Fooled Me Twice Pt. 04

"It was you? I couldn't figure out who stole them from us to modify? Why didn't you give the upgrades to us?"

"Because I didn't work for you when I made the modifications on paper and machined the parts. By my calculations, you'll make one hundred times what you paid for them in ten years. And I didn't steal any of the parts; I just borrowed them to take pictures and measurements before returning them to inventory."

He laughed; I think he laughed, but maybe he was choking.

"You're right, you didn't work for us then, but we won't recoup that much money in ten years; your dad says we'll make it back in five. So how do you want to get reimbursed for the computer?"

"When I earn it. When I bring money into the company with my inventions or new sales to the government, you decide when to repay me. I've already paid taxes on my money, so consider it an interest-free loan. I do have some thoughts I need to discuss with you that could bump the cruising speed of a large spacecraft to over 50,000 miles per second."

"Okay, I give up. So this is what it will be like working with the great Marty." At least his cheeks were returning to their standard pasty color.

*****

With his arm around my shoulders, he introduced me to Ron Gregory, the HR manager, and left me in his capable hands. I think he was heading to Dad's office to vent.

So for the next hour, I filled out form after form until my thumb and pointer finger locked up. Then, finally, as I handed my completed forms over to Mr. Gregory, I asked, "How do I go about getting a personal assistant?"

"I'm glad you asked. We posted the job in-house six weeks ago and received five applications. Will you also need a secretary?"

"Yes, but I'll let the PA I hire pick our secretary."

He handed me five files stuffed with papers and continued, "These folders contain copies of everything in their personnel file except for income tax and identification documents. Their resume, commendation letters, references, and academic achievements are included. Please let me know when you're ready to interview, and I'll set you up in an empty office down the hall. As you eliminate each applicant, please return their file to me."

Sweet! Schools out forever, I'm now a grownup with a job and a salary, and a beautiful woman will be my wife soon.

As I went through the front door of the house I grew up in, I heard loud music playing in the backyard and figured my blonde fiancée was lying by the pool. Should I strip, grab Liz, and jump in the pool or look at the files I brought home and find my secretary and PA for the next ten years as soon as possible?

I made my choice and began reading the first folder, writing down questions I wanted to ask. The house phone rang as I finished the second file, and I answered, "Hello, Marty speaking."

"Marty, this is Gail Lyon, your realtor, and I have an offer on your house."

"Well, let's hear it."

"We listed the house for 3.4 million, and the offer is 2.95 million."

"Too low. Counter with 3.3 million, but go no lower."

"All right, you're the boss."

Liz came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my neck. "When did you get home, dear? Who was on the phone?"

"I got off early to review the files of five job applicants to see if I want to interview them. I've finished two so far. The phone call was from Gail, my realtor, and she had an offer for my house, but it was too low."

"I have something for you to review right here."

I shifted around to see what she was talking about, and she stepped back, and I could see she was missing her bikini. Liz's right hand covered her landing strip, and her middle finger was buried between her labia, gently sliding over her clit; she continued her seduction by sliding the tip of her tongue around her lips. Then, not convinced that she had my full attention, she gently rubbed her left nipple with her left index finger causing it to swell and stick out. At times I can be a clueless dork, and I was acting like one now, so she had to seal the deal by moving her right middle finger from her pussy to my mouth. As I scrambled to my feet, almost tripping and causing a major catastrophe, Liz moved over to our well-used loveseat, sat down, and spread her legs.

Brain, reboot, and execute immediately; the password is pussy.

I followed her, plotting my strategy with my knowledge of everything there was to know about her pussy, where to lick, how soft or hard to lick, where she liked my tongue, and how hard I could suck on her slick nether lips.

So I've read Chaucer and used the word nether, big deal.

Lifting her thighs by hooking my arms under them, I lowered my head and moved the tip of my tongue a millimeter from her clitoris before I touched it with a light tap. Her sharp inhalation of air spurred me to continue. I blew a thin stream of warm air from my lungs onto her clit and tapped it again. I alternated between air and tongue in a very leisurely manner while increasing the amount of saliva I dripped on her clit, trying to entice her tiny bud of pleasure to extend out from the warm hood that protects it.

Her quiet gasping changed to whimpering, and her hands were in constant motion, like Joe Cocker at Woodstock. By this time in our relationship, she'd learned what would happen if she gave in to her instinct to grab my hair and grind my face between her legs. I'd free myself, sit back on my heels, and make her wait and beg before starting again.

My pattern now was a wet tap followed by a two-second blast of hot air, followed by a stiff tongue thrust against her G spot, an up and down wiggle, finishing with the bottom of my tongue sliding over the moist lining of her sex cave as it retreated to my mouth. Her juices were flowing now, and I loved the taste of her sweet pussy.

"Oh, baby, you know just what spots to touch. Oooh, my clit, it's tingling, yes, right there, I'm almost...."

I stopped licking, and Liz cried, "NOOO, don't move away; why are you torturing me? That felt so good, Marty. Ram your tongue in, and fuck my pussy with your magic tongue. Damn it, Marty, why are you torturing me?"

"Don't give me orders. Beg, pray, or bargain. But no orders."

I sat back on my heels with my hands on my hips, and her sweet juices smeared over the lower half of my face. I turned up the heat by licking the juices around my lips as I gazed into her eyes with a smirk.

"You, you asshole, I was almost there. Stop TEASING me."

I stared back at the hottest chick in Greenville and started to get up. She grabbed my arms and begged, "I'm sorry for being bossy, Marty. I need help, baby; let me come, please. I know I said no more bondage, but you can tie me up and fuck me until I pass out. I hated being embarrassed, but you can humiliate and use me like a $10 whore. I'll walk to the car naked and suck your cock when we're driving around, and if you buy me a convertible, I'll drive it topless. Then, at night when you come home from work, I'll meet you at the front door on my knees, wearing nothing at all."

She took a deep breath and finished her speech by screaming, "Anything you want, I'll do, BUT I NEED TO COME RIGHT NOW, YOU SON OF A BITCH."

The anger in her eyes and her tongue nervously flicking between her lips told me her emotions were also somewhere in the middle. Then she said something that shocked me, and it wasn't what she said as much as the voice she used, timid and docile.

"You can even fuck; if you want, you can have my, um, you know, um, my virgin ass. There, I said it; you can fuck my ass."

While she made that last declaration, her eyes were focused on my knees at eye level, and her cheeks were wet.

I started to unbuckle my belt when Liz dropped to her knees and finished the job before forcefully removing my slacks and shorts. From her knees, she reached up and, in one motion with her hands, ripped my shirt open while sending the buttons flying through the year.

Woe is me; life is so rough when your wife, okay almost-wife, is gorgeous, loves door numbers one and two of the three doors of sex, and now wants to try door number three. She Is vocal, flirty, and very jealous of attractive women who get near her man. Enough thinking, I have a woman on fire, and I'm the fireman with a hose.

Two hours later, I staggered back into my home office wearing a pair of boxers and read the other three files. After reading their resumes and educational achievements, I had a favorite, but two others also had a shot. I had already eliminated two of them; one was because her academic path was as a history major with excellent secretarial skills. The second applicant I rejected had only received her master's degree in High Energy Particle Physics six months earlier but had no work experience.

I knew I still needed to interview them, and there was a possibility that these two could still 'Wow me' and force me to reconsider. So I returned the files to my briefcase and ordered my favorite junk food, a large pizza with the works. Then I went to wake up my woman by gently shaking her.

Ha, me gently waking her up, bump that. After tiptoeing into the bedroom, I scooped her up in my arms and carried her outside toward the pool. When I stepped onto the patio, she realized what I was up to and started wiggling, trying to escape. As I rocked her to build momentum for tossing her into the pool, she grabbed me around the neck, throwing me off balance, and we both went in.

God, I love this woman.

When I arrived at work the following morning, I called the HR manager and asked if the interviews could be scheduled for the next day?

"No problem, Mr. Stevens. Actually, I took the liberty and set them up already."

I glanced at my company extension list and saw his full name was Ron Gregory, so I asked him, "Mr. Gregory, do you call my Dad or Uncle, Mr. Stevens?"

"Uh, no, they are Alex and Bob."

"If I piss you off, I expect you to call me Mr. Stevens in a derogatory tone, and then I expect you to call my dad. However, since I haven't broken any rules, or committed any felonies, call me Marty. Treat me the same as a forklift operator in the manufacturing building or someone in security who works nights and drives around the compound checking all the doors."

"I understand, and please call me Ron. The interviews will be at 9:00, 11:00, 1:00, 3:30, and 5:45, and my assistant, Marcia, will sit in as a witness."

"Excellent! I can't wait to get started. Thank you, Ron."

I spent the rest of the day in the fabrication shop because when I was in middle school, I'd spend my afternoons with a hard hat and hang out and observe. Sometimes the older guys who'd worked for Uncle Bob for twenty-five years let me sweep up or help them with simple fabrications.

The 9 o'clock interview the next morning was with Amara Bell, married with three children, and she worked in our records and research department. "I know with my educational background that there is no way you would hire me as your PA, but you will be hiring a secretary, and I figured I'd get a jump on the rest of the secretarial pool by applying for this position."

That made perfect sense to me, and after questioning her for fifteen minutes, I told her I would put her employee file with the other secretary applicants. After she left, I gave her file to Marcia and asked her to place it on top of the secretary pile.

The 11 o'clock interview was with a gentleman I judged to be in his 50s, and his academic and work references were impeccable. But he also was a condescending ass hole who tried to hijack the interview to show me who would be in charge.

I gave that file folder to Marcia, shook my head, and said, "Nope, not if I lived to be a million years old." We went to the cafeteria for lunch before returning early for the 1 o'clock appointment.

When we returned to the interview room, the 1 o'clock applicant, Callie Carruthers, was already waiting for me. It was a good thing we started early because of the five applicants; I spent over an hour talking to Callie. She was absolutely brilliant, knew everything about ion propulsion, had an IQ of 149, and didn't seem to breathe while she spoke. Words continuously flowed out of her mouth, and she made me dizzy. I did find out she had an interview tomorrow at the Oak Ridge National Laboratory, so I didn't feel too bad eliminating her.

After she left, I handed Marcia her file and asked, "If I don't hire someone because they breathe through their ears when they talk, would that be considered discrimination?"

She smiled and walked away.

The next appointment was eighty-five minutes from now, so Marcia went back to her office, and I went to see Uncle Bob. He had more questions about the supercomputer regarding four critical calculations that ate up so much of the CPU in our mainframe; they had to be run overnight and were all eight to twelve-hour jobs.

I said, "Uncle Bob, you will be shocked because you'll be able to run these formulas during daylight hours, over and over."

Marsha stuck her head through the door, "Marty, Marcia in HR asked me to tell you that the 3:30 appointment called back and canceled, with no explanation. And she wanted to know if she could miss the last appointment because she has to leave at five for a parents-teachers conference at her son's middle school. Your dad said he could monitor the 5:45 interview." So now I had three hours to kill.

Turning my attention back to Uncle Bob, I answered his question, "Your twelve-hour job should run in less than five minutes. Since I know that particular calculation is for a brand new formula for solid rocket fuel, you'll be able to run that calculation repeatedly, making small changes between runs."

I laughed as he mouthed the words, "Holy Shit!." I think Uncle Bob was a convert to the church of Marty, the mad Rocket Scientist.

I returned to my office, my series 1945 metal desk, and my sixty-year-old steel chair on wheels and took the last folder out of my briefcase. I hadn't read through the whole file the previous night because the first ten pages I screened described a brilliant, highly motivated woman. She even worked for Uncle Bob after she got her master's degree.

Now I read everything in the folder and then called my dad. He filled me in on Carmen Rodriguez from his memory, "Carmen Rodriguez, age 33, a single mother with an eleven-year-old son. After she finished college with a Master's degree in Chemical Engineering, she worked here for five years as a chemist working on improvements to solid rocket fuel. She was headhunted by NASA's Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena five years ago, and they offered her an insane amount of money to come to work for them. She contacted me six months ago and said her contract obligations were finished, and she turned down their offer to extend."

I heard someone call out his name, his secretary Lorraine I think, and he asked me to hold for a minute to answer her question.

"Where was I? Carmen said she was moving back to Greenville to settle down because she missed the area and our laid-back lifestyle. The only jobs I had then were lab technician positions, but I told her about you, and she said she'd accept a temporary technician position if she could apply to be your PA."

"She wants to work for me? That's humbling."

"Marty, you don't have a humble bone in your entire body."

"Haha. Humor from my father. Thanks, Dad."

I went back to HR at 5:20, and Dad was sitting in the interview room talking to a beautiful woman with Hispanic features, curly black hair sitting off her shoulders, dark smoky eyes, and perfect lips for kissing and... Marty! Wake up, calm your little head down, and focus on this interview.

Dad introduced us and slid his chair away from the table to observe. We talked about advances in solid rocket fuels, and I shared some of my theories for increasing the rate of acceleration with ion-powered engines and in-flight refueling. Like old friends, we talked freely, not worried about anyone's feelings being hurt, and I felt as comfortable with her as I did with Ruth.

After thirty minutes, I slapped the table and bellowed, "Enough, we are wasting time."

Carmen and Dad looked shocked as they stared at each other, so I put them out of their misery.

"When can you start? I have an office with two rooms, one World War II desk and chair, and four telephones, with three of them sitting on the floor. Next Wednesday, I have a $700,000 Cray XC-30-Air Cooled mainframe being delivered, and I don't have any PCs, just Cat-6 cabling in the walls. Dad, do you have the salary sheet you made for this position?"

He shook his head and answered, "No, but I know what it is." He tore off the bottom third of a copier page showing her driver's license, wrote a number down, and handed it to me. I didn't even look; I just slid it over to Carmen. High tech and professional all the way.

As Carmen looked at the offer, Dad looked at me and whispered, "You bought a Cray? Did you take Bob's pistol out of his desk?"

"Oh, my. That's significantly more than what I made here before."

"Then you accept," I asked with my fingers crossed?

"Yes! Your dad told me he wasn't going to poison the water for the other candidates; then he guaranteed you'd hire me anyway."

"Great minds think alike. Can you start at 8 AM tomorrow?"

And that was how I hired my PA, Carmen Rodriguez. And when Liz meets her, sparks will fly.

*****

Chapter 26 My work trio is complete, my mainframe arrives, and I finally see Momma's house.

The next morning, I arrived at my office at 7:50, and Carmen was waiting for me.

Before sending her to HR to sign a few documents, I went midway between Marty-World and the Real-World to disclose the power of Marty's brain to Carmen. "Are you ready for my list?"

"Okay." That sounded like an overconfident, okay. I'll awe her by revealing all of Marty's powers.

"Off my personal phone, I need all my contact names with phone numbers on a Rolodex for my desk and loaded into my work smartphone, which Uncle Bob's Marsha received yesterday. Ask HR Marcia for Amara Bell's folder and after you get her folder, contact and interview her ASAP. No pressure from me, but I know you'll like her, and I want to hire her as our secretary. Then stop by procurement and see what desks and chairs they have in the warehouse, we need three of each, and I trust your judgment. If they don't have any, grab one of their office supply catalogs, pick out what we need, and tell them we need them in place by noon next Tuesday. We'll eventually need a slew of file cabinets, but they are a low priority for now. Do you prefer blackboards and chalk or whiteboards with magic markers? It makes no difference to me, but we need three ten-footers. I need a 40 x 30 drafting table because sometimes I need to draw, and I'm sure they don't have one in the warehouse, so order one. I've already ordered five desktop units from the CIA through my fifteen-year-old cousin Larry. And the last task, order two more smartphones from Bob's Marsha. Convince her that I need both by Monday afternoon. Oh, and the final last thing, we need a combo, copier-scanner- printer, ooh, ooh, and we all need security badges and retinal scans to get through locked doors."

I took a deep breath and noticed something Carmen didn't do.

"You didn't write anything down. Did you get all that, Carmen? I recorded it on my phone if you need me to repeat it."

"Not a problem, Marty. I forgot to tell you that I have a photographic memory."

"Crap! I thought I had you." Curses foiled again.

Carmen walked out of our office, speaking with laughter in her voice, "Better luck next time."

I made a phone call, and after getting transferred six times, I finally reached Peter Wang on the phone and asked about the PCs I had already ordered for myself, Dad, Uncle Bob, Amara, and Carmen.