Thanks for Donating, Part Two

Read the first part here: Thanks for Donating, Part One


On Friday afternoon, while the rest of the office was counting down the hours until a fun-filled weekend, I was counting down the hours until Beth was the boss of me.  I still didn’t quite get by what she meant by “silly girl stuff” and I knew that her vagueness was part of her own little way of being superior to me.  I was finishing up one last project before the weekend, and reading the last bits of email sent my way.  I always did my best to read the company newsletter, although this week, I was hoping for a bit of a mention:


Subject: Company Newsletter

Body: “...Finally, we would like to recognize Ashlyn Martinez for her remarkable effort for the local food bank.  She successfully raised over $5000, all from independent and small donors, and the charity could not be more grateful.  We would also like to recognize newcomer to the company Elizabeth Haustaff, who also raised an impressive $2300 with efforts earlier in the month.  Both of these ladies know the meaning of hard work and dedication, and we commend
both their achievements.”

I stopped reading after that paragraph.  That was it.  That was what I had sacrificed my weekend and possibly dignity for?  A tiny little mention in a corporate email.  I was seething a bit, when I saw Elizabeth saunter over to my desk.  The office was starting to empty out for the weekend, and I knew she had a vested interest in checking up on me.

“So, I guess the weekend just about starts now, huh winner?”

Thanks for Donating, Part One

I’m usually not so competitive in office politics.  My cube is by no means the biggest, I never get wrapped up in power games, and even when there are contests (like the annual contests we have at our holiday parties), I’m not one to try to win.  I would rather get my work done, and make sure everyone gets paid at my company, or everyone have a good time at the Christmas party, than be wrapped up in who wins and loses.

Maybe it was the recent failures I’d had in getting the raise, or the fact that I had been single for longer than I like, but when the office started a donation fundraising drive for the local food bank, and publicly posted everyone’s stats on the bulletin board, a fire in my heart ignited.  I wanted to be named the best at that more than anything, and each day I would carefully monitor my numbers, and the numbers of my closest adversaries, to see who was nipping at my heels.

Sushi Plate

There are few pieces of advice that can actually stand the test of time.  Advice concerning the benefits of sunscreen may be the best one, but my advice about fine dining and sushi restaurants has to come in a close second: Bring a calculator, and use it before you order.

Birdie's Contract, Part Two

Read Part One of Birdie's Contract here

It was three days later on a Tuesday that I came back from work and found Vince and Tatiana at the kitchen table, with a few papers between them.  If I didn’t know them better, I would have guessed they were an old married couple, looking over their finances.  I stopped dead in my tracks, and was a bit surprised.

“Tatiana,” I said.   “What brings you around here?”

“Oh, honey, you don’t really need to be here for this, it’s all preliminary stuff,”  Vince explained as Tatiana giggled a bit.  “We’re just coming to some terms that we can all live with when it comes to what you’ll do at Tatiana’s house.”

Birdie's Contract, Part One

My phone chimed, like it does a hundred times a day, and I checked the text message. I absolutely hate voicemail, and I’ve trained my circle that the best way to get a hold of me is through instant message.  I was relieved when I read it that it wasn’t yet another request from one of my managers, but a very nice request from my mistress:

Birdie, your contract is up tonight, when you come home, be ready for some fun.

Patience

Read all the Wank Wednesday erotic stories for Patience on Ruby Kiddell’s blog 

Believe it or not, my line of work is not all fun and games.  When people ask what I do, and I respond model, I do get a share of giggles, as if that certainly couldn’t be my real job.  When I meet that with a stoic glare, and they press on, I reveal that I’m a nude model for art classes, and then everything seems to fall into place for them.  They have tons of questions, and I have a ton of answers, which I can rattle off usually before the questions are asked.  Yes, I don’t have a problem taking off my clothes for strangers, no, I’m not going to do it now.  Yes, the pay is ok, at least when the schools honor the contracts and pay me on time, no, I don’t have to deal with lecherous glares from horny old men all the time.  Most people are cool with what I do, and some are a bit judgmental, looking at me like a glorified stripper.

Just a Dollar, Part Two

Author's note: Read part one of "Just a Dollar" here.

I reread the text message about a thousand times before I could get a break from work to respond.  Finally, I found a minute, and walked into the alley behind the restaurant to give Alyssa a call.

“Hi, whore,” she replied.  “Have some questions?”

“Is it really a he?” I asked.  I had a million questions but that seemed most important.