Message-ID: <1999eli$9707101450@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/1999.txt> From: Richard Lewis <rlewis@xsite.net> Subject: Story: "Expense Account" Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-Id: <199707092326.TAA29493@delta.netusa.net> Expense Account by Richard Lewis rlewis@xsite.net http://www.xsite.net/~rlewis Hi, Doug. I'm sorry I didn't answer your e-mail earlier, but I was out of town. I had to go to the Micro*Star computer conference in Phoenix. Can you guess who went with me? It was Gary, the babe magnet from the health club! I had arranged for him to have an interview with my boss, Jack Sigler, who was flying in from our headquarters in Salt Lake City. As we alighted from the plane, I felt an itch in the region of my pubes. I suspected that some minuscule creature might be lurking in the luxuriant jungle of my crotch. Gary dismissed my concerns, however, attributing the itch to prickly heat. Well, Arizona is certainly hot enough. But it's a dry heat. More than a thousand computer programmers showed up for the conference, which was held at a resort hotel. The opening sessions was in the Kachina Ballroom. So there I was at the podium introducing Jack as keynote speaker when I felt an almost uncontrollable urge to scratch myself. The spotlight was on me as I struggled through the familiar personal anecdotes that usually just rattle off my tongue. Jack gave me an odd look as he stepped up to the microphone. Then he smiled to the audience and turned on the charm. Gary was scheduled to get acquainted with Jack that night after the Wild West Barbecue. I shot the breeze with some programmers from El Paso, made some calls from my hotel room, and went to bed at the usual time. Gary's interview must have gone on until the wee hours of the morning. I awoke in the middle of the night as he tiptoed into the darkened room. Noiselessly he slipped out of his clothes, climbed into bed, and put his arm around my waist. It was such a tender gesture, I could have cried. He fell instantly asleep. The next morning, while Gary was out jogging on Squaw Peak, I once again felt that rustling motion among my short hairs. I bellied up to the reading lamp and tilted the shade so that 70-watt bulb shone directly on my pubic area. I dragged my fingernail across a rough patch on my skin, pried a resident crustacean loose, and held it between my thumb and forefinger. So, here was the living proof! My instincts had been correct! My eyes strained to examine the hapless interloper, which was smaller than the head of a pin and nearly transparent. I found a water tumbler, tore off the wrapper that said "Sanitized for your protection," and dropped my captive in. The little critter scrambled across the slick bottom of the glass on its three pairs of synchronized legs. When it reached the circular wall of its prison, it raced back, bumping against the glass. It seemed frantic for the homey comfort of a warm snatch, such as it would never taste again. The Chuck Wagon Breakfast was outside on picnic tables under a tent. Gary was there in his sweat-drenched running clothes, chowing down on sourdough pancakes and sausage. That's when he told me about the job interview. Jack had asked him what he wanted to do for the company, and Gary answered that he wanted to be a program manager. "Program manager?!," Jack reportedly exclaimed. "Program managers are the people who are too stupid to be software developers and not good looking enough to be in marketing." I was irked by Gary's account. I am a program manager. Jack is vice president for marketing. I seethed all morning. The sessions were over for the day, so I went to the pool to cool off. Too stupid, huh? Not good-looking enough, huh? About twenty or thirty conference attendees had gathered around the pool to soak up some Southwest sunshine. They were talking about operating systems (UNIX, Windows, Novell). They were chatting about hardware configurations (Pentium II, Power PC, the Cyrix chip). They were conferring about software packages (C++, Java, Visual Basic). But when I pulled off my T-shirt from the Henry Rollins concert, all the talking stopped. I love to be the center of attention, as I was when I dove into the pool. With powerful breast strokes, I swam underwater. My chest hairs grazed against the tiled bottom. I could feel the programmers' eyes upon me as I glided through the pool's aqua shadows. Reaching the far end, I turned around, broke to the surface, and did the Australian crawl for a lap. When I finished, I placed both hands on the pool's ledge. Every muscle of my back and torso rippled as I hoisted myself out of the water. Just then Jack happened to enter the pool area. He was with the presidents of the users groups. They were all on their way to the exhibition hall. Even though I was still dripping water onto the hot, sun-baked tiles, Jack took me aside, held me by the elbow, and looked deep into my steel blue eyes. "I like Gary, but I don't want the responsibility of hiring anybody that handsome. So you offer him a job, then I'll transfer him to Salt Lake City." OK, fine. Whatever... I walked to the drug store at the far end of the resort to buy a tube of pediculicide. Back in our room, Gary was sitting on the sofa with his pants hanging down at his ankles. He was rummaging thoughtfully through his bush. "What's the matter?" I asked innocently. "Prickly heat?" As for my captive, it was still in its glass cage. I showed it to Gary. When I shook the tumbler, the louse sluggishly curled and uncurled its many legs. Life was ebbing out of it. My life. My blood. Gary averred he had never seen such a ghastly sight. I knelt on the carpet between his knees and showed him how to find some for himself. On the plane returning to Chicago, I re-hashed the conference with my new employee. It took the whole flight to convince Gary that program managers are too good looking to be software developers, and too smart to be in marketing. So you see, Doug, that's why I haven't had a chance to write my weekly report for the news group. Maybe you can truss this letter into something legible. Hugz... ### -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /