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From: tigger@alices.com (Tigger)
Subject: RP:  Soulmates Part 1 of 19 (Romance, FemDom)
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SoulMates
By Tigger
Copyright 1997, All rights reserved

Author's Notes:  This is a work of fiction.  It is also a romance so I
have spent some time trying to motivate in this part what is to come
in the later sections.  The real nitty gritty D/s comes in the later
parts.

Permission is granted to archive this on sites that charge NO fee for
admission.

Introduction.

When does love cross over the fine line to hate, or to obsession? 
When does a lifestyle cease to be living and become an existence,
or an endurance?  At what point does compromise and negotiation
degrade to coercion and capitulation?  What happens when two
people stumble onto the other half to their soul, only to find
themselves at odds with each other's physical and emotional
needs?

I don't know the answer to those questions. More to the point,
perhaps, is the question of what happens to absolute power when
the power is not quite absolute?  Can it still corrupt, even
where there is love?  Can it corrupt love?

What happens when two people meet, fall in love without knowing
all the other needs of them?  What if one of them needs,
requires, the submission of the other, and what if that other
person, in trying to satisfy the need for submission, fears
losing, or even does lose some essential part of himself?

Is that love or is that obsession?  I have no answers, only a
story of S and M between SoulMates.

Prologue:

To the best of my ability, I am attempting to tell this story
without resorting to histrionics or excessive emotion. It is my
story, and part of the reason for telling it is to deal with the
emotion constructively. If that makes my tale seem bloodless or
passionless, let me assure you that nothing could be further from
the truth. 

During the span of time recounted here, the basic assumptions and
values of my adult life were brought into question. My most
private self image was pulled into the light and held up to
scrutiny, not just by me, but by someone who I wanted and more
than that, who I wanted to love. Such revelations and insights
can be very disturbing, becoming deeply emotional ordeals when
one seeks them intentionally. They can be devastating when they
are unexpected and unplanned.

Truthfully, I consider myself to be a pretty ordinary person, and
prior to this, I never thought that people really had experiences
such as these. Certainly, ordinary people like me did not. None
the less, have them I did, and this is that story. 

SoulMates Part One:  Just a Walk in the Park

Chapter 1:     The Beginning.

I put my pen down and gave up with a sigh. Outside my window,
soft, feathery clouds were flitting across the cool spring sky.
They were far more interesting than the new project's cost
projections I had been trying to analyze without much success.
Just then, clouds beat accounts receivable hands down.

I found myself daydreaming far too often of late, but it seemed
preferable to doing useless, mindless make-work. Unfortunately,
whether I thoroughly reviewed the document in front of me or not
mattered very little. My boss would review the same figures and
estimates himself,  would ignore my comments and recommendations,
and make his own decision on how to present the project to the
higher-ups. He would recommend the project glowingly if the
concept interested him, personally, or find 'reasons' to kill it
if it did not pique his interest. 

I was doing exactly the kind of useless, micro-managing, detail
intensive and ultimately purposeless work that I had promised
myself I would never do again.

My watch beeped, signaling lunch time. My supervisor hated that
alarm, mostly because he liked to take up lunch time with what he
politely called, brown bag meetings ("Since you were going to eat
lunch at your desk anyway, Nate, why don't you come in and talk
to me about this new job"). The alarm placed him in the position
of requesting that I stay for a meeting, which of course meant
that I was on his time, not mine. He also knew, from past
experience with me, that those "friendly little lunches" would be
reflected on my time card and on his budget. He no longer tried
that trick, but I still kept the alarm active. That demanding
little beep served to remind me that I needed to get out of
there.

I exited the crowded elevator and was carried along by the
swarming flood of humanity emptying out into the soft, near
warmth of an early March afternoon. Crystal City, located in
Arlington, Virginia, is a stereotypical concrete jungle of too
much pavement and too many sunshine-blocking buildings. I badly
needed some space. I fought my way out of the herd of fellow
escapees and headed for the bridge that led over the George
Washington Parkway to the Washington National Airport. Lunch hour
traffic clogged the inadequate roads about Crystal City, and made
my trek a bit of an adventure, but I managed to get across the
bridge intact.  Once I got off the bridge, I turned down a path
that was half trail/half washout toward the bike path that
paralleled the entire length of GW Parkway.

The bike trail was crowded, too, with all manner of exercise
enthusiasts.  Those folks were too deeply into their aerobic
zones to notice someone walking in the new growth grass along the
black paved trail bed. A sigh of resignation escaped me as I
watched those young, healthy folk, out running, biking, skating,
power-walking. Another casualty of this job had been my exercise
program. 

I had been in pretty good shape for a forty year old when I had
retired from the Navy six months ago. I was still not overweight,
only 5 pounds heavier than the 160 lbs I had weighed at my
retirement physical. However, the muscle tone was beginning to
droop, the energy level was slipping and I could feel the stress
building up. I had always detested the running I had done
religiously, but now, I missed the benefits of it.

I followed the trail, lost in thought, without really noticing
much of my surroundings.  The tunnel that lead back to Crystal
City, under the AMTRAK railroad tracks, seemed to appear in front
of me as I wandered along. I went through the tunnel and back to
the main road that skirted the perimeter of the business area. 
Heading back in the general direction of work, I went down the
street to the Water Park, and found a bench to sit down on. The
Water Park, so named because of the display fountains and
waterfalls that form the center of the park, is a major lunch
gathering spot for the local federal office workers during the
warmer months. Thankfully, given my desire for solitude, the day
was just cool enough for there to still be a private spot among
the freshly planted flower beds.

Some changes would have to be made in my life. Work was not
satisfying, and yet it was consuming all my time. Consumption of
time was not necessarily a bad thing. I have always enjoyed real
work. I enjoy the challenge of solving problems and of finding
new, better ways to do things. My dilemma was that I was not sure
that my work meant anything. Nothing of much value had resulted
from anything I had done since retiring from the Navy. The sad
truth was that this company had employed me because I still knew
some key people in various Navy offices who might know someone
else who might throw some work the company's way. Who I knew, or
rather, who knew me, was infinitely more important than I,
personally, was and certainly more important than what I was
capable of doing. 

And worst of all, I was alone, and I was lonely. The latter was a
first for me. I have often been alone often in the past, usually
by choice, but I had never felt lonely before. I was terribly
lonely and I was not doing much about that state of affairs.

My marriage, like those of many people serving in the armed
services, had died of simple neglect. The Navy is and was a
jealous mistress, and had left too little for my wife, Debbie;
too little of time and too little of me. The end came when we
were expecting our first child. I had been at sea, on deployment,
when during the fifth month of her pregnancy, she had miscarried.

The Navy, in its infinite wisdom, had decided that since the D&C
had already been conducted, without complications, and since it
was so hard to replace the Executive Officer of a deployed
submarine, that I would not be sent home. A month later, when we
finally returned to port, a process server met me at the brow,
divorce papers at the ready.

I resigned as Executive Officer in an attempt to get some shore
time and to effect a reconciliation, but that failed. Debbie
simply could not trust me or the Navy anymore. So, in the end, I
lost my wife and my career. The Navy does not give command at sea
to officers who resign from their billets. I had already been
selected for promotion to Commander, but any chance at Captain or
at my own ship had been lost forever. I was transferred to
Washington DC to drive a desk for the rest of my career, and
subsequently retired as soon as I reached twenty years of
service.

Debbie remarried again within the year, to a guy who runs a
fitness club in Norfolk, where we used to live. She has had three
kids in the last five years and is as happy as I wish I could
have made her. She still remembers me on my birthday and on
Christmas (I hate those cards.).

Maybe that is the problem, I thought. Her card had arrived last
night, reminding me of another birthday approaching. I was
feeling sorry for myself. No wife, no kids, no one to spend a
life with. I had a job that did not provide me any fulfillment,
and that left me devoid of satisfaction or accomplishment. I was
forty years old, well, almost forty one, and I was doing nothing
to make the next thirty years better than the last five years had
been.

My melancholy was broken by another beep of my watch. Long habit
made me start to rise when a flash of color caught at the corner
of my eye. I sat back down, staring.

She was the most striking woman I had ever seen. She was fairly
tall, maybe three or four inches shorter than my own six feet.
Her hair was a deep, dark auburn; her eyes were hidden by
oversized, dark sunglasses. She was slender, but not thin. She
was dressed in black slacks and a white blouse, with a vividly
red patterned scarf over her shoulder. She was striding
purposefully towards the  park exit when she abruptly stopped. 
She put down her leather shoulder bag and then gracefully bent
over to gently touch the petal of one of the flowers near the
brick walk. I watched in fascination as a red tipped finger
caressed the velvety texture of the pansy, her mouth smiling in
sensuous appreciation. 

At that moment, my heartfelt wish was that I could meet someone
like her, and share the simple joys of a flower. She left with
the same forceful step she had been using when the flower had
caught her attention. A lifetime ago, I would not have missed the
opportunity to meet such a woman. A lifetime ago, I would not
have sat there bemused, watching her leave without at least
attempting to introduce myself and to learn her name. A lifetime
ago, however, I was not merely living, I was alive.

I stood and started the short walk back to my office, and back to
my cubicle. Yes, some things had to change. Thirty years like the
last five, or worse, like the last six months, was unthinkable.

At the last minute before entering the elevator, I pulled a
Washington Post out of the vendor box, and headed back to work, a
spring in my step that had not been there earlier.

I got back to my desk late, and I left work early that evening.
Of course, I relished the look of disfavor on my supervisor's
face. He wasn't paying for it. I carefully documented, down to
the minute, my time on the job. He could not claim I was
falsifying pay records, and I looked forward to the confrontation
that would come.

That night, I scanned the classified ads, and put together a
r‚sum‚ that was very different from the one that had landed my
current position. I worked late into the night, but morning saw a
neat stack of envelopes ready to mail to prospective employers
sitting atop my desk. These went into the mail on my way to work
that very day.

I went to the Skyline Health Club for the first time in months
that day. Fortunately, the young man supervising the workout room
saw me coming and politely guided me into a workout more suited
to my current physical condition. In any case, I was still tired
when I got back to the office, and I knew I would be stiff the
next day. I was, but I went to the gym again that day, and the
next, and the next; until it became a habit again.

Remarkably, the work got done, even though my overtime plummeted,
and even though I took the long lunch hour that my contract
specifically permitted for working out time. Whether that was
because I refused to dither over "make work", or because I simply
became more efficient, I don't know. One thing I did do, much to
my supervisor's consternation, was to stop hitting on friends
from the old days. I refused to call them anymore just to remind
them that I was working for this wonderful company. Ultimately,
that decision led to what was the final confrontation.

About two weeks after my walk to the Water Park, my supervisor
called me into his "office" (a larger cubicle, nearer the office
manager's still larger cubicle). After I sat down, he assumed
what he thought must be a very strict look. Actually, he looked
rather like a chimpanzee with heartburn. "Nate, I think we need
to talk. Your contact reports are sadly overdue. How can I keep
track of who you are marketing our services to if you don't keep
the reports up to date. I want you to have them on my desk before
you leave today."  He smiled at me benignly. "I don't think we
will need to discuss this any further, will we." It was a
statement and not a question.

I smiled back at him, and his smile became wary. This career
civilian contractor did not like nor trust former military, and
my response to his "friendly warning" was not at all what he
expected. "No, we won't. Because I am not making any more
reports, or contacts for that matter. You have no reports because
I haven't made any for the past two weeks outside of documented
contract support services. I think you can take this as my two
week notice, because I have had it with prostituting myself to my
former colleagues to sell them services that are overpriced and
that they don't really need."  I stood up. "I think that is all
that needs to be said, don't you?"  He continued to stare at me,
dumbfounded. "I thought so."  I walked back to my desk, stopping
by the photocopier to get an empty paper carton.

I was packing my belongings into the box with my twaddle dumb
supervisor returned with my twaddle dumber office manager. He
cleared his throat. I merely glanced up at him and continued to
pack. "Mr. Jacobs tells me, Mr. Evans, that you have given
notice, and that you will not be making any contact calls. Is
that correct?"

"Yes, that is correct."  I continued packing.

"Do you not consider that a failure to meet your responsibilities
to this company?"  He was sounding more pompous by the moment. I
pulled out the contract that I had signed when I joined the firm.
It was not for the position I currently held.

"No, I do not. This contract states that I am a program analyst,
a project planner, not a marketer. You asked me to make some
calls early on here, but that is not part of my job description.
Of course, I know now, that you hired me, never intending me to
do the job that I signed on for. That was too much of a plum job,
far better for it to go to some enterprising young, non-military,
company man. You never changed my job description. For the next
two weeks, I will do what I was hired to do - no more, no less."

"I will take you to administrative action." he blustered. Like
all petty dictators, this man was used to people cowering at that
threat.

"Go ahead. You have no basis. The contact reports I supposedly
did not do, are not required by my job description. And besides,
it would only give me more documentation when I do start making
calls to my buddies still in the Navy. About the way you use
people here. About how once a retired military's contacts are
transferred out of the DC area, suddenly, there is a downsizing
in his area, or his performance becomes unsatisfactory and he is
'let go'. Matter of fact, there is that Captain who was in here
last week. Did you know he was my skipper when I was engineer on
USS Will Rogers?"

Twaddle Dumber blanched. That particular captain evidently had
some connections that he was counting on heavily. Too bad for
you, I thought.  "Mr. Jacobs," he snarled. "Get him two weeks
severance in lieu of notice. I want him out of here inside of the
hour."  He stomped off to his cubicle. Jacobs disconnected my
telephone (I guess he thought I might make that call right away)
and left without another word.

A cheque, the ink still wet, fluttered onto my bare desk just as
I finished taping up my box of personal items. Jacobs, tried to
make a menacing sneer, and ordered "Now, get the hell out of
here."  I chuckled, picked up the cheque, and started to leave.
Then I stopped, set down the box, and pressed the test button on
my watch. I left the cubicle to the accompaniment of my watch
beeping, and Jacobs sputtering.

Chapter 2:     The Second Beginning.

Surprisingly, given that I had just joined of the
Unemployed-of-the-World Club, I was feeling great when I got home to
my town
house in the planned community of Burke, VA. You need to
understand that being out of work was a very unique experience to
me. I entered the Naval Academy right out of high school, spent
twenty years in the Navy after graduating, and started work at
that company the day after I retired. The feeling of freedom was
rather heady. 

My already good mood improved further when my mailbox revealed
two invitations for me to interview for jobs. Carrying my
enveloped prizes to the kitchen, I poured the single glass of
wine that I permitted myself daily, and went to my den to see
exactly what I was being interviewed for.

The red light on my answering machine was flashing when I sat
down at my desk. The first message was a phone ad, the second was
a dial tone and the third was a wrong number. The fourth message,
was different. 

"Mr. Evans. My name is Monique Sanderson, and I am the executive
vice president of" and she named a large hotel chain whose
corporate headquarters is located in the Washington Metropolitan
area. "You sent your r‚sum‚ to us. The position is one I have
personal and final hiring approval. Your r‚sum‚ intrigues me.
Quite frankly, Mr. Evans, you intrigue me. I have sent you a
response to your r‚sum‚, but I find that I have time on my
calendar tomorrow at 10 am. If you are really interested in
working for me, please be at my office for an interview."  The
soft, confident alto voice continued for a moment, giving me the
address and directions to her office. "I look forward to meeting
you, Mr. Evans. Good day to you."

I sipped my wine as I contemplated the three responses I had
received. The two letters were for engineering management
positions, suitable to my background and training. The pay would
be high, and the hours long, but it would be interesting work. It
would also be lonely. The other job, however, would involve
people. That was why, on a whim, I had submitted a r‚sum‚ for a
job for which I was either grossly overqualified, or (perhaps
more the case) grossly ill prepared.

Tomorrow was awfully short notice. I swept into the bathroom and
checked out the haircut. A momentary flashback to earlier days
had me in near panic. My hair was over my ears. But I was not "in
the Navy" anymore. It would do, I thought, smiling at how hard
some habits are to break. It would do.

Ms Sanderson's office was located in the hotel complex located in
downtown DC. I took the Metro in from one of the satellite
stations because I did not want to fight for parking. My Navy
habits came to the fore again, however. I was an hour early, so I
decided to take coffee in the hotel's cafe.

To my surprise, nerves prickled as I tried to help the hands of
the clock to move towards 10 A.M.. This job was so different from
anything I had ever tried to do in my life. My hope was that I
would meet people in the job, and in particular, female people. I
chuckled to myself as I admitted that I wanted to meet single,
available female people most of all. I glanced at my watch again.
I had left my beloved alarm watch behind as I did not want an
inadvertent beep at the wrong moment. I headed for the elevator
and took it to the top floor where a security guard checked my
identification and directed me to Ms. Sanderson's office.

The door with Ms. Sanderson's name prominently painted on it
opened onto a large, well appointed waiting room with
surprisingly comfortable seating. Her secretary smiled when I
arrived, offered me coffee and asked me to be seated while she
announced me to Ms. Sanderson. I _think_ I sat on the edge of my
seat although I don't remember much of those few minutes.
Memories of my midshipman interview with Admiral Rickover flitted
through my mind. The grand old man of Naval Nuclear Power had
lived down to every horror story I had been told about him. This
interview would not be that bad. I hoped.

The door opened and a woman walked out, that smokey alto calling
me from my revery. I started to stand and stopped midway. I am
sure my mouth hung open and my eyes went wide. It was the Water
Park Flower Lady, dressed in a stylish gray business suit and
skirt, but my Flower Lady, none the less. I snapped myself back
and stood to take her proffered hand. Amazingly, my first
reaction was a desire to bow over it and make a courtly kiss.
Thankfully, sweet reason prevailed, and I shook her hand with
what I hoped was a firm, but not too firm, grip.

"Mr. Evans, thank you for coming on such short notice, but your
r‚sum‚ is so interesting, and my need so great, that I decided to
try something... unusual in your case."  The accent on "unusual"
sent chills down my back. This woman was completely aware of her
impact on males and was using it to full advantage. 

"Thank you, Ms Sanderson. I really appreciate the opportunity to
talk to you."  God, that sounded so stilted. 

She motioned me into the office and walked me to a pair of
armchairs in an open setting, with a coffee tray between them.
She sat down across from me and poured coffee for us both before
starting to question me. She made small talk, referring to my
r‚sum‚ from time to time, and gradually I relaxed enough to start
studying her.

I guessed her to be in her late twenties to mid thirties,
although given her position, the latter was more likely. Her eyes
were hazel, most of the time, anyway, but I thought that at least
twice they shifted color to green or to yellow. She smiled
easily, and unlike other people of my recent experience, she
smiled with her eyes as well as her lips. The longer I sat there,
the more attractive I found her.

"So tell me, Mr. Evans?"  her voice became curious, "Why do you
want to become a personal administrative assistant?  Surely, you
have better offers, ones more in line with your obvious training
and background. Why do you want to be what might be called, a
glorified secretary?"

The hazel eyes became hard and piercing. The answer to this
question would seal the interview. 

I decided honesty was safer. "For the simple reason that I am not
happy doing those things. I am good at that work, and I am proud
of what I have accomplished, but it is not enough. I want more,
and I want to work with people. This job offers that."  I grinned
at a thought. "I am detail oriented enough, determined enough to
learn and do what must be learned and done. Even if this is not
what I ultimately need, I will give you good service, and I will
not leave you in a lurch. And I don't think the woman guarding
your door would appreciate or agree with that description of my
duties whatever they are."

The black piercing eyes softened to yellow and back to hazel,
while her smile slipped back onto her lips. "True enough. The job
is much more than administrative. You will speak and act with the
power and authority of my office, and be involved in important
decisions affecting this company. And, I think you will do, quite
nicely in fact. Well, Mr. Evans, when can you start?"

Thought became word. "Today?"

Her eyebrows rose. "OH. I did not realize you were out of work."

I decided the truth would be the best policy again. I told her of
the job I had left, and why. "So, if you would like to
reconsider, or speak to my former employers, I will understand." 
Even if it did mean that she would probably tell me to get lost.

"No, I don't think so."  She rose and went to her desk, picked up
her phone. "Roselie, please come in here."  The door opened to
admit the secretary. It startled me to realize how very
attractive she was. She was not tall, maybe five feet two inches
in her conservative heels and blonde; her hair pulled back into a
business-like bun. Her glasses did not detract from her
classically beautiful face, and in fact, made her blue eyes seem
impossibly large and deep. Her slim figure was turned out to
advantage in a light blue business suit and skirt.

"Yes, Ms Sanderson?"

Ms Sanderson took my arm and walked me over to Roselie. "Roselie,
this is Mr. Nathan Evans, our new personal assistant."  She
looked at me quizzically. "How should you like to be addressed in
the office?"  I told her Nate or Nathan would be fine. "Nathan,
this is the best executive secretary in Washington DC, Roselie
Brent."

I shook her hand and made a little bow. "Ms Brent, it is a
pleasure."

She smiled and corrected me. "Oh, please, not so formal as that." 
She gave Ms Sanderson a mischievous grin. "At, least, not most of
the time. Call me Roselie, please, Nathan."  I smiled, but caught
a slightly annoyed look from Ms. Sanderson. I chalked that up to
over familiarity and decided to be very careful with the
informalities with this woman.

"Roselie, Nathan is able to start today. Would you please take
charge of him and get him started with his checking in down at
personnel. Show him his office, help him choose his furniture and
all that."  She turned back to me. "I look forward to working
with you, Nathan. I think it will be an interesting experience
for us both."

I thanked her and then followed Roselie out of the office. My
office, it turned out, was twice the size of the office manager's
boss's boss's cubicle back at the old office. Not only that, it
was an office, not a partition, with one door to the reception
area and another one that opened directly into Ms Sanderson's
office. Roselie noted my preferences for furniture and then took
me to personnel. Once she told the supervisor that I was Ms
Sanderson's new assistant, I got the royal treatment. It still
took the better part of the day for me work my way through all of
the pay, benefits, insurance and tax documents that go with
working in the civilian world. That, at least, is one thing that
the Navy has all over the "real world". You show up, you drop off
your records, and you go to work.

I got back to the office at about 4:25. Roselie was putting the
cover back on her computer and getting ready to leave. She smiled
when she saw me. "All done?"

I gave her a wan smile. "I hope so. I am not sure how much more
of that determined niceness I can handle, and If I have to look
at one more 'sign at the x', I am going to scream."

That earned me a low throaty laugh. "Don't worry about it. We
promise to stop being nice now that you are signed, sealed and
delivered. Your furniture is in, as is your computer. The MIS
folks will hook you up to the network and train you on that
tomorrow. The boss lady is still in, but I need to scoot."   

I grinned. "Okay, maybe tomorrow you can fill me in on how the
pecking order works around here, and what I am supposed to be
doing."
"That's easy. Whatever SHE tells you to do."  I smiled
appreciatively at how much feeling went into that word "she". "As
for the pecking order, well, that ought to work itself out. See
you tomorrow. I have a date tonight."  She grinned impishly and
half trotted out the door. I was half jealous of the fortunate
fellow. 

My office was even more amazing. The desk set was real wood, and
the chair real leather. The computer on the credenza behind my
desk was state of the art, and beside it sat an equally advanced
notebook computer. I sat in my huge chair, shaking my head in
amazement that so much could happen so fast. Less than thirty six
hours after all but quitting the other job, and to be hired by
her, the Flower Lady. 

The connecting door opened and she walked in. She had taken off
the suit jacket and wore only the skirt and blouse. I raised my
estimation of her figure. Maybe I wasn't that jealous of
Roselie's fellow after all. I stood to greet her. She smiled at
the gesture. "Very nicely done, Mr. Evans. All settled in?"

"Yes and no. I think the personnel folks are done with me, and
this..."  I indicated the incredible office, "is more than I ever
imagined. But I don't have the faintest idea what I am supposed
to do. Heck, I am not even sure I will be able to find this place
when I drive in tomorrow to use that private parking place they
assigned me."

She grinned appreciatively. "Not to worry, my friend. I am sure I
can keep you .... well occupied."  Those pauses in her speech
were starting to get to me. "In any case, I don't expect you to
be a world beater the first day out. I will give you all the time
you need, so long as it is not more than a week."  The grin she
gave me was so totally unexpected I gaped. Her laughter at my
astonishment was a lovely, full sound. "What is it, Nathan?  You
don't think I can make a joke or what?"

I stuttered a response and she became serious. "All right, what
is it?  Something is bothering you. We will be working very
closely and it is best to start as you intend to go."

I nodded and chose my words carefully. "Well, it is just that
this morning, when Roselie made her little joke, and became a
little familiar, you seemed to frown in disapproval. I thought
then that you preferred a more formal relationship with your
office staff."

She gave me a curious look, then remembered. "Oh, yes, that,
well..."  She let her voice trail off. "That was not a problem,
Nathan. Trust me, and I do not mind a little familiarity inside
the offices. I will trust your military instincts to tell you
when to be formal."  

"Yes, Ms Sanderson."  I answered. What else could I have said?

"Starting NOW, sir!"  She said with emphatic command. "In these
offices, I prefer to be called Monique."  then she softened her
tone. "If you don't mind, that is."

"I am honored."

She looked at her watch and headed back for the door to her
office. "Well, I have an engagement tonight, so we will make an
early night of it. Don't expect such gifts regularly, though."
she said with mock sternness. "Where are you parked by the way?" 
I told her and she started in surprise. "Why didn't you park in
the space reserved for you?"  then slapped her head. "Because the
letter, which you have not yet received, tells you about it, and
my phone message did not. Okay.. get your coat. I will drop you
off at the parking lot. It is on my way anyway."  I started to
protest, but she was already through the door, only to return
with her jacket and purse. "Lets go."  She said cheerfully. I
followed in her wake. "By the way. If that door is not locked, I
expect you to use it if you have any question or any need to see
me. I will lock it if I need privacy."

The remainder of the trip passed in a daze. She dropped me off at
the metro "Kiss and Ride" stop. "We aren't that familiar." she
grinned at me as I got out. As I closed the door, though, I could
have sworn I heard her say. "Yet."

I stood at the curb, watching her drive away, marveling at the
power of wishful thinking.

Surprisingly, I was able to fit in quite quickly at the office.
The details of the work were completely different from anything I
had ever done before, but the general nature of the work was
problem identification, research and problem solution. Those were
skills that my engineering and Navy background has honed to a
fine edge. The difference was that instead of mechanical
problems, for the most part, I was dealing with people problems.

A typical problem would be that hotel X had a problem with
turnover of key personnel. As Executive VP, this problem fell in
Monique's lap, who immediately handed off the investigation and
research to me. It was so refreshing to find new problems and new
challenges at this point in my life. 

Of course, there were some downsides to the job. Like when
Roselie was out of the office, for instance. Roselie ran that
office with an efficiency and control that would have pleased a
Master Gunnery Sergeant. While she was at that desk, the world
and the work, flowed smoothly. When she was not there, however,
that load fell on my ill prepared shoulders.

Oh, we got help from administration in the form of a temporary,
but usually, all that meant was that I did not have to do the
typing. (Good thing, too!). What did happen is that I had to
manage who saw Monique, get her to her appointments on time, and
generally direct traffic along with my normal tasks. Those days
were not fun, and I was always very happy to see Roselie back the
next day.
And I was meeting people. The problem was that none of the female
people appealed to me. I started dating again; Some wonderfully
attractive and intelligent women, too. I loved talking with them,
listening to them, dancing with them. Women fascinate me, but for
some reason, it did not click with any of them.

This trend continued over the next two months, until finally, I
faced the fact that the woman I wanted, was my Flower Lady.
Unfortunately, she was also my boss. I spent a long weekend at
home, trying to decide what I should do. I could quit, and try to
court her, but I had no real indication that such a suit would be
well received. Besides, I did not want to lose the job. I really
liked the work.

And in one of those rare moments of absolute honesty, I knew that
I did not want to leave because that could mean not seeing her
anymore. It was not your basic win-win situation. In the end, I
decided to stay until (and if) I had some indication that she
might want more from me, as well.

Chapter 3:     The End of the Beginning.

I had been on the job for nearly six weeks when things changed.
It had been the Friday from hell. Roselie was out sick, for what
seemed like the hundredth time, and I had been unable to get
anyone up to cover her desk. And of course, almost every single
director and hotel manager in the company had picked that day to
want "just a few minutes of Ms Sanderson's time.". And of course,
it was a day in which she did not have any time. Couple that with
First Quarter reports to review and to issue, and it was not a
good day.

I closed up Roselie's desk promptly at 4:30 and made a hasty
retreat to my office. I did not know which of us, Roselie or I,
made more money, but I surely knew who deserved the higher salary
- and it was not me. I considered that Roselie might benefit from
having a typist/receptionist assigned full time to her. It
certainly occurred to me that I would benefit from such an
arrangement. Thought became action, and picking up my notebook, I
headed for the connecting door to Monique's office. I opened the
door in time to hear her practically snarling. "... just wait
till the next time, Allain, just wait."  her voice paused. "HAH! 
You wish!  You only THINK you look forward to it. Thanks for at
least telling me you were standing me up. Chivalry is not quite
dead!" and the phone crashed to its cradle.

Then she saw me in the doorway, and for the first time in my
experience, she blushed. I found it delightful. It made my Lady
Boss seem more approachable, less intimidating, somehow. I
strolled over to her desk, picked up her telephone handset and
made a show of examining it in minute detail. "Well, no visible
damage."  I put it to my ear. "Dial tone still works. Let me know
if it needs replacement."  She gave me a look that would freeze
water. I made a show of cringing, and that finally broke her mood
and she laughed, perhaps a little self consciously while
motioning me to one of the easy chairs.

"I am sorry you had to see that. It was just after a day like
today, being stood up at the last moment was the final straw." 
She laid her head back in the chair and closed her eyes. "And I
have to go to this thing tonight. DAMN!"  I asked her what the
event was. "It is a charity affair. The company supports a
children's center, and this is one of those $250 a plate dinner
balls. I am the company's lead executive on the charity, so I
have to go."

She looked so disgusted, I had to smile. "Well, it seems like a
wonderful cause, and you certainly don't need an escort. Last
time I checked, women were even allowed in bars without their
men's permission."

She gave me a surprised, almost shocked look, and then burst out
in that rich laugh that made my toes curl. Then she became
serious again. "Oh, it is not that. It is just that there are a
couple of men who would like to think they can make a claim on
me. Old flames, if you will, but too much the gentlemen to make a
move when I am escorted. Showing up stag will likely encourage
them and I will be dodging them all night."  She grimaced, then
brightened. "I don't suppose that you..."  her voice broke off.
"No, never mind, I am sure you have better, more productive uses
of a Friday night."

In truth, I did not. Dating other women had lost its appeal.
"That I what, Monique?"  

She gave me a sidelong glance. "That you might like to sample
$250 rubber chicken tonight?"  

I smiled. "You did say that this was a dinner BALL?"  I placed my
emphasis on the word "ball". She looked at me quizzically and
then nodded. "And that means - dancing, as in waltzes?"  She sat
up a little straighter and smiled again. "Well... if I am assured
a few dances, and at least a couple of waltzes, I might be
induced to give up my plans for the evening. I can vacuum
anytime."  I ducked a pencil aimed in the general direction of my
head. "Make that three waltzes."

She laughed again. "It is formal, you know."  

"No problem. What time?"

"I have to be back here in the Banquet Room by seven for
cocktails. Dinner is at eight and then dancing starts at about
nine thirty. We ought to be able to leave by eleven."  

"Fine. If you need to stay later to twist some arms and wring out
some wallets, we can do that, too."  That got me a slightly
sheepish smile. "I have to run home and change. Are you staying
here, or do you want me to pick you up?"

"I will change in my room here, Nate. You can meet me there, say
6:45?"  I nodded. We exchanged good byes and I headed home.

The gods smiled on me. Rush hour traffic was only miserable and I
was able to get home in good order. I was glad that as a retired
Naval Officer, I could still wear the uniform for special
occasions. I pulled out my Mess Dress Blue uniform. Contrary to
its name, no Navy uniform is really blue. They are black. This
one consisted of a waist coat, slacks, a front pleated shirt, bow
tie and suspenders. Oh yes, and a gold satin cummerbund. With
special tiny medals and white gloves, it was one of my favorite
uniforms - I just wish the darn thing had pockets. I put my
license, id, emergency credit cards and some money in a waist
pouch that I hid beneath the cummerbund, and headed back to the
hotel.

I made a quick stop at the men's room to check my appearance
before calling up to Monique's room for admittance to the
executive floor where her apartments. I was amused with myself. I
had not been this nervous since my first date almost twenty five
years ago. At least this time there would not be a six foot tall,
230 pound steel worker papa awaiting my arrival to make thinly
veiled promises about my future health if I got "too handy" with
his "little girl".

At precisely 6:45, I presented myself, hat in hand, at Monique's
door. When she opened it, I don't know which of us was more
stunned.

Monique was gorgeous. Her hair fell luxuriantly to her shoulders
and flashed in the light of the room. My fingers curled in
sympathy with my desire to get my hands into the thick, fiery
mass. Her make up was bolder than usual; bright rich colors that
made her amazed, wide-open eyes sparkle like green jewels.
Emeralds twinkled at her ears and throat, highlighting a dress
that must have been specially ordered to match her hair. Creamy
cleavage stood in stark contrast to the rich red wine color of
the fitted bodice of the dress. A quick glance down assured me
that it was not TOO tight to dance in. In fact, when she moved to
let me in, a long glimpse of shapely leg flashed to the split
skirt. She would have no trouble with dancing in that skirt.

She recovered first, and invited me the rest of the way in. "I am
surprised to see you wearing a uniform. Pleased, but surprised." 
A look of elfin mischief lit her eyes. "Stand at attention!"  The
order was snapped out and twenty plus years of conditioned reflex
took over. I snapped to attention. Once there, I decided to play
along and held my stance as she, clasping her hands behind her,
strolled around me in a parody of an inspection. I caught her
scent behind me just as I felt her breath on my ear. "If I knew
you looked this good in uniform, I would have instituted a dress
code in your contract."  I relaxed and started to turn to her.
"You are at ATTENTION, Mr. Evans!"  The drill sergeant was back.
I returned to position. "That is better."  She was back in my
line of vision. "Stand easy, Mr. Evans. Let's go, Nate. I am
suddenly quite looking forward to this evening."  I watched her
in amazement as she turned on heel to get her cape and her bag.
Strangely enough, I found myself looking forward to learning more
about this woman.

Outside her door, I offered her my arm and we walked to the
elevator. I was a little surprised to find myself having to crane
my head slightly to look into those incredible eyes. The heels
she wore were like stilts, and a tall woman to begin with, she
was taller than me in them. Another new experience.

Monique took over the room within moments of entering the banquet
hall. She was obviously committed to the charity, and more than
one well dressed man found himself literally cornered during the
cocktail hour. The price of their escape was a fat cheque to the
children's fund. I watched with bemused appreciation as she would
entreat, cajole and all but coerce her quarry into giving up the
goods. She was knowledgeable of the financial workings of the
charity, and was able to allay any concern of how the money would
be spent. I am not sure, but I think I heard a collective sigh of
relief from the, as yet, un-stalked potential contributors, when
the call to dine came.

She was bubbling with pleasure as I seated her at the head table
and took my seat beside her. "twenty five thousand dollars,
Nathan. We will be able to do so much with that money."  And she
grinned malevolently. "And I am not done yet."

Dinner was decidedly better than the promised rubber chicken, and
I made a note to send Monique's compliments and appreciation to
the banquet staff. Each course was accompanied by a wine suitable
for the food. I refused the wine, and kept sipping at the glass
of water the diligent young waiter kept full. Monique's brows
furrowed when she realized what I was doing. "Nathan, you aren't
trying the wines. If you are worried about driving home, I will
have the hotel reserve a room for you at my expense. After all,
you are here at my request. You should be able to enjoy
yourself."

I grinned at her concern. "Contrary to the uniform stereotype,
Monique, I don't drink much anymore. Once glass a day is about
all I will allow myself. Suffice it to say, I had to fight my way
out of its grip once, and don't want to do so again."

"Oh, Nathan, why didn't you tell me you were in recovery?"  She
raised her hand and the young waiter came running. She whispered
to him, and handed him her own half filled glass. "That is that." 
She said with finality. "I apologize, Nathan. You should have
said something."  Her tone was reproachful.

"It is okay. I am over that. I went through a bad patch and tried
to escape with a bottle. Other than a glass of wine ever so
often, I just don't like the taste anymore. Please, don't let me
inhibit your enjoyment of your dinner."

Her eyes softened in empathy.  "I am good listener, Nathan, if
you ever want to talk about it."

And I thought I had been so nonchalant. The woman's perception
was scary. I did NOT want to face those memories tonight. "Maybe
some other time, friend. Tonight, I simply want to enjoy the
evening, the dancing and your company."  That stopped her. Her
eyes went wide again.

"Well. Then we will indeed try to do that. I hope for your sake,
Mr. Evans, that you are as good a dancer as you have led me to
believe, or it will not go well for you. Your boss wants to do
some showing off on the dance floor."  Her chin came up and her
nostrils flared in challenge.

"I guess we will see when the music starts, won't we?"  I said in
an amused tone, which earned me a strangely dark look. Before I
could find out what I had said, the desert tray arrived. She
selected a piece of cake made of eight different types of
chocolate, while I took a serving of chocolate mousse. 

Monique took a bite of her cake and her eyes went shut in pure
pleasure. "Heaven. God, what that man does with chocolate should
be by prescription only. Here, taste."  Her fork found its way to
my mouth with a small dab of the cake. I took it with the tip of
my tongue. It was wonderful. I returned the favor with a dip of
my mousse. The mood became sensual, almost sexual as we savored
the rich flavors of our deserts. Our eyes locked and I felt
captivated by those incredible violet orbs. The movement of her
full red lips as she endeavored to savor every bit of taste and
texture fixated me. I have been in bed with women and not felt as
intimate with them as I did with Monique at that very moment.

The mood broke when our waiter came to clear, and the band
started playing the dance music.  The first set was mostly
current popular music, and neither of us made any move for the
dance floor. I was surprised to find her hand resting on mine on
the table. I felt remarkably private with this woman, as if we
were not surrounded by hundreds of people. How long we sat,
listening to, but not hearing the music, watching, but not seeing
the dancers, I really could not say. All I really remember about
that interval in time is the warmth of her hand, the elusive
scent of her perfume and the soft smile that would light her face
whenever she glanced at me.

The sudden change in sound level from the throbbing, emotion
filled beat of the latest top forty songs to the softer, melodies
of a waltz snapped us out of our cocoons. I stood, and bowed to
her. "I believe that I was promised a waltz. May I have the honor
of this dance?"  I sounded pompous, even to myself, but she took
my hand in hers, stood, and made a picture perfect curtsey.

"Of course. I look forward to seeing if you dance as well as you
claim."  Her tone was one of playful disbelief. The floor was
mostly empty as she took up her skirt and we started the
graceful, swirling motions of the waltz. Most of the younger
attendees had left the floor when the first strains of the
Strauss waltz had sounded, so we had all the room we needed to
waltz as the waltz should be danced. She was superb. Graceful and
sure of step, she followed me expertly, which allowed me to show
her to best advantage as her partner.

However, as the band moved into the final bars of the piece, I
caught that look I had come to respect in the office. It was a
devilish little grin that always meant she was about to toss a
fox among the chickens and see how I would handle it. The sneaky
witch started to take the lead!  For those uninitiated to the
joys of the waltz, it is one of the most sensuous experiences a
person can have with another person while still dressed and in
public. HOWEVER, the male member of the pair can (and usually
does) look the complete clod if his female partner starts trying
to lead the dance. His bulk, trying to follow her movements,
usually ends up looking ungraceful, at best, and completely inept
and untrained at worst. Fortunately, this was not the first time
this little trick had been tried with me.

I pulled her closer to me, so that our hips were firmly in
contact, and taking a tight grip on her lower back, proceeded to
increase our turn rate in the time to the crescendo of the
waltz's finale. My superior strength and leverage, combined with
those fantastic heels she was wearing, gave her little choice.
She either followed my lead, or tripped over her own feet. She
followed.

The music stopped, and holding her hand at arms length, I bowed
again. Her grin told me she had not been displeased with my
reaction, and she again curtseyed. Suddenly, applause sounded,
started by the leader of the band, and was picked up by the other
couples. I glanced around, and was startled to see that we were
the only couple on the floor. Fortunately, I did not have a
mirror nearby, but the heat rushing to my face left no doubt that
I was blushing. Monique saw it, and laughed, then pulled herself
into my arms and signaled the band to play some more. The next
dance was not a waltz, but it was a slow dance that we could do
"cheek-to-cheek".

"So," I said with my head resting on hers, my lips near her ear,
"How did I grade out?"

She chuckled appreciatively. "You know very well you danced
wonderfully. I am impressed. Few men these days have a real feel
for the waltz. Fewer still know how to deal with... a change of
lead..."  

"Thank you, Mother."

She pushed back from me in surprise. "I am NOT your mother,
Nathan."  she said in mock anger.

"No, but she is why I can waltz."  I pulled her back into my
arms. "She insisted on dancing lessons, twice a week from age 12
to 15. At 15 Dad got involved. The dance lessons were interfering
with football practice and the coach was complaining. After that,
it was only on Sundays that I had to go to dance class. God, but
I hated those lessons."

"Really?  But you dance so well, now."

"Yeah, well, long about age fifteen, I discovered that girls
really like to dance, and I also discovered that my Mom's kind of
dancing kept the girl REALLY  close and personal. After that, I
liked the lessons a lot more, and later at the Naval Academy,
when dances were the only social life you were allowed for
months, formal dance training served me in very good stead."

"And where did you learn that trick you used on me there at the
end?"  She was trying to look stern, but her lips kept trying to
smile.

"At dance class. Mary Ellen Baxter, the terror of the males at
Madame Rainier's School of Dance. She hated following, and the
boys hated dancing with her because Madame would always blame the
boy for not leading. I finally got fed up and dancing with her
became a quiet battle for supremacy. It was nip and tuck until we
both hit puberty. She got... ummm.. feminine, and I grew five
inches and gained 45 lbs of muscle. I am never sure if I won, or
if she decided to win by other means."

Monique laughed delightedly. "Oh, if she got... feminine, as you
say, I am sure it was the latter. What happened to her, then?"

"She was my steady the rest of high school. I was the only guy
worth dancing with, I guess. Once I left to take my appointment
at Annapolis, we lost touch. I think she is married with four
kids now."  

The music ended, and we walked back to our table. We danced some
more, and she worked on some more contributors. It was a lovely
evening. Except for one small incident.

I had gone to get her a drink, and returned to find her in heated
discussion with a man. He was tall, but overweight. Still he had
several inches and many pounds on her and was confronting her in
a very aggressive manner. I did not like it. I stepped up to
them, placed myself between them and gave Monique her drink. Her
large 'friend' did not like it. "Who are you, anyway?  Why don't
you take yourself off, sailor-boy? I want to talk to your
Mistress. It is nothing you need to hear."

I turned to face him, seeing that he was already fairly drunk. "I
don't think so. First of all, I am her escort. Secondly, I don't
care for your behavior. And thirdly, I have not been a boy in
thirty years. Now, why don't you go get sober."  I took Monique's
arm to lead her away, when the man grabbed my shoulder.

"No you don't, I am not done with her yet."  His fingers were
strong, and dug into my shoulder, painfully, even through the
padded shoulder of my waistcoat.

I gripped his wrist and twisted it free of my shoulder, then
turned it into a hammer lock. "Oh, but you are quite through. Now
either leave us alone, or leave. Your choice."  I pushed him
away, and walked away with Monique. "What was that all about?"

She hesitated a moment before answering, obviously choosing her
words. "An old relationship."  She finally said. "One who does
not recognize that it is over, and who thinks he can still call
on me. Thank you for that. He was drunk or he would have backed
off much sooner."

Nothing happened the rest of the night, but it was not as much
fun afterwards. Monique was quieter, more contemplative. Finally,
I escorted her back to her private rooms. I was in a quandary as
to what to do, whether I should kiss her good night or not.
Monique, evidently, did not suffer the same insecurity. When we
got to her room, and she had turned the key, unlocking the door,
she turned to face me, her back against the door. God, but she
was lovely. I wanted to hold and kiss her in the worst way. My
hands fisted at my sides as I ran through the list of pros and
cons in my head one more time.

Before I could do anything, she embraced me, and initiated a kiss
that made every memory pale to insignificance. I had never before
appreciated the distinction of BEING kissed, rather than being
the kisser before. In her heels, she was taller than I, and was
kissing me from above, as I had often kissed women. It was an
incredibly new and erotic sensation. Passion flared and I kissed
back, pulling her into my embrace and shifting from kissed to
kisser. We warred sensuously for long moments until by mutual
agreement, we broke the kiss. I am not sure which of us looked
more dazed. She looked like I felt.

"That...."  She gulped a little bite of air. "That may have
gotten a little out of hand. That was wonderful, Nathan, but I
don't think we are ready to follow up on that. We have a lot to
learn about each other, first. YOU" her voice taking on an
emphatic tone, "You have much to learn about me, in particular,
before we are ready to go any further. And tonight is not the
night for such revelations. Tonight is perfect, as it is."

I inhaled deeply, trying to clear my fogged wits. She was right,
of course. Hell, she was my boss. We had to WORK together.
Mentally and emotionally shaking myself, I forced myself to
smile. "Yes, it is perfect. And it is enough. Good night, flower
lady, sleep well."  I leaned up and gave her a peck on the cheek.
Her eyes widened momentarily, and then she grinned. Her back
still to the door, she turned the knob, opened the door, and
backed into her room, her eyes still on me. 

"Good night, Nathan. I had a wonderful time. Thank you for that,
and thank you, again, for escorting me. See you Monday."  She
slipped all the way inside and closed the door. I waited for the
quiet click of the door lock, and then made to the garage for my
car and the start of my trip home. It had indeed been a wonderful
time.

End Part 1


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