David and Jen

He answered honestly. "That is the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

She smiled, eyes closed and waggled her hips, ever so slightly.

To his amazement she accommodated his girth easily, taking him in until his balls rested against her smooth skin. The sensation as she gently squeezed his cock with her internal muscles was nothing short of exquisite and he wondered just how much of that he could take.

"Now fuck me, David," she instructed, and he hastened to oblige.

***

Sometime later, leaning back against the pillows, with her head on his chest, he pondered the situation and sighed.

"Penny for them, David," she said.

"Forgive me, Em, but in all conscience I don't think I can accept payment for this."

She raised her head slightly to look up at him.

"You need the money, David. I have it and I'm happy to give it to you. In terms of services rendered, you have delivered in spades. I haven't felt like this in years so if it makes you any happier, I'm going to consider you my own personal rejuvenation therapy! It's a regime requiring regular treatment by an expert. There, conscience salved?"

He laughed, "Oh, very well then, Madge!"

She slapped him on the thigh.

***

A Brighter Path

February

On a wet afternoon, David found himself back in front of the door between the boutique and the cleaners. He was cold and rueing that decent coat for town. He didn't need one when cycling and couldn't afford a second one to hang largely unused in the office rack. The test centre or whatever it was -- there was no identifying label on the door -- was quite a distance from his work office and once he stopped moving, he started to shiver.

The door opened and he saw a different woman to the previous ones he'd encountered. How many people worked here anyway? He hadn't heard any conversation or movement when he was here before but then he had been quite preoccupied.

They went upstairs and he was shown to a small room with two chairs and a low table. Yet another woman rose from her chair and advanced, holding out her hand. David took it, her fingers were cool and dry and her grip pleasantly firm. She was sharply dressed in a dark red business suit and a crisp cream blouse. This was much more like HR and David could feel his hackles rising involuntarily. He tried to calm himself, slowing his breathing and relaxing the muscles of his face.

"Hello Mr Piper, I'm Rosemary Curtiss. Please, take a seat."

David sat and tried yet further to quell the knot of tension in his belly. His interlocutor placed herself in the other chair and picked up a folder from the table.

"I have your test results here. There are three sections that go into some detail but there is a summary to show you the top-level findings.

These exercises test three types of memory: semantic, procedural, and episodic. Broadly speaking, semantic memory tests your knowledge of facts. Procedural looks at problem solving and episodic tests how you diarise events and recall them. Are you with me so far?"

"Sure."

"Good."

She opened the folder, removed the topmost paper, and slid it across the desk to him. The top half was occupied by a bar chart with six columns in three groups of two with one blue column and one orange column in each set. Two of the blue columns were higher than their orange companions, the third marginally below.

She tapped the first group, "This is the result for semantic memory. The blue bars are your score, the orange ones are norms for your age and social group. Your score here is excellent, scoring in the top 1% of the population."

David flushed, this almost sounded like praise.

She continued, moving her finger to the second group. "This is procedural. Your score, and I use this word advisedly, is remarkable. It's one of the highest I've ever seen. You may remember a test asking you to place symbols in order?"

He nodded, that had been a tough one.

"You are one of a very small group of people to complete that test with 100% accuracy."

David stared at her. "Is that good?"

"Some of the tests are designed to make you fail and to see how you cope with that. You didn't fail."

David struggled to parse this information, but Ms. Curtiss was speaking again.

"Lastly, episodic. Now, this is interesting because you score slightly below expectations but in view of your other scores this could be anticipated."

"How so?"

"Your modus operandi is likely to be that you solve problems on the fly. You don't commit things to memory unless they're significant or unusual. Do you remember casual conversations?"

"Generally, no. Well, hardly ever. My wife gets cross with me and tells me that I'm ignoring her."

"I would guess that what she says isn't significant enough to pique your interest. Moving on, I'd hazard that you don't make friends easily?"

She continued, "Without a strong connection to people they're just obstacles to be navigated like any other. Problems that can be solved with a little effort. I doubt you follow popular television or sports, preferring books and documentaries instead. I'm willing to bet that the things that interest you are quirky and unusual. When you try to talk about them to others, they lose interest because they're too far outside their experience."

"People like you, David -- do you mind if I call you David?"

He shook his head.

"People like you can easily become isolated. They can find satisfaction in their work if, if they find the right profession. What is it that you do?"

"Admin."

"Oh dear, you need episodic memory for that. At a guess you're surrounded by people that studied history or law?"

He laughed aloud. "How did you know?"

She chuckled. "Episodic memory, David. The ability to place in sequence sometimes unrelated facts and make a complete picture with them."

He sat back in the chair and stared at the file on the table.

"At the back there are some sample professions that you are likely to be suited for. Take your time and study the report thoroughly."

He nodded and realised that for the first time in days he had not thought about the unholy mess he was in.

He couldn't remember walking back to the office and was so distracted during the afternoon that he excused himself early to go home.

***

It was fully dark, and David was settling down in front of the fire. It had been a rough week and he'd invested some of the proceeds from his encounters in a bottle of bourbon. He was sure that his line manager at work had it in for him and didn't know how much more he could take. However, he mused unhappily that while Jen needed child support, he was just going to have to put up with it.

There was a firm knock at the door, and he opened it to a stranger. She was tall, taller than he was judging by the fact that her eyes were level with his despite her standing below him on the doorstep. She had sharp blue eyes, fine white teeth and white hair cut in a shoulder length bob. The white hair sat above an expensive looking white, ankle length coat, fastened with a broad belt in the same material. She looked like one of the models from the dressmaking patterns his mother used to pore over.

"David Piper?" she asked.

"Yes?" he replied as a question.

"Phyllis Tindall. You were recommended to me by Marjorie Barrett. Can I come in?"

David blinked at her. It would have been nice to have had some warning but then again, this was to be how he made some money, and she came at Em's ... recommendation. He didn't know how he felt about that.

She took his silence as assent and walked into the hall. He closed the door behind her and conveyed her into the living room. The rest of the house might be a bit basic, but the living room was cosy with the fire lit, the door shut, and the curtains drawn.

He indicated the sofa. "Please," he said.

She perched on the edge of the sofa with her knees together.

"I understand that your standard fee is £50?"

"Uh, yes."

"And that you'll come to the house. I can't really see us doing anything here."

David flushed. The house was clean. He might be doing this for money but there was no need to rub his nose in it. She was talking again.

"I'm in the mood for some company this evening if that's alright?"

David got the impression that she wasn't exactly asking for his consent.

She stood up. "York Road, number 28, nine o'clock. I'll expect you then. I'll see myself out." And with that she was gone.

***

Even in the dark, Number 28, York Road was a grand affair. It was enclosed by a brick wall with an impressive wrought iron gate. A lengthy driveway led to a Queen Anne style house on three floors with coach lamps either side of the front door. David wondered if he should look for the tradesman's entrance.

Gathering his nerve, he walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

Phyllis Tindall opened it and beckoned him inside. She was still wearing the white coat which was somewhat puzzling since she'd had ample time to change.

"I'll show you where the side entrance is, David, may I call you David? There's no need for you to use the front, this will be more discreet."

David groaned inwardly, perhaps he ought to present himself as the Fourth Emergency Service like the AA were doing in their adverts these days.

"Marjorie gave me to understand that you like stockings and lingerie in general, is that correct?"

David blushed scarlet. "That is ... correct," he muttered looking down at the floor.

"Will this do?"

He looked up, Phyllis Tindall was standing one leg slightly bent at the knee and one hand on her hip, holding the coat open to reveal a lean but curvy body. She was in great shape, sporting a white lacy teddy with white hold up stockings and white high heeled strappy sandals. Her unexpectedly ample bosom strained at the cups of the teddy. His eyes followed the curve of her back down to the firm swell of her backside, clad in silky French knickers.

He was literally on firmer ground now; the contents of his trousers signalling its approval.

"That'll work," he said, walking forward.

"That's close enough!"

David stopped, baffled by the abrupt change in her manner.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"I want to see what all the fuss is about," Phyllis said. "Let's see your equipment, Mr Piper. I want to inspect the merchandise."

David shuffled uncomfortably; they were standing in the hall. What if someone were to walk in?

As if reading his thoughts, Phyllis said, "There's no-one here, David. No-one but us. Now. Show me."

David started to unbutton his fly and caught sight of Phyllis' gaze, intent on his crotch. An idea of how to turn things around came to him and he hoped he wouldn't simply embarrass himself in the process.

He was still semi-erect and took the opportunity to brush his cock a couple of times as he undid the buttons. This proved sufficient to increase the bulge in his trousers. He took a brief glance at Phyllis through his fringe. She had one hand to her cheek in anticipation and, growing in confidence, David perceptibly slowed his progress.

His trousers undone, he allowed them to slip down his thighs leaving him effectively in just a shirt and boxers. Getting a kick out of putting on a show for his client, he squeezed his cock through the material of his underwear, feeling it get harder and hotter. It was threatening to escape the top of his shorts and he let his hands fall to his sides.

Looking her in the eye, he said, "I think most of the fun of receiving a present is unwrapping it."

Phyllis took two quick steps to close with him and reached out to rub her hand across the material stretched over his cock.

"Mmm, it appears that reports of your dimensions have not been exaggerated."

She put her hand into his shorts and her cool fingers explored his stiffness.

David ran his hand up the curve of her derrière and into the French knickers. Phyllis' other hand came up around his neck and he thought she was going to kiss him. Instead, she drew him to the archway into some other part of the house and guided the head of his cock into the leg of the knickers. After a couple of minutes of fumbling, David broke away to sink onto his haunches and pull her underwear down. As he stood up, he ran his hand up her inner thigh to her sex. She pulled his hand away and he looked at her, taken aback. What did she want?

She repossessed his cock and guided it inside her. It appeared she wanted to be fucked; and judging by her instructions, fucked hard. She was going to have bruises across her back at this rate. The lady was paying but David wasn't sure he liked this way of earning a living.

***

On the Tuesday, David found himself back in Misha's corner office. Misha had a copy of his test results on the desk in front of her.

"Goodness, David, this is a surprise."

She tapped the manila cover of the folder and looked out of the window.

Misha was perhaps ten or fifteen years older than he was and had worked her way up to section head from trainee. She was sharp, good on detail and procedure; probably scored highly on episodic memory, he thought. The tests had opened his eyes to his colleagues, out of the two dozen or so in the section, there were no more than two that were anything like himself. He really was the archetypal square peg in a round hole. She was speaking again.

"This is all very well, of course."

He blinked, having sent him for the tests, was she now going to dismiss them?

"But what are you going to do with this information? I see that two of the recommended occupations are chemical engineer and photographer. I don't see how that grows out of the results."

"I think it's because I'm good at pattern recognition. I guess that engineering is about employing a known technique in novel situations, recognising a pattern of events. Similarly, in photography you compose a picture, make a pleasing pattern perhaps."

She frowned. "Our work isn't about pretty pictures, David."

David shook his head; she was missing the point!

"I think that's why I like using spreadsheets and databases, they make more sense to me than lists of regulations."

"But that's the job, David, that's what you're being paid to do. I had hoped this would give you a sense of how you could be better at your job."

He stared at her. "That's not what you said before Christmas!"

Misha was not used to contradiction.

"If I had had a better understanding of these tests then I probably wouldn't have sent you for them."

David was mute. He felt betrayed. His distress must have been apparent as after a minute's silence Misha said, "Anyway, didn't you once say you wanted to write."

"I do, but that's just something I enjoy doing, I don't think I could make any money at it unless I was extremely lucky."

"I'm going to have to think about this some more, David. Leave it with me and we'll speak again in a day or two." She pushed the folder to one side and started writing on a pad of paper.

David realised he'd been dismissed and disconsolately got up out the chair and left the office. He'd been excited to discuss the results with Misha; they'd been her idea after all! Now it seemed that she was down on the whole thing.

***

Instead of heading to the under-croft for his bike after work, David walked round the corner to The Keep, the nearest pub. It was a bit down at heel, a last hold out against the remorseless redevelopment. He ordered a pint of lager and sat down in a booth to think about the day's events.

Arthur wandered in, a colleague from the floor below his. David had got to know Arthur on a course they'd both attended, and they socialised occasionally. Arthur clocked him, secured a pint, and sauntered over.

"Alright, David? Bit early to be hitting the sauce."

"Could say the same about you," David riposted, and they toasted each other.

Arthur installed himself in the seat opposite. He was about ten years older than David and losing his light brown hair to male pattern baldness. David could tell that he would be serving out his working life in the same job. However, he was candid and cynical in his opinions and David rather liked him.

David related the tale of his encounter with Misha and proffered the test results for Arthur to inspect. Arthur looked at the stacked columns and the summary.

"I can think of one reason Misha Astani might not care for this."

"What?"

"It makes her look bad."

David sat back in his chair, astonished. "How?"

"Well, it's unlikely she would score this highly if she took the tests. In one of these you're in the top 1% and the other you're off the charts! She didn't send for these expecting to appear second best by comparison."

"Oh, bloody hell! I never thought of that! Then it's all been a waste of time," David said bitterly. The door, having been opened a crack, had been firmly shut again.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," replied Arthur, waving the papers at David. "You still have these. I think if you'd had had to pay for this, it would have cost a penny or two. Misha's paid for it, and you have the results. It's a bit unorthodox but might count for something in a c.v."

***

March

The fens could be an eerie place. It was one of those days where a film of high cloud veiled the sun and diffused the light to a milky whiteness that robbed shadows of their form. The fields were still barren, and the remaining hedgerows hugged the ground so that the land stretched away featureless to where it bled into the sky.

Rosanna Squires was his newest client. She had done all the opening negotiations on the phone, and he hadn't even met her until she had called for him fifteen minutes previously. He'd opened the door to a slim blonde woman in what might have been described as 'casual executive'. Rosanna looked to be a few years older than him and was probably quite well paid, if the white Mazda RX-7 parked outside on the road was anything to go by.

The car sped along the ruler-straight road that stretched away to infinity before them and did so likewise behind them. David wondered where they were going because Rosanna had said nothing about a destination. In fact, she had said nothing for the last five minutes.

He turned to speak to her and paused. Her arms were dead straight, and her hands were white knuckled on the wheel. Spots of high colour in her cheeks stood out against her pale complexion. Her breath came in short pants and if her eyes were looking at the road, David wasn't sure she was seeing it.

Suddenly her head jerked up and she gasped. "Oh! Oh! Oh!"

Christ, she was having a seizure! David's hand shot out to grab the wheel. Thank goodness the road was so straight; he didn't have to do much providing she didn't fight him for control of the car.

His eyes flicked constantly between her and the road as he wondered how long this episode was going to last and whether he could safely bring them to a stop. If they went into the ditch at the roadside, they might not be found for months.

Rosanna's hands abruptly left the wheel and vanished under her skirt; appearing a moment or two later holding some shiny object which she dropped into her lap. David glanced at it for a fraction before returning to the job of keeping the car on the road.

He felt her hand grip the steering wheel and the car suddenly slowed and stopped slantwise across the highway.

David convulsively undid his seatbelt and opened the passenger door in one motion. Out of the car he took half a dozen swift strides and stopped with his arms straight by his sides; his breath coming in huge lungfuls. The adrenaline made his limbs quiver, but the ancient fight or flight reflex was of no use here.

He whirled round, strode back to the car, and leaned in, equal measures rage and concern. Rosanna was sobbing with her hands over her face and his anger drained away. He knelt in the passenger seat and put a hand to her shoulder.