As I silenced the screaming alarm the next morning, I was instantly aware of two things: the smell of dried cum and my rock hard morning wood. I must have had a wet dream during the night, judging by the mess all over my pubes. That had not happened in quite a while. I could still recall remnants of my dream with Joe, the bartender, and I reached for my cock to start stroking again.
But then lawyer Barry’s inebriated face popped into the picture and ended any more play. Geez, I hoped the guy got home okay last night. He was pretty wasted.
I had to pee so I got up, stretched, and took care of business. I was staring at my mug in the mirror, thinking I really needed a haircut, and reached for the toothpaste.
Teeth cleaned, I jumped in the shower and cleaned the rest of me, paying close attention to the mess between my legs. I don’t enjoy the feeling of dried cum on my skin. Wet, it’s kind of cool and slick, but once it dries it feels weird. I wondered for the millionth time what cum tasted like—I had never had the nerve to taste my own. I came close a couple of times, but always chickened out. I thought it was hot when I saw guys do it in porn videos, but I was too nervous to do anything beyond whacking off.
Out of the shower, my body dry, my face shaved, and my hair brushed, I was ready to face the day. Except I was still naked. I headed back into my room, pulling underwear, socks and casual dress pants from my small chest of drawers—another refugee from a neighbor’s intended trashing—and grabbed a light blue, long-sleeved button-up shirt from my closet.
It wasn’t hard to choose my wardrobe. I had exactly enough work clothes for five days per week, and my outfits were almost like a uniform. If I found a pair of pants that fit well, I would buy them in every color available—same with shirts. Boring, I know, but I had no confidence in clothing. Not exactly a gay stereotype.
I was flying to Denver later, assuming I could get the time off. Now that I had made the decision to go, I was free to freak out about a thousand details. Crap!
First I had to figure out clothes to wear for the trip. What in the world does one wear to a lawyer’s office to discuss inheritances? Something black for mourning?
I had one suit—navy blue, not black—which I wore maybe twice a year, but only if absolutely necessary. I decided it would be appropriate for meeting the judge Clyde had mentioned. I purchased it from a Goodwill store when I was invited to a former college buddy’s wedding. It looked brand new then. I didn’t have the sleeves tailored, so they were maybe a tad too long. The pants were a little loose in the waist and the length was maybe a hair too short. Nevertheless, it looked better than jeans or khakis for a special event. The goal was to not make a bad impression. I think I pulled it off most of the time.
I added my one white dress shirt and my red and blue striped tie to the pile accumulating on my bed. Underwear, t-shirt and socks completed the look. Then I added the rest of the week’s work clothes to the mix to finish the packing job. I only had the one pair of dress/work shoes, so I would be wearing those.
I still had no luggage, so I grabbed the old duffel bag I had moved to Chicago with and put everything in there, folding the suit jacket so it wouldn’t get too wrinkled. I was pretty sure I would have to hang it in the hotel bathroom with lots of steam to be reasonably presentable. I hoped there was a hotel. I had no idea where I was going to be staying. Details, details.
I put my razor, shaving cream, deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, and hairbrush into a plastic baggie and added all of it to the duffel. Packing done.
I dropped the duffel bag by the door, then ate a bowl of cereal and drank a glass of juice. No coffee for me—I hated the bitter taste. I figured I saved a fortune avoiding Starbucks. Mary brought in some very large, foamy coffee thing every morning. She was impossible to talk to until she had guzzled down half of it. No wonder she complained about her weight all the time. There had to be a thousand calories in those things.
I checked my apartment for anything out of place, jiggled the toilet handle to make sure there was no water running, and locked up. Carrying my duffel bag to the car, I started planning on how I was going to ask for the next two days off.
The ride in was surprisingly quick, as there was very little traffic. Not a normal commute, which was good because I got to my desk a bit early and started organizing the pile of paper I had left last night. I saw Marcus come in a few minutes after me and head to his office. I gave him five minutes to get settled, then followed him to the kitchenette when he went to get a cup of coffee.
“What’s happening today, Jack?” Marcus asked, stirring three packets of sugar into his cup.
“The usual. But I did want to talk to you about taking a couple of days off. Something’s come up and I need to take care of it, but it’s out of town.”
“Oh, when did you need to go?”
“I know it’s very little…well, no notice, actually, but I need to leave tonight, so I would need tomorrow and Friday off. I have everything up to date, all my work is caught up and we should have a light load of invoices the rest of the week. I think Mary can cover those, no problem. We can get the payables finished today, which is the only big thing left this week.”
“Have you done payroll yet?”
“Yes sir, already sent to the service. Checks should be here tomorrow morning for Friday distribution.”
“Well, Jack, it is rather short notice, but you do have the time coming to you. Is there anything you need help with? You’re not in some kind of trouble, are you?” He looked at me with his characteristic concern. This is why I liked him. He cared about me. He wasn’t challenging me or assuming I had messed up somehow, he genuinely wanted to know if I needed his help.
“No, I’m good, really. It’s family stuff, so I have to go deal with it. I’ll be back this weekend and at my desk first thing Monday morning.” He frowned when I mentioned family, but said nothing.
“Okay, Jack, I guess you’ve got your two days off. What are you going to tell Mary?” he asked, smiling. He knew she was going to go insane until she figured out what I was up to.
“I was hoping to leave any conversation with her till the end of the day, then kind of spring it on her on my way out the door.”
“Smart boy, smart boy,” he said, tapping his temple. He chuckled and headed to his office.
The morning passed quickly. I got the accounts payable files finalized for payment, printed the checks and Marcus signed them. He asked again if he could help with anything and I assured him everything would be fine. I don’t know if he was convinced but he dropped it.
At lunchtime, I sat in my car outside and called Clyde’s office in Denver on my cell phone, still trying to keep Mary in the dark. I had a very basic mobile phone—no smartphone for me. I didn’t text, email or browse the internet on my phone. I just made phone calls. Maybe five per month. I never came close to using my minutes, which were the smallest amount you could buy. Small income, small budget.
The call went through and a woman answered, a smile in her voice. “Wilson and Matthews, how may I help you?”
“I’m looking for Clyde Watson, or his secretary Sharon, please. My name is Jack Schaeffer.”
“Hello, Jack, I’m Sharon. Clyde said to expect your call. Will you be joining us out here tomorrow?” Clearly she had been apprised of our discussion from the previous night.
“Yes. I was able to get the time off. Clyde mentioned you could arrange for me to fly there tonight and you would take care of all expenses.” I sighed. I sounded so desperate and cheap. Embarrassing.
“That will be no problem. I took the liberty of planning ahead, so if you have a pen and paper handy, I can give you some information as to what to do and where to go.”
She laid out her plan: I was to go to O’Hare for a flight on United Airlines, leaving at 7:32 pm and arriving in Denver at 9:05 pm. They were an hour behind Chicago time. There was a prepaid ticket for me at the United Airlines ticket counter. I just had to show them my ID.
As for accommodations, she had me booked into a downtown Denver hotel and a driver, by the name of Billy Adams, would be at baggage claim waiting to take me there. He would have a sign with my name on it so I could identify him. The hotel would be paid for by the firm, as well as any expenses, including room service.
“Now, Jack, if while you’re here you need to purchase anything for yourself—a water bottle, food, a pack of gum, whatever—just keep a receipt for it. That includes parking your car at the airport in Chicago. You give me those receipts and I’ll see to it you get reimbursed right away. Okay?”
“Okay, Sharon. Wow, this sure is an awful lot of fuss for me. Are you sure all this is necessary? I mean, a driver? I’m sure I could take a cab to the hotel.”
“Clyde made it very clear you were to be taken care of like any other VIP. And that’s what you are, Jack, a very important person, okay? Don’t let the expenses bother you. And Billy is the nicest guy you’d ever want to meet. He’ll take good care of you this week and get you where you need to go.”
“I’ll do my best to follow the plan. It’s all just so sudden, you know?” I said, assuming she knew why I was coming.
“I understand. I promise we will make it as easy for you as we can. Be safe, and if you need anything or run into any problems, let me give you my cell phone number and you call me, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for your help with all this.”
“My pleasure. It’s what I do. Now, are you ready for that number?” She gave me her cell phone number and we ended the call after she made me promise again to contact her if I ran into any difficulties.
As the end of the working day approached, I realized I should maybe try to leave a little early and get to the airport. Marcus told me I could leave whenever, so around four thirty, I opened the closet to get my jacket. I was pulling it on when Mary, who had been uncharacteristically quiet all day, asked what I thought I was doing leaving a half hour early.
“I get the feeling you’ve been avoiding me today, Jack? What gives?” she asked.
“Nothing Mary, just leaving early. Oh, and I won’t be here tomorrow or Friday. Taking some time off. Can you handle the invoicing while I’m out?” I knew she could do the invoices in her sleep—she really was an office dynamo.
“What? You just walk out of here without so much as a how do you do? What are you doing? Where are you going?” she demanded.
“Mary, it’s no big deal. Just some family stuff. Gotta go out of town. I’ll be back Monday.” I decided to stick to my earlier story, in case she compared notes with Marcus. God, that woman could be a pain sometimes. I just wanted to leave already.
“Well, fine then. Go on, do your family stuff. But I expect to hear all about it come Monday.” She was smiling but I knew she was serious about wanting to know all come Monday. Fat chance. I got out of there while the “gettin’ was good” as my grandmother always said.