ONE
The director of magazine production Clem Giles watched Headlights also known as Claire walking towards him; some clown in pre-press production had given her that nickname.
Watching them bounce unrestrained, he thought what an apt name and wondered if Claire even wanted those headlights checked for changes to freckles. Not only did she have the second-best set of headlights in the building but her legs also were only bettered by her boss, Nancy.
"Mrs Lake had an accident driving to work this morning, Mr Giles. The car is being repaired urgently. As she abhors traveling by public transport, especially being driven by garlic-eating cabdrivers; she wonders if she could travel home with you this evening and return to work with you in the morning? Her car was rammed up the ass so just requires a new tail thingy which will be fitted tomorrow sometime."
Certainly Claire. Tell Mrs Lake I exist to service her."
"I'll do no such thing, you wicked man, Mr Giles. That's Mr Lake's department, which reminds me: you must be the only male in the office who's not tried to grab these or hasn't asked me for a date; most going for both."
"What, grabbing both or both grabbing and asking for a date?"
"You can be so tiresome, Mr Giles. It's all laid out, waiting for you, and you never ask."
"Claire, I do believe I'm getting a flicker of understanding here. Are you suggesting..."
"My tits and orifices await you, Mr Giles. You have my cell phone number which I remind you each time we have this conversation, Thank you for being so gallant to my Mrs Lake and please don't stare obscenely at my ass as I walk away. I rate you better than these brainless dorks who inhabit this building."
Well, if it weren't for everyman and his dog plugging you Claire, I could be interested, thought Clem, staring obscenely at her swaying ass – definitely Number One in the office, and she and every other woman knew it. Some guys, of course, don't rate ass.
Clem thought of dropping into the café and consuming a couple of garlic and onion sandwiches. The arrogant Mrs Lake was so toffee nosed she had her head almost up her own ass deserved nothing better – except Mrs Lake was his boss, being publisher of a stable of internationally circulating women's magazines branded as Lakeside Readers for Women.
Within the company the mags were loosely known differently, even by some more relaxed females, after some clown in pre-press production began calling them Women's Monthlies. Ironically, one of the best sellers was titled
Women's Humor
. That was an all-female production because the editor had failed to find any male worker who could laugh at what was being produced, which says something – but what?
There was mixed humor at the top of the tree: Crusty Mr Lake as President of Lakeside Publication Corporation was known internationally for his lack of humor whereas his third wife Nancy actually exhibited humor plus quite a lot more.
Clem didn't see Headlights when she walked either towards or away from him – he just saw white as if his entire nervous system shut down to avoid him disgracing himself with an outburst of uncontrolled lust. Actually it was his reading glasses being coated in steam.
He used the red phone to direct call Her Highness.
"Hi, would 3:00 suit? I have a hairdresser coming."
"Yes."
Clunk, call terminated. She'd dealt with him surgically, able to tell it was Clem calling because only ten people in the entire building had red phone connection. He thought it was unlikely any of the other nine had any other connection with Mrs Lake.
Clem thought so the hairdresser calls on Mrs Lake, not the other way round, Being possessed with a filthy brain, apparently since birth, he wondered about spelling of the last word in her phrase 'a hairdresser coming'. That would depend on what they did. You've never made chief executive because of your gutter mind, he grinned in coddled self-chastisement.
He froze in a sudden burst of thought; Mrs Lake had thirteen female editors – all with access to company cars. She had oodles of skirts and dames in men's trousers in her own department and Headlights would be able to get had hands to the steering wheel okay, especially if she wore a bra. His mind worked four times quicker than the world's faster computer and then flashed the answer: Mrs Lake was 30 and Mr Lake was 62 – and age gap of 32. He was 46 which was exactly half way in age between the Lakes. This had to have some significance. He called Headlights.
"Hi, it took longer to call than I thought you would. I had you taped as a quick thinker. You want to know why you your were selected?"
Clem inexplicably pulled the receiver from his ear and looked at it. The caliber of some females in this building made him feel uneasy. But he found no comfort to this insecurity by looking at a piece of beautifully rendered molded composite material so placed it back against his ear to hear Headlights say, "Answer me, what is the question?"
Slash! The whip cut into his bared back and Headlights dressed in shiny black vinyl with a hole cut to reveal a beautifully decorated hairless pussy while up top those huge breasts were contained for whip-cracking duty by a steel harness. His mind jumped back to reality and he blurted, "Why me?"
"Simple, moron. Ooops, sorry Mr Giles. Mrs Lake asked me to name the most trustworthy male in the building and I could only nominate you. She asked why and I said you were the only male who'd not made a pass at me. She said "God, I must accelerate my program towards achieving an all-female payroll but was astounded when I said there were also some twenty women listed in my black book who'd made passes at me."
"And?"
"She said you are worthy of a position at the Vatican."
"But I'm Baptist."
"She probably meant as Ambassador for the Baptist Churches."
"Oh. That's all I wanted to knowm Claire dear."
"Fine, I was doing my nails. Remember to open the car door for her."
TWO
At 3:00 Clem stood at attention outside the executive's elevator on the first level of the parking basement: the doors opened and Mrs Lake walked out proceeded by her perfume. The body, as usually, was encased in loose clothing designed to camouflage true shapes but it was a wasted effort insofar as Clem was concerned because he was able to mentally see right through it. Her tits weren't as large as Headlight's but their elasticity was under better tension so they hung higher and tended to swing either side together rather in opposite directions as Headlight's did and rather than big and bloated nipples Mrs Lake's were smaller and tilted upwards cutely.
Both women shaved, but wasn't that normal these days for women under 80?
"Clem, how lovely to see you again."
She didn't attempt to kiss him or even to shake his hand, the cold bitch. He bowed stiffly. She asked which car was his; he pointed to the yellow 2005 Porsche Boxster S, top down, that he'd had since new.
"Eeek, I can't go in that," she complained.
"I'll call you a cab."
"Oh God no, I'd rather go in
that
thing."
Clem appealed to Mrs Lake to be careful, that Mimi was sensitive.
Nancy's mouth opened as if to say something scathing about naming a car but apparently remembered her good manners.
Clem opened the passenger door. She looked at the cramped seating space and swallowed. "You'll have to look away while I lever in; I'll display everything."
"Nope, I look: this is one of the reason rambunctious ageing males have sports cars."
"But you have a wife and two teenagers."
