Eustace Johnson's Private Secretary

Simplistically, in her case, there'd be no typing involved and she'd be in charge of everyone in the office, including many of the managers. On the managerial flowchart, he'd be at the top, with her beneath, no doubt, his preferred position, with everyone else below them. It was a most trusted position in the company. The position of Private Secretary not only came with a lot of responsibility but also with much power. If anyone needed to get to him, they needed to go through her first. In the way that the Chief of Staff kept reporters and others at bay from the President of the United States, it was her job to do the same with Mr. Johnson, the President of Johnson's clothing stores.

Even though her desk was a distance away from his, by about 20 feet, they faced one another and with her desk not having a privacy panel in front, she felt the arrangement awkwardly uncomfortable, especially if she was wearing a short skirt, as she was that day. Her desk was more a heavy glass table, than it was a desk. Not only could he see her straight on, but if there were no papers to obstruct the view and if, in the course of her working, her skirt had risen high enough, when Eustace stood in front of her desk and in the angle he was looking, he could see straight down through her glass table and in between her legs. Without a doubt, he could see her panties.

The thought of her accidentally flashing him her panties sickened her. Raised in a God fearing and moral family, she wasn't that type of a woman. Besides, Eustace was much older than she was and he was a black man. She had never been with or attracted to either an older man or a black man before and he was both. Her Dad would never approve, if he knew what she had to do to keep this job.

If her skirt was hiked up far enough, and chances are it would be, after moving around, while working and being too busy to notice the changes in her attire, Eustace would have a clear view of her panty, ergo her need for a privacy screen and for a desk made out of wood, instead of glass. For sure, she could never keep her legs closed and her knees tightly together for eight hours a day, especially in the way he stared over at him in owl like posture. The mere sight of her crossing and uncrossing her legs would, no doubt, cause her to inadvertently flash him her panties. Definitely, her modesty would drift with her daily work activities and her preoccupied thoughts. Nonetheless, there was a twinge of excitement with her innocent modesty.

If she needed files, she had to get up and take them from the filing cabinets that lined both sides of the wall. Having to be constantly aware, just getting up and sitting back down without flashing him her panty would be a real challenge. The thought of him planning her flashing him and hoping she'd flash him never occurred to her, that is, until later. Much later, when she determined that he had hoped she'd flash him, her excitement grew with the desire she couldn't help notice he had for her. Quickly their work relationship had become a symbiotic, sexual one.

Still, with this her first job and with this her first day on the job, she was just so thrilled to be working there and for him that her working conditions and modesty weren't immediately an issue. Maybe later, she'd mention that it was an issue for her not to have a privacy panel and a wooden desk. For now, she'd just be quiet about her glass table and do what she was hired to do, be his private secretary.

She wasn't complaining, of course. With so many people out of work, and President Bush doing nothing to help the economy, other than to start the Gulf War, she was lucky to have a job. Moreover, it was a good job, too. When other graduates from her school were forced to accept jobs out of their major field of study, she was lucky to begin her career with a job that paralleled what she had been studying in college, fashion design.

"Please, have a seat," he said motioning her to take one of the chairs across from his big desk.

"Thank you," she said sitting and placing her hands in her lap. Suddenly, sitting there before him in this immense room, even though she was 5'9" tall and weighed 135 pounds, she felt so small.

"You just graduated college, I see," said Eustace, obviously reading from her file that the human resource person must have delivered. "You graduated with honors with a grade point average of 3.6. Very good."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Eustace."

"Yes, Eustace."

"Unfortunately, however, I'm afraid you're overqualified for the job," he said looking down at her resume, her school transcript, and her work application without even giving her the courtesy of looking up at her.

Afraid she was about to lose the job, the job she so desperately wanted and she thought she had and was already hired to do, she quickly but calmly reacted. Maybe this was just a test to see how she'd be under pressure.

"Isn't it better that I be overqualified than under qualified, so that you can give me more responsibility and move me up in the company?"

Her logic made sense. It sounded good to her. Only, did it sound good to him?

"Maybe so, but I'm afraid, you'd be quickly bored with the job and won't stay much past the Christmas holiday season and, as soon as the economy improves, you'll find other, more suitable employment."

She couldn't believe she was being interviewed again for the job. With a chance of him not liking her and wanting her for the position, she couldn't believe she had to fight for this job. Yet, there was something about him and about the way he was interrogating her that made her think he was just testing her and was very much interested in her. She needed to stay focused and steadfast in showing him that she was interested in the job, too, and worth him hiring her.

"This is the perfect job for me, Eustace. This is what I want to do with my life. Besides, I want to be bored. I like being bored. I'm a boring person. Being bored makes me think of ways not to be bored by thinking of things that I can do to help the company not be so boring."

"I see," he said looking up at her, as if taking a candid picture of her with his eyes, before looking back down at her file. "It's very dull here."

Finally, he looked up at her again, longer this time. He took her all in and gazed at her, as if she was something he had finally created, the finished product, after failing in attempting to create others in her image, so many times before.

"Just because I may be a pretty woman, Eustace. I'm not a fancy woman. No Sir. I'm dull and I want to continue being dull," she said in a monotone voice, while putting her hands on her knees and leaning forward, as if to show him how dull she truly was. "I like being dull. Being dull is what keeps me grounded."

Already formulating his next question, in the way that he ignored the Christmas music that softly played in the background, he ignored what she just said.

"Are you pregnant?"

"Pardon?"

"It's a simple question that requires a simple answer of yes or no. Are you pregnant?"

"No," she said, unmoved by his personal inquiry, while looking down at her flat stomach and running her hands slowly across her abdomen, as she slowly shook her head.

"Do you want to be pregnant one day? I can't have the woman that I hire taking off to have babies every year."

"No," she said again slowly shaking her head with her monotone answer, but this time with a wry smile. "My destiny is to work for Johnson's clothing stores and for you, Eustace."

He squirmed in his seat and cleared his throat. He appeared to have liked that answer.

"Are you married? A married woman would have her concentration and focus split between--"

"No," she said shaking her head and looking straight at him. "I am not married," she said holding up her hand to show him that she wasn't wearing a ring.

"Do you want to be married one day?"

"No," she said again maintaining her composure. "I don't want to marry. Marriage is a complete waste of time and something that would take me away from my career."

She'd say anything to get this job and she was.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No, I don't have time for a boyfriend. My life is my career and my career is this job."

"Pardon me for being so blunt in asking you this question and feel free not to answer, Susan, with not wanting to get married and not having a boyfriend, but are you a lesbian?"

"Lesbian? No, Eustace, certainly not. I am not lesbian. I like men," she said meeting his stare, while running her tongue across her lips and wanting to say, I like sucking and fucking cocks too much.

Trying to look and act the seductress, while maintaining her professionalism was a difficult balance to do, when sitting in front of the big boss and feeling naked by his leer. She only hoped to God he didn't take her up on her teasing.

"I see. Do you live in an apartment?"

"An apartment?" For the life of her she didn't understand the relevance of his question, but as an eager contestant, she played his game to win. "No, I live in a house," she said giving him half a smile, as if this was a test that she knew she was about to pass. "I live with my parents. This job would afford me to move out and have my own place."

"I see," he said. "You may hang your coat in the closet now that we have completed your formal interview process, have a seat at your desk, and we can get to work."

Stunned, happy, and excited, a load off her mind, she was hired...again.

"Thank you, Eustace," she said standing up and sticking out her hand to shake his hand.

"You're welcome," he said looking up at her and looking back down to shuffle her file closed without accepting her hand.

"You won't regret your decision to hire me."

"We shall see," he said. "Well, I don't know what they told you your starting salary was--"

"Four hundred dollars a week," she said now figuring that he was going to pay her less money, since she had no practical experience.

Fuck, that's not fair. She was counting on that money. She already had her first paycheck spent, before she even earned it.

Her stomach sank. She'd just have to cut back on Christmas gift spending and clothing purchases. Even if he decided she was only worth three hundred dollars a week, it was the opportunity that mattered and not so much the money, she thought, trying to convince herself of that. She was still young. She'd get the money, no doubt, later in her career, once she had some work experience and had proven herself.

"I see," he said. "Well, four hundred dollars a week would have been the starting salary working for one of my managers, but you are not working for one of my managers. You are working for me directly. You will start at six hundred dollars a week, if that's acceptable to you."

Acceptable? Are you kidding? Am I dreaming? Quickly she computed the yearly salary in her head, thirty-one thousand, two hundred dollars. Wow. She was rich. Let me just come down from the ceiling, before I give you my answer, she thought. Holy cow!

"Sure, yeah, great. Thank you," she said smiling after having just received a two hundred dollar a week raise her first day.

She was so excited, she couldn't wait to tell her mother. Maybe, now, she could afford her own place and a car, too.

"I will expect you here promptly every morning with no excuses for tardiness. It is your responsibility to anticipate delays and leave earlier accordingly. My rule is simple. If I'm here, you must be here, too. There are many women who would do anything for the opportunity that this position will do for their careers. I'm here promptly at 8am and expect you to be here at the same time, too. You will remain here, until I leave, which is no earlier than 5pm and no later than 8pm."

"Okay," she said suddenly feeling a bit trapped by the long hours.

She'd pack a lunch and snacks. There goes her social life. It's a good thing she doesn't have a boyfriend because she'd never see him working this job, that's for sure. She imagined working here for the next twenty years, never marrying, and living in an apartment with a cat.

"For the extra hours, I will pay you a bonus at year end and you will not be expected to be here, whenever I am not. I travel a lot during the buying season," he said looking at her over his glasses, as if seeing her for the first time. "Perhaps, you will want to accompany me, when I go to Paris, Milan, and/or New York."

"Are you kidding? I mean, sure. I'd love to accompany you, Eustace," she said wondering if he was married and wondering with dreaded anticipation, if she'd be expected to do more than just being his private secretary.

She didn't think she could have sex with him. He was much older than she was and she never had sex with a black man before. She heard that black men had big cocks and she wondered what an erect one would look like. Her friend Becky accidentally went in the boys locker room and saw a bunch of the college football players naked and the black guys had the biggest cocks by far, bigger when flaccid than when the white guys were erect. Still six hundred bucks a week was more money than her dad made working for the Post Office. Wow.

"Since you are my private secretary, I have other secretaries who will do my typing. You will handle everything else, my travel arrangements, my transportation needs, my schedule, setting up my meetings and appointments, greeting guests, and other business, as well as personal matters, as they appear."

She couldn't help but wonder what kind of personal matters. Maybe picking up his dry cleaning, getting his car washed, or buying gifts for his wife at birthdays, anniversaries, and Christmas.

"I can do that," she said with confidence.

"As my personal secretary, I will expect you to dress well," he said looking at her, before reaching in his desk drawer and withdrawing a piece of paper to which he busily signed his name. "Sorry, but what you're wearing now will never do. You must have more style and fashion sense than that. You not only represent me but also you represent my company and you must wear what I sell. You will be seen by buyers and fashion designers and I need for you to look your best. Take this down to Mr. Landers on the third floor and he will take care of you."

"Okay," she said looking down at herself and suddenly feeling foolishly sloppy and underdressed. Only, she didn't understand how and in what way Mr. Landers could take care of her.

Moving her legs to the side and placing a hand in her lap, she tried getting up from her chair, as lady like as she could, but she was certain, by his sudden leer and ogled stare that she had flashed him her panty. She turned bright red with embarrassment at the thought that her boss had seen her panties. Suddenly, she felt uncomfortable. She felt violated. She felt dirty, but she felt better when she realized that she was earning six hundred dollars a week doing what she loved to do. She got up from her chair, accepted his paper, to deliver to Mr. Landers. Only, suddenly, there was a loud bang on his office door.

"Eustace! I know you're in there. Open up!"

"It's my wife," said Eustace bolting out of his chair in a panic. "Tell her I'm not here. Tell her I had to go to New York on business," he said going in the bathroom and closing and locking the door behind him.

Susan unlocked and opened the office door.

"Hi, may I help you?" A tall, bulky black woman of 40-something-thing brushed by her. She was wearing a mink coat.

"I know he's here. Where is he?"

"He had to leave for New York."

"New York my black ass. I know he's cowering in the bathroom. I know he can hear me. Eustace!"

"Who shall I say called?" Susan stepped in front of her, when his wife took a step for the bathroom.

"Oh, you're perfect," she said putting a hand on her hip to give Susan the dog eye. "He likes his women submissive, which is why our marriage failed. He's my bitch and not the other way around."

"Is there a message you'd like to leave?"

"Message? Yeah, I have a message for you to give him. Tell him to sign the divorce papers," she said turning her head from Susan to project her voice to Eustace hiding in the bathroom, before leaving the office in a huff.

"She's gone Eustace. She said to sign--"

"I heard her," he said coming out of the bathroom. "Here's a key to the office," he said reaching in his pocket and removing an extra key from his key ring. "I'm going to lock the door behind you, in case she returns, when you go downstairs to give Mr. Landers the paper that I gave you."

"Okay," she said accepting the key and leaving his office.

"And there's no need to say anything about this to anyone. That's your first duty as my private secretary and I shouldn't have to tell you that whatever you hear in this office, stays in this office. Confidentiality is very important to me."

"Yes, Eustace," she said.

Susan took the elevator down to the third floor.

"May I help you?" A man expensively dressed in stylish but colorful clothes, came from around back.

"Hi, I'm Susan Harris, Mr. Johnson's new Private Secretary. He told me to deliver this you, Mr. Landers."

"I'm Mr. Landers. Pleased to meet you, Susan," he said accepting the paper with a big smile and acting, as if they were long lost friends. "I'm Jeff," he said offering her his hand

"Pleased to meet you, Jeff," she said shaking his hand and returning his big smile with contagious enthusiasm.

Jeff was an obvious gay man and she immediately liked him. He seemed so happy and she liked him even more, after he filled her with compliments.

"Well, you're the prettiest Private Secretary, Eustace has ever hired."

"Thank you," she said blushing.

"Oh, my, my, my. You're blushing," he said with a laugh. "You'd better grow some balls, honey, or Eustace is going to eat you up, before spitting you out."

"Sorry, I can't help it."

"It's okay. It's one of the detriments of being Caucasian, I guess," he said with a laugh.

"Do black people blush?"

"We do, but you just can't see because of the color of our skin," he said. "I'm embarrassed for you for even asking that question," he said with another laugh. "Just kidding. I'm just teasing you."

"I'm going to like you," she said. "You're funny."

"I'm so glad he got rid of the last one. I couldn't stand her. She was too weird for me to dress her. She had a long torso like Cher with short legs, but with a big ass. She took a size 8 on top but a size 16 on her bottom," he said with a laugh. "Furthermore," he said putting a hand on his hip and flipping back his head, "she didn't like gay men, which strained our relationship even more. Come with me," he said with a wave of his hand and a chuckle, while turning to watch her follow him and stopping to record her reaction, before proceeding.

As if opening the doors to a giant closet, he escorted her into a dream wardrobe.

"Wow! What's all this?"

"This is where we store all the fashions that designers deliver to us weekly hoping we'll feature their clothes in our stores. We use the clothes we choose to dress the models for the photo shoots, but after we've shot the ads, the clothes just languish here, so much like dead skins on hangers," he said with a laugh. "My job, among other duties is to get you outfitted," he said turning her around and looking at her from all sides. "Eustace likes his women to look the job."

"Really? Wow. Only, to be honest, I won't have any money until--"

"Money?" Jeff laughed a wild laugh, as if he was a kid forgotten in a toy store overnight. "As Eustace's private secretary, honey, this is all free. This is all yours. Not even his wife or his other secretaries are allowed down here," he said with a laugh. "Think of this as your personal wardrobe." He looked over to the area on the far side. "Those are the only clothes you can't have, that is, until after we've shot the models wearing them."