Date: Thu, 19 Feb 2009 16:02:58 -0700 From: Jay roberts Subject: "A Job With Benefits, Part One" by Jay Roberts Bi Sexual Adult ===of course most jobs offer benefits. Benefits like a car perhaps, surely medical coverage, and some a three week vacation at the company's vacation cabin. It's not those kind of benefits, so you young, under 18 Job seekers, this is not the place for you, but if you are over 18, and ready to roll up your sleeves (maybe your pants legs as well, stay, breathe deeply as we begin. "Do you like James Bond movies?" That was an unusual question to be asked at a job interview. The man on the other side of the desk was unusual. Too. He was one of those old/young guys. I mean, he had a young face, yet it looked as if he had lived a full life. His hair was bright silver, and cut into a military style.. But it was his voice that held me entranced. It was exceptionally deep. He produced his words elegantly; his vowels round, his consonants crisp. I found myself watching his full mouth for the entrancing movement of his tongue as he produced these sounds and words. My mind was wandering. This is fatal during an interview, Lord knows, I needed this job. I was not even sure what it was, but the insertion in the New York Times attracted me. It's vagueness and the elegance of the wording, both galvanized me to call the telephone number. The actual wording gave only hints: Applicant must display independent thought, must have breeding and worldly experience. A good physique is essential and a knowledge and possession of clothing and accessories, a plus. I called the number. This same Mr. Smith, who was now interviewing me, answered. Once I heard that voice, I knew I had to have this job. Now I think I am eminently suited for this job and I tooted my own horn to Mr. Smith, shamelessly, I fear, but he had instructed me to be perfectly honest, with no false modesty. So I told him about my family, now reduced to a mother and an older brother. My brother was at State, a deputy ambassador to a small European nation. Through my brother's help, I was able to make many trips abroad, most of the time at no cost. My father died ten years ago and with him, the family's fortune. We had breeding, but no money. I did manage to be accepted at Harvard in the MBA program, but when I obtained my degree, I found the job market had dried up. "The park benches are full of Harvard MBA's," one interviewer had told me. But here I was, it was going well. I felt that Mr. Smith was interested in my background. I had a knack for languages and his eyes rose when he heard that my skills included six languages. His questions, though, were a little odd for an interview. He was asking now, if I was a virgin. "No, not since the age of thirteen." "A girl playmate?" "No, actually the downstairs maid." "I see. Was it good for you?" "I loved it, and it started me on a lifelong hobby." He digested that. "Sex with men?" "Never had any interest in that, but not hung up and anti-gay. I don't want to sound trite, but not only do I have two gay friends, but, keep this between us, my brother is gay." He was full of surprises, "Do you have a tux?" "Of course. You need one at Harvard." He stood up. Go home, pack a bog and register at the Intercontinental. A reservation and chits for meals will be waiting. Your stay will be two days. After that, call here and set up an appointment. I started to ask questions, but he shook his head. "Save it for your second interview." I left a little dazed, wondering what the next two days might bring. I went home, packed an overnight bag, and drove back to the city, parking near the hotel. (They gave me a chit for the parking. That was good. It was sixty dollars for two days.) The desk welcomed me as if I was VIP. I was led to my suite. A basket of fruit and a bottle of champagne awaited with a card from Mr. Smith, asking that I enjoy my stay. I took a long bath, using all the expensive stuff that was there. I dressed in a pair of gray slacks, blue blazer and open white shirt. This choice usually goes anyway. I stopped at the bar. "Are you Mat Wilson?" the bartender asked. "Why yes. How did you know?" He showed me a picture of myself, apparently taken secretly at the interview. I was a little annoyed by this liberty, but I quickly became mollified when the bar guy told me that "drinks were on the house." I ordered a Martini. As I was sipping it, the Matre'd came over. "May I sit here, Mr. Wilson? I thought we might discuss your dinner. Special tonight is sliced fillet with a wine sauce, but actually you may have anything you wish. I hope you will give us something difficult to achieve. We count on pleasing you and the Group." This was the first time I heard my potential employers called "The Group." I sat sipping my Martini trying to think of something difficult. Finally I spoke slowly, he was writing this down. "Oysters on the half shell, lamb kidneys, a side of sweet and sour red cabbage, crepes, and demi tasse." "Very good. We'll be ready to receive you in fifteen minutes." "Wow. Didn't even faze him." I finished my drink and ordered another one. "Would you like me to prepare some shrimp in hot sauce of other hot entr‚e?" "No Fred (I knew his name with the comradeship of a two-drink customer.) >From the dinner order I gave, I better not dull my appetite.? Fred's phone rang as I popped the stuffed olive into my mouth. He cupped the phone. "If you wish to dine now, your dinner is ready." "Yeah, I better go. I have had two olives now, I have to quit, they can really get to you." "You're right. It's not the Martinis." I headed toward the dinning room, Fred's chuckling laugh behind me. I was met at the door by the matre'd, all smiles. "I think we have accomplished your requests. We hope you will be pleased." The dinner was memorable. I liked the fact that it was so classy that they didn't over fill the plates. For instance, my delicious chilled fresh oyster plate consisted of six. The lamb kidneys are always a challenge for the chef. They have to be firm, but not leathery. These were perfect, and the sauce, as well, not too thin or thick. Everything else was up to that standard, and when I finally sipped my strong demi tasse, the waiter brought over a bottle of rare brandy. There I was, wallowing in luxury when I heard a soft giggle behind me. I turned around and smiled. Frankly all this lonely splendor was getting to be too lonely. The perfect end of the day would be female company. My eyes widened when I saw her. She was also eating alone. What can I say, she was exactly the physical type I love, not skinny, face cute rather than beautiful. My eyes roamed to her legs, bare, beneath her skirt short. These were legs from a wet dream, rounded, gorgeous knees and a full, gently curving calf. "Hello, would you like to have some brandy, it's excellent? I'll ask the waiter to pour some for you." It was as though he heard me. He approached, carrying a snifter and poured her a drink. I decided that she accepted my drink, now she'll have to accept me. I got up from my table and drew a chair out from her table. She kept smiling all the time. "Do you always eat such elegant food? Are you a prince or something? "Hah, not even close. I'm just a poor job hunter and my future employer, I hope, has treated me to this very expensive meal and room at this hotel. Are you staying here?" "Unfortunately no. I'm at the Savoy, I'm in New York for just one night. I heard about the excellent food here and walked over. Are the rooms nice?" I laughed. "I don't know about the rooms. I've been treated to a suite. It's really fine." I decided to jump in to deep water. "Eh, would you like to see it?" "I would, but don't take that as any green light. You know what I mean, don't you?" "Sure," I called the waiter to sign the check. He said it was not necessary, but he added, "I can also put the young ladies on your 'no check' check if you wish." She objected, but relented. Just as we were leaving, the waiter said with a wink, "I'm sending the brandy up to your suite. End Part One Now I know you are saying, "this is Nifty. Doesn't he know this is the hard on place. Where's the sex? Stick with me dude. The next chapter has it all.