The Long Highway Pt. 04B

Speaking of horror, at work things are stressful as usual, getting ready for midterms. Records to be turned in to the administrators take time and focus. I was thinking "How can I stand this job?" and also "I like it, hanging out with friends here, students too," when I ran into Nancy, one of the program directors, several ranks below the department head and the rest but on the rise- she made a good impression on those above her (on everyone), was friendly with the mucky-mucks, enjoyed their company- no surprise in that nothing wrong. Teachers were in their own world, the workhorses, the engine that made the place run. Pretty, cheerful, young (mid-thirties), Nancy lives in my neighborhood, where we've sometimes bumped into each other, most recently commented on the Halloween decorations adorning the house fronts these days. Nancy considers me different from our colleagues on the job, amusing, as I guess others do as well.

We were in the hall, passing, when she took my arm. "You've gotta see this. I've assigned all the staff and teachers a horror ranking."

"Huh?"

"For Halloween." She gave a smile, swung around to look at me and guide me her way, the opposite from which I'd been heading, back to her office nearby, off that hall.

Nancy has blondish short hair, a pageboy cut, good character, kind of relaxed. I think there's money behind her. That tends to de-stress people. She doesn't need the job. Husband has a better paying one or her family is comfortably off.

"And you should see your rating."

"I bet it's high."

She smiled again, not revealing anything, wanting to surprise me.

Halloween hijinks.

I turned around and walked with her.

"Just take a minute," she assured as we stepped into her den.

There were cards aligned on the window ledge of the space she'd made cozy, homey, one each for both teachers and administrators.

Nancy had added to the office Halloween decorative touches, a pointed black hat topping her desk, dark flowers in a knurled glass vase by the window the light poured through, distorted with hints of blue sky color caught in the uneven thickness of the glass. An orange Halloween cat cut-out adorned the spare twisted stem and branches. That seasonal stuff shared the space with photos of home, of her family and the like.

She would have offered me tea but I didn't have time as people on the administrative side do. With the pine green walls, her office looked very serene compared to my job.

Nancy found my card after giving me a moment to look for it. There were bunch of them. On each she'd written by hand, just a few notes, data, in light pen that looked like pencil

Horror ranking was indicated by number of pumpkins beside the name on top of the stiff, index-size cards. Mine seemed a lot.

"Is that the highest?" I asked

Nancy smiled again.

I noticed by my name to the right of the pumpkin icons a time, also in light script, her fastidious touch- you could picture her writing letter by later, almost like Japanese characters, careful, fastidious but creative, enjoying herself.

2:32 a.m.

"What's the time about? When you wrote the card?" I asked Nancy.

"No. The time that person brings to mind."

"Witching hour scale?" Here it was my turn to smile.

Nancy grinned.

So in my case it was the middle of the night. Someone lower on the horror ranking would presumably rate a more civilized hour.

I liked that Nancy associated me with late night, early morning. I found her very attractive, felt pulled to her there, alone together in her office, an intimate space.

I liked her blond hair style- straight and fine as gold leaf- cut in a straight line short of her neck, her ear exposed, an earring, gold or brass, dangling. She has a classy look, old money, New England background, I think, is kind of a square but has a mischievous side this Halloween game showed; she liked bringing people together, as it would when the exchange of and comparison of cards took place in a sort of culminating activity, to use teacher lingo.

And she has a great ass. The deerskin-colored pants she wore, high waisted, like riding trousers, showed it. Suddenly I wanted to reach out, touch her face gently, feel the contours of her cheeks, her chin, slide my hand under her hair, where she'd feel the contact keenly, maybe wriggle as if tickled, in delight and surprise at the sensation, maybe a little alarmed, not expecting that, but immediately wet.

Nancy's features were aristocratic, fine that is, not exactly my taste- I prefer fuller lips like Akemi's- but her character made her likable, brought into view her measure of beauty.

Or maybe she'd get wet in a delayed reaction. Funny to dwell on this, I know, but my libido, for want of a better word, was stirred in the silence she and I shared.

You see how I am? Horny.

We'd turn to face each other, draw close and kiss standing there, our mouths open, one conversation over, another starting in silence.

But of course I had to get back to work. A class was starting in about five minutes and I was still missing a paper I needed for it, a roster for the mid-term records due in the office that afternoon. I'd been frantically searching for the thing when Nancy came along and provided some pleasant relief. Yeah, I liked her and she me. Collegial flirtation, call it, nothing more. But for a moment, my feelings had surged. Had hers?

What did it mean that she saw me as high on the "horror" hierarchy? My dark humor, of course. She seemed not to have that, really was something of a square, but who knows? Anyway, likable and super attractive in her conservative, buttoned-down New England way.

Maybe she came from near where the Salem witch trials happened.

Speaking of witches, that woman by the subway station really was one, if ever any existed.

But I also had Akemi in mind while I talked to Nancy. It was a Monday, roughest of the week often, and on the weekend Akemi and I had been with friends in the country, not as far out as New England but in the same direction, and on an outing we'd decided to go off on our own, to enjoy our own company apart from the others.

Maybe it was the color of Nancy's office that reminded me, the pleasant green walls- they also gave a spacious feel. The shade was probably called something like Spruce.

We walked, Akemi and I, into the forest. It was a slight rise from the road, which curved there to an opening. Inside immediately things got darker and the quiet louder. Your feet crunched on fallen leaves, twigs. You couldn't help wondering if you'd be disturbing any animals, unseen but there all the same. Would they attack if we came too close, "fight or flight" impulse tipped to the former.

Akemi and I wanted to make love. It's still Indian summer. If we couldn't lie down, the ground too hard, uneven, Akemi could give me a blowjob.

Blowjob. That's on my mind these days. Akemi's are so good. My wife's blowjobs. Nothing like them. And I won't countenance anyone else saying that.

I'm so hot for Akemi, much more than for Nancy or any other colleagues or students at the college, of course, I get turned on even writing about her, can't wait for her to get home (she's out now), her mouth, her pussy, her good character. Brushing her shoulder with my hand, pushing the fabric of her top off them, biting there, her biting me in turn, both softly but for real.

God, I want to come, mix my wet with hers, send out a spume. If you want to watch, you couldn't see. It happens inside. But the motion- Akemi's- is itself a wonder to behold, was in the forest as it is here.

Akemi talked on last night about a blogger she follows, older woman who lives in Northern California and wrote about a visit to a local Starbucks where she ordered coffee with a funny name like Caramel Mochaciatta, along those lines, and then found herself waiting too long. "Did you forget me?" she asked the worker behind the counter. Turned out he had written her name wrong. He didn't know how to spell the Japanese.

"Now she says she's Susan and other names, ha ha."

"Speaking of funny ones," I said. Akemi wouldn't choose caramel mocha whatever-it-is, likes her coffee black, one among many of her preferences that delight me by their uniqueness, drew me to her originally. She makes her own choices, apart from the crowd. It's a reason she came to this country, leaving Japan and its conformity behind for now at least.

Independence a quality Akemi shares with Nelson.

She's vulnerable and has a sense of humor.

We don't always fuck with Akemi on top, needless to say. And she is resilient. I see that when I take her from behind, her ass bouncing in my hands.

Do I seem to be bragging, at least crowing?