Page 8 of My Forbidden Boss
“Honestly, if I am totally upfront with you, Tisha, I have to say that I would sort of be relieved if you… you know… committed to this whole big move that you are making with your life… abandoning the old, learning from the past, starting fresh, opening up to something better. You’ve already started, whether you realize it or not! You are changing your life, really… taking that first deep plunge into whatever woman you will be by this time next year. Before you know it, you will be five years in the future… How old will you be then? I bet at that point, you’ll just blink, and another ten years will have flown by. Ten years! You have plenty of time, though, right? After all, you can just stay single and alone until then… Why not wait until you’re in your forties to start dating again? You’re right. It’s too easy for us now, while we’re vibrant and young. There’s no fun in it. Let’s wait until we’re sprouting grey hairs from our ears and have a nice retirement plan in place. You can grab your walker, and I’ll roll around my oxygen tank. We’ll split up for efficiency; I’ll take stock of the shuffleboard crowd, and you can scout out bingo night.”
My momentary feeling that Brandon was issuing a compliment vanished quickly as he kept going on, spouting sentence after sentence somewhere between a sermon and a lecture.
“It is just so inspiring to see you making those kinds of choices, knowing full well that your decisions today will snowball into the person you will become before you even realize that your life is already half spinning down the drain. It would sincerely give me tremendous hope and perspective when considering my own prospects in life, seeing you stepping out so confidently into this big adventure, searching out and testing your boundaries, exploring the limits to what you really desire… trying to take a firm, tight grasp with both hands around that big throbbing thing that you just can’t get enough of. That thing that really fills you up, provides you pleasure, and pipes you with plenty of warmth… like a piston rocking and pressing, growing in length and breadth until it swells and hardens, stretching your limits from the inside out and squeezing deeper, teasing you until you start to want it more. Plowing your inner fields until you feel ripe, wet, fertile, and fiending to be covered with seed, calling for it to punish you past your limits and lead you moaning, gasping beyond those boundaries that you could never get past on your own. That solid tool that you confidently take hold of and use without shame, riding its fountain of energy and slowly pulling it deeper within you inch by inch, letting it overpower your will to resist and begging its take a tight, controlling grasp of your position, restricting your movements to only those which bring you more fulfillment, dictating every hole in your life that you want filled…”
He took in a long deep breath and lowered his voice, flipping his hand through the air. “You’re right, Tish, who needs that external stimulus – you know, the one you thirst for in your wildest fantasies, working it with your body until the effort sends sweet shivers down your spine and pulses of electricity rippling rivers of ecstasy inside of you… it lets you stretch out on your back and just take it all in…”
It hadn’t taken long for me to catch on to the seemingly endless string of innuendos streaming from Brandon’s speech. My cheeks grew hotter and hotter, burning initially with embarrassment before some of his entendre actually started to grow into mental images affecting my pulse and making me blush. I was transfixed, even as he continued.
“It’s impressive for you to do all of that, seeing as you seem content with your legs tied together, gathering dust. All that I am saying is that I’m relieved. It would be a whole lot more difficult for me to convince some sporty stud named Stewart at the bar that he’s always been a little bi-curious when he’s busy taking mental pictures of you for his next sabbatical into studly Stewie’s special shower time… you know, his next shuffle of the snake, the nightly recurring wrestle to wrangle his rattler. Tish, cut it out. I’m not kidding around.”
I was silently laughing, more impressed with Brandon’s eloquence and imagination than his relative rudeness. But the blatant attack against me, bundled up in humor, was impossible for me to actually respond to in words.
“This is serious stuff, Tisha. You have to know what you’d be missing out on, passing up a night to share a slow dance or strap-on with Sergeant Stewart… Stuntman Stew… Street Surgeon Stewie… sexy, studly Stewart, the shirtless wonder. I’m talking about a man you’d be missing out on, a sleuth of sexuality, that stud named Stew. He’s hypothetically stocky, suave, sensual, and seductive… a celebrated scientist who happens to be captain of the Swedish swim team and a crowned champion in cunnilingus, by the way. Future societies will erect powerful pillars – phallic palaces, too prosperous for princes that stretch high beyond any bush – monuments meant to ennoble the pure perfection of his penis. Their histories will call him the sensei of stimulation, the oracle of orgasms, and the titan of tongue techniques…”
I tried to keep it together, but Brandon was standing there in my kitchen with eyebrows arched and face so sincere, holding his arms outstretched to the heavens and leaning so artfully and gracefully while he spoke… It was like he was rehearsing Shakespeare or, rather, remembering the script for some internet pothead’s porno parody.
As my friend continued ceremoniously with his fantastic poetry, I soundlessly crouched into a standing squat against the kitchen wall, hugging my knees to my breathless chest as my sides heaved from the hilarity on display before me. I shied my own snickering into suspended silence, terrified that any outburst would derail his concentration and ruin the charade. Still, my lungs shrieked and screamed for air as my sides only further split into stitches.
I listened, spellbound, following Brandon’s vivid illustration with increasing fervor and intensity.
“You see, if you weren’t so stuck on abstinence, you’d be the one writhing and bobbing your head in Stewart’s filthy mind, seducing him with a fiery passion during his slippery serpent squeezing session. But that’s okay, Hun. That just means there’s more big ol’ cocks out there for me to pick from.”
I couldn’t stay silent any longer. The audacity was too unreal. After all, I actually had just met this guy.
“Brandon! You are so dirty!”
My face was burgundy with embarrassment, but he didn’t seem to notice. Brandon just kept going with the guilt trip of the century.
“We can even search out a little pussy to try if that’s your thing. I don’t judge! But, honestly, don’t make me do this alone. Not when we could have so much more fun together. And I know you don’t have anything better to do, so don’t even try to lie your way out of it. Aren’t you tired of boxes made out of cardboard? Wouldn’t you rather go taste some nice wine and see if there’s a cute guy there who wouldn’t mind having a taste for himself? Maybe he’ll want to come over and help you unpack your box? Yeah? Emphasis on ‘come?’ Why not let him do all the work for a change?”
“Brandon!”
“Oh, please, girl. If you think that’s dirty, then maybe this whole friendship isn’t going to work out after all… Maybe it’s doomed! I fully expect to hear every explicit detail afterward, if and when anything does happen.”
“You have no restraints, do you?!”
He smiled slyly, despite my superfluous scolding. “Only if he brings them.”
My voice caught in the face of his sheer audacity, but my sudden silence didn’t last for long. I laughed hard for what seemed like an eternity. I just couldn’t help it. Brandon shrugged innocently, and soon his giggles joined my own.
When I finally regained my breath, only to voice yet another effort at an excuse, his expression darkened.
“But… How nice of a place is it? I don’t even have anything to wear!”
He crossed his arms, almost angrily. “Um, pardon me, do you think I’m just some ornament that hangs on the wall? I think it’s time you see the masterpiece that I’ve created in the other room. I would say, ‘the masterpiece that I’ve created in your closet.’ It’s more like your bedroom is the closet, and… well, let’s just say that you might want to find yourself a cot or something for that cupboard in the wall where your clothes were supposedly intended to go. That way, at least you’ll have somewhere to sleep.”
I covered my face and shook my head. “I know! I was half asleep when I stumbled in there to go to bed last night, but I remember now being more than a little confused when I had to wander through a labyrinth of clothes racks just to find the mattress.”
He flicked his wrist, impatiently waving me back into silence.
“Anyway, I already have several outfits picked out for you to try on once we’ve dealt with hair and makeup. What’s next? What other reasons not to go are you going to try? I think that you are running out of excuses, my dear… not that any of them were legitimate, to begin with.”
My mouth hung open, but it quickly devolved into a smile of truce. Looking at Brandon’s haughty little expression of impatient expectation, I couldn’t help but cave. He even reached up and angled the side of his head my way, tilting his ear like a radar dish waiting to hear whatever bullshit excuse I decided to come up with next.
“Okay, fine. We’ll go… Wait! Wait!”
He only slightly retracted his hands from my forehead, already reaching for my hairline.