Life as a New Hire Ch. 20

With the phantom applause of a hundred other male 'losers' who went to Fractional North H.S., I penetrated the queen who had been beyond us all only four years ago. The erotic twist to all that was with every sense of triumph and pleasure, Cameron mimicked me. Certainly we were both having a memorable time. I had to touch, lick, knead, and fondle every inch of Cameron's body.

We both explored our nipple fetish, '69'-ed and engaged in some anal play – no penetration. I completed my first sojourn with the removal of the condom and the blowjob that had been the fantasy of countless hours in my home's upstairs bathroom. Cameron didn't just swallow – she savored my semen and looked like she wanted more.

Normally I cuddle beside my partner post-coitus. With Cameron, I lay on top of her at eye level. I put enough weight on her to let her feel pinned without real discomfort.

"I have a confession," I gave her a sweaty-faced grin.

"What?" she asked then gave me a peck on the lips.

"We went to school together – same grade and everything," I enlightened her. "We even talked once." Cameron didn't know what to make of that. "I'll put that in perspective though. Do you believe that if you do something you do your best? Do you believe in craftsmanship?"

"Cáel, you are scaring me," Cameron frowned.

"Fifteen seconds and you can go," I conveyed with as much calm as I could. "Answer my question."

"Okay...yes, I believe in doing your best. I believe in craftsmanship," Cameron played along.

"Your words – 'never in a million years'." I related and waited. First there was the uncertainty and fear of the odd course our relationship had taken. It took a few seconds because so few pieces of the puzzle fit.

"Cáel Nyilas...it was you...start of senior year...I had been," she muttered. Then came the real fear. "You must hate me."

"I thought about it," I said, "but that isn't really me. See, you helped create me. Truth be told, you were only the catalyst. I did all the work."

"A great many women helped. They were never a replacement for you. I was taught better than that by my first lover," I continued. "Still, I would be totally different if you hadn't casually annihilated my self-worth that September day." Pause. "Do you like the results?"

"You really don't hate me..." Cameron was coming around.

"It was high school. We all screw up in high school. According to a few studies, if you don't make a mess of high school, you are destined for failure," I related some real information.

"You are getting hard again," Cameron gasped back to being okay with things between us.

"Perhaps I should have warned you," I grinned wickedly. "I'm a sex addict."

"Hey, Sex Addict!" Pamela shouted into the room. "There are some people out here to see you."

"Good people, or bad people?" I shouted back.

"Worse," Pamela replied. "The kind of people that want something from you." That was vaguely unpromising.

"Cameron, take a shower and we'll talk about dinner when you get out. I think I need to take care of this," I sighed. Off went Cameron to the shower and on went my robe. In the main room, with a variety of levels of sexual tension, were sixteen women I didn't know. The Hotel Burnham has very nice suites, but they are not ballrooms.

The room was pretty crowded, with not enough chairs and wall space getting sparse. They were all Havenstone women and I was willing to bet the average age was thirty-five; not my normal crowd. At least I knew why they were all there. Pamela suspected. Rachel and her team were clueless.

"Hi, I am known as Cáel Nyilas," I greeted them. "A short history lesson and things will make a great deal more sense, so please be patient." The crowd was not pleased. I was a male and to a woman, the ladies had repudiated the world of men. They were all 'Runners'. It was the presence of Rachel's group that was keeping them civil at this point.

"Twenty-five hundred years ago, as the Second Betrayal was ending, there was a small group of males who had proven themselves to the Amazon Host, taken into houses and their names were written on the Amazon Rolls," I started off. "Two of those males and three male children of one of the houses survived the massacre the female Amazons inflicted on their kin."

That bought me a moment. Slaughtering your own babies, even male babies, wasn't something they would shrug off.

"Well, if you know your Amazon politics, you know that the children of an Amazon who dies while in service of the Host becomes a member of the Host – so on and so on."

The implications were sinking in as was the nervousness.

"One of those men was a young warrior named Vranus of House Ishara. I am the sole surviving heir of Vranus. We are also here for the burial of my Father, who was murdered Sunday night. The next bit of Amazon politics. House Ishara was an extinct First House," I continued.

"Oh shit," was uttered from half-dozen lips as they moved to the next, obvious step.

"The succession to the Head of House for any House is elevation by your peers, accepted ritual combat and...the oldest surviving member of the House," I added.

"By the Seven Martial Goddess...don't you have to be female? I mean – We are Amazons!" one of the 'Runners' yelled in disbelief.

"Do you plan to add more males to your House?" one of the senior members growled.

"Two things – it should not bother you one way, or another, and it is not MY House. It is the House of my Ancestor, Ishara. If this is going to be a problem, you are in the wrong room," I met her hostile glare ember for ember. That one headed for the door.

"Wait," a fellow 'Runner' grabbed her arm.

"You can't be going along with this Marsha?" the departing Amazon snapped.

"I don't know this one, but I trust Buffy," Marsha countered.

"Ok ladies, so that we are clear," Pamela sighed.

"The next one of you to insult the Head of House Ishara, I am going to drag into the other room, kill you and cut you up into giblets for room service to take away," Pamela sounded positively disinterested.

"I am not afraid of you," the departing one glared.

"That would be a serious mistake," Rachel interjected quietly. Deep breath from me.

"Listen, this is a highly improbable incident. I am not asking anyone to embrace the society you have rejected. In fact, I admire you for the strength it took to transition. I also ask you to accept the fact that I DO NOT want to be here, doing this, with any of you," I made one last effort.

"Quite frankly, you man-haters scare me – being a man and all. You seem to think I have a choice in any of this. I don't. I am the heir of Vranus. I am the last known living descendant of the Amazon who chose the name Ishara for the sake of her house's unity," I stated. "I don't want to do this, but I'm not the kind of human being who runs away from my responsibilities."

"Okay...Cael of Ishara, why are we here?" Marsha said as she kept the other one from leaving.

"Sixty years ago, the Amazon Houses swore an oath to the women who joined their cause. They lied to you. They have not kept up their side of the bargain. They have refused virtually all of you entry into the status as true, full-blooded Amazons," I explained.

"And now you are going to rectify that...injustice?" the senior one kept mocking me.

"Fine – you and me – one last chance," I sighed. "Look around you. Who do you see? The prettiest, the most pliable, the most power-hungry? If you can point out one woman in this room that doesn't deserve to be a Full-Blooded Amazon, leave now."

"You didn't choose any of us," she responded.

"Exactly!" I shouted. "I didn't choose any of you to be in House Ishara. Buffy Ishara and Helena Ishara did. Why? Because I don't know any of you, or your sacrifices and worth to Havenstone. I gave that duty to the two – and only two – member of House Ishara who would know who was the most worthy to be in a First House."

"We are here to be inducted," one of the silent Amazons voiced with a dream-like quality.

"Yes. Barring being rejected by Ishara, you will be inducted at my Father's graveside tomorrow morning," I stated clearly.

"How many?" Senior questioned.

"This time – twenty," I answered. "I have no agenda and no set number of 'Runners' to be inducted into House Ishara. It doesn't work that way. I'll ask the senior members of our House to look for those they consider of being worthy as sisters. Some of you may never find someone suitable. Others may be more fortunate."

"Wait – you aren't going to select members for your own House?" a fourth member gasped.

"I repeat – I know jack and shit about Havenstone right now. I'm not qualified to find toilet paper for the Men's room, much less resurrect an Amazon House. You trusting me is not the issue. Me being able to trust you to keep our House in order until I have a daughter who comes of age is."

"Do you have any children yet?" Marsha inquired.

"No and I always use condoms," I replied. "The factor is that I have decided that House Ishara may speak on the Council, but cannot vote. Until my daughter – who will be raised by the lot of you and your sisters – reaches her majority, we are at a bit of a disadvantage because no Ishara – I'm sure no man at all – has ever voted on the Council and I'm not going to change that."

"If you don't vote, what do you do?" the senior one asked.

"I test road-kill density versus traffic patterns," I replied seriously. Hush.

"Don't make me stab you," Pamela hissed at me.

"He is an intern for Executive Services at our New York offices," Rachel intervened.

"He has this bizarre habit of coming up with unique job descriptions for no reason any of us can ascertain," Rachel added.

"Ladies, I'm twenty-two, straight out of college and have less than a month's experience at Havenstone. What did you think I did?" I lightened the mood.

"Aren't you a director now?" the silent one spoke.

"If a Director gets a paycheck, I've been kept in the dark about that," I smiled. "I do get some benefits above and beyond being an intern. I get an hour of firearms training in the morning – at six a.m. I get knife-fighting at three. I get to shower with numerous gorgeous babes who regularly kick my ass...wait – I've been shot with an arrow and repeatedly stabbed too."

Another hush – waiting for the punchline.

"He's not joking about the last part," Rachel enlightened them. "Cáel gets physically mangled on a fairly regular basis. Speaking of which, Ishara, several packages arrived for you today. We've gone through them. Most...we have no idea what they are for."

"You did get an armored long jacket and four tomahawks with a harness," she saved the best for last. My eyes lit up and I took a step toward Rachel's suite. "Ishara, please behave." Another hush.

"Can we, if we are accepted by Ishara, talk to you that way?" the normally silent one inquired.

"Sure. Try not to do it too much in public, but in general you may assume you know more about a given subject, or task, than I do," I nodded.

"Now I understand Buffy's call," senior stopped trying to leave. "She made an obtuse statement about having to save a person from herself. As long as you...promise to listen to your senior members of the House, I can do this."

"Great – done deal – can I go play with my axes now?" I looked at Rachel. She tried to look dour and disappointed but I saw that smile she tried to squash. I got another half step to my axes when Pamela yanked me back.

"Cáel – shower – take care of business," she reminded me.

With all this sex, how was I going to have any fun? Off to the naked girl in the shower.

"What about children?" A different 'Runner' poised.

"Unbutton a button, or two, and smile," Pamela counseled. "That should do the trick. Cáel's not complicated."

"I mean...with other men?" she clarified.

"He's not the jealous type either. Knock yourself out," Pamela filled in for me nicely. The rest of the discussion was muffled by my entry into the shower. Cameron was halfway through her shampoo. Her calf and thigh caressing my thigh told me my intrusion was just fine.

(Late Night Dancing and then Some)

"I'm still not sure about this," I said to Pamela as we stepped into the club. "When Rachel figures out I've slipped away, she's going to be furious."

"That's why you have your phone, my young padawan," Pamela assured me. The Latin rhythms filled the air. The Tango Club was Pamela's idea. My formal dance skills were subpar, to put it kindly.

"Padawan? I wouldn't have thunk it, Bwana," I grinned. "So, what was it like when the first talkies came out?"

"You know, you are almost funny when you try," Pamela patted my elbow.

"Really?" I played along.

"No. I was saying that out of pity for you," Pamela snickered. The cloak room attendant didn't know what to make of us. "She's my younger sister," I told the man. "I age well." I compiled his confusion by handing him my insanely heavy long coat. The weight damn near caused him to collapse against the wall. "It is my winter coat," I stated. "It is full of barometric pressure."

Pamela handed off her own frock without incident.

"You are a nervous wreck," Pamela prodded me. "That is why you are here – to unwind. If you go into tomorrow's gutter crawl as screwed up inside as you are now, you could start a war."

"Gotchya. I'll go find some women to kick my ass. That always works for me," I agreed.

The first two ladies I danced with did not kick my ass. They did politely help me polish my moves. Their 'I bet you are a quick learner' part had nothing to do with the dance floor. Life is a Big Meanie. I would have been perfectly okay with a few married/divorced dances and made my way home to a fitful night's sleep, but some chick had to run me and my partner down on the dance floor.

Rude? She not only didn't apologize, she didn't even acknowledged us being in the way at all. If she hadn't been dancing with the second hottest woman in the place, I'd have taken them to task then and there. Something about my insipid desire for a midnight three-way curtailed my anger. I mollified my partner, tossed some Spanish barbs their way and finished up.

Normally I'm this stupid and tonight was no exception to the rule. The dark haired, sultry Slavic chick took to her wicker-back chair like some sniper's perch. Her demur/bad girl Japanese companion had stepped away for some drinks. These two were definitely separate, but equal babes so a separated approach was best. My own wine glass about empty, I moved in.

Then those gateways to oblivion she called eyes registered my proximity. My inner marmoset was screaming at me to become one with the vegetation as the bird of prey's stare started skinning me alive. I registered her Japanese companion moving in with two glasses of what passed for Champagne in this place.

I was a meter away when I went 'full reverse thrusters' and began backing my ass out of there.

"What?" the sniper said in a cuttingly degrading voice. "Two women together and you assume we are lesbians?" Man; that exceeded Amazon nasty.

"Oh no," I shook my head and held my ground.

"Until you moved I thought you were a poorly dressed mannequin. Then your head swiveled and my Bitch-o-meter went off the charts," I explained. "I had just resolved to seek out some human company when you spoke and since I'm not a petulant prima donna like the person sitting before me, I chose to extend to you the common courtesy of a response."

"You are an ass, cloaked in a safe little cocoon you call life," she stood. "Does it amuse you to insult people in languages they might not understand?"

"Your ability to speak, or not speak, Spanish is not my concern. Comforting my dance partner was, so I slathered on your justly deserved vulgar descriptors." I smiled.

"What do you do for a living?" she grrred, not purred. That was a prelude to pain of some kind.

"Ugh," I sighed. "I do quality control for Jays Potato Chips. I pick out the bad chips." Remember now, I lie like a bastard with +10 skill modifier where emotional chicks are concerned.

"Are they going to miss you tomorrow when you don't show up for work?" Slavic Bad-Ass stroked my tie.

"Wow, that wasn't good gallows humor, or even a convincing threat," I scoffed. That pissed her off. Yay me!

"I want to dance," she twisted my tie, half-choking me.

"Oddly enough, I came here to get my ass kicked, so it looks like we are both going to get what we want," I rasped. That she found amusing. I seriously run into way TOO many psycho-chicks. It is like a gift – but the opposite.

I polished off my wine and as a spontaneous gesture to remind the Japanese Bad-Girl that I hadn't left her out, I tossed it to her. Having a glass in each hand promised to...she caught my glass between the other two glasses without looking. Holy Fuck!

"Try to keep up," Slavic Babe demanded. "You will fail. Try anyway."

The music burst forth and the dancing began. To make my footwork that much more difficult, Bird-of-Prey chick kept up a running banter.

"If you weren't circumcised, would you accept the procedure now?" she started. Whoa.

"Fuck no. I have plenty of ladies who would gladly castrate me. No way am I letting some people in masks hover over my privates with a blade," I replied.

"Have you ever been with a man, or a woman, who truthfully found your performance in bed at least acceptable?" I reposed.

"I don't know, or care," she mused. "I kill them all when I'm done." Weeee...

"Man-o-man, I bet E-Harmony has a backlog for you," I whistled.

"Wait, do you do E-Harmony, or Cougar.com?" I added to the misery.

"Has anyone ever found you amusing?" she sighed, somewhat bored.

"Before, or after I took my clothes off?" I countered.

"That answers that," she yawned.

"What happens if I toss you out that window?" I motioned with my eyes to the closest portal.

"Let's try and find out," she was clearly at the end of her toying with me, but then, "Interesting."

"Thanks," I shrugged.

"Not you," she snipped.

One of the Gospels of Quentin Tarantino: Put two, or more, lethal chicks in a room and they are going to fight. For my part, things became truly fun. See, I was taller than the Slavic Nightmare so she tried to steer me in the Tango. Nope, not happening. Even when she applied the Vulcan Death Pinkie Hold, I refused to surrender despite my searing agony.

The dance ended and I shook myself free. I'm sure only the surprise of the situation allowed me to make a clean break.

"Who are you?" Slavic Pain Pandora glared at me.

"None of your Goddamn business, Princess," I sneered.

Was I picking a fight? Hell yeah, I was picking a fight. I certainly hadn't gotten any enjoyment out of that place so I was going for option two – getting my ass kicked. I didn't see Pamela. That was okay. I knew she'd mapped out every stupid move I could make and went for the least complicated. I prefer my pain served up by a short order cook, not a five star restaurant.

I got my coat out and tipped the poor guy a $20 for the back pain he'd be feeling tomorrow. I slipped it on then loosened my tomahawks. Last Place for Mother of the Year and her Japanese tagalong were right behind me. I felt my cosmic connection with my supernatural guardian and...I went straight into the street because I was too pissed to think of anything else.

Pain and Pain's Best Friend had followed me to the curb when Pamela spoke. She was behind them, leaning against the building.

"Let's call it a night, shall we?" she said with an amused lilt. Those two spun around. Apparently I didn't warrant monitoring.

"I don't know you," the Slavic Menace regarded Pamela, "and I think I should."

"You don't know me and it is better that way," Pamela smiled back, "for both of us."

"I am Selena and my companion is Miyako," Selena made introductions.