Alan in the Office Ch. 03

Sylvie's "colored girl" persona flew an Electric Blue mood today. The beads in her cornrows matched her contacts, ear piercings and sandals. A shimmering bodysuit clung to her jet-black skin like an icy midnight ocean wave. She radiated anxiety.

"Do you really think the crews at STUDIO S are in danger?" I asked nervously.

"I hope not, but I just don't know," Sylvie sighed. "Signe and I checked the tapes from our outside surveillance cameras for the last couple weeks and we didn't see anyone suspicious, nobody who looked like the descriptions Andrea gave us. But just because we don't see them, doesn't mean they aren't there."

"Yeah, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. Well Sylvie, you run the show here. You have contingency plans for keeping Andrea safe, right?"

"The best we can do is for her to leave the area, hopefully pretty far. You have contacts in Seattle and Santa Barbara. But they might be too near, too west coast, too vulnerable to thugs from Beijing. I have some friends back around Denver and Boulder. Andrea would probably be secure there. But damn, I'll miss her!"

Sylvie and I sat side-by-side on top of her long ivory desk. I pulled her close, snuggled her shoulder, and stroked her arm. She wrung her hands as she talked.

"Safety is more important than business, that's a given. But we've got to think of the business also. How would Andrea's absence affect your operations here?"

"No problem, Alan. We have a pretty big backlog of Andrea's designs. We could keep going for a few months. And Andrea can always ship us designs from wherever she's working. We would just miss her direct input on almost-finished products."

I massaged Sylvie's tight dark neck muscles. She almost started to relax.

"Moira and I haven't sat in on all the design review sessions. We're confident you can handle those on your own. Do you see any other problems?"

"I don't think her absence will impact our quality or design edge. But I'll guess we'll just have to find out.

-----

Sylvie put Operation Watertight into effect.

The first part was simple: Get Andrea the hell away from here!

Sylvie, Andrea and I were at Mike and Maggie's hopefully safe coastal cottage on a Monday afternoon. We kept moving about, variously sitting on the couch, standing together, pacing around, and trying to stay cool and calm.

"You guys know I am NOT happy about this! But I really have no choice, have I?"

Andrea's exotically beautiful Eurasian features twisted into a scowl. She fidgeted in her anonymous gray pants suit.

Sylvie straightened her own shimmering sapphire-blue dress. She held tight to her lover-partner. "Baby, this is so goddam hard, but we've just gotta do this. We'll get together as often as we can till this blows over and we can be permanent."

"Can you keep your reunions secure?" I asked.

"Yeah, we can't meet around here or in Colorado, but we can find some places for an under-the-radar rendezvous or three. Some places we can both get to and from quickly and quietly. We'll keep those our secrets, baby," she reassured Andrea.

"Okay, I'll pack for Colorado. Goddam, I'll miss you all!" Andrea sniffled.

"What's the next part of the plan, ladies?"

Sylvie looked at me and sighed.

"The best cover would be success, for the PLA guys. Let Beijing think they've killed her or that she's otherwise dead. Pressure will drop off if they think she's out of the way forever.

"I can think of two ways to accomplish this. The simplest is just to fake her death." Sylvie squeezed her lover.

"Bribe some dieners at downtown morgues to stay alert for unclaimed bodies that resemble hers. Then pull the old switcheroo, or better yet, bribe the diener to forge an ID. Leak a story to a friendly obit writer. Once her death is announced, the PLA thugs will turn their attention elsewhere.

"That's the theory. In practice, we have problems. We can't work with local morgues, not where the PLA might hear about us. So we'll have to concentrate in places without Chinatowns. So finding the right body might be tricky and delayed.

"And, will the PLA be convinced she's dead if they haven't offed her themselves? Will they bite?

"The way around that is also tricky: Fake-out or turn one of the PLA guys. Can they be tricked into blowing-up her home or car, and accept that the body found afterwards is hers? Maybe we'd still need a bribed diener to forge the ID.

"Or can we bribe and/or blackmail a thug to lie to his bosses? For that, we'd need some good intel on the PLA guys, on their characters and weaknesses. But we just don't have that. They've been pretty opaque. And we don't have time for research."

"Okay," I said, "let's suppose you somehow get the PLA to stop looking for Andrea. What then?"

Now it was Andrea's turn to sigh.

"It looks like whatever happens, however this turns out, STUDIO S has to move away from the West Coast, away from any Chinatowns, away from our roots. We could relocate and still be viable. Maybe to Dallas, or Miami, or Memphis, or Atlanta.

"All those Southern cities are growing into fashion centers. Nothing to match San Francisco or New York or even Los Angeles, but the PLA probably won't go South for quite a while. Not enough Overseas Chinese there." Andrea looked pensive.

"But that will mean breaking up the team here. You guys," nodding at me, and meaning those of us with careers in the SF Bay Area, "aren't going to migrate, no way. We could probably persuade some of the hired team here to move, but they could be replaced with locals where we go. It just means a totally different STUDIO S."

And now it was my own turn to sigh.

"One thing for sure: Andrea's safety, and the safety of all of us, is paramount. No compromises there. I'll talk with Moira but I'm sure she'll agree with our course of action." (Moira and I are the majority owners, remember?)

"So, I'm giving you the preliminary go-ahead. Andrea, get your ass out of town, NOW! Sylvie, start looking for dieners to bribe." Sylvie nodded.

"And let's have an exit strategy. Maybe use a plan like: you've already moved STUDIO S to Miami, and Andrea's OD'd body is found in Spokane or Missoula or someplace else nowhere near here and Florida. Maybe ship the body back here for cremation. You can work out the details.

"Get going on these NOW. Andrea, Sylvie, we love you! Stay safe." I hugged them.

Sylvie pushed me back, held my face, and said, "Alan, we need a favor."

"Yes?" Cautiously. I adjusted my black blazer.

"Andrea can't safely fly out of any Bay Area airport -- the PLA could be watching. There's a morning flight from Reno to Denver. Reno is a four-hour drive from here. Could you take her to Reno?" Sylvie's ebony visage was imploring.

Andrea's dark Oriental eyes pierced me. "I have enough bags packed. Sylvie can ship the rest of my stuff. I can go any time."

I thought to myself, "Why me?" and then I thought, "Why not?"

"Let me leave a message for Moira. Then, let's roll." I reached for the desk phone, a purple Princess.

Andrea's bags were in the Audi's trunk and we were spinning away seven minutes later. Four of those minutes elapsed as Andrea and I hugged and kissed Sylvie.

And we were off. Andrea wore a floppy black hat, and huge dark glasses, and a dark paisley silk scarf, to disguise her features. She still sank low in the front passenger seat. Paranoia strikes deep... and even paranoids have enemies.

I drove across the Peninsula to US-101, then into The City where we caught I-80 and crossed the Bay Bridge. No toll stop in this direction.

We spun by Berkeley, paid the Carquinez Straight bridge toll into Vallejo, and fell into the Central Valley. The sun was down by the time we passed Sacramento. Andrea ditched most of her disguise, just keeping the scarf turbaned with drooping ends obscuring her face.

We had not talked much so far. Andrea was obviously thinking hard, distracted by her hard new reality. Around Auburn, we started climbing into the Sierra Nevada mountains, and Andrea started talking.

"Alan, I know I've given you a hard time ever since we met in Portsmouth Square."

"Yeah, you're a bit of a ball-buster, even when we're fucking and sucking and slurping like wild weasels, but I love you anyway." I grinned at her.

"Hey guy, you and Sylvie really are my best friends. I love how you're doing so much for me. I just want to say, I really appreciate you, and I love you, and I want to apologize for any attitude I'm dumped on you."

She put her hand on my thigh. "I really can't thank you enough."

Her hand move onto my stiffening schlong. "But I can try, a little bit."

She unzipped my fly and slipped my cock out of my boxers. I stood to attention.

Andrea leaned over me and took me in her mouth, directly and firmly.

And that's how we spent the next two hours, Andrea calmly fellating me, never fast, never approaching too close to my orgasm, just keeping me at a steady burn. Exquisite torture! And she calls this a thank-you? G'zzz...

I was in no shape to drive back to San Francisco from Reno tonight. We thought to check into an airport hotel, then decided we would be safer somewhere more anonymous. We found an old motel along the Truckee River.

I picked up the room phone and called Moira at home with a situation report.

"Hey hon, talked to Sylvie lately?" I asked while Andrea unpacked and undressed.

"Sure thing, I'm up to speed. Everything OK out there?" Moira sounded a bit tense.

"So far, so good. I should be back by early afternoon." I was undressing too. My trousers hit the floor.

"You're all straight at the office? Anything I should do or know?" No names named.

"Got it wired. See ya for dinner. Love ya, hon." Andrea tugged at my dress shirt.

"Have fun, and don't get caught! Love ya too, babe." Moira hung up. I stretched.

"Let's get clean, Alan. I want to wash away whatever has settled on me."

"Good idea," I said, following as she led me to the shower by my cock.

We carefully cleansed each other. I scrubbed herbal shampoo into Andrea's thick jet mane and massaged her braincase till she came. She knelt and blew me till I was steel-rod hard. The shower stall was too small for a full up-against-the-tiles bent-over-and-screaming fuck, so we dried, and tore the covers off the king bed.

Andrea welcomed me with open thighs. I insisted on eating her first. Not a slow sensuous lip-stroll up her silky thighs to her steaming treasure, nope. Dive in and chow down! Finger-lickin' good!

After her next orgasms, she insisted on reciprocity. Who was I to deny her oral fixation? But my own mouth still hungered, so I pulled her atop me, her pulsating pussy back onto my mouth, for a few minutes of mutual joy.

Andrea did admirable work on my cock, especially considering how distracted she was by my slurping her tasty engorged clit. I felt a series of small orgasms.

"Okay, enough," Andrea said as she rolled off me and flipped around. "Time to get serious."

She straddled my hips and slid my straining hardon straight into her screaming-for-action cunt. I groaned. She moaned, "Oh yeah."

Andrea moved on me, up and down, back and forth, round and round, amen. She prayed with every magical motion: "O god o god o god o god o..."

Each set of my fingers cupped a good handful of her splendid breasts.

Andrea's pounding increased in velocity and intensity. Faster! Harder!

She spoke-moaned a constant incomprehensible litany, words and phrases in no known human language. Her movements became a blur. I pinched her nipples HARD. ZAP! She screamed something in Urdu or Nahuatl, and collapsed on me, soaking me, overflowing.

I flipped her again, into doggy position, butt up, chin down, tits shoved into a pillow. I slammed into her. Oh damn, her red-hot pussy felt so good! Oh damn!

I was already rather stimulated. I did not last long -- just long enough to inject her with what felt like boiling gallons of hot molten love.

We sprawled in bed awhile, nearly insensate. We managed to drag ourselves back to the shower. I am not sure who dragged the most. But we somehow got clean and dry, and back into bed for a long night's sleep.

I woke in the dead of night with a warm mouth on my cock. Imagine that!

The alarm clock conspired with our wake-up call to drive us from our warm smelly bed. Well, after a morning fuck, of course, with plenty of banging and yelling. Her last scream of "Oh fuck, Alan!" nearly deafened me.

We dressed, ate an uninspired casino breakfast of adequate eggs-ham-biscuit (me) and granola (her), and rolled to the terminal at Reno-Tahoe International.

Andrea wore a long grey dress and was back in her big-floppy-hat-and-sunglasses disguise. We sat at the exit gate till her flight was called. (Airport security was rather different back in the mid-1980s.) We did not see any likely PLA thugs.

"Damn, Alan, this feels like goodbye. I know it isn't. I know I'll be back. Back with you, and with Sylvie, and with Moira and Mags and Mike and all of you. I just don't know when. Damn, this is going to be hard." She leaned into me.

"Yeah, it'll be hard, no bullshit." I braced her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

"We'll get past this. We'll keep you safe. Sylvie will finesse the situation. Her plan will work. You'll have a new identity in a new place. We'll miss having you around but we'll still get together, and you'll be with Sylvie again before long.

"But enough of the pep talk. Just keep on being *you*. What you create is striking and beautiful and important. Just like you are. Please don't change." I kissed her mouth. She pressed against me, pushing her noticable tits into me.

Boarding call. Time to go. Another embrace and kiss, and she was on her way.

******************** 9: And back to the usual grind - grind me, baby!

The four-hour drive back from Reno would be tedious, alone. I stopped for a young couple hitchhiking at the Virginia Street (old US-395) on-ramp. They smelled as if they had been on the road and rough for some days, but I enjoyed the conversation.

"Wow man, thanks for the lift! Going all the way to The City, huh? That's a trip! Groovy!" he said from the Audi's back seat after shoving their backpacks inside.

Trip? Groovy? Oh lord, I have a throwback here. Sigh...

The girl caught my mood. "Oh, don't mind him, he's been out in the sun too long, laying around Pyramid Lake for a good tan and vibes, but he's just fried now."

She looked back at him affectionately, as if at a cute puppy.

"He's Chad, I'm Elle, and we were up around the Modoc Caves most of this last week. We followed the Indian trail there. It'll be good to get home and get clean."

"And home is...?" I asked, noting their ground-in dusty jeans and tie-dyed tees.

"We're in a collective by City College, not far from the Cow Palace," Chad gushed. "Nothing outrageous, just righteous organic living and deep meditation. I've already got a good mantra. OWA-TAGU-SIAM! OWA-TAGU-SIAM! Wow man, it's righteous!"

Pretty brunette Elle and I exchanged eyeball rolls.

I was reminded of a software conference at Esalan in Big Sur where the keynote speaker was the brilliant Dr Timothy Leary. Five minutes into his talk, I was convinced he had ingested WAY too much LSD. Chad gave off the same multi-tracked vibe.

Chad may also have been a bit manic-depressive. Or maybe his internal or external stimulants just wore off. Adrenaline metabolizes, y'know. Anyway, his bounciness suddenly evaporated.

"Hey guys, if you don't mind, I'm gonna crash. Bye now."

Chad leaned back against their packs and was snoring thirty seconds later.

"Cool boyfriend you have there," I snarked at Elle in the front passenger seat.

"Umm well, he's more like a traveling companion. We have our own rooms, and he isn't in mine all that much. I only went on this run with him 'cause I didn't want to be alone and he was available. I'll be rid of him after this semester anyway."

"You're students then?"

"Yeah, Chad's studying Native American spirituality, but I'm going for dental tech training. I think that's better than knowing how to tie spirit bundles."

Elle stretched her arms over her head. Her honeydew-melon-size breasts pushed her colorful tee out nicely. Hardened nipple points demonstrated her bralessness.

Elle noticed that I noticed, and smiled sweetly.

"How about you? What takes you to the City by the Bay?"

"I'm a poet, but my poems are only read by machines."

"Huh?" This was a new one for her.

"I'm a computer programmer. Programs are the world's weirdest poetry. I work for a software house. My warez just count pennies, stuff like that, nothing profound. Just boring stuff."

"So you're like those guys I see in the movies, wearing white lab coats and pocket protectors while big tape reels spin around and lights flash?" Elle smiled coyly.

"Don't believe Hollywood. There are big machines and even a few tape reels left, but most of the ops people just wear street clothes, like any other office workers. And I just have a desk job. Only difference, there's a big terminal on my desk."

"That doesn't sound too sexy," Elle said.

She stretched and did her nipple pushouts again. She noticed that I noticed again.

"You'd be surprised," I grinned at her.

"Y'know, we really are thankful you're giving us this long ride. Would you like to see just how thankful I can be?" She brushed her had over my crotch. Hey, Andrea thanked me the same way, right here, just yesterday evening!

Elle unzipped me and freed my hardening cock. She gave me some preliminary strokes.

"Mmmm, that's pretty impressive. Clean, too! Mind if I have a taste?"

Without waiting for my answer, Elle leaned down and engulfed me. Mmm, mmm, good!

Traffic was light over Donner Pass today. Good thing. I switched-on cruise control so I needed to concentrate only on steering and feeling. And I felt GOOD!

Elle was a superlative on-the-road cocksucker. She worked a bit faster and stronger than Andrea had less than a day before, but she was just as careful not to bring me off too quickly, too explosively.

It felt like she was giving me a continuous low-grade orgasm -- but any orgasm lasting over an hour cannot really be called low-grade, can it?

Elle finished me off around the exit leading to Folsom Prison. I kept my eyes open and the steering wheel steady as she drained my testicles dry and swallowed every milliliter of my man juice. My urethra was nearly smoking by then.

"Hot damn, lady, that was pretty awesome," I gasped quietly. Chad still snored.

Elle smiled as she carefully stuffed my drained dick back into my trousers.

"Yeah, well, Chad may be into American Indian stuff, but I've taken advanced training in the Kama Sutra and other India Indian love work. And you're welcome."

I stopped in Sacramento for hot tea. Our Welsh friends Mike and Mags, and our Canadian friends Jock and Althea, had given me a taste for sweet strong black tea with milk. (I was raised on black coffee. This sweet milky tea combo used to mess with my prejudices, but I have adapted.)

Elle bought a more sedate herbal tea. Chad still slept. Worn out by hallucinogens?

We exploited Chad's snoring near-coma a half-hour later. I took the Napa-Sonoma turnoff, then spun onto a little side road I knew of. We stopped next to a downed log in a grove of trees that blocked us from view.

Elle blew me to stiffness again. She stripped off her sweat top -- no bra. She dropped her jeans and rolled onto the log, butt in the air, looking over her shoulder at me. I stood behind her. I stroked her tight ass, spread her thighs, massaged her mons, fingered her ready slit. She moaned, "Yesss..."

I slid all the way into her warm wet tunnel. She groaned louder, "Oh fuck yeah!"

We wasted no time on tedious foreplay nor sensuous kissing. This was not slow tender lovemaking. This was fast raw sex, brutal and direct. I pounded her butt and twisted her nipples. She pounded back. I reached down to strum her clit. We pounded harder.