Secret Life of an Invisible Girl Ch. 04

Read Chap. 1 - 3 if you have the time. Otherwise, recap: Our sweet nerdy unnoticeable narrator works at a criminal defense firm and is enamored of the new DA, but ethical rules prevent any intimate relationship. Nevertheless, the fantasy progressed to the phone, then a quickie in the law library, thwarted blackmail and now the conclusion . . . .

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I got home late and poured a bubble bath with very hot water to calm me down and wash away the events of the night. I soaked in the bath in the dim light and felt my heart pounding in my ears and the water scald when I moved; removed from the world and from what I had done. I meant to plan, but instead closed my eyes and emptied my mind of schemes until all I could hear in the quiet was sound of my breathing. I moved a hand toward my crotch and felt the sharp burn of the water. I gasped as I spread my cunt lips revealing the soft flesh to the heat, the water entering and lapping against my clit like a tongue. I brought my other hand to my breasts touching the flesh, soft and warm, my chest rising and falling, the nipples exposed out of the water. I caressed the tender inside of my arms and ran circles around my breasts lightly with my fingers until the nipples hardened. Slowly, I pushed two fingers into my cunt wet with my arousal as the hot water followed where I opened. I lifted my right leg over the side of the tub, the porcelain cool against my calf sending a shiver through my body. I reached for the washcloth and folded it over, rolled it and twisted it into the shape of a cock. Sometimes a girl has to improvise.

I closed my eyes and thought of John Hawkins then, and only him, as I dipped the stiff washcloth into the bath and brought it swelling with water between my thighs and against my slit, moving the hard tip between my lips and against my clit. I drew it to my opening and pushed it within, feeling the resistance and the pleasant slide against the walls of my cunt as it filled me. I let the rest of the washcloth go and it blossomed in the water, floating and licking against my clit and the inside of my thighs, gentle and rough. My breathing grew heavy as beads of sweat trickled from my temples down my face. I passed my tongue over my lips tasting the saltiness and gripped the sides of the tub as my cunt throbbed, savoring the sensation. I moved one hand to the wash cloth, pulling and pushing it into my cunt while I teased my clit with the other; a slow motion fuck suspended between a dream and a fantasy. I came panting, my cunt clenching against the wash cloth wedged in my body and I pulled it out slick with my fluid. I unraveled the cloth, soaped it up and washed my face and body until my skin turned red from the heat and scrubbing, soft and clean. After my bath and exhausted I slept without dreams or thoughts straight through until the morning. Then like an unexpected avalanche on a clear cold day everything went to hell.

In the light of the morning what I had done the evening before frightened me. Only then did I realize how horribly wrong it all could have gone and could still. Putting substance to my fears, the first sign that the fickle gods had turned against me came on the train in the form of the gray bearded overweight conductor who replaced the one with beautiful hands. When I arrived at work I learned that Simon had called in sick which set me on edge, and my first assignment was to sort out his schedule and get continuances. I walked over to court for the 9:00 call and on my way over through the parking lot I saw John Hawkins leave his car with a tall stunning woman with long dark hair. He kissed her and she walked away from him smiling and waving, while he did the same.

My heart stopped and I felt that instant piercing pain unique to heartache when it resumed beating in a different broken world. My mind, hoping to spare my heart, and calling in reserves rationalized, "well, he didn't waste any time, did he?" and "he's obviously not worth it, you deserve better." But, what made matters infinitely worse was not that I had so recently committed at least two felonies, probably more, to protect him, but that she was by far more beautiful than I could ever be even with plastic surgery and that I had no claim to him anyway; no basis in reality for my mass mutiny of emotion. I shook off the scene and whatever it meant, what I knew it meant, and concentrated on the work I had to do.

For the next week I lived in a world where I controlled nothing and anticipated disaster around every corner; a juggler losing concentration. Simon stayed away from the office. I could only guess he was planning retaliation, but could do nothing but wait and I was never good at waiting. I tried to put John Hawkins from my mind and in the process of trying defeated the purpose. On the fifth day of torture my boss told me that Simon would not be returning to the office and to place an ad in the legal weekly for an associate. It was as though some unseen director had flipped a switch and yelled, "Action!"

"I know someone who might be interested in the position. Can I let him know and give you his resume?" I asked.

"Sure. Do I know him?"

"I don't want to speak for him, but he's a DA."

"Good, someone with experience. I like him already. But place that ad anyway. Not everyone wants to do what we do."

Emboldened by the news I walked over to the DA's office ready to take on any comers. I felt like I could rule the world and be good at it. Granted there was still the issue of the woman from the parking lot, but I suddenly held the added attraction of employment that paid at least twice as much as the Commonwealth. I swaggered until I thought about what I actually had to do -- the conversion of the angel. The closer I got, the more I believed my mission was impossible in the plainest and most straightforward sense of the phrase. DA's held the moral high ground. It was their currency, their raison étre; they ate, drank and slept moral high ground. Defense attorneys and their assistants were relegated to the eighth circle of hell where we rightly belonged. I once helped defend a client who extinguished his cigarette on the forehead of the seventy year old woman he had raped and killed. We checked our judgment and cashed our checks. Sure, we held out our adored founding father John Adams as the patron saint of defense attorneys who steadfastly defended the British soldiers following the Boston Massacre and obtained an acquittal, but that was an illusion. Defense attorneys will have you believe that John Adams did this noble deed because he believed in justice and that everyone deserved a defense. But I've done the research and the truth is he wanted to control the propaganda surrounding the trial and minimize the role of the crowd in inciting the soldiers. He would not defend the soldiers unless he had complete control of the defense and was assured of the outcome. Control was the key; as it was to me now.

"I'm here to see John Hawkins," I said to the receptionist.

"Is he expecting you?"

"No," I answered with authority and assurance; no excuses and walked over to his office. People respond to confidence. I knocked on the open door and he looked up, surprised to see me.

"Come in," he said. He got up and walked around his desk much as he had done the first time we met and went behind me to shut the door. He put his arms around me from behind and I stiffened even as felt my heart quicken at his touch.

"Really?" I asked and turned around feeling my anger rise to destroy any leverage I might have had. I expected subterfuge, some betraying glance, an attempt at humor, but not a guiltless welcome. My aspirations for control vanished replaced by an overwhelming desire to smite him; the person who, I decided in that instant, had been the cause of my turmoil from the moment I first saw him. In a single countering gesture I tossed the well-rehearsed script I'd written to convince him of the merits of consorting with evil and tease him into compliance out the window into the path of an eighteen wheeler and replaced it with a barely coherent stream-of-consciousness diatribe that started with "do you buy condoms in bulk?"

Now I know as well as you that jealous rage is not the most appealing emotion in a woman, but you must also know by now that I have limits to what I can endure, which I grant are fairly low, and the invective had to be sufficiently fierce to strangle the part of me that wanted him more than ever. I had intended a prolonged plan of revenge for after he joined our firm; exquisite in its conception and detail, and as excruciating as it would be satisfying in its execution. But, have I mentioned I'm not good at waiting?

He didn't respond immediately, but he did let me go and took a step back. When I finished, I expected him to be defensive but the silence lengthened uncomfortably, long enough for my mind to hiss at me, "shit, he's going to be nice, you fucking idiot."

"I don't know what you mean," he said.

With this open ended remark I had several options. I could have tried to take it all back, say I was sorry and burst into tears. I could have launched into the saga of Simon and how I saved his ungrateful ass, I could have said, "you know exactly what I mean," or revert to the old standby "really?" Instead, realizing I had just confessed that he hurt me and had the power to do so, I said, "I don't know, either," and looked away.

"The woman you saw the other day. . . ," he paused so I looked back at him steeling myself for the next phrase.

"What?" I asked irritated, frustrated, uncaring.

"She's my sister," he said and smiled.

"Fuck you," I said, tears now stinging behind my eyes. The old "she's my sister" routine did not happen in real life; no one mistakes a sister for a lover. "You kissed her on the mouth," I added as proof and instantly realized I had just admitted exactly how much attention I had paid to them at the time. The hole I was digging was getting deeper and there was no end in sight.

"We always have," he said. He moved toward me and put a hand under my hair. "But it's not the same as kissing you," he whispered as he mercifully shut me up.

His lips were soft and I was so relieved not to talk that I sighed. He pushed his tongue into my mouth and the taste of him spurred my memory of our encounters and the promise they held. I wanted more, but couldn't escape the thought of our ever present predicament as he brought a hand to my breast and the other stroked across my back.

"I need your resume," I said as I broke the moment. He looked at me with a confused expression. "There's an opening at the firm. The job's practically yours if you want it," I continued stumbling as my mind scrambled to rescue the remnants of my rehearsal. "Don't even think of turning this down."

I hoped my voice did not betray the plea I felt. This was the way out I had conceived and envisioned when Simon threatened me. John Hawkins would join the firm and advance his career and we could be together. I had played the part of an impresario; my best work yet and the rest was up to him. I was vulnerable; more so than with Simon because I was not in control as I waited for him to respond. Nothing, not even the interminable wait for a jury to return with a verdict, had prepared me for the pain that pierced through me; the need, the uncertainty.

"I'll have to think about it," he said; the death-knell response. He stroked my hair and looked in my eyes. "Is it what you really want?" he asked seeing through all; through me, through my designs, plans and plotting. I had not once questioned whether it was what I wanted or what it might mean, only that it had to be done like some challenging assignment; a puzzle solved.

"I thought so," I said. "Do you not want to work for the defense?"

"It's not that."

"If it's not that, then it's me, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, "but I have to get to court, now." He took a sheet from his desk and handed it to me. As I took the resume he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me then left and all I could think was "be careful what you wish for."

Within the week John Hawkins had interviewed at the firm, been offered and accepted the position as Simon's replacement with a caveat -- my boss, like some Nostradamus with a twisted mind, decided to implement a new policy of banning intra office relationships. I did not know where he came up with this brilliant idea, but thought that Simon may have had some part in it. I ventured an innocent inquiry on the constitutionality of the policy only to be rebuffed with "it may not be constitutional, but it's the law" -- meaning a challenge would not be expedient.

Now I understood the expression "out of the frying pan into the fire," but I did not reckon that it would be so literal. Instead of keeping temptation across the street in a bearable simmer I had managed to bring it home to blaze beside me. For the two weeks it took John Hawkins to give notice and start at the firm I tried to think of an escape, but like an author with writer's block I got -- nothing.

So it happened that John Hawkins came to work at the firm and readily adapted to life as a defense attorney, so much so that it made me wonder whether he had played me to get his position in some Machiavellian plan worthy of, well, me. For several days we had no time alone and were civil. On the fourth day I stayed late preparing for a trial and thought I was alone until he walked into my office and stood at my desk looking at me. "What?" I asked meeting his eyes.

"We're alone," he said and walked around to my side so that I could feel the heat from his body. I stood up as he reached for me and put his hands on me. I pulled his neck and rose to meet him thrusting my tongue into his mouth and devouring his lips; wanting the taste and the scent of him. I opened his shirt and rested my head against his breast listening to his heart while my fingers caressed his chest.

"We could get fired," I said.

"I know," he said, "that's why I suggested the policy."

"What?" I asked pulling away from him. "You? Why on earth would you do that?"

"Because you got what you wanted and I didn't want you to lose interest," he said smiling.

Have I mentioned the man can see me and see through me? Eve did not crave an apple, she wanted the fruit and it tasted sweeter because it was forbidden. I kissed and licked down his chest and knelt before him feeling the firm muscles of his ass and unzipping his pants. He let me do as I pleased as he closed his eyes and rested his hand on my head. I freed his hard cock and moved my hand along the shaft and over the knob. I felt its length and thickness, and stroked his balls. I kissed the head, sucking at it and licking, and he moved his hand urging me to continue. I took the tip into my mouth and rolled my tongue under the head. He pushed his cock into my mouth and I took in its length as far as my throat. Then holding the root with my hand I pulled back sucking and pressing my tongue along the bottom.

I moved my mouth to his balls and kissed and licked his thighs. I took one of his balls and then the other into my mouth and flicked my tongue around them, then moved my mouth back to take in his cock and continued to fondle his balls with my fingers. He moaned and thrust his hips as he held my head and gently pumped into my mouth. I sucked at the length as though I would swallow the whole; when he pulled back I twirled my tongue around the head. I moved my hands to his ass and pushed him toward me and circled his hole with my finger pushing in the tip. He quickened his motions until he grunted and came in my mouth. He continued to thrust and I swallowed his semen. When he stopped his motions, I licked the remaining fluid from his cock.

He opened his eyes and lifted me. He unbuttoned my blouse and unclasped my bra revealing my breasts. He bent to kiss me and thrust his tongue into my mouth. He cupped my breast and touched the stiff nipple with his fingers, then kissed down my body as I had done to his. He licked and sucked at my breasts and passed his hand down the small of my back over my ass. He unzipped my pants and pulled them and my underwear down to the floor. In one movement he swept aside the books and papers on the table, lifted me and sat me on the desk before him.

I passed a hand through his hair and brought him to me as he kissed my mouth and stood between my legs. He laid me down on the table and placed my blouse beneath my head. He kissed the length of my body, then lifted my legs and placed my feet on the edge of the desk so that I was exposed to him. He knelt and kissed the lips of my cunt as he had my mouth thrusting his tongue into my opening. He placed his hands beneath my ass and licked me and the juices that flowed from me, and I felt his hot breath against my thighs. I let my legs drop to each side and grabbed my feet with my hands opening wider to him and giving him access to my being. My lips were swollen and my cunt pulsed. He moved his mouth to my clit and licked and sucked as I had done to his cock, taking it into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it.

I moaned in agony and delight as I pushed my hips to meet him. He released a hand from my ass and teased my clit while he circled the edge of my opening with his tongue and pierced within. His touch became insistent and unbearable, and I came hard as he continued to lick the length of my slit with the width of his tongue.

Before my orgasm subsided, I whispered, "fuck me," with urgency and measured breaths. I watched on raised elbows as he reached down to his pants crumpled at his feet, removed a condom from the pocket, and ripped the packet open with his mouth as he stood.

"Oh, god, don't make me wait," I cried.

He smiled while he stroked his cock already stiff and slid on the thin membrane before sliding into my cunt, renewing my spasms. He cupped his hands around the top of my thighs pulling me to him while pushing with his hips into me. He filled me and ground his hips, and I felt his balls against my ass. He thrust within me, alternating his strokes, long, slow, faster, short, hard, grinding, as he filled me again and again and the sounds of our fucking filled the quiet. When he pulled out his cock glistening with my moisture, I sighed insensible, "fuck me." He held his cock with his hand and passed the head between my lips and clit and pushed slowly within me, penetrating me until our hairs mingled. He stopped sheathed inside me and leaned over me to kiss me and I took his tongue in my mouth as his cock filled me and throbbed in my cunt. He pulled away and looked at me and didn't move.

"You're teasing me," I accused.

"What and you don't like to be teased?" he said and moved within me again as the sound of his voice flowed over me. He moved his hand to my clit and circled with his thumb while thrusting into me with his cock. My body ached with building tension and the strain of my want. He quickened his movements until we both came and I felt the release spread through my body as though we were one.

He panted with his arms on either side of me and stayed within me as he caught his breath. He pulled out of me, then grabbed my right arm with his and pulled me up before him. He smoothed my hair and kissed me and held me against him as I put my face in his neck still breathing heavily. I took in his scent and felt his sweat on my skin as I embraced him in return.

And so we've been working together ever since. To everyone, but him, and now you, I remain -- an invisible girl with a secret life.