Date: Sat, 11 Jan 2003 07:44:50 -0800 (PST) From: Robin Reed Subject: The Peter Principle (Part 3) The Peter Principle (Part 3- The Firm) The usual disclaimers refer. If you are under 18 or the idea of sex between consenting adults offends you, go elsewhere. The Firm The alarm woke me at five as it always does and I turned it off and lay in the darkness. I had dozed intermittently after the dream. I savored it still, the touch and feel of Eddie's wiry body next to mine. But I was alone under the comforter, alone and nude as is my custom. By instinct I reached down to caress myself but stopped abruptly. Eddie had warned me about hat, and if I succumbed to the desire to touch myself I knew where it would go. There still was an ache inside my loins from pent-up desire. But Eddie had seemed so insistent on the matter and I had to follow his direction. I knew he would be able to tell if did. I couldn't resist those eyes. I put on my robe and started the coffee in the kitchen nook. Then I turned on the stereo and switched to the all-news channel I listen to in the morning. It is important for me to listen to the woes of the commuters coming in from the distant suburbs. It makes me feel good about the choices I had. I could drive to the structure and take the Metro down, or I could drive the Lexus and park in the garage under the building. I did not have a good parking spot because I was only a middle manager. But at least I had one and it gave me a choice. My slot was uncomfortably narrow, next to a massive concrete pillar. If I did not position my car carefully the door would open into it, marring the paint. When the weather was fine I could even walk to the Metro, and though it was chilly, I thought it might be useful to walk off some of the sexual tension I felt. I went out to the balcony with my coffee and a single cigarette and smoked it before I did my stretching exercises. The dawn was orange against the Maryland sky as I exhaled and sipped the scalding rich coffee. The steam from the mug and the smoke made a cloud. I stubbed out the butt in the ashtray that was about to overflow. I made a note to clean it out before I left and put the mug down on the railing where I wouldn't knock it off accidentally. I spread my legs and began my stretches. First turning my torso, arms out, fifty times, getting further around each time. Then fifty four-count toe touches. Then hands on hips, twisting my upper body from side-to-side until I felt a little dizzy. Try as I might, I could not stop thinking about the mass the hung between my legs and the desire for him. I stopped twisting and drank coffee, letting myself get oriented again. I went back inside and heard the traffic guy announce that the Beltway was a mess near Georgia Avenue at the Temple. I took off my robe and hung it on the back of the door and took a cold shower, standing back and letting the stream of icy water hit me right in the groin. The cold was a shock on the sensitive skin. I shampooed and applied some cream rinse and rinsed again and then let the cold water run down my chest and legs. When I could not stand it any longer I turned the valves off and got out and toweled down. As I dried my legs I peeked back over my shoulder in the mirror to see what I looked like, what Eddie might see. I dropped the towel and fell to my knees on the tile. I leaned forward and stretched my arms forward, resting my cheek on the cool white, my ass in the air, vulnerable. I stayed that way for a few minutes and then I began to become aroused again. I got up on hands and knees and thought about what an idiot I was. I got up and moussed my hair back, brushing it fifty times and lined up the vitamins and flossed my teeth and brushed them and held a shot of mouthwash for the full thirty seconds. Then I thought about what to wear. The Firm is a pretty buttoned-down sort of place. Mostly dark suits and white shirts, with red power ties. Very Washington. Sometimes on "casual" Fridays I would wear a colored shirt, or even a daring severe sports jacket. Today I selected a navy Jos. Banks suit that I like, a little boxy, three button. I pared it with a pale pink oxford shirt with a sport collar and picked a Jerry Garcia tie that lifted some of the pink from the shirt and contrasted with the sedate suit. Black silky hose and tasseled pumps with a small heel and a sleek black Coach belt with spare silver buckle completed the ensemble. I put on the shirt first, enjoying the crisp feel of the heavy starch my Korean dry-cleaner used. Then the tie, half Windsor knot with a perfect dimple, then hose and trousers and belt, tucking the shirt so it was flat and trim across the front and slightly bloused in the back. I sipped coffee and considered what to put in my slim attaché case. A fresh pack of Benson and Hedges Ultra Mild. My Cricket lighter. An apple. The paper, of course, which was lying in long plastic bag outside the front door when I checked. I turned off the coffee maker and looked around the apartment. It was neat enough to come back to that evening. It turned off the traffic news, things were really bad at the I-270 junction, and put on my suit jacket and picked up my briefcase and walked out the door. I wondered what Eddie was doing. Was he still in bed? Dark hair tousled against the pillow? Did he have his morning erection, something I might worship with my lips and tongue? I walked the mile or so to the Silver Spring Metro absently. I smoked a cigarette as I walked and thought about what was going to happen at the Firm. It was Monday, so the Operations Officer would have the ritual staff meeting at nine. All the branch heads came to the conference room and announced their list of important actions and accomplishments. The Operations Officer was the central cog in the Firm. We were like many other concerns on K Street. We served the government, or rather, those that were using the government for some purpose or another, sometimes for good, sometimes not. It almost always involved the taxpayer's money, but that is the main reason this town exists. We were in the business of selling information and influencing policy and legislation. Our Partners were normally lawyers or political figures who had recently left or were about to return to the Government. We were an equal opportunity firm, servicing both Democrats and Republicans. Times being what they are, there were several Democrats available for private work and you would know some of them if I told you their names. The Republican Partners had been sucked back into the government with the Administration, and yet everyone knew one another and the machine merrily spun along, the ins and the outs all getting along famously. The Partners were not interested in the day-to-day running of the Firm, or rather, wished it was all transparent to them. That is why they hired the Operations Officer. He normally was not a lawyer, but rather a specialist in administration and personnel. The Partners liked a crisp and responsive organization, and they preferred to have a strong individual running their staff. Many of the firms along the street hired retired military officers, men who acted in predictable linear ways and took orders well and passed them along with the expectation that they would be followed to the letter. My particular cross to bear was nick-named Happy Jack Anderson, a retired Air Force colonel who had little imagination but an insatiable attention to detail. He had the nickname to avoid confusing him with the dead political columnist, who some of the older Partners still dreaded. He had been a military logistics specialist, ensuring that fuel and parts were pre-stationed around the world. He did the same with us, moving our reports and analysis like product lines to keep the Partners on top of their lobbying. He kept lists and was relentless on his e-mail. He was the one who had engineered the expulsion of Eddie from the Firm, out of cycle with the political rhythm of the town, and there were no jobs out there for him. Happy Jack was the gate-keeper to the Partners, and his favor could make or break our young people. Eddie could have been a star, if he had been showcased properly, displayed to the Partners in the right way, gained a Patron and been on his way. Instead Eddie was exiled. I was one of the group of middle managers, as Eddie said, at my Peter Principle. I came to town with my local Congressman and worked in his office answering the phone and helping with policy papers. I met my ex-wife there, another of the battalions of crisp young career women on the Hill. My Congressman was particularly inept, and he lost his seat and I was on the outs. I found a modest position at the Firm, and after twelve years, was now the Branch Chief. I had lost the marriage and my house in Rockville when I discovered that my wife's relentless sexuality was as frightening as Happy Jack's e-mails, and finally realized something I had known since I was a teenager. I liked men. I answered an ad in the local gay paper and one extended lunch hour I found myself on my knees in front of a commanding man who used my mouth casually for his pleasure, and discovered a fulfillment that I had been lacking in my life. My wife's ambitions resulted in her getting our house, and a new spouse with a significant job on one of the Committees. And I was in my little apartment, close-in, safe from the commute. I liked the stability of the Firm and had no ambition to ride the political merry-go-round. Happy Jack tolerated me because I didn't argue with him, always said "yes" to his demands, and didn't make waves. My area was financial analysis, and the other branches included strategic planning group, a shop of lawyers, public relations flacks and cost estimates. There was also and administrative and Information Technology branch, but they turned over so fast that there was no use in trying to get to know them. Some of the young men were attractive in their down-scale clothes and the knowledge that their understanding of computers made them a power in their own right. It was that air of casual superiority that infuriated Happy Jack, and kept the young men on their own merry-go-round, hired elsewhere almost as soon as they hit the marble and glass lobby of the building. I had five young analysts, most fresh out of entry-level jobs or internships in the Administration or the Congress. They knew enough of how the city ran, staying late at their jobs eating pizza from boxes, supporting legislation and networking their way across the Hill and down Pennsylvania Avenue. They would normally stay with the Firm until it was time to re-join the government at a senior staff level, having caught the eye of a Partner through a particularly insightful piece of analysis. Some of them intended to actually run for office at some point, but I certainly had no fire in my belly for that. I stood on the Metro escalator after I arrived at the station. I had plenty of time to make the staff meeting, but I needed to get coffee and read Happy Jack's e-mails before it started. I had learned from hard experience to have notes on each of his interest areas, even if it was not my branch's responsibility. Still, Happy Jack took delight in skewering us, one by one, for our many failings and shortcomings. I knew that this morning would be no exception. I got coffee from a cart near the entrance to our building where the Firm had the entire fourth floor. Down K Street loomed the building with the signature twin spires you could see for blocks. Our building was like Goldilocks. It wasn't too big or too small or too opulent or too austere. It was just right, assuring our clients that the Firm would meet their needs with precision. The lobby was chrome and glass and gleaming marble and the elevator bank was crisp and professional and whizzed up and down with a dignified but speedy whoosh. I walked from the elevator bank to the main entrance and through the glass plate door. There were other entrances, anonymous ones back in the corridors in case a client wanted their services to remain anonymous. There even was a special card lock on an alley door that lead to the stairs, in case the client was particularly averse to publicity. The receptionist was jus settling into her desk, big brunette hair and prominent bosom under a well-tailored suit. She was hoping to catch a Partner's eye, or that of a well-heeled client. She was part of the ying-yang of this town. She was on the make and the other half of us were just trying to hang on. I said good morning to her and walked down the hall to my little office. As a Branch Chief I was entitled to a corner hutch, a window and a door. There were two chairs so I could have small meetings if I desired, and a company computer with big screen for office functions and a lap-top for internet access. The Firm desired that their proprietary information not be accessible to potential hackers, so the files data-bases were rigorously segregated from potential hackers. The Firm's computers even had the floppy drives removed, so it was not possible to download material to a diskette, except in the Information Technology office. I removed my apple and newspaper and my cigarettes from my leather folio and removed my jacket as I waited for the computers to boot up. I looked out the window and the cars and taxis and buses rushing by. I thought about Eddie, hard and urgent, using me. I logged on with my secret password and saw that Happy Jack had been to work early. There were twelve red-flagged notes on the Outlook queue. I read them quickly, saving and forwarding the ones that applied to my branch, printing them so I had them in my folder for the staff meeting. There was the Alaska wilderness research project, the oil comparison forecast and Louisiana gas futures negotiation. And more. Ouside my young men were arriving to start their week, firing up the computers and talking about the poor performance of the Redskins the afternoon before. The other constant in the Ying-yang was about the football team. When the team did well, the week started with happy banter. When they lost, and particularly if they performed with ineptitude, the office was surly. It didn't matter whether you followed the team or not. I looked at the small black letters above the headline. "Redskins blow lead, Collapse to Dallas." I sighed. It was going to be a hard staff meeting. At nine o'clock sharp Happy Jack walked into the conference room. He wore no jacket and his pink jowls protruded above the crisply starched white shirt. His tie was a no-nonsense rep pattern and his slacks were gray in a muted glen plaid. He wore his silver wire-frame glasses low on his nose and his receding hair was closely cropped in a military manner. He had two Cross pens in his well-pressed pocket and a sheaf of printed e-mail and a long yellow legal pad. His eyes were the color of sea-water, remote and cold. He cleared his throat and got on with it. I doodled on my pad, taking notes and direction to pass along for later, new parking issues, health and compensation issues, delay of the bonus to the Firm's next fiscal year, which inexplicably started in November. I escaped without major damage, though I was tagged with two major presentations for later in the week. I was pleased not to be in Public Relations. One of the clients had his name in the Post that morning, one of those arch little embarrassments in the gossip section. The branch head got reamed by Happy Jack and later the legal team was the subject of a five minute lecture on inefficiency and failure to adequately record billing records. I took my notes back to my office and carefully typed them up for distribution to my branch and assigned the lead for the two presentations, with due dates for submission to me before they were actually provided to Happy Jack for review. I hated this part of the job. I was doing a pretty good job of not thinking about what I really wanted to be doing and was genuinely startled when the black phone on my desk buzzed. I looked at the light blinking by my private line, a perk reserved for Branch heads and above. The Partners had several. I picked it up and answered. "Rob here." "Good. I'm glad you are at the office being productive. How was the staff meeting?" It was Eddie. His voice was cocky and confident, ironic in tone. "I'm not sure how productive I am, Eddie. But I am here. The staff meeting sucked. Happy Jack was in rare form." "I've been doing some thinking about Happy Jack" said Eddie. "I have a little idea about him that might clear up an old account with him." My stomach knotted. I did not want to be part of Eddie's vendetta but I wanted Eddie as much as I ever wanted anything. "But I'll tell you more about that later." "Later, Eddie?" I asked hopefully. "Yes. I will be by to see you tonight, around seven. There are a couple things you will need to do to get ready, but they shouldn't be a problem." He told me what they were and I could feel myself getting hard. "Now, I need you to get up and close your door." "Why, Eddie?" I could not get up without my erection straining at my trousers. "Just do it." His voice got cold. "All right. I'm sorry, Eddie." I put the phone down and wheeled around in my chair and looked to make sure my analysts did not see me aroused as I was. I got up a little hunched over and closed the door and returned to my chair. I picked up the phone and said in a husky voice "It's closed, Eddie. Now what do you want me to do." "Good boy, Rob. Move your wastebasket between your legs and pull down your zipper." I gulped. "Yes, Eddie. OK." I reached down and fumbled for the wastebasket. I held the phone between my jaw and neck. Then I leaned back and unzipped. "I'm ready, Eddie." "OK. Now take your dick out." I fumbled with the slit in my briefs and fished out my erection. I was hard, and the shaft sprung out of my underwear, the head engorged. "Yes, Eddie" I breathed. "Now put the phone in your left hand and beat off for me." I moved the phone to my left hand and the cord crossed my chest. I was so full I was about to burst. I reached down with my right hand and caressed the shaft. I felt like I would shoot immediately. "Go ahead. Stroke it." "Yes, Eddie." My breathing began to become ragged as my hand moved up and down the shaft. I was ready to come immediately. The sound of his commanding voice was the most erotic thing I had ever heard. "Oh, Eddie, oh God..." "Tell me when you are going to come and try to shoot it into the wastebasket." "Yes, Eddie." I could feel it rising and the shaft was slippery with pre-come and oh god it was near oh god. "Eddie, I'm here..." I breathed and hot jets of pearly jism erupted from the head of my arcing cock. I held it down, shooting at the rim of the basket between my legs. Some of it missed and flew onto carpet. Great gobs of it hit the rim and dripped down the inside. Come was all over my hand and coating my shaft and soaking into my briefs. "Ooooh, Eddie, oh God Eddie, thank-you, thank-you for letting me come, oh God thank you..." "Your welcome, honey. I'll see you tonight." He clicked off the line abruptly and I was looking at the receiver, my hand still on my softening cock when knuckles rapped firmly on my door. "Rob, I need to talk to you about these Alaska numbers" boomed a voice. It was Happy Jack, in person. "Just a minute," I said, frantically looking for something to wipe my hands and put my dick away without staining my dark trousers. "I'm...um... trying to put in my contacts..^."