Jul/Aug 2005  •   Fiction


by Cheryl Diane Kidder

Even though he preferred to wear fishnet stockings under his jeans at work and was always talking about how his ex-girlfriend refused to pee on him, I kind of liked him. He'd said before it would be easy, a snap. I had told him I didn't have the money for daycare this month, and he told me what I could do to fix it. All I had to do was pocket the overages and report the count even. Nobody would know. I was no bookkeeper, but he was cute enough, and we were stuck up in the office for hours at a time.

"Richard doesn't check on shit like that," and he leaned over to leer at me a little. "Plus you have me in your back pocket."

"I do?"

"Yeah, baby." He spread his legs and started mindlessly rubbing his thighs like he was getting ready for something big, maybe to get on a horse, start an engine, or throw me against the wall.

"What if I get caught?" I asked him. It was the day before the bill was actually due, and I'd thought about it all night long, wondering if he'd make me pee on him to keep quiet, or if I'd have to wear the fishnets.

"You won't get caught." He walked over and stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders. "How's about I come over tonight?" As he watched me, waiting for my answer, I put two twenties and a ten dollar bill aside, bundled up the rest of the cash and stuck it in the bank deposit bag.

He leaned in close and said, "Good girl," then slid his tongue around the outside of my ear. My back straightened. He rubbed my shoulders, pulling back on them, throwing my chest out in front of me at an odd angle.

"I'll be over by ten." He walked to his desk and turned his back to me.

I started breathing again, stuffed the $50 into my jeans pocket, picked up the bank deposit bag and the keys, and walked out the door, still feeling the weight of his hands on my shoulders, my breasts tingling in anticipation of what he would bring me tonight.