Personal Assistant.1

 This is part of the Commencement collection—the secondary character in the prom story shows up here as well. I'm giving myself a C grade on this one, even if there are huge gaps that need to be filled. (Living up to the blog title, here).

If you’re going to be the side piece, don’t meet the family.

I can’t even claim that it started innocently. When the temp agency sent me to Envision IT I was doing data entry and scanning old records into the system. Mr. Baker was his own division, something with marketing or sales. He was very friendly with me and touched me a lot, though being a fairly touchy-feely person myself I didn’t mind. It was never inappropriate, just pats on the back or shoulder, or grabbing my arm to get my attention, or thumping my chest when I said something funny. However, he also flirted with me to an extent that I found embarrassingly obvious.

So when Mr. Call-Me-Stuart Baker and I were alone in the office that night, a mere one month after I had been hired on, I was prepared for his proposition.

"Do you have a college degree, Ken?" he asked.

"No, sir," I answered, mostly intent on updating his computer. "I got my GED, but it's tough to find work for more than ten dollars an hour."

"I hear ya," Mr. Baker chuckled. He was full of shit. He had a Master's in some sort of business. "But listen: the Board is talking about making me the exec. Tom is retiring next month."

"Congratulations," I replied. The install was finished. It could have been done at any time; Mr. Baker had waited until the last minute to ask me. I was just waiting for this married father of four to reveal his ulterior motive.

Mr. Baker leaned on his desk, thigh touching my arm. "How would you like a promotion, Ken?"

"That would be great," I answered frankly. "To what?"

"You'd be my assistant," he said. "I like you; I think you're a smart guy and you learn quickly."

Only one of those statements was true. I leaned back in his chair. "I don't know how to use any of those scheduling programs. I can barely use Microsoft Word."

"You could take some night classes."

"To be honest, sir, I don't have the money." That sounded too much like an invitation, but I was a little irritated with this after-hours game that I didn't even want to play. Just say it already.

Nudging me with his leg, Mr. Baker reminded me, “That’s why I want to promote you, Ken. Plus, I think you’re up to it.”

For fuck’s sake, I could see the outline of his erection forming in his trousers. I could ignore it and see how far old Stuart would push, or I could cut the chit chat and just suck him off, or I could play along. I did need the money.

"I'm up for anything," I replied. Inwardly I groaned. More suggestive words could not have sprung from my lips had I been reading a bad porn script. Mr. Baker didn’t seem to mind; he pushed my chair back so he could sit on the desk in front of me, smarmy smile on his face.

En garde.