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It was a cold and blustery Thursday in January 2019. Burton’s daughter Annabel had a performance, so he had left early in the afternoon to attend. I was working on my own in my cubicle when Benson poked his head in and asked me if I could stop by his office and help him with some briefs.

It really wasn’t my job, and he knew it. But he liked treating me like a research assistant and I’d helped him a few times just to keep the peace. He always used it as an excuse to trip me up and make me look foolish. He was much more experienced than me, so it was easy for him to do. Then he would make a cutting remark about how I was a cocktail waitress trying to be a lawyer. He wasn’t stupid, it was all planned and rehearsed. I knew he was trying to make me lose my temper and shout at him so he could get me censured.

“No, Mr. Benson,” I said. “I’ve got work to do for Mr. Wilson. He’s left, so I was just leaving to continue working at home.”

“It will only take about half an hour, Johanna.”

Calling me “Johanna” instead of “Ms. von Eschenbach” was also part of his effort to get me angry.

“I wish I could, Mr. Benson. I’m sorry.”

I put my coat on before he could say anything further. He abruptly left, his displeasure clear.

I took the subway home and when I got to street level, I realized it was five-thirty in the evening. It was much earlier than I normally came home, so I called Jerry. It rang several times and I thought it would go to voicemail, but he picked up at the last minute.

“Hi, Johanna,” he said. He sounded breathless, like he was working out.

“You at the gym, darling?”

“No, no, I’m home.” His breathing slowed, but his voice was still a pitch above normal. “You at the office?”

“No, I decided to come home early. I just got off the subway, I should be up in five minutes.” I dropped my voice to a husky whisper. “I’ll take my panties off in the elevator. I’m looking forward to your special welcome in the hallway!”

I quickened my step as I thought about this. Luckily, I got an elevator to myself, so I could slide my panties off. I put them in a pocket of my coat. I willed the elevator to rise faster and stepped out even before the doors were completely open. A woman in a short red dress was just getting on one of the other elevators. She had her coat over her arm and looked a lot like Stella Williams, a girl who worked at the gym with Jerry. She sometimes ran with us on our club runs.

I tried to hold the doors of that elevator, calling out, “Stella! Stella!” But the doors shut with no response, so I thought I must be mistaken.

I got to my apartment – I still had a hard time calling it “our” apartment – and opened the door. I hoped Jerry would be in the hallway in his briefs, but he wasn’t there. I went in calling for him, but he didn’t respond. I went through the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room, before going into the master bedroom. He was there in his briefs, but he was making the bed.

“I was hoping you’d be in the hall with a hardon,” I said lightly.

“I did a really hard weight workout at the gym. I was tired, so I took a nap when I got home.”

“Did Stella come by? I thought I saw her getting on the elevator just now.”

“No, no,” he replied. “Why would you think that? What would she be doing here?”

He sounded nervous. He’s probably just tired, poor lamb, I thought.

“I don’t know,” I said, with a laugh. “You always say she’s a nine and a half, and you used to sleep with her.”

“You’re just jealous,” he said. “It’s making you crazy.”

“I don’t want to talk about Stella. In fact, I don’t want to talk at all. I just want to jump into bed with you!”

“I told you I’m tired, Johanna.”

“It’s never stopped you before,” I said, still light and teasing. “You got it up after a marathon!”

“Well, right now, I don’t want you. Stop begging me for sex.”

I felt like he had slapped me in the face. I picked up my briefcase and purse, went to the study, and began to work. I heard Jerry in the kitchen fixing himself something to eat, but I wasn’t hungry and skipped dinner. I worked till ten at night, and when I came to the bedroom, he was asleep.

He shook me awake about five AM. I was only half awake, so I could not be sure, but I thought I heard, “You want sex, I want a blowjob. Get on your knees, bitch.” He pushed me out of bed onto the floor and stood before me with his hardon in front of my face.

“Cuddle me first, Jerry,” I mumbled as I gained coherence.

“Open your mouth and suck on it!”

“Can’t we make love –”

“I want you on your knees, dammit! Come on!”

He was being silly, but I wanted to get some more sleep before leaving for work. So I opened my mouth. He put his hands in my hair and rammed his erect member in all the way to my throat. I was surprised by the suddenness of his action and gagged.

“Yeah, choke on me! It’s what you wanted, right?”

I was experienced enough to give him what he wanted. But he was unnecessarily rough, pulling my hair as he fucked my mouth savagely. He held me tightly as he spurted his load down my throat. He didn’t act like he loved me, or even liked me.

I had to remind myself once again of his difficult upbringing. He did not like to talk about it, but I had weaseled it out of him by bits and pieces over the year. His childhood included a drunken, drug-addicted mother who beat him mercilessly. She had a series of boyfriends who did the same and worse. As a teenager, he’d had brushes with the local drug gangs and was once shot in a crossfire. His high school teachers had been contemptuous of him, gave him little attention, and assured him he’d be in prison or dead before he was twenty. Compared to his life, mine had been a bed of roses.

I was going to ask him why he was so mad after I rinsed out my mouth, but he was lying in bed with his back to me. I guessed it was his continuing reaction to what he saw as his humiliation at the office Christmas party at Burton’s place. He wanted blowjobs much more frequently since then and began using those phrases, “on your knees” and “choke on me.”

As I was getting back into bed, I saw something bright red on of the floor, almost completely under it. I reached down picked it up. It was a lacy thong, still damp. I put it to my nose. The smell of female sexual fluids was very strong, the tiny garment was completely saturated with them. I was sure of one thing. It wasn’t mine.

I put it back where I found it and got back into bed. I couldn’t get back to sleep and after fifteen minutes, I gave up trying. I shook Jerry and showed him the thong.

“You want to show me your thong?” he said.

“It’s not mine. I found it under the bed.”

“How do you know? You have a drawer full of thongs. It must have fallen under the bed one of the times we were having sex.”

*

Less than two hours later, I was in the office. With all the tension with Jerry, I’d forgotten it was casual Friday and was dressed in my normal workday dark Chanel suit. I had just hung up my coat and changed out of my winter boots into my office high heels when Burton called me into his office. He asked me to spend the day at a high-tech ventures Expo at the Javits Center.

“I’ll be frank with you, Johanna,” he said. “It’s a fishing expedition. A lot of these new startups have dizzying market caps, cutting-edge technology, and engineering smarts, but don’t have the first idea about how to protect their intellectual property. With your engineering background, I can’t think of a better representative for the firm. Of course, I’ll make sure that any new business you drum up generates a bonus that will be added to your paycheck.”

I put my coat back on and headed out. As I was representing the firm, I stayed in my high heels. I called a luxury rideshare and waited in the warm lobby of our office building, going through my emails. A uniformed chauffeur showed up in about fifteen minutes. As he drove me to the Javits Center, I drank sparkling water from the seat cubby and scrolled the Expo website.

It was a glitzy affair, dominated by the Silicon Valley tech giants that had huge displays, banners and booths staffed by dozens of representatives. The cavernous convention center was filled with the buzz of thousands of conversations. I checked my coat, went to the stand of a California coffee chain, and got myself a cappuccino.

Then I wandered around, making notes on the various technologies on display on my iPad. Most of what was displayed was very technical and specialized, but everything was dumbed down to appeal to the layperson. I felt like I was just out of college again and was really enjoying myself talking to representatives at various booths where I saw something that interested me.

I concentrated on the smaller companies and focused on making contacts with the founders. It was really ‘geek city’ and I found that being a woman who was at least average looking was a big advantage. At almost every stall, I was able to get to the persons I wanted to meet very quickly and had extended discussions.

They talked about their technologies as well as the applications they had and hoped for. I told them what they had that was protected, what they needed to protect, and the legal ramifications of licensing deals, mergers, being acquired, or going through an IPO. Almost all of them were legally naked. As Burton said, it was surprising how naïve and unaware they were about the law.

“So, how much are we talking?” I was asked for the umpteenth time, this time by a long-haired guy in a black Grateful Dead T-shirt with prominent tattoos on his forearms.

“We’re one of the top law firms on Wall Street, so we’re not cheap,” I mentioned our basic retainer and he blanched. “But remember, you get what you pay for. If you retain us, you’ve got the big guns on your side. We’re not afraid to take on anybody. We’ve won for our clients against all the big boys, Apple, Google, Microsoft.”

That got to him and I saw it on his face.

“Well, you’re still talking about a lot of money,” he said. “We’d have to pay you more if we actually had to go to court.”

“Of course,” I said. “But our retainer still provides you with a long list of services. Check them out and give me a shout if you’d like to talk some more.”

By lunch, I had collected a thick stack of cards, in addition to electronic contacts on my iPad. I doubted whether any would lead to new business for the firm. Our fees were steep. These guys had lots of ideas and incredible brainpower, but not much money.

I ate lunch by myself at a taco stand in the convention center and washed it down with more sparkling water. Then I went back to work, pitching the firm’s services. I got another cappuccino in the late afternoon, grateful to find a chair and take the weight off my feet. My office shoes had four-inch heels that made me about six feet tall. Being tall was an advantage in a work environment for reasons too numerous to list here. But several hours on tall heels always made my feet and legs hurt.

Luckily Burton was six foot three. I was sure he wouldn’t feel threatened by a taller woman, but it made me comfortable that I could look up to him.

“Johanna?”

The voice was tentative, but very familiar. I mechanically stood up, groaning inwardly. But then my eyes lit up.

“Tim? Tim Herbstein?”

We looked at each other’s Expo nametags to confirm. He still wore glasses, but with fancy thin lenses set in an expensive Chopard frame. His hair was cut fashionably, and he wore a designer turtleneck with a beautifully cut blazer. I towered over him in my heels, and he was as pudgy as he had been in high school, but his jawline was firm, and his face had gained maturity. His eyes were as alive and boyish as they had been back then.

“My God, Johanna! I can’t believe it! You’re a lawyer?”

“You know our firm?”

“Of course. You’re the top name on Wall Street.”

I looked at his tag again.

“Who do you work for? I thought you’d be with one of the big boys.”

“Long story,” he said. “What are you up to? Do you have time?”

“I must have done a hundred sales pitches today that won’t result in a dime in fees. I’m exhausted, done for the day. If I have to explain what a retainer is again, I’ll scream.”

He laughed.

“The little guys can’t afford you. And the big guys already have topflight representation.”

“You said it,” I said. “What about you?”

“I’m done too. My staff will stay with the booth and shut things down at closing time. I see you already have a coffee. Can I join you? Want another one?”

“I’m caffeinated out. But I won’t refuse a bottle of Perrier and a croissant.”

“Coming up,” he said.

He came back with coffee, the Perrier, and two croissants. He sat down facing me.

“So tell me about yourself,” he said.

“Nothing much to tell. University in Wisconsin, law school in New York. Research assistant, then associate. Here I am, drumming up business, not very successfully.”

“You’re as modest as you were in high school, Johanna. You’re an associate with the top law firm on Wall Street, yet you make it sound like nothing.”

“I got lucky,” I said. “But I want to know about you.”

“How much do you want to hear? I can give you the short version right here. If you want the long version, we should go someplace nicer.”

“Oh, the long version, Tim. If you have the time and the inclination.”

“What are your time constraints?”

“I usually work late at the office. But I’m not going back there today. I’m a free woman.”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“I’d love that.”

“You’re the New Yorker, but I’d like to plug the place at my hotel, the King Cole.”

“You’re at the St. Regis? That must cost a pretty penny.”

“Corporate account, all fully tax-deductible. I’m the son of an accountant.”

“Sure, let’s go.”

It took us a while to get a rideshare, so it was nearly six by the time we got to midtown through traffic. Tim spoke quietly to the maître d’ after got there and we were ushered to Table 55 under the Old King Cole mural.

“You can’t just walk in and get 55,” I said. “And it costs a fortune.”

“It was already booked. My assistant did that a few months ago as soon as we paid for our booth at the Expo. It’s a business expense.”

“That was underhanded. You brought me here under false pretenses.”

“I did,” he said. He rubbed his hands and hummed the first few bars of Mysterioso Pizzicato, the classic villain’s theme before going on. “My real name is J. Evil. But you’re in my power now, you helpless young maiden.”

“Oh, oh,” I said, putting on a falsetto. “Take me, J. Evil, please take me!”

“Curses!” he said, twirling an imaginary mustache. “That’s not how it’s supposed to go.” The waiter came, stood by quietly, and he went on. “What will you have, Johanna?”

“We’re at the King Cole, I suppose I should have a Bloody Mary. Or a Red Snapper, as they call them here.”

“We’ll have two of those,” Tim said to the waiter.

“You’re obviously doing well,” I said.

“As Crocodile Dundee would say, better than average.” Tim’s attempted Australian accent was dreadful and made me laugh. “The way you’re dressed right now, you look just like your mother, so sophisticated.” He paused, looked down into his drink before continuing. “I heard she passed. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. You don’t know how much it means to me, to hear you say I look like her.”

“She was the most elegant lady I ever saw. I’ll never forget her.”

“She’s my role model. In so many things.” I raised my glass. “But let’s talk of more pleasant things. Like your path to fame and riches.”

That made him laugh.

“Well, you asked for the long story, so don’t complain now.” I smiled, and he continued. “But seriously, stop me any time if I’m boring you.” We took sips of our drinks, and he dabbed his upper lip with his napkin. “I graduated MIT in 2013 and immediately left for Silicon Valley with some classmates to launch a startup based on a data compression software project we had done while at school. All five of us lived in a little rental rancher for which we paid a fortune in rent, ate nothing but eggs, powdered potatoes, and white bread. We burned through all the advances on every credit card we could get. Pitched, pitched, pitched for over a year. Nothing, not a dime. Then one of us found our software in the engine of a much bigger company. We all trooped over there but couldn’t get past security.”

“Lesson learned,” I said. “Intellectual property rights are much more important than the ideas themselves.”

“Exactly. Without legal protection, you’ve got nothing. That’s your territory.”

“Yes,” I said. “I spent all day telling that to anyone who would listen.”

“Anyway, I got to know a few people through all my pitching. I’d been working on a few other ideas that used our compression algorithm. I wrote a suite of programs for audio-visual enhancement using pattern matching routines. An angel investor saw downstream potential and staked me with a small space in a warehouse in the Mission District, funded some equipment.”

“Gaming, facial recognition,” I said. “I can see lots of applications.”

“That’s right. You’re as sharp as ever, Johanna, already two steps ahead of me.”

“Don’t get over-excited,” I said. “It was pretty obvious.”

“Only to someone with a super high IQ.”

“Speak for yourself,” I said. “You’re the MIT grad. I went to university in Wisconsin.”

“You got into MIT, Johanna, we both know that.”

That and a dollar will get you a coffee, I thought. But I didn’t say it, and he went on.

“Well, anyway, I was pitching again, but this time I patented every damn thing I wrote. Luckily, my angel investor paid the patent attorneys and filing fees. We started getting interest, people were licensing our stuff, using it in all kinds of applications, mostly gaming and security, but also things as esoteric as avionics. Money was coming in, and I hadn’t hired many people, so our expenses were low. I bought out my angel investor in early 2016, for about fifty times what he put in. Two months later, I got an offer from a technology warehouse to buy me out, lock, stock, and barrel for $30 million. I just got lucky with the timing, can’t take any credit. I took the money, retired all my debt, and paid off my employees with their termination bonuses.”

“You must have had a fair bit left over,” I said.

“About $20 million.”

“For which you must have worked like a dog, pulled a lot of all-nighters.”

“Twenty-hour days, typically,” he said, ruefully. “Slept on a mattress on the floor at work most nights. Got mugged a couple times, the Mission District can be a bit rough.” His expression turned soft. “I thought about you a lot.”

“You thought about me when you were getting mugged? I’m flattered.”

“I’m not joking. The way you handled Michael Jones back in high school, I thought, ‘If Johanna were here, she’d take care of you, assholes!’”

“I haven’t had much luck doing that,” I said.

The waiter was shimmering in the background again. I let Tim take charge, recalling his culinary expertise. He discussed the menu with the waiter, who was soon out of his depth. He left and returned with the chef, a dapper Frenchman. Tim and the chef discussed options and ended up deciding on something that was not on the menu at all. The chef seemed happy with this gastronomic challenge and returned when we were midway through the main course to ask for Tim’s reactions.

“Let’s ask Johanna,” he said to the chef. “She grew up with far better cuisine than I did.”

“No, no,” I said, coloring. “Tim, you know far more about food than me.” The chef still waited, looking at me, so I felt I had to say something.

“The Chateaubriand sauce is lovely,” I said. “I think I taste goat’s butter. My nose tells me the wine you used is a chardonnay.”

“Very good, madame,” said the chef in his thick French accent, glancing at Tim’s wedding band.

“Mademoiselle,” I corrected.

“I’m so sorry for making the assumption. I am amazed at your picking out the goat’s butter. It’s my personal touch, very tough to get right.”

“I think the wine is a pinot grigio,” said Tim. “Very like an unoaked chardonnay.”

“Yes, sir, you are exactly right. An Oregon pinot grigio, 2010. It is a pleasure to cook for two such gourmets.”

He left with a bow. Tim reached across and took my hand.

“You’re amazing,” he said.

“The taste of the butter came through clearly,” I said. “The wine was difficult. You got that one, I didn’t. But you haven’t finished your story.”

“Not much more. I’d been playing around with image processing on the side, patented some software. I’ve got a bit of a reputation now, so I was able to raise some low-cost debt and get some VC money when I launched my current startup. We develop and market tools for game developers, but there are other applications. We’ve got an imputed market cap of about $45 million. It’s just funny money, doesn’t really mean anything. Just a number to bandy about in marketing and at parties.”

“Are you thinking IPO or acquisition?”

“At the moment, I’m just having fun. I’ll see how far I can ride this pony. Tech is a hard mistress. If you go into it for the money, it’ll make you miserable.”

“You’re married, I see,” I said.

“Yes. I met Hannah in 2015, we were married the same year. She was a public defender in San Jose, three years older than me.”

“Whirlwind romance?” I teased. “Young love?”

“I would probably have waited a bit,” he said. “Especially since I was working so hard. But my mom came out and Hannah took us to meet her parents, the Resnicks. When Mom saw that her father is a rabbi, she became obsessed with having her as a daughter-in-law. She was calling me every day, pressuring me to propose.”

“I’m sure she had your best interests at heart.”

“Her Jewish identity is very important to her. It sometimes impels her to do things that aren’t nice. I’ll never forget how mean she was to you when you came to our house for dinner.”

“Can you blame her? I was this shiksa bitch threatening to take away her nice Jewish boy and turn him goy.”

“I wish you had. You tore my heart out when you broke up with me. Of course, I knew I wasn’t good enough for you.”

I reached forward and put a hand on his cheek.

“Tim, you’re too good for me.”

“I wish you could see yourself as I see you.”

“So do I,” I said. I laughed, but he didn’t laugh with me. “But we’re talking about you. Do you have kids?”

“A three-year-old boy, and a one-year-old girl. Hannah wanted children as soon as possible. She’s taken a career break to stay home with them.”

“Any pictures?”

He pulled out his phone, swiped it open, and scrolled through pictures till he found the one he was looking for. It showed the family standing under a sun umbrella on a patio encircled by manicured flower beds. The baby girl was in Tim’s arms and the toddler boy was holding his mother’s hand. Hannah was a very pretty redhead, a bit shorter than Tim. She wore a halter top and shorts, had curves in all the right places. I looked at her full breasts and tight cleavage enviously.

“Perfect family,” I said. “Congratulations, Tim.”

He said, “Thanks,” but his face remained serious. “Do you want dessert?”

“Not really,” I said.

“How about a walk?”

“It’s freezing outside. And I’m on tall heels. I should go home.”

“Don’t go,” he said. “Have a liqueur.”

“I’ve had enough alcohol for the night.”

“Coffee? Tea? Petit fours?”

“I’ve had a lovely evening, Tim. But everything has to end.”

“Do you want to go?”

I picked up my water glass and took a sip to avoid answering right away. I thought of Jerry at home, of the red thong under our bed.

“No,” I said. “I don’t really want to go home.”

“Is anyone home?”

“My boyfriend.”

 “What’s he like?”

“A hunk,” I said. “Adonis in the flesh.”

“Oh,” he said.

“He’s been treating me like shit recently, though.”

“Fucking asshole!”

“Whoa, you’ve learned some new words.”

“Tech people have foul mouths.” He reached forward and put a hand on mine. “I’m sorry, Johanna.”

“Well, at least one of us is happy, so we’re batting five hundred.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What more to do you want, Tim? You’ve got the life everyone dreams of. Gorgeous, sexy wife, healthy, happy children, success at work.”

“It looks good from the outside, yes.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “If you want.”

He sighed deeply.

“I’m not unhappy. But that’s not the same as being happy, is it?”

“No.”

“I’m content.” His hand was still on mine and he ran his thumb over my knuckles. He kept looking at me, and I did not look away. “But that summer with you in Wisconsin, Johanna! It was pure bliss! Nothing in my life since can compare. I’ve never stopped thinking about you.”

“We were young, Tim, that’s all it was. You’d have felt the same with any girl. It just happened to be me.”

“Is that what you think? That it was just the time, and not the person?”

“You’ve gone on and done much better. Your wife is far more beautiful than me.”

“But she’s not a nerd goddess.”

“Not a nerd? Or not a goddess?”

“Neither.” Suddenly, pain showed on his face. “Did I mean nothing to you?”

“Of course not, Tim. You meant a lot to me.” I paused. I’d often thought about him, too. Our times together were wistful memories that I’d stored away. I took them out to comfort myself when I was feeling particularly sad or lonely. “You’re the first boy I gave my heart to. And you’re the only one who didn’t break it.”

I hadn’t meant to say that out loud and put my hand on my mouth.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –!” I began.

But he leaned forward across the table and cut me off with a kiss. I opened my mouth and kissed him back. When he sat back, we looked at each other wordlessly for a few moments. I put my fingers in his hair, pulled him forward, and kissed him again.

He took my hand and drew me to my feet. We picked our coats up from the check and walked to the lobby together, still without a word. He did not let go of my hand. He turned toward the elevators, giving my hand a gentle tug.

“What are we doing, Tim?”

“Don’t overthink it, Johanna.”

“We’re nerds, Tim. That’s what we do. We think.”

“There are times to think and times to do.”

“We’re not eighteen anymore.”

“We can pretend.”

We were at the elevator bank. With serendipitous timing, one of them opened and a couple emerged, dressed for the evening. Tim and I entered, and he pressed the button for his floor. As soon as the doors closed, we kissed again. We were still kissing when we got to his floor. There were some people waiting there and we hastily walked past them. I giggled like a schoolgirl and Tim put his arm around my waist.

For a moment, I thought of his wife Hannah and her superb cleavage, his small children, and felt a stab of guilt. But then I tamped it down and put my arm around him in return.

In his suite, I immediately kicked off my shoes to reduce our height disparity. Tim was as observant as ever and I saw his quick look of gratitude. He led me to the enormous bedroom in my stocking feet. I sat on the king bed and took off my jacket. He sat by me and lay me down. I moved over to the middle of the bed and then he truly worshipped me.

He began by kissing my feet and worked his way up the inner surfaces of my legs along my stockings. He got to my skirt hem and pushed it up in front of his lips, ever so slowly. He waited for a moment at my garters, then tentatively allowed his tongue to touch my bare flesh. I gasped. By the time his lips and tongue approached my panties, I knew they were damp. He had my skirt up around my waist now and gently pulled down my panties. I raised my hips from the bed to help him.

His patience had made me impatient and when he touched my pussy with his tongue, I pulled his head down and arched my back. He struggled to take off his glasses, but then he dived in. His tongue and lips teased my clit and I began to cum. I was surprised by the strength of my orgasm. My thighs gripped his head spasmodically and my hips twisted and juddered. Poor Tim did not struggle or complain, but weathered my storm, his face buried in my pussy.

When I was finally still, he clambered up the bed. I put my arms around him and kissed him. Then I undressed him, every stitch. He unbuttoned my blouse as I did so, and pulled down the cups of my bra.

We pulled back the covers and I made to take off my blouse.

“Don’t,” he said. “You look so sexy with your clothes on.”

“Like a picture in a men’s magazine?”

“No woman in a men’s magazine could be as beautiful as you.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I said, laughing.

“By God, I cannot flatter,” Tim declaimed. “I do defy the tongues of soothers.”

“Do you indeed, gallant Hotspur?” I responded to his quote from Shakespeare’s Henry IV with another from the same play. “The theme of honor’s tongue; amongst a grove the very straightest plant.”

“God, Johanna,” he gasped. “Even your intellect makes me hard.”

“Let me see,” I said, reaching down and jacking his erection gently with my hand.

“God, no!” he groaned. “I’m so close, I’ll explode if you touch me like that!”

I quickly went down on him and engulfed his organ with my mouth, sucking strongly and using my tongue. As he promised, he began to cum almost immediately. He tried to pull out of my mouth, but I held him fast and swallowed every drop.

We got under the covers together and he held me tenderly.

“I always thought poor Hotspur was hard done by,” whispered Tim. “I mean, he’d defended the northern border so valiantly.”

“A bloodthirsty time,” I said.

“Not the best time in history to be a nerd,” said Tim. “I wouldn’t have lasted a week. But it was your sort of time. On horseback with your athleticism, you’d have been in your element.”

“Not a great time to be an uppity woman, Tim. I’d probably have gotten my head chopped off for speaking out of turn.”

We slept for a few hours. Then I woke Tim by coaxing him to erection with my mouth and straddled him. I impaled myself on his modest member and rode him hard. Physically, he was no match for Jerry, but I came with him much harder.

*

We awoke in the morning lazily. We made love again, then had a shower together. I got dressed and stood there with my briefcase and purse in one hand and my shoes in the other.

“Have breakfast with me,” said Tim.

“I’m leaving, Tim,” I said. “Every additional minute I spend with you makes it harder.”

“I’ll divorce Hannah, I won’t contest her for custody of the kids. I’ll give her all my assets. We can start over.”

“No, we can’t Tim. We were pretending, you said so yourself. But we’re back in real life now.”

“But I love you, Johanna. I’ve always loved you. Don’t you love me?”

“I did, Tim.”

“Then why did you break up with me?”

“I was stupid, immature. And my mother was sick. I didn’t know what I had, what we had. But it’s too late now. We can’t go back.” Tears formed in his eyes and he began to cry, with low snuffles. “Oh, Tim, don’t do that to me. You’re hurting me right here.”

I touched my chest with my shoes.

He controlled himself with an effort.

“Will I see you again?”

“That wouldn’t be a good idea, would it?”

I put on my shoes, towering over him again. I threw my coat over my arm and walked to the front door of the suite. He trailed me. I opened the door and against my better judgment, looked back over my shoulder. He saw the tears in my eyes and said, “I’ll call you, Johanna.” I pulled the door shut without replying.

*

Jerry was gone for the Saturday club run when I got home. I changed into my running clothes, went for a short solo run, had another shower and was working by the time he came back. It was past noon, so I guessed he’d gone for a post-run workout at the gym and showered there. He came and leaned on the doorjamb of my study, watching me work for a few moments.

“Where the fuck were you last night?” he asked, when I looked up from the computer screen. “I emphasize ‘fuck’.”

“You always do,” I retorted.

“Was it Burton?”

“No. I was out with an old friend. From high school.”

“A guy? All night?”

“Yes, and yes.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Tell me who that red thong belongs to,” I said. “And I’ll tell you more.”

“Stella Williams,” he said. “I couldn’t help myself. I just needed to have sex with a real hot woman again. And I was sick of having you and your fancy friends and family treat me like dirt.”

“How long have you been sleeping with her?”

“Since the first week of the year.” He looked defiant. “So who fucked you last night?”

“My old high school boyfriend.”

“What’s his name?”

“It’s not important, it wouldn’t mean anything to you. And it’s over, it was a one-night stand.”

“You can be a real whore when you want to be, can’t you?”

“I guess so.”

“We’re even, then?”

“Unless you’re going to keep sleeping with Stella.”

“She doesn’t like all this sneaking around. She said she’d only continue with me if I break up with you.”

“Do you want to break up with me?”

“I’ll be honest with you, Johanna. It’s hard for me, you know? So unfair. People look at me like I’m some sort of gigolo or toyboy or something. I mean, hell, we’re almost the same age! If you hooked up with some thirty-year-old multimillionaire, it would be fine. It’s okay for a girl, but not for a guy.”

“There’s some truth in what you’re saying, Jerry. But there’s nothing I can do about it.”

He came into the study and took a chair.

“It makes me crazy, and I act crazy. Like at the Christmas party, with all these hoity-toity rich lawyers and businessmen, so much money sloshing around. And with your hot, classy sister and her rich husband. I feel like I’m outside the glass, looking in, you know? They spend more for lunch than I make in a week.”

“I worked hard to get where I am, Jerry. You can too, but you have to finish college with a good major.”

“It’s easy for smart people like you. My mom was hammered out of her mind all the time she was pregnant with me. It’s a miracle I can string two sentences together.”

“You’re not going to get anywhere by giving up, Jerry.”

“Let’s go away, Johanna, just the two of us. Away from everyone, so we can be in our own world for a while.”

“What kind of world are we talking about?” I asked. “One where I’m on my knees, gagging on your cock?”

He had the good grace to look embarrassed.

“Okay, I shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have said that. Like I said, I was acting crazy. I’ll make love to you, like I used to. We can be like we were before.”

I went to work the following Monday and asked Burton if I could take a week off around Valentine’s Day. I told him about rekindling my relationship with Jerry and he was very supportive. He fast-tracked my leave application and Jerry booked a seven-day package at a luxury resort in Bimini in the Bahamas.

We flew to Fort Lauderdale and took the fast ferry to the island. Jerry was right. As soon as we were away from New York and work, the disparities that separated us seemed much less important. I was still paying for everything, but we had no friends or acquaintances whose opinions we needed to care about.

The first day there, we swam out from the point together. Jerry was a good pool swimmer, so I assumed he’d be fine. I was lazily paddling around and floating on my back, when he realized how far we were from shore.

“How far out are we?” he asked.

He didn’t sound happy.

“Oh, I don’t know. A bit less than a mile, I’d say.”

“A mile! Shit! What about the currents and the tides? And there could be sharks in the water!”

“We can head back in if you like, Jerry.”

“Yes, let’s do that.”

We began swimming shoreward, but I felt the slight tug of a current. I didn’t want him to panic, but I also didn’t want to patronize him.

“Let’s stay together,” I said. “There’s a bit of a current, don’t fight it, go with it.”

“What if it takes us out to sea?”

There was a note of fear in his voice.

“It won’t. Most currents run parallel to shore. Just a slight diagonal will minimize our effort.” I pointed to my right. “We’ll head for that marina. Can you see it?”

“Yes. But it’s much farther than going straight back to where we started!”

I knew I had to be patient. I’d had classes and passed open water tests to become a lifeguard, so I was more comfortable than he was.

“Yes, but the current will help us along. We’ll stop and float anytime you feel tired.”

It was a hard slog, but Jerry was in superlative shape, so he was never in danger of getting exhausted. I kept talking to him and reassuring him, especially when we rested and floated, with the current moving us along. I knew we would be fine as long as he didn’t panic.

As we got closer to the marina, he grew noticeably happier. About a hundred yards out, he challenged me to race for the finish and beat me easily. He was sitting on the dock, waiting for me, when I pulled myself out of the water.

“What took you so long?”

“I’m not as fast as you, Jerry.”

He smiled happily and that made me happy.

We bought tickets on a dive boat and went snorkeling at Paradise Point, Turtle Rocks, and Sapona wreck. We rented an underwater camera and took pictures and videos of each other. On Valentine’s Day, we were snorkeling at Turtle Rocks and he wanted to have sex underwater. He was disappointed when I wouldn’t do it. However, we did have sex on the beach under the moonlight.

We ran together every day – sort of. Jerry pushed the pace and always dropped me with ease. He was invariably waiting for me back at the resort with a smile of satisfaction.

The seven days went by much too quickly. Other than the open water swim on the first day, we didn’t have a single moment of tension. On the ferry back to Fort Lauderdale, Jerry held me close and kept kissing me.

“I think I love you, Johanna,” he said.

“You think?”

“Well, what do you feel for me?”

“I like you, Jerry. Sometimes, like now, I like you a lot.”

“Can you see us together, like, five years from now? Having babies together? We’d have champions, you know. We’re both so athletic.”

“If you still love me by Thanksgiving, I think we might have a chance.”

“Nine months from now? Of course, I won’t change by then! Will you say ‘yes’ if I ask you to marry me then?”

“Ask me at Thanksgiving and find out,” I said.

*

Back in New York, we settled into our work routines again. Jerry was as good as his word. He wasn’t mean to me again, and it was like we were before. I was still not happy with our relationship but chose to drift through the spring and summer. Breaking up with him would take effort, cause emotional stress, and I could see no outcome other than loneliness.

I still called and texted Jack regularly, but he never picked up and rarely responded. While I was still convinced that I loved him and mooned over our brief time together, it seemed it was one-sided. He really didn’t want me.

In the summer, Jerry talked me into preparing to run Boston again in 2020. I was not keen as I had been feeling quite tired, fatigue that I attributed to my work schedule and consequent lack of sleep. However, he promised to run with me the whole way and pace me to a new personal best. I didn’t believe him. But he did get me into the mindset and training regimen of preparing for a fall marathon to get a qualifying time again. I found the long runs much harder than I ever had before.

When I mentioned it to Jerry, he zeroed in on my schedule.

“You need to get eight hours sleep every night, Johanna. Working late into the night and leaving early in the morning, you’re in permanent sleep deficit. That’s obviously why you’re fatigued. Just get more sleep!”

We signed up to run the Philadelphia marathon to qualify for Boston. It was on the weekend before Thanksgiving. Three weeks before race day, we were on our last long preparatory Saturday run with the club. It was a tempo run of 23 miles and we were doing laps of Central Park. There was a big group from the club preparing for Philadelphia, and Jerry and I were in the lead group.

I hung with Jerry for about 13 miles, but thereafter found it increasingly hard to stay at the pace he set for me.

“Come on, Johanna, don’t be soft!” Jerry kept yelling at me. “Don’t be a quitter! I’m not going to wait for you!”

Twice I put on a surge and caught back up with him again. It hurt a lot, but I gritted my teeth and forced myself to fight through the pain. The third time I fell back, I again responded to Jerry’s exhortations, but my eyesight went blurry. The toe of my shoe caught in a rut in the pavement, and I fell headlong. I put my hands out to break my fall, but for some reason, I had no strength in them, and my head struck the ground.

I still craned my neck to try and call out to Jerry, but I seemed to have lost my voice. I saw him gesticulating violently, and heard him shout, “Oh, get up and run, Johanna! I’m not going to coddle you!” Then he kept running and grew smaller in the distance.

I must have passed out, for the next thing I knew, my head was in the lap of a female runner from one of the slower groups. She was wiping the blood and sweat away from my brow. Then the face of Howard Fletcher, another of the slower runners, swam into view. I knew he was a doctor of some kind.

“Johanna, can you hear me?” Howard asked.

“Yes,” I said weakly. “Can you help me up? I’ve got to increase my speed. I have to catch up with Jerry.”

“You’re not going anywhere, young lady,” Howard said. He had my wrist in his hand. “Your pulse is erratic. How is your vision?”

“I can’t see too well,” I admitted.

“You’ve run yourself into the ground, Johanna. How have you been feeling lately?”

“Tired. So tired.”

“Just rest,” he said to me.

I closed my eyes. He thought I was out again and spoke into his phone.

“Yes, thanks for taking my call. I’ve already called 911, the ambulance is on its way. I just wanted to alert you to the symptoms. She reports extreme fatigue and there are dark stains on her clothing around her breast. I’ve ascertained they were caused by a bloody discharge from her nipple.” He listened and then replied. “Yes, thanks for setting up the biopsy. I’ll ride with her in the ambulance. I’ll see you when we get there.”

“This is unnecessary,” I said. “I just need a bit of rest, then I can run home and shower.”

Neither Howard, nor the female runner whose lap I was in replied. I heard the siren of the ambulance, and swam in and out of consciousness as they loaded me in. By the time I was coherent again, we were driving off with sirens wailing. Howard was in the ambulance with a paramedic, and he was holding my hand.

“Really, Howard, I’m fine –” I began.

“Johanna, you are a lot of things,” he replied. “But fine is not one of them.”

“Jerry is going to be so mad at me,” I mumbled.

“Asshole,” Howard muttered.

I was awake and alert by the time we got to the emergency room. The paramedics unloaded me, and Howard accompanied me as my gurney was wheeled into triage. One of the nurses was about to stop him, when the ER doctor came out and shook his hand.

“Thanks for coming, Dr. Fletcher, it’s an honor to meet you,” said the ER doctor. The nurses and nurses’ aides hooked me up to all the sensors and they were soon beeping steadily. Then they swabbed my forearm and inserted a saline drip.

“Really, this is all unnecessary,” I said. “I just need to go home and rest for a bit.”

“Her name is Johanna von Eschenbach,” Howard said to the ER doctor. “She’s a marathon runner.”

“Hello, Johanna,” said the ER doctor, turning to me. “I’m Dr. Weiss. You’re lucky Dr. Fletcher was running with you. It would have taken us hours to figure out what was wrong with you without him.”

Then Weiss put a pair of shears to my running top and ripped the front open. Unmindful of my protests, he did the same to my sports bra. Howard and Weiss leaned over my unimpressive breasts, scrutinizing my right nipple. I now saw there was dried and caked blood around it. Weiss gently massaged my nipple and another drop of blood oozed out. Then he felt my breasts, first the right one and then the left.

“How long have you had these breast lumps?” Weiss asked.

“Since puberty,” I replied. “They’ve been checked many times. They’re benign cysts.” I laughed. “I don’t have much by way of tits anyway.”

Weiss did not laugh or even smile.

“This isn’t a laughing matter, Johanna. Do you have a family history of breast cancer?”

“My mother passed away from it.”

“I see.”

I looked from Weiss to Howard and saw their stone faces.

“I can’t have cancer,” I said. “I’m not even thirty!”

Neither of them replied, and for the first time since my fall, I was afraid.

The ER normally wouldn’t have done a biopsy, but at Howard’s instructions, they had set one up. He seemed to carry a lot of weight. I signed the paperwork, and the biopsy was done under his direction. They kept me in the ER for another few hours for observation, then discharged me in the late afternoon. Howard stayed with me the whole time and took me home in a taxi. He insisted on coming all the way up to my apartment with me.

“I heard you went to the ER,” Jerry said, as he opened the door. “Wasn’t that overkill for grazed knees and elbows?”

“Jerry, I’m only going to say one thing to you,” said Howard. “You don’t deserve her.”

Then he walked me to the bedroom, saw that I lay down, and left.

“What was all that about?” Jerry asked. “Does Howard have a thing for you now? The guy is, like, sixty!”

“They were just being cautious,” I said. “Howard is a good guy, a caring guy.”

I had a shower, did some work and went to bed, thinking I would take a short nap before dinner. But when I woke up, I was shocked to see that it was nine in the morning on Sunday. I got out of bed, got ready for the day and called Jerry. He was at the gym in the midst of a workout and couldn’t talk.

I tried to work in my study but couldn’t concentrate. I paced around the apartment, then went down and got a cappuccino. When I came back up, my phone rang. I thought it was Jerry, but it was a number I couldn’t recognize. I swiped it open.

“Hello, this is Dr. Weiss. Can I speak with Johanna von Eschenbach?”

“This is she,” I said, recognizing his voice.

“Can you give me your date of birth and your social?”

I gave him the information.

“Johanna, the biopsy results came back. There’s no good way to tell you this, but they found a malignancy. You have breast cancer. We recommend you set up an appointment with a specialist as soon as possible. I can’t emphasize that enough. Every day matters.”

“I see.” There was a pause, so I said, “Was there anything else?”

“This is off the record, Johanna, but if I were you, I’d call Dr. Howard Fletcher right away. He’s not a breast cancer guy, but he’s one of the top oncologists in New York. He can hook you up with the best person to see.”

“Thank you, Dr. Weiss. I really appreciate it.”

“Best of luck, Johanna.”

I called Howard as soon as I cut the line. He picked up immediately.

“Did you get your results?” he asked straightaway.

“Yes,” I said. “Malignant.”

“I’ll set you up for an appointment with the best person for your particular case. I’ll make sure to get you in first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll text you the name and address, be there at eight AM.”

“Thank you so much, Howard.”

“Can you call a parent to be with you?”

“They’re both dead.”

“I see. Then I’ll be there waiting for you.”

“I’m sure you’re busy, Howard. You really don’t have to be there. I’m a big girl.”

“Johanna, I want to be there.”

*

I called Burton on my way to the breast cancer specialist’s office Monday morning. I said I wasn’t feeling well and asked for the morning off. He told me to take the whole day off, but I insisted that I would come in after lunch.

I didn’t want to admit it, but I was relieved that Howard was waiting for me at the specialist’s office. We were there for about an hour. Given his reading of the biopsy and Mom’s experience, the specialist recommended a lumpectomy followed by aggressive chemo. He said he could fit me in for surgery before the week was out. Howard did the talking and got me scheduled for surgery the following day, Tuesday. Then he took me to my office in his car and squeezed my hand as he dropped me off.

“Call me if you need anything, Johanna,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the hospital reception tomorrow and take you to the OR.”

I really didn’t want to think about my illness, so I was happy to be at work. I took my laptop to the firm’s law library and hid in a corner so I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. I buried myself in work, the more complex the case, the better. My single-minded focus kept the thoughts of the cancer out of my mind. I worked more efficiently than usual and shot off email after email to Burton with my detailed analyses. He went by my cubicle several times, and eventually found my hideout about six in the evening.

“What’s up, Johanna? The pace you’re working at is killing me! I can barely read one set of analyses before you send me the next one. My head hurts with everything I’ve been trying to internalize from you.”

“I’m trying to clear my workload for tomorrow. I have a medical procedure in the morning and will have to take all day off.”

“Anything serious?”

“No, no, just woman stuff. I’ll be back at work on Wednesday.”

“Okay, I’ll let admin know you won’t be in tomorrow.”

I left for home about eight. By the time I got to my subway stop, I was so tired, I could barely make it up the stairs to the street. I dragged myself to my building, acknowledged the doorman and the concierge, and stumbled into my apartment. Jerry was sitting in the dining room, eating a takeout pizza.

“What’s up?” he said, putting down the slice he had in his hand. He stood up and came toward me.

“I went to the oncologist this morning,” I said. My voice trembled, and I rushed on. “I have breast cancer, Jerry! I’m so scared!”

I burst into tears and put my arms out for him to hold me. But he stopped and did not approach me. I took a few steps toward him, and he backpedaled away from me.

“Hold me, Jerry,” I said, too distressed to be subtle.

“No, no,” he muttered. “Stay back, babe.”

I wiped my eyes, and slowly recognized that he was even more frightened than I was.

“Okay,” I said. “You just have your dinner, sweets. I’m very tired, I’m going to bed.”

An hour later, he poked his head into the master bedroom.

“I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight,” he said.

I won’t cry anymore, I told myself. I hugged myself in my big king bed, but even though I was exhausted, I couldn’t fall asleep. Then I heard Mom’s voice in my head saying, you will always have my love with you. It comforted me and I finally slipped into slumber.

*

Jerry was still sleeping in the guest room when I slipped out of the apartment to go for my surgery. Howard was waiting for me at the hospital reception as he promised. The staff deferred to him and all the bureaucratic details, from medical insurance to patient registration went smoothly. In less than an hour I was on a gurney wearing nothing but a hospital gown.

It was relatively minor surgery, and I was in the recovery room before noon. Howard came in wearing scrubs.

“You worried the anesthesiologist, Johanna,” he said. “Your resting heartrate is so low, she was afraid it had dropped into the danger zone when you went under.”

“Thanks for being here, Howard.”

“I’ll drive you home,” he said, making no mention of Jerry.

He parked and walked me up to the apartment, waiting till I unlocked the door. Then he left, promising to check on me the next day.

Jerry was in the living room, packing. One suitcase was already zipped up and standing by the door. He was just finishing with the other one.

“What’s up, Jerry?”

“I’m moving out, Johanna. It’s just not working out between the two of us.”

“It’s breast cancer, Jerry. It’s not contagious, you can’t get it from me. You don’t even have breasts.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for some time. Ever since you cheated on me with that boyfriend of yours from high school.”

“In the Bahamas, you said you wanted to marry me.”

He hesitated before responding.

“That was a mistake.”

“Where will you go?”

“I asked my old roommate. He said I can sleep on his floor till I find something.”

I crossed my arms to press against the bandages and stem the itching. The painkillers were wearing off and the incision was beginning to hurt. It made me look at the thin scar on his neck where his mother had slashed him with a knife when he was seven. He would have bled to death if a neighbor had not found him. He’d had such a hard life! So many beatings, so much abuse, so much neglect. He looked so frightened, that I felt sorry for him.

“Don’t do that,” I said. “I’ll pay for a sublet for a couple months.”

He cheered up immediately.

“Would you? That would be great. I know you can afford it. It’s the least you can do.”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Call me if you get better,” he said as he hefted the bags. “Maybe we could get back together.”

I didn’t respond. He headed for the door, making a circuit to avoid getting close to me. I heard him whistling in the hallway before the front door shut behind him.