For Her Pleasure by Ella Stone Page A

Todd’s neck -- his tongue vigorously working its way down Todd’s throat.
    Silently I back out the door and turn myself around.  I see Margie at her desk, the phone in one hand, the other gesturing an emphatic “What?”  I wave her off and bolt back to my office, keeping my eyes down, not believing how shitty I‘m feeling, how horrible my intuition -- or my sexual instinct -- is.  But then, at least I hadn’t gotten to make a pass at him yet.  At least I don’t have that shame to live with.
    I deposit my coffee mug on my Kenny’s -- my secretary -- desk as I lurch into my office.
    “Miss Clark, would you like a refill?”  Kenny asks.
    “Let’s give them a few minutes to finish, okay?”
    Kenny looks after me bewildered as I slam the door to my office behind me.
     
    ~*~
     
    “You’re fucking kidding me!”  Margie howls over the phone.
    “Don’t I wish.”
    “Gay?”
    “Apparently.”
    “And Max, from art?”  She clucks her tongue and I hear her crack her knuckles.  “Now I know why he and the misses got divorced.”
    “Can we just not talk about this?”  I’m suddenly feeling cranky again.  And I know that once Margie gets done mauling this business with Todd over, she’ll get right back to trying to set me up again.  “I think this idea for the Morgan’s campaign is starting to come together.”
    “That’s why I pay you the big bucks, babe,” I suddenly see her at the door to my office, her coat and purse on her arm, her cell phone lowering from her ear.  “Just don’t work too late.  You’ll never bag a guy like this.”
    “Kenny’s helping me ... we’ll be done in no time.”
    Margie waves as she slinks out of sight.  I look out my window to see the sun already starting to set.  The clock reads six o’clock.  I hit the intercom button.  “You hungry?”  I ask Kenny.
    “Indian or Chinese?”  he says.
    “Chinese.”
    “I’ll make the call.”
     
    ~*~
     
    I end up not eating even half of my sesame chicken.  And no matter how much I stare at the computer screen I still can’t get my mind in gear enough to get the Morgan’s campaign up and running.  My head’s hurting, my eyes are blurry, and my shoulders and neck are in knots.  I drop my head down into the palms of my hands and groan.
    I hear Kenny walk up behind me, and I smell the fresh coffee he’s brought me. 
    “It’s late.  Maybe you should go home, get some sleep, work this thing with fresh eyes tomorrow.” 
    I feel Kenny’s hands press down gently on my shoulders, and then his fingers start to knead my tense muscles.  He’s the best.  I can’t count how many times he’s pulled me through these late night work attacks.  Never complains, never fails to contribute, and he’s always there.
    “What would I do without you?”  I say, leaning back in my chair as his fingers work out the rest of my kinks.
    “You’d probably have to see a chiropractor.” 
    And he’s funny.  And good looking!  Shoulders like a linebacker, flat stomach and lean hips.  And somewhere in his angular face there’s a few freckles and bright green eyes.
    Too bad he’s gay too.
    At least with Kenny I’d known the moment I laid eyes on him.  And that had been the plan ... at the time ... to not be tempted, to not even contemplate men.  And for almost a year my plan had been working.  At least until I watched Brokeback Mountain.  Then I started reading Alice Hoffman books, and watching cheesy LifeTime TV Movies.  Now I’m getting aroused just looking at the office eye candy, and I’m seriously considering ordering something very large -- that requires batteries -- off the internet.
    It’s not fair!  The one guy I finally get excited over turns out to be gay.  And the only man who touches me -- and what a fabulous job he’s doing of it right now! -- even he’s gay.  I know it isn’t politically correct or anything, but it would be so much simpler if gay men would wear a tag of some sort.