God of LoveChapter 2 Romance
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Caught In A Good Romance, 1 Of 10 free porn video
© Copyright 2013, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved.
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Caught in A Good Romance, 1 of 10
By Leslie Lowe
Prologue
Elliott and Samantha were reading in bed.
"Is something bothering you, honey?" Samantha asked.
"Yeah, it's that new client, the big auto parts magnate, Lance Trotter."
Samantha nodded. "I'm not surprised. He seems a bit rough around the
edges."
"Worse than that. He spent a few years in prison."
"For what?"
"Drugs," Elliott said putting down his book. "What else? He says he was
framed. But he talks a lot about what it was like in prison."
Samantha was really interested now. "So what's the problem? Is he one of
those demanding clients?"
"Oh yeah, but I can handle that. If I can find a hook. He left another
advertising firm on a whim. I'm trying to figure out how to keep him as a
client until we get him into a large campaign, when it will be difficult
for him to move."
"Maybe I can help. Tell me more about him?"
Elliott laughed.
"What?" Samantha asked.
"I was just thinking about something wild he said. It doesn't have
anything to do with business, but you know what he told me at lunch
today?"
"I can't imagine."
Elliott let the dramatic pause linger before delivering his punchline.
"He said he likes a little boy pussy every now and then."
"What?" Samantha said with a giggle. "What's boy pussy? I hope it's not--"
"No! I asked him that. It's not about age. He's not into children, just
adults, thank God. He said boy pussy is what they call it when they find
a man to be their girlfriend in prison."
"So he's gay?" Samantha asked, thinking maybe she had a gay friend or two
she could enlist for help.
"No, he says he's not gay. He likes women. He likes what he calls chicks
with dicks."
"Oh, my! So he's into transsexuals."
"Yes, and real women."
"Oh, I see. He likes real women, but any port in a storm?"
"Yes, I think that's it."
"Maybe we can introduce him to one of my girlfriends who's between
husbands--"
"Maybe, but get this, Samantha. When I asked about real women, he
confided that even though he liked women and not men, and he wasn't gay,
the real girls seemed dull sometimes after--you know--dating a she-male."
"Oh wow!" she said, sitting up in bed, intrigued by the problem, for she
was a born matchmaker and a gifted gossip, and was now totally engaged.
This Lance Trotter piece of business was important, with gobs of money on
the line.
"Yeah, you see?" Elliott said, also sitting up, obviously fascinated by
the situation. "So he says the real girls seem dull sometimes after
playing with the, uh, boys, and--here's the weirdest part--he even went as
far as saying what he enjoyed the most is turning a pretty young man into
a woman, making him into a her, his woman."
"Oh my God! Like in kidnapping? Is he a criminal? I mean--you know what
I mean--"
"No, no! He said he's only interested if he can make them want to do it.
He seduces them into it, makes them want to be his woman. Do you believe
this shit?"
"Sort of an extreme interest in virginity? Or maybe an extreme version of
a controlling personality?"
"Looks like it. And this is not just a story to shock people with,
although he is a real character and doesn't give a shit what people think.
What I mean is he's really into these special girls, as he calls them. He
wouldn't shut up once I asked a few questions and showed I was not the
kind of guy who would judge him."
"So you kissed his ass, like you do all the big clients."
Elliott laughed. "You got it!"
"Well, I hope he doesn't want to turn you into his bitch. You're all
mine. Besides, in a dress, you would look like a fullback in a tutu."
Elliott laughed. "I would. I was a blocking back. Don't worry. I'm not
his type. Opposites attract. He likes the pretty little guys, in their
twenties."
"Really?" Samantha said. Long pause. "How old is he? And he's as rich
as Croesus, right?"
"He's in his thirties, young for a billionaire, but he got the company
from his father, after the old man died a few years ago."
"Hmmm," she said.
"Okay, Samantha. Now what are you thinking?"
"Have you looked at all the stuff HR gathered on the PA candidates?"
"No."
"Maybe I know a way we can scratch Lance's itch."
Chapter 1
My name is Kim Spencer. I became a personal assistant and it changed my
life.
The day I filed the application to become a PA, I was desperate for a
decent job. I had done barista work, waited tables and other food-service
jobs. I had failed miserably at the outdoor muscle jobs like landscaping
and construction site cleanup. They had all laughed at me when I asked to
try being an apprentice carpenter.
Being a small person, I was always the butt of gay jokes on the jobsite.
Not that it had ever been different for me before construction work. I
was the quintessential high school social reject. My only friends were
the rather odd girls, the butches and punks. But to tell the truth, even
they scared me.
College had been more of the same, although I found my niche if not my
talent in drama and musical theater. My blue-collar parents impoverished
themselves to send me to a great school, Cornell, but what does one do
with a degree in English and Drama except continue in school? Which we
could not afford.
Working the two years after my college graduation in even more menial jobs
than my parents, making very little money, I had felt ashamed for myself
and sad for my parents. Not that they contributed to my low self-esteem;
they were always supportive, saying that they sent me to college to be who
I wanted to be, to be happy, not to become a millionaire. They did have
suggestions, which they shared if I asked. So as a last resort, I
committed myself to follow my father's rather anachronistic advice, "Son,
find an entry level job with a good company and work your way up."
Which is how I ended up scanning the openings on the website of Austin
Media Intermediaries, LLC. AMI was in the advertising business, not as
far from my theatrical training as construction. I saw that it was a
large local company owned by Elliott Austin, who served as Chairman and
CEO.
At the top of the Career Opportunities page on the AMI website was
"Personal Assistant to the CEO." I checked the job description. It was
basically what they used to call a secretary, with an understanding that
no task was off limits. They even noted that serving coffee for meetings
and picking up laundry was part of the job. And there at the end was a
warning that the lucky candidate chosen for the position would have two
bosses: "The PA will also assist the CEO's spouse in business, charitable,
and personal tasks connected to her many business-promotion
responsibilities."
"Oh, what the hell," I said out loud as I clicked on the application and
began to fill it out. It couldn't possibly be more demeaning than being a
waiter, and I would be near the seat of power, following the path my
father had recommended. Father knows best! Besides, the salary and
fringe benefits were incredible, so much so that the competition would
also be incredible, which meant I probably wouldn't even get a callback,
let alone a job offer.
Imagine my shocked delight when I received a return email from AMI a week
later, giving me an appointment to interview.
# # #
I arrived for the interview and announced my name and intentions. The
pretty and very well-dressed receptionist had a strange smile on her face
as she replied, "Wonderful, Kim! Please follow me?" and took off down a
hallway. She passed three doors and then turned into the one labeled
Human Resources. How could a girl move so fast in heels? I came to a
halt before running into her as she addressed a woman standing behind the
counter in HR. "Joyce, this is Kim Spencer, another candidate for
Elliott's PA."
Without looking up from the papers she was reading, Joyce said, "Great.
Have her wait in the conference room."
"Oka-a-ay!" the receptionist said, enjoying the innocent gender mix-up,
smiling at me and rolling her eyes. As we walked across the room, she
whispered to me, "Sorry. Don't mind Joyce.
She's sort of out of it right now, you know? But that's not at all her
usual way. Must be busy. She's Elliott's Executive Assistant."
"Thank you for the warning, uh, I'm sorry, what's your name?"
"I'm a Kim too!" she said, giggling. "Sorry, it's just funny, you know?"
"With our name, I'm used to being mistaken for a female," I said.
"I'm sure you do," she said. "I love our name, but I'm a girl!"
"You definitely are," I said, "and a very pretty one at that."
"Thank you, Kim!" she said, giggling again, which seemed to be her usual
way.
I was okay with that. I took no offense. I liked girls and women much
better than the male of the species. The gals could be teasing and cruel
in their way, but no female had ever physically abused me, which I
definitely could not say about some of the boys and men I had been
confronted with thus far in life. And most important, I found that women
would usually reciprocate good manners, being nice enough to your face
even if they thought they had reason to hate you behind your back.
"Here we are," Kim said. "Just wait here with the others and they'll call
each of you in for the interview with Elliott and Samantha."
"Samantha?"
"The wife," she said, leaning in to whisper, "a force to be reckoned with,
Kim. She'll like you."
"Really?"
"It will be fun having another Kim around here!"
"Thank you for building my confidence, Kim," I said, because obviously
this sweet young thing loved to hear our name. I was fine with that too.
I felt so much better! I hugged her in gratitude.
"Good luck, sweetie!" she said, hugging me back. "Just be nice to them
and don't worry if they seem a little--"
"Carolyn Jackson?" Joyce called from where she was standing in the door.
Kim and I watched as a frumpy young woman was led away by Joyce. The poor
thing seemed to be carrying too much weight, and she was way underdressed.
Was that her exercise clothes? Kim shook her head, rolled her eyes, and
slipped away.
I found a seat at the large conference table and looked around at the
other candidates. "Hi," I said to one woman who was obviously evaluating
me, the competition.
"Hi," she said, trying to smile but not pulling it off, immediately
looking down at her nails, apparently a rather shy person.
I was shy too, but I was used to it and had learned as a barista and
waiter to just let the blushing embarrassment wash over me while I went on
about my business.
I surveyed the other candidates, and could not help measuring my chances
against the scant knowledge I could garner about them from their looks.
There were four plus me, not counting the one already called in to her
interview. The four women sitting at the conference table with me were
all attractive and well-dressed. Two blondes and two brunettes. They all
had straight hair and rather severe looks. All of them wore tailored
suits and carried formal handbags, very professional, as if they were
interviewing to be not the CEO's PA but rather to be the CEO.
I wondered if I was underdressed. I had seen the company's "business
casual" dress on the why-work-here webpage. Remembering my lessons from
career classes at Cornell, I had opted to dress up a bit, with a salmon
blazer and dark blue slacks, a coordinating paisley bow-tie and, nodding
to the conservatives I might encounter, a crisp white shirt.
Rousing myself from the daydreaming and worrying, I realized Joyce had
already summoned two of the candidates. I wasn't worried about not being
called earlier, because I assumed we were to be interviewed in order of
arrival. I had been precisely on time. Always to be neither early nor
late was an affectation of mine.
Later, after I waited awhile alone, Joyce called my name and I followed
her farther down the same hallway to what I assumed was the CEO's office.
"This is where I sit," Joyce said, as we passed a cubicle outside a wall
of fine wood. "And this is the PA's desk," she said, pointing to a naked
desk set in a corner with no cubicle walls to shield it from the hall
traffic.
"Nice," I said. "Are you--?"
"I'm Elliott's Executive Assistant. You'll be reporting to me as well as
Elliott and Samantha."
"I will?" I asked hopefully.
"If you get the job," she said, giving me a crooked smile.
"Oh, yeah, right. Sounds great to me, Joyce!"
"Don't let them get to you," she said confidentially, right before
stepping aside and pointing my way into a door cut into the wooden wall.
"Good luck!"
"Thanks," I said, and turned to meet what I hoped was my future boss. Or
bosses?
The office was beautiful and spacious. A dark, massive desk across the
room faced the door. A couch and two chairs around an oval coffee table
squatted in the middle of the room and held a smiling man and woman who
stood to greet me.
I walked quickly over to them.
"Hi, Kim," said the big man. "I'm Elliott, and this is Samantha."
Elliott took my hand, engulfing it. He was tall as a college jock and as
handsome as an actor, with a full head of dark, wavy hair, the kind of guy
I had always felt intimidated around. But his warm smile and comfortable-
not-crushing grip put me at ease. Which was amazing, because he was
dressed rather formally, in a dark suit and blue-striped shirt with solid
tie.
I realized I had guessed wrong about the way to dress. These people were
not business casual as I understood the term. "Hi Elliott! Hi Samantha!"
I almost gushed. Despite my attire, I felt I was in the zone. Everyone
was so nice here!
"Aren't you cute?" Samantha said, touching my cheek, patting it. "Please
sit down, Kim?"
I sat, feeling after Samantha's comment a bit like a boy meeting his mom's
friends.
She was dressed as if for the boardroom, in a yellow tweed suit, the
pencil skirt tight around her legs and the jacket buttoned up to the
rounded collar. On her feet were strappy sandals in a nude color, showing
off her perfect feet highlighted by lavender toenails. She crossed her
legs at the knee and watched me watch her. "You like?" she said, sticking
out her foot with toes pointed, moving it from side to side in a sinuous,
showy way, as if she were modeling her shoes on a shopping channel.
I was caught off guard by her question. "Uh, sure, Samantha!"
"I love a man who notices women's shoes," she said.
"You do?" Elliott said.
"Well, a certain type of man," Samantha said, winking at me. "Are you
gay, Kim?"
"I don't think so," I answered, surprised again and wishing immediately I
could call it back.
Samantha laughed. "That's precious!" she said.
"Let's get organized here," Elliott said. He put his hand on Samantha's
arm, as if to restrain her. "It's not fair to Kim for us to play ping-
pong with him. Who should go first?"
"I'm sorry, Kim. Elliott's so right."
"I'm fine," I said, "but this is a different kind of interview."
"We are different, I assure you. Elliott, will you start, please?" she
said. "And I'll try to be a little mouse and not say a word for a while."
"Good luck with that," Elliott said with a chuckle. "I think what
Samantha meant, Kim, is that this is a traditionally female job, and we
wanted you to know that we have no problem hiring you for it if you're up
to it. In the movies, you see gay guys in this job, that's all. We don't
care whether you're gay or straight."
"Thank you for clearing that up," I said. "What I meant was that I've
never dated men, but I'm not homophobic myself, you know?" It was a
question I got fairly often, so I was better prepared to answer it than
most men.
"Got it," Elliott said. "So let me tell you about this job. I know
you've read the description, but I like to give my version, and then let
Samantha talk about her stuff, okay?"
"That would be great!" I said. Oh my God, these people were nice! I was
dying to have the job already. And I felt intuitively that I must be the
leading candidate to be treated so well. Already we had taken longer than
some of the other interviews, and they had saved me for last.
Elliott cleared his throat and said, "Let's say it's good news bad news,
or the good, the bad and the ugly." He smiled.
I smiled back.
Samantha smiled and rolled her eyes a bit. "Oh, don't be so dramatic,
Elliott."
I waited.
"Cutting to the chase," Elliott said, "Samantha and I don't have kids and
don't like having servants everywhere. Our lifestyle justifies at least a
maid or housekeeper, since Samantha works, but we're both from modest
backgrounds and worked hard to get where we are and don't like going too
far with that image, the rich-and-famous look that a team of servants
would give our lives."
"I admire that," I said. "My background is modest too."
"We know. We checked."
"You did?"
"We always do background investigations if we're serious about a new
hire."
"I'm glad you're serious!"
He nodded. "As I was saying, we don't have a bevy of servants around, but
we do have busy schedules, and we need help. I have Joyce here as my
Executive Assistant. She's not a Personal Assistant. I would never ask
her to get me a birthday gift for a non-client, for example. She handles
my meeting schedule, doing research and compiling files I need for trips
to negotiate contracts with clients, and even does some surreptitious
managing in my absence--that sort of thing. In summary, this position
we're looking at you for is rather like a servant compared to Joyce's
coordinating and management position. You would report to her as well as
me."
"She seems nice," I said.
"She kicks ass," Elliott said, laughing, "but I'm working with her to
learn nice."
I waited.
Elliott cleared his throat. "So that's the first thing you need to get
about this job. And frankly, being a man myself, I wonder if a guy can do
it, take on this servant role?"
"I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to earn a good living. I'm tired of
nowhere jobs like waiter. I want to learn about your business," I said,
and then, after catching myself, "and Samantha's. If I have to start at
the bottom, I'm down with that."
"Good," Elliott said. "I can tick off the rest of my concerns quickly.
You have to live this job basically 24/7. That's why we pay so much and
make it a salaried position, like Joyce's, by the way. Both of you could
be in here all night if a big campaign is about to debut or we have to
make an emergency presentation. You have to dress exactly as we tell you
to dress. We run in a pretty stylish crowd. We want to feel comfortable
when you accompany us that you won't stand out in a bad way. That's what
the clothing allowance is for. You're not married or seriously dating,
are you?"
"No."
"As we thought. I'm not saying you couldn't be in a relationship, but you
can see we need somebody fully able and committed to the job. He or she
has to be sharp, as your Cornell grades and references show you are, and
this somebody has to be able to focus on the job."
"I can do that!" I said enthusiastically. Maybe Daddy was right after
all.
"Great!" Elliott said. "Samantha?"
"Have you ever worked as a prostitute?" she said, with a wicked grin on
her face.
"No!"
"I didn't think so. But it's not a bad analogy for the kind of job this
is. We've been through about five people in the last two years who
couldn't take the pressure and we're fed up with that. Which is why we
have doubled the pay and benefits and come out of the closet on just how
hard this job is. 'The Devil Wears Prada' is a close comparison, but
imagine working for two demanding bosses, one in pants and the other in a
skirt. Get it?"
"Actually two skirts, counting Joyce," Elliott said.
"I'm not overconfident," I said. "Or underconfident. I'm not sure I can
meet the challenge. But I think I can. I'm willing to try, willing to
learn. I am not a quitter."
"That was plain from your resume," Samantha said.
At this point in the interview, Elliott and Samantha seem to begin going
through the motions. They asked a few perfunctory questions and gave me a
chance to ask questions about the job. I told them I was convinced I
wanted to work for them and would be honored to receive an offer. Elliott
stood and ushered me out, saying I would hear from one of them within a
week.
"How'd it go, Kim?" said the other Kim as I made my way out.
"Great, I think. But no job offer."
"Oh, they have a rule. They never give someone a job in the heat of an
interview. They sleep on it. But based on what I saw, you'll get it."
"Thank you, Kim," I said, and made my way out and home.
Sure enough, three days later, Samantha called me and said, "Welcome
aboard!"
"Thank you, Samantha! I'm so happy!"
"Can you start tomorrow?"
"You bet!"
"Call Joyce and she'll help you get all the paperwork done. Let's have
lunch at Mamie's. I'll see you there at noon."
"What should I wear?"
"Clothes, dear."
"That's a good one, Samantha," I said, forcing a laugh.
"I was not making a joke," she said, laughing easily, and at my lame
attempt to get what I had thought was a joke. "I mean it. Any old
clothes. Make yourself comfortable. This will just be us girls."
"But I'm going to work, right? And if Elliott--"
"In the future, Elliott or Joyce will tell you if he needs you to dress a
certain way. But he's out of town tomorrow, so you're all mine."
"Oh, great! Now I see," I said brightly. "Well, boss, I'll be waiting
for Joyce when she arrives at the office and I'll meet you for lunch as
instructed!"
"That's a good girl," Samantha said. "Trust me. We're going to have so
much fun!" She hung up.
What, I wondered, was all this girl stuff? Oh well, just another role to
play in life. I had done a gay theater part that included one drag scene.
I knew how to play girl, I told myself, putting on my can-do attitude.
Still, I had to wonder how far Samantha planned to take me in that
direction. Not in my wildest imagination could I have guessed.
© Copyright 2013, by Leslie P. Lowe. All rights reserved.
[email protected]
Elle
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