stands perfectly still, puzzled. It's been a while since he's seen me. Does he even recognize me?
“He's got a gun!” someone yells, and dark figures begin to scramble for cover. It's him and me now. He sees the revolver. I try to prevent it from shaking as I hold it in place.
I step closer. Breathing becomes more difficult. I see the panic in his eyes. He knows who I am now.
“Wh-what is this about?” he stutters. His briefcase slips from his right hand and tumbles to the pavement. The latch breaks, and papers spill across the asphalt.
“Let me explain it
this
way,” I say as I tighten my grip on the revolver.
The fear in his eyes alone is worth what I'm about to do. “No!” he says. “This is never the answer.” He takes a careful step in my direction, arms out straight toward me, palms open wide.
“You deserve this,” I mumble. “You destroyed my marriage.”
“No,” he begs. “There are always better options.”
The gun shakes in my hand. I pull back the hammer.
“Please,” he pleads, “think of what this will do to your wife!”
And that's exactly what I think about as I focus on his disgusting handlebar mustache, push the barrel harder against my temple, and fire.
Goo Girl
Thomas Tessier
 
 
 
T
he snow started falling early on Friday evening. Only flurries that didn't even stick; the wind blew them around in swirls like dust. But it was going to be a long weekend. The storm was expected to pick up after midnight and arrive in full force by noon Saturday, lasting well into Sunday. It was shaping up as a classic Nor'easter, with snow accumulating between two and three feet in the area. White stuff flying through the air. So fitting.
She liked snow, and the timing of a major storm on this particular weekend was ideal. Gretchen turned away from the bathroom window and checked herself again in the mirror. She and Drew had Monday off, with the markets closed for Presidents' Day. He had suggested they get away early and fly down to one of the islands. A couple of days of sun and the beach, return on Monday after the roads had been cleared. But she persuaded him to relax and sit it out at home. They had plenty of food and drink on hand, as well as some movies, their usual video games, and music for entertainment. Gretchen had prepared well for just this weekend.
Skip the travel arrangements and all that running around. It would be their own very special, private party: Friday night, all day Saturday, Saturday night, all day Sunday, Sunday night, and much of Monday. When she put it to him that way, Drew reconsidered and smiled.
He was waiting for her now, in the spare bedroom that he'd converted into a home office. Waiting for the fun to start. Gretchen had decided to start with the office fantasy, one of his favorites; a fact that worried her when she first learned it, but now it didn't matter. She was wearing a tight white blouse, open an extra button at the top, along with a very short black skirt. Her hair was done up high, with a thick braid at the back. She wore a choker around her throat, and of course she put her glasses on. Now she was the secretary of his dreams. She walked briskly down the hall and knocked once on the half-open door. Drew was sitting in his leather armchair, an open business magazine in his hands.
“Excuse me, sir.”
“Yes?”
“It's after five. Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, please. And have one yourself, if you'd like.”
“Oh, thank you. I'll be right back.”
In the kitchen, she carefully poured and stirred his drink. She touched the liquid with the tip of one finger and tasted it. Fine. For herself, she fixed a glass of sparkling water with ice and a slice of lime. When she returned to the office, Gretchen leaned forward to hand him his drink, giving him a good view of her cleavage and the filmy blue see-through bra she was wearing. Blue was his favorite color. Drew's eyes locked right in on the open blouse.
“Here you are, sir. It's that new Latvian vodka.”
“Ah, good. I've been wanting to try it.” He took a sip. “Mmm, good, and strong. Bring the desk chair over and have a seat.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gretchen bent over to set her drink on the side table. Then she bent over again and gave him a lingering rear view as she pulled the chair around. She sat down, her legs parted enough so that he would have a clear view of her matching blue thong. He loved looking up a skirt. Gretchen stared at him and even let a smirk form around her mouth, but Drew didn't notice.
I loved him,
she thought.
“I'm afraid there's talk of staff cutbacks,” he said gravely.
“Oh no.” She placed one hand over her breast as if stricken with concern. Two fingers inside the blouse.
“Of course, I'd like to keep you on ...”
“I love working for you, sir.”
He took another long sip of vodka and smiled. “Fortunately, we may be able to work something out.”
“Oh, I'd be so grateful.”
“I may be able to promote you out of the secretarial staff and make you my personal assistant.”
She gave a slight gasp, and her fingers moved as if to calm her racing heart. “That would be wonderful.”
“Of course, it would require a new and greater commitment on your part, you would have to take on additional responsibilities. You'd be required to do everything necessary to help me perform up to the best of my abilities, so I can do my own work as successfully as possible.”
“Whatever it takes,” she said eagerly. “Whatever you need or want me to do, sir, just tell me, and I'll do it. I won't disappoint you.”
“Come here and look at these figures.”
She went and stood close beside him, bending forward to peer at some chart he had picked up. While he nattered on about revenues and costs and other nonsense, he stared down her blouse, now just inches from his face. His right hand slid up under her skirt, his fingers caressing her thigh, then her ass, and finally slipping inside her thong. Two fingers, moving, rubbing, pushing inside her.
“Just study this graph for a moment.”
“Yes, sir.” Gasping slightly, licking her lips.
His other hand came up and opened her blouse more, then lifted her bra up, freeing her breasts. He squeezed them and tugged her nipples, then rolled the palm of his hand over them.
“There's a lot of stress in my job,” he told her. “I have a great deal of responsibility on my shoulders.”
“Oh, I know, sir. That's one of the reasons why I admire you so much and enjoy working for you.”
He pulled her around to the front of his chair, so that she stood between his open legs. His hands still playing with her.
“And sometimes the pressure and tension become so great ...”
“When that happens, you need to relax, sir.” She dropped to her knees and reached for his zipper. “You just sit back and let me help. This will take a while; it can't be rushed. But you'll feel
much
better... .”
And when he came, her mouth was open, her face uplifted, her tongue sticking out. The cumdump he enjoyed so much.
 
 
The snow was falling at a steadier and heavier rate by the time they were on their fourth round of drinks. They were on the living-room carpet, in front of the television, playing
Grand Theft Auto.
Not her favorite game, but one of his. Drew had a dress code for video games too. He wore only a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, and Gretchen could only wear bikini briefs or a pair of flimsy boy shorts, some shade of blue.
She could tell that he had a nice buzz working now. It was easy for her; all she had to do was keep serving the drinks and do whatever he felt like doing to pass the time. He was a man of simple wants and needs.
Gretchen had moved in with Drew at his condo seven months after they started going together. She'd been sharing a large apartment on Dwight Street in New Haven with Carolyn and Sue. That wasn't bad, but it was hardly ideal. When their lease came due for renewal, Gretchen was ready to pull out. She was staying overnight at Drew's place more and more often as it was, so the time for such a move seemed perfect to both of them.
Gretchen loved Drew, and he loved her.
She was twenty-four and had never lived with a guy before, so there were some inevitable adjustments. Looking back now, she could see that it was mostly a matter of getting to know him: to know him truly.
Drew was an investment counselor, or a broker. Something like that; Gretchen wasn't exactly sure. He worked at a small but reputable financial firm in New Haven. In the first few months they started going together, Gretchen got to know three guys on Drew's work team: Gary, Rick, and Ron. They were more than co-workers; they were Drew's main friends. Like Drew, they were bright young go-getters, eager to advance themselves and to make a great living. And like Drew, they were vodka lovers. The four of them would get together every couple of weeks to kill a bottle of some new brand they had discovered. They were okay. They clearly looked up to Drew. He was their team leader. The first couple of times Drew hosted vodka night, Gretchen had felt excluded and ended up reading a book or watching TV in bed. But she did adjust; she knew she had to let Drew have some space of his own to enjoy with his buddies. She didn't like or dislike them.
Game over, Drew tossed the controller aside.
“Hey, open your mouth, baby.”
Gretchen opened her mouth, and he slid three fingers between her lips. She licked and sucked them. He loved that, loved the way she'd roll the tip of her tongue across his fingertips. Give him that, he could be ready fast—and frequently. He steered her onto her belly and pulled her briefs down. Gretchen wasn't wet, but he seldom made her wet anymore. He didn't seem to notice, or mind. He pushed into her, working back and forth until her body did begin to cooperate and loosen up, seemingly on its own.
It hurt a little, then her mind could kind of lose itself for a while in the rhythmic pounding, and then it was over.
 
 
“Another drink?” Drew asked her as he stood up.
Gretchen scrambled to her feet. “I'll get them.”
“That's okay. My turn.” He was a little tottery.
“No,” Gretchen insisted, placing a hand on his chest and gently pushing him back toward the sofa. “I'm serving you, remember? You wanted to go to the islands, and I promised I'd serve you all weekend.”
He hesitated for a moment. Then she could see it coming back in his mind. “Oh yeah, cool,” he said. “I'll put a movie on for us.”
“Good idea.”
Gretchen measured and poured his drink carefully. It amazed her that when the time had come, earlier that evening, she didn't hesitate. She'd never imagined that she would be capable of such intense emotional focus and sense of purpose. Nor that it would feel so right.
“This is good shit,” Drew said as he took the drink.
“Cheers,” she replied with a smile.
Gretchen tried to follow the movie, one of those smash-bang action jobs that Drew found so engrossing. The little things you learn about another person: their taste in movies, music, food, clothes, cars. Maybe they tell you something, or maybe you just think they do.
After the first couple of months, the fun started to go out of it for her. He was, somehow, different. Or maybe her expectations were. He was not as affectionate as she would've liked. One time, when they had squabbled about some trivial matter, she tried to end it happily by putting her arms around him and saying “I need a hug.” But he firmly stepped away from her embrace and said, “I gave you one a couple of hours ago.” And he went into his office and closed the door hard. He was making her learn his way.
Sometimes he would look at her—and she would get this crazy feeling that he was laughing inside. At her. Maybe she was crazy.
Still, Gretchen knew she probably would have carried on with things as they were, learning to adjust, accept, and abide. A relationship is not a simple thing to cast aside easily or quickly. No one likes to admit defeat or failure, or to be alone again.
But that day came. She was working from home because she had a bad head cold and a very sore throat. She had to e-mail some urgent documents, but her laptop froze; the hard drive had crashed. She had the documents backed up on a memory stick, so she went into the office to use Drew's computer to send them out. Gretchen saw a corner of a photograph sticking out from a pile of papers on his desk, and she recognized a bit of her hair and the office carpet. The photo had been printed from the computer. It was a picture of her. Eyes closed, mouth open, face uplifted, tongue out, all splattered in white. A few minutes later, she found the e-mail—Drew had sent that photograph to Gary, Rick, and Ron. His team. The vodka buddies.
Gretchen turned her head and looked at Drew. He was completely absorbed in the movie.
“Hey,” she said. “You're ready for a refill.”
She remembered the exact occasion, because it was the first time he asked her to let him give her a facial. She was a little surprised, because he'd never hinted at it before. But now that they were together, if that was one of his fantasies, Gretchen didn't mind.

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