By Quentin Collins (hauptwerk88@gmail.com)
© BJB Conglomerated Media
This story is fictitious and takes place in a fantastic realm where inconvenient physical, biological, medical, legal, and moral strictures don't exist. While actual places and events may be referenced from time to time, none of the characters is real, thus rendering all their activities and experiences fictitious.
This story is intended only for the entertainment of those who are legally permitted to access and read it.
The author does not promote or condone unsafe, coercive, or illegal activities. The author promotes and condones love, joy, and imagination.
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Life at Warren Hill
"Thank you for coming in, Betty," Andrew said to his temporary assistant as she entered his office. "Let's sit over here," he said, gesturing to a love seat and armchair grouping in the center of the large office.
He had just finished a staff meeting and an interview with a prospective project manager. Both had gone well, and he was getting more and more excited to be in this new position. His giddiness was somewhat mitigated by the prospect of pissing off Betty in their upcoming conversation. He was determined not to let that happen.
"Now, as I said before, I would like to talk to you about your experiences with the Hulstlander Academy for Boys. This is completely personal, so, please feel free to refuse to answer any question, or to tell me you're uncomfortable going on with the conversation. I don't want to cross any boundaries."
Betty Robinson relaxed a little as she sat on the forward edge of an armchair.
"Would you care for some water? There are other beverages for the taking in the alcove, as I assume Marcus showed you."
"Water will be fine, thank you, but shouldn't I be pouring it, rather than you?"
Drew smiled at her. "You're my professional assistant, Betty, not my footman. I have one of those already. Actually, I have eight of those. It seems that you can't work them sixteen hours per day, every day of the week the way you used to."
"I'm familiar with the general concept," Betty replied curtly.
Shitty, shit, shit! Way to go, Drew: make oblique references to slavery and indentured servitude.
Drew handed Betty a heavy tumbler of chilled water, noting how soft the fifty-five-year-old woman's hands were as they touched. He then sat forward on the loveseat in a similar manner to her. He unbuttoned his suit jacket.
"So, this won't be an interrogation, I hope, more of a conversation. You mentioned that your son Marcus is an alumnus of the Academy, having graduated eleven years ago. Is that correct?"
"Yes, sir. He started at the Lower School in fifth grade after we moved here from Atlanta. We were lucky enough to get a scholarship for Marcus. Otherwise, we would have never been able to afford it.
"I've reminded Marcus hundreds of times how lucky he was to be there and not to take any of it for granted," she continued.
Drew nodded. "I take it that Marcus found his place there, or else he wouldn't have stuck through to twelfth grade."
"It took a little while, but he absolutely loved the varied goings-on there, and the fact that they work in smaller groups with the teacher guiding in exploration rather than lecturing. He is more of an experiential learner, so we were told, especially in his younger years. Marcus was able to participate in group activities, field trips, plays, sports, anything where he could move around or make something with his hands. They were very good at presenting the curriculum in many different ways. Some kids can read a book and remember everything. Others are visual learners. Marcus is a doer."
"I like doers. What is he up to these days," Drew asked.
Betty beamed, happy to brag on her son. "He is an attorney working at a firm in town that specializes in employment law. He also volunteers at Hulstlander in the wrestling program. I'm very proud of him."
Drew enjoyed seeing this side of Betty. "It sounds as if you have every right to be proud of him. And I'm happy to hear he is involved at Hulstlander. I don't think Tian will participate in wrestling. He loves crew, rugby, and swimming. He would also love to join the wrestling team, but I think it would be too much. We'll see. He's naturally gifted intellectually and physically precocious." Drew enjoyed bragging on his son as well.
"I can't take credit for most of it. My parents raised him through his early years. He was born on my fourteenth birthday, so I needed parenting more than I myself was able to parent. And Tian's mother developed issues with drugs and alcohol, so she was unable to participate in his upbringing."
Betty took a sip of water. "I'm sorry for interrupting, but did you say your son's name is `Chan,' as in `Channing?'"
"Funny you should ask," Drew replied. "He was born Channing Daniel Tarnow. Daniel is my older brother. But we just recently had his name legally changed to Tianbao. He goes by Tian, which sounds almost exactly like Chan. He actually prefers to be called Bunny."
"I see," was Betty's only response. She was dying to ask a million questions but decided to mind her own business. She did inquire about Tian's mother.
Drew cleared his throat. "Unfortunately Annie died last month. I was angry at her for a long time. I felt she had used me for sex, knowing that I was confused about my sexual orientation. She told me I couldn't know if I was gay unless I tried sex with a woman. I was thirteen and fuddled, so I fell for it. I confirmed my homosexuality at the same instant I got her pregnant.
"I realize now that she had at least as many issues as I did. And she really showed her love for Tian by shielding him from her addictions and the complications they brought into her life. I didn't understand that until recently. Now I love her. Bunny didn't really know her, but he will hear only good things from me."
Betty sat stunned and wiped a tear from her eye. "I'm sorry to have brought up such sorrow. You are handling it admirably."
"Thank you, Betty. But now, let's get back to the school. And this is where things might get uncomfortable, so feel free to leave. What I was wondering is, well, you are a black woman?"
"Well, yes, I guess there's no hiding that fact," Betty replied, feeling her defenses rising.
"Nor should you want to hide it, of course. Is Marcus also black? See, in researching the Hulstlander Academy, I noticed that the student body is twenty-four percent black," Drew stated.
"That sounds about correct," she answered, wondering where this was going.
"But Richland County, which is where most of the student body hails from, is about forty-seven percent black and only forty-two percent white, with the rest being mostly Asian and Native American. About five percent identify as Hispanic of all races.
"So, I guess my basic question is: is there something wrong with Hulstlander that the student body doesn't reflect the community? Why aren't there more black students? Did you have issues or sense that the school was less than welcoming to certain students based on their complexion?
"I don't want to subject my son to a biased environment any more than you would. Should I be concerned?"
Betty sat quietly for a full minute.
Drew grew concerned. "Shit, Betty. I'm an ass, aren't I? I think I have `White Savior Syndrome.' I'm asking you questions as if I'm an expert on your lived experience. I had no right. Please forgive me."
"Yeah, you're an ass, alright," Betty replied. She gave Drew a hard stare for a few moments, then began laughing.
"You should have seen your face, Drew. I wish I had taken out my phone. You looked like you were scared this fierce little black mama was going to pound your pale ass," Betty managed to squeak out between laughs.
Drew unsuccessfully tried not to blush. "I am still scared, Betty. Please don't hurt me."
Betty continued to laugh at her boss for the day. "Oh god, Drew, you're adorable!"
"Thank you?" Drew tried to get back in control of the situation.
"Anyway, Betty, did Marcus have problems eleven years ago? Wait. Wow! Marcus and I are the same age! I graduated from Cool Springs High School eleven years ago too. You could be my mom!" Drew laughed out.
"Do you hate me that much," Betty joked.
They both regained their composure. Betty took another sip of water before speaking. "Marcus had an occasional problem with other students. That's just the way life is. But I don't think there was anything about the school itself. There was only one teacher Marcus didn't like, but he was black too, so there wasn't a racial `thing' going on there.
"I think it comes down to finances. Most of the kids come from Richland County, but a significant portion also comes from Lexington, which is a lot paler, if you know what I mean. The black folks in Columbia may outnumber the whites, but the whites have more money.
"The black poverty rate is more than twice that of the whites. And, if you look at people making less than three hundred percent of the poverty rate, you'll find blacks are significantly overrepresented there as well.
"Black folk just don't have sixty thousand dollars a year for private school. But you know all of this, Drew. You have terabytes of data at your fingertips as part of your behavioral analytics program. Why are you asking questions when you have the answers," Betty admonished.
Drew leaned forward, happy yet surprised at the depth of her knowledge. "The numbers tell me `what,' but they don't tell me `why' quite so readily."
He sat for a moment. "How important do you think it is for a child to go through Hulstlander from kindergarten through twelfth grade? I know that there are more kids in each grade of the Upper School than the Lower School, so they must accept extra kids for the high school years, right?
"What if I gave money to the school for scholarships for students from historically disadvantaged backgrounds? I guess it would be better to do it on both levels, right?" Drew was on the verge of babbling. It's a bad habit with him.
Betty sat for a moment of contemplation. "Well, it would be advantageous to do it on both levels. So, you're thinking about funding more than one scholarship? It could be quite a lot of money, you know."
Drew also sat in contemplation. "Well, many of the grades are at capacity, so I'd only be able to offer diversity scholarships for open slots. There are a lot more of those in the Upper School than the lower since they have larger classes."
Drew sat for another minute. "I guess for both schools, I have to be willing to support twenty percent of the incoming class in order to get the class to reflect the community, and then several additional slots for new transfer students in other grades.
"Since they limit the Lower School class size to eighty students, twenty percent of that would be sixteen students, with, say, another ten scattered about. Then I'd have to add another sixteen the next year, and so on until I get to ... let me see ... ."
Betty interrupted. "That would be one hundred forty-four students in grades kindergarten through eighth. Plus another ten for your random transfers. Son of a bitch that would be a lot of scholarships. Wouldn't it be nice to be able to do that," Betty mused.
Drew tapped a few numbers on his phone's calculator. "Your math is perfect, Betty. So, with the current Lower School tuition and fees being fifty-three thousand, eight hundred dollars, I would start at, rounding up, one million, four hundred thousand dollars to start. And I would end up at eight million, three hundred thousand when I'm supporting all nine Lower School years. Did I get that right, Betty?"
Betty ran the numbers in her head. "That's correct, Drew. Are you going to write a check," she quipped.
"Yes," Drew answered matter-of-factly.
"Holy fuck," Betty muttered.
"Now," Drew continued, "For the Upper School, using two hundred kids per class and fifty random transfers per year, I'd start with ninety scholarships, and work my way up to two hundred ten scholarships. Using the current sixty-seven thousand, three hundred dollar tuition and fees, I would start with about six million dollars, and end up at a little over fourteen million dollars per year."
Drew set down his phone. "I could do that. Do you think this is a good idea?"
"Fuck my black ass," declared Betty.
"I'm sorry, Betty, what did you say," Drew inquired.
Betty sat up and tried to put her eyes back into her skull. "I said, `Oh, gracious me,' is what I said."
"That's what I thought," Drew replied, giving her a smirking side-eye, which caused more of his hair to cascade over his shoulder.
"But Betty, that won't be enough, will it?"
Betty looked at him with glazed eyes. "It won't?"
"No. I mean, shouldn't there be some sort of diversity committee or officer too? Shouldn't someone review curriculum and activities to ensure that they're inclusive of multiple cultural points of view? Someone needs to set the tone and correct course when necessary. It always becomes necessary."
Drew stood up and started pacing. "I mean, not every field trip can be to see European paintings or listen to traditional classical music, et cetera. Am I correct? Someone's got to make sure that Asian, Native American, African, African-American, Middle Eastern, sub-Asian Indian, and Latin American cultural contributions are taught and experienced too. That doesn't even get into gender and queer experiences. Are you with me? I'm sure I'm missing something.
"And then there's professional development and recruitment to consider. If the student body doesn't reflect the community, I bet the faculty doesn't either. How do you attract and retain talented and motivated professionals from diverse backgrounds? Perhaps we would have to support some kids while they're in college with the stipulation that they guarantee us five years upon graduation. Or maybe we can have some sort of mentorship program to attract people from other professions and show them how rewarding a multifaceted educational institution can be."
Betty turned to follow the animated young man circling the office.
"I mean, mom, did you hear about the survey where more than half of the respondents said we shouldn't teach children Arabic numerals anymore? People are so myopic they don't even know that the numbers we use for everything were developed by the Arabs. I bet even fewer know that the idea of dividing circles – such as globes and clocks – into sixty parts was developed by the Babylonians, who adapted it from the Sumerians.
"I bet most people don't know that the guitar that we love today traces its history back through Spain, then Egypt and finally to Iran, where the Tar was invented and also spawned the dotar and the sitar.
"And you know what else? Mom?" Drew caught himself having a familiar episode of logorrhea. He stopped in midsentence and stared at Betty before exclaiming, "Fuck my black ass!"
Betty looked shocked and then shrieked with laughter, curling sideways in her chair.
Drew came around and sat on his heels in front of her, grabbing her hands in his. They laughed together for a full minute. Drew wrapped both their hands together under his chin and blinked at her in his best come-hither style.
"So, you'll do it, then? Please, Betty? Say, yes! Mom. Mommy." Drew implored.
"What the hell am I supposed to say, `yes' to, fool?" she replied, having a hunch that she was about to be saying "yes" to something.
"Say that you – Oh! And your Marcus too! Say that you and your Marcus will be on Hulstlander's Diversity Advisory Board. Come to dinner tonight with Marcus, and we'll talk about it. Please, mom, please, please, mommy?"
Betty pulled her hands free and clamped them behind Drew's ears. "Do you have head trauma, young one? There is no Diversity Advisory Board. You just pulled that out of your ass. And stop batting those eyes at me. They have no effect at all. None. Not much, anyway. Well, maybe some."
Drew allowed her to grab fistfuls of his hair as he kept looking at her with pleading eyes like a child pressing his case for a new bike. "I know I just made it up, mom. But, what do you think is going to happen when I show up at the school with the first of my annual twenty-five-million-dollar contributions, and casually mention, `And one condition is that you have to establish a diversity advisory board.' Do you think they're going to rip up the check?"
Drew put his head in her lap and gently embraced her hips as she began stroking his long dirty blond hair and caressing his face.
"You'll do this for me, mom, right? You love me, right? I know that I love you. When people love each other as much as we do, they do things for each other. Sometimes even big important things."
Betty continued to stroke Drew's hair and cooed, "Yes, baby, I love you." She froze. Did she just tell her boss of not even half a day that she loved him? But he told her first. Is this a joke?
Betty realized that she had never met anyone quite like Andrew Tarnow. She had always been the one to be in charge and set rules and boundaries in both her personal and professional lives. Her Marcus would sometimes jokingly call her "Betty Boundaries" because of all the lectures she gave about establishing appropriate boundaries.
As she looked at her professional manicure holding in her lap the handsome face of her boss, she realized that "Betty Boundaries" had left the building.
She knew she was defeated. She sighed.
"Thank you, mom," Drew whispered into her thigh. "Thank you for bringing your Marcus to dinner so we can all get to know each other. If he's anything like you, I'll be in love with him before the stroke of midnight. By the way, we're usually nude at home."
"I presumed you would be," Betty laughed as she stroked his ear.
"You can be or not. Wear whatever is comfortable. We might eat outside. Casual, comfortable, carefree, convivial," Drew added encouragingly.
Drew lifted his face off her lap and looked at her with his puppy dog eyes again. "Mom! Please be my assistant. Like, my `forever' assistant. You'd be so good for me, and `I'd be surprisingly good for you, too,'" Drew sang from Evita, astounding her with the beauty of his singing voice.
He sat up taller. "You can cancel the interview for what's-his-face and tell him the position's been eliminated. Think of all the fun we'll have even as we get our work done!"
Betty leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Oh, baby, I can't. I'm only here because Doctor Gupta is on vacation this week. I'm committed to her and really enjoy working for her. I've been with her for more than ten years. I can't break that commitment. Although I have to admit that she doesn't have a handsome footman," she mused.
"I'll bring my Marcus every day! He'll stand in front of your desk and do whatever you ask. Please, mom," Drew begged.
Betty kissed his forehead again. "No, baby. As tempting as it sounds, I can't. Besides, it wouldn't be fair to Mister Higgins to cancel less than an hour before his appointment." Betty looked at her watch. "Goodness, less than twenty minutes before his appointment!"
"How can I conduct an interview with a broken heart," Drew pleaded.
Betty pushed his forehead away teasingly and said, "Butch it up, Drew. Butch it up."
He stood up and offered his hand to assist her in standing. Once on her feet, he wrapped her in an embrace. "You're an angel, Betty Robinson. Now, go call your Marcus to tell him about dinner so that I can finally fall in love with him as I've done with his mother." He kissed her twice more. "Seven o'clock, or whenever you get there. My home number is in my profile. Tell them any dietary restrictions or preferences you have."
She allowed him to kiss her cheek yet again before she swatted his ass, only mildly surprised how tight and hard it was. "Butch it up," she repeated and walked out of the office.
Drew returned to his desk and dictated notes into his digital assistant about what he and Betty discussed about Hulstlander. She would receive a copy of the audio file and verify that it got properly transcribed.
He also sent a text to his butler, Winston, to ask Marcus and Jaleel if they might be able to join them for dinner.
Then he pulled up Sean Higgins' resume and cover letter to prepare for the interview. The letter was exceedingly well composed, but the resume was thin on work experience. Either Sean was quite young, or he had something going on that he didn't want to disclose.
He was a graduate of Vanderbilt University with a double degree in Business Administration and Communications, but it didn't list the year of graduation, which was clever.
Drew wondered why someone with that background would want the position of an executive assistant. It would seem he was preparing himself for some other kind of career.
He was sure to be a letdown from Betty, but it might make for an interesting conversation anyway.
Drew walked out of the office, offering an "I love you" to Betty on his way to the men's room. He did his business, dabbed his piss slit with a square of toilet tissue to make certain he wouldn't mark his pants, straightened out his clothing and hair, then washed his hands.
He blew a kiss to Betty upon his return. She flipped him the bird, which made him guffaw. He noticed that Betty had refilled the water pitcher and replaced the used tumblers with fresh ones in his absence.
He had just a few minutes before Betty's professional voice came over the digital assistant, "Mister Tarnow, Mister Sean Higgins is here for his interview."
"Send him in when he's ready. Ask if he needs to freshen up," Drew replied.
"I have done so. He is ready when you are," she said with just the slightest hint of irritation in her voice that he would think she hadn't taken care of that.
Drew stood as the door opened and Betty lead Sean Higgins inside. Drew met them in the center of the office and asked, "Would you prefer sitting across the desk, or here?" He gestured to the loveseat and armchairs.
"This will suit me fine, sir," Sean said in a surprisingly deep voice.
Sean Higgins stood about five-feet, six inches tall. He was very slim with wiry orange-red hair. He had a matching beard of moderate length that he let grow longer at his chin. Drew immediately imagined that beard tickling his penis. Concentrate, Drew!
He had a thin, but very handsome face with a few freckles scattered about.
Betty arched her eyebrow to Drew behind Sean's back in acknowledgment of the young man's appearance as he set his purse on the small coffee table in front of the loveseat and removed his lace gloves before offering his hand to Drew to shake.
Drew accepted the proffered hand and noted the firm grasp of the delicate-looking hand with a perfect gel manicure while he maintained professional eye contact with the job prospect.
"How do you prefer to be addressed," Drew inquired.
"Just Sean is fine, thank you. Some people call me `Higgins' because it sounds so Downton Abbey."
Both men chuckled and Drew invited Sean to sit. He gave a quick once-over as Sean looked down to take his seat.
The interviewee wore a business suit that appeared to be the same color and material as Drew's own, only Sean's would normally be seen on a woman. It had a slim profile high-waisted jacket without lapels and three-quarter sleeves. It was cinched tightly with a single button. He wore no shirt, blouse, or shell under the jacket, so a tuft of trimmed chest hair was visible in his decolletage.
The matching pencil skirt with a four-inch center slit came down just past his knees, revealing calves covered in orange-red hair.
Sean wore simple dark brown loafers that could have been for men or women. His wiry hair was held fast with a few gold hair clasps decorated with amethysts. As Sean sat, Drew noticed that he had also fastened what might have been drop amethyst earrings to his beard, but there were three of them decorating his chin instead of a pair.
Drew sat and deliberated whether he should make a remark. What the hell. "Betty, look, we're wearing the same colors. It must be aubergine and amethyst Thursday. Don't we have great taste," he joked.
Betty looked back and forth. "Mister Higgins has great taste. You, sir, don't pick out your own clothes, so you have nothing to brag about. Now, can I get either of you something to drink besides water?"
Betty ran down a list of options. Drew stuck with plain water. Sean chose cucumber water. Betty returned post haste with a tumbler for Sean and then retreated again, closing the door behind her.
"Ok, Sean, Let's get started. First, make yourself comfortable. As you probably know, this is a new division of the medical center's research arm, so I can't tell you all about our long and storied traditions. We're making it up as we go along.
"I am in charge of data modeling and database architecture, I answer to Quincy Saunders, whom you will meet after we chat. I will have approximately thirty people under my supervision once we're ramped up. I intend to assemble a motivated and self-directed staff who don't need minute-by-minute handholding. I would expect the same out of my assistant – you, should you be the successful candidate.
"I also intend to allow most staffers to work offsite up to three days per week unless they prove unable to accomplish their goals and need closer supervision. Unfortunately, that would not apply to you. I would need you to be here to play gatekeeper and sanity check. I will probably mandate that everyone be onsite every Thursday so that we can have face-to-face meetings and set our goals for the following week.
"I also intend to work from home at least parts of several days per week. As my assistant, you will have the option of remaining here or working in my home office. I don't care which you choose. You would have to share my office with me at home. It is set up – and plenty large enough – for two, but you wouldn't have your own private space to get away from me. "
Drew maintained a pleasant tone and confident eye contact with Sean, who looked away only to take a sip of his cucumber water. Drew took a breath and unbuttoned his suit jacket. Sean did the same, revealing a toned and tight abdomen lightly dusted with hair. There was no sixpack, but there was no flab either.
"So," Drew continued after taking a sip of his own water and using the opportunity to scan Sean once again, "Let's talk about you. You have two degrees in Business Administration and Communications from Vanderbilt, which is quite impressive. But I wouldn't think this position would be an obvious choice for someone with that career preparation. Why here? Why now? Why me?"
Sean smiled, which cause his beard danglies to jiggle. "Diplomatic yet direct. I like that. How would you prefer to be addressed?"
"I like to be called `Drew,' thank you."
"I like your directness, Drew. I did not enroll at Vanderbilt with the intention of becoming an executive assistant. I fancy myself a bit of a writer, hence the Communications degree, but I knew that I would likely need something more practical until such time as I might be able to earn my keep with my words." Sean shifted in his chair, leaning forward a little closer to Drew.
Drew interjected, "That explains why your cover letter was so well written. It was the best one I've seen. Bravo on that."
"Thank you. I know dozens of words," Sean joked. "After I graduated two years ago, I joined my sister's newly-founded catering business while I searched for a `real' job. I found that I liked the idea of working behind the scenes, quietly making things happen, yet being able to observe while still assisting. I also seemed to be gifted as an organizer and planner.
"My sister took on a few other employees, and they developed a romantic bond. I won't say I felt shut out, but they entered into a multilateral marriage comprised of two husbands and three wives. They just weren't utilizing my time very much.
"When I saw the opening for this position, I began researching it – and you, if I'm honest. It seemed like a place where I might enjoy working, and you might enjoy having me work." Sean let out his breath as if he had just finished a rehearsed monologue.
"What was it about me that you learned and were attracted to," Drew asked.
"Well," Sean paused, wondering how much he should tell. "I think I learned most of all that you are enigmatic, which is the most attractive thing a person can be in my book. I also learned that you have all `that' going on from some photos on the Carnegie Mellon alumni website," he said while circling his palm in front of Drew's handsome face.
"I also learned that your mom, Rose, was a bank teller, your dad, Konrad, was a plumber, and your older brother, Daniel, is an assistant soccer coach at Duke. I appreciate that you come from people who know how to work. I am the same. My mom and dad have a dairy farm in Tennessee."
Drew sipped his water. "I applaud your research skills. I think that would serve you well in this position. I suspect that you would have the opportunity to observe a lot here too. We're all going to appear in your novel, I suspect."
"Is there anything else you'd care to share? Perhaps you'll tell me something about myself that I don't know," Drew quipped.
Sean reached to scratch the back of his neck as he contemplated what to say. His jacket fell open even wider to expose his pierced nipples. They were both adorned with gold bars with tiny amethysts on either end. He does like his jewelry, Drew thought.
Sean noticed where Drew was looking and smiled. "Too much?"
Drew grinned. "Whatever you prefer."
Sean decided to throw caution to the wind. "Oh, one other thing I learned is that you like your nipples tortured a little bit too on occasion, and you and your son Channing are enthusiastic lovers who like to offer your bodies to other men for their enjoyment."
Drew clapped his hands together. "You certainly are a thorough researcher. All of that is true, but how could you possibly know? Excellent work, except that, as of last week, Channing now goes by the name Tianbao."
Sean was relieved that Drew wasn't freaked out by such intimate knowledge. He was also surprised how readily he admitted the truth of it. "Well, that wasn't any research skill on my part. I happened to stop at the Primrose Farm Bed and Breakfast on my way down here from Tennessee. They were officially closed, but they offered to let me share their bed, which I accepted. They are gracious and energetic hosts."
Drew laughed. He and Tian stopped at the mountainside nudist retreat on their way down from Pennsylvania. They spent three wonderful days there making love with Cody and Victor, the owners, as well as with many other men who were there for a one-day gay gathering.
Drew could feel some building pressure in his penis at the memories. It was not lost on Sean. The two men took a tangent from the official job interview to discuss the wonder that is Primrose Farm, and all the fun they each had there.
Drew did not disclose that he was involved in strawman negotiations to purchase a couple of adjoining parcels to double the size of the retreat and add more housing accommodations for some of the staff.
After about ten minutes, both men sported major erections. Drew felt comfortable remarking about the size of Sean's erection since they had just shared stories of their sexual adventures.
For a man of five and a half feet and very slight build, Sean's footlong erection was quite remarkable. Sean allowed that his physiology was one of the main reasons he began to wear skirts and dresses: he attracted a lot of unwanted attention any time he wore pants as a teenager and got a surprise boner.
He could have stayed with his original choice of kilts, especially considering how his family played up their Irish lineage; but, Sean liked the idea of pushing boundaries. He soon felt comfortable enough that he almost always wears women's clothes when he chooses to wear clothes at all.
Drew smiled. "It's ironic, isn't it? You started wearing women's clothes because your prototypically male characteristic was too big and manly to be accommodated by men's clothes."
Sean agreed. "I never quite thought of it in those terms, but, yes, I suppose it is the very definition of irony. It's doubly ironic that the thing I started doing to keep myself from being the object of uninvited attention has morphed into a manner of dress that attracts even more attention than my disproportionate genitals.
"If this weren't a job interview, I'd offer to show you my package," Sean said.
"If this weren't a job interview, I'd accept," Drew replied.
Drew brought the conversation fully back to business for the last several minutes of their allotted time. There were two raps on the door. After a moment's pause, Betty stuck her head in to say that Quincy Saunders was ready for Sean whenever Drew was finished with his interview.
The two men rose, both sporting ghosts of their former erections. Both buttoned their jackets. Drew offered, "I'll walk Sean over to Quincy's office to make introductions. Sean, please come back to say goodbye before you go."
"Thank you, Drew," Sean offered in his deep voice. Do you mind if I leave my purse here?"
"Not at all."
"Feel free to rummage through it to get a read on my personality," Sean offered. It would, of course, be left untouched by either Drew or Betty.
They walked across the hall where Drew gave an enthusiastic introduction of Sean to Quincy, the latter of whom betrayed no reaction to Sean's unusual appearance. Drew used some barely veiled coded language to indicate to Quincy that he thinks Sean is the successful candidate for the position, then returned to his office.
Drew busied himself for about three-quarters of an hour until Sean returned. He looked excited and relieved.
"Did it go well, Sean?"
"I'm pretty certain it did. Quincy kept using the future tense rather than the conditional, so I think I'm being seriously considered," Sean observed as he once again unbuttoned his jacket, revealing his bare abdomen underneath.
Drew stepped around his desk to shake hands with Sean. "I'm hopeful that I will be seeing you again very soon. I'm nearly certain of it."
Betty stepped in, sensing that it was time to escort Sean out of the suite. Sean stooped to retrieve his purse from the coffee table and Drew walked the young man to the door.
As Betty accompanied Sean to the bank of elevators, she noticed his hands. "Mister Higgins, I think you left your gloves in Drew's office."
"Yes, thank you. I know," Sean replied with a smile as he stepped into the elevator.