Date: Thu, 19 Feb 2009 16:02:58 -0700
From: Jay roberts <diplomat1501@msn.com>
Subject: "A Job With Benefits, Part One"   by Jay Roberts   Bi Sexual Adult

===of course most jobs offer benefits.  Benefits like
      a car perhaps, surely medical coverage, and some
      a three week vacation at the company's vacation cabin.
      It's not those kind of benefits, so you young, under 18
      Job seekers, this is not the place for you, but if you are
      over 18, and ready to roll up your sleeves (maybe your
      pants legs as well, stay, breathe deeply as we begin.


"Do you like James Bond movies?"

That was an unusual question to be asked at a job interview.  The man on
the other side of the desk was unusual. Too.  He was one of those old/young
guys.  I mean, he had a young face, yet it looked as if he had lived a full
life.  His hair was bright silver, and cut into a military style..  But it
was his voice that held me entranced.  It was exceptionally deep.  He
produced his words elegantly; his vowels round, his consonants crisp.  I
found myself watching his full mouth for the entrancing movement of his
tongue as he produced these sounds and words.

My mind was wandering.  This is fatal during an interview, Lord knows, I
needed this job.  I was not even sure what it was, but the insertion in the
New York Times attracted me.  It's vagueness and the elegance of the
wording, both galvanized me to call the telephone number.  The actual
wording gave only hints: Applicant must display independent thought, must
have breeding and worldly experience.  A good physique is essential and a
knowledge and possession of clothing and accessories, a plus.

I called the number.  This same Mr. Smith, who was now interviewing me,
answered.  Once I heard that voice, I knew I had to have this job.

Now I think I am eminently suited for this job and I tooted my own horn to
Mr. Smith, shamelessly, I fear, but he had instructed me to be perfectly
honest, with no false modesty.  So I told him about my family, now reduced
to a mother and an older brother.  My brother was at State, a deputy
ambassador to a small European nation.  Through my brother's help, I was
able to make many trips abroad, most of the time at no cost. My father died
ten years ago and with him, the family's fortune.  We had breeding, but no
money.  I did manage to be accepted at Harvard in the MBA program, but when
I obtained my degree, I found the job market had dried up.  "The park
benches are full of Harvard MBA's," one interviewer had told me.

But here I was, it was going well.  I felt that Mr. Smith was interested in
my background.  I had a knack for languages and his eyes rose when he heard
that my skills included six languages.  His questions, though, were a
little odd for an interview.  He was asking now, if I was a virgin.

"No, not since the age of thirteen."

"A girl playmate?"

"No, actually the downstairs maid."

"I see.  Was it good for you?"

"I loved it, and it started me on a lifelong hobby."

He digested that.  "Sex with men?"

"Never had any interest in that, but not hung up and anti-gay.  I don't
want to sound trite, but not only do I have two gay friends, but, keep this
between us, my brother is gay."

He was full of surprises, "Do you have a tux?"

"Of course.  You need one at Harvard."

He stood up.  Go home, pack a bog and register at the Intercontinental.  A
reservation and chits for meals will be waiting.  Your stay will be two
days.  After that, call here and set up an appointment.

I started to ask questions, but he shook his head.  "Save it for your
second interview."

I left a little dazed, wondering what the next two days might bring.

I went home, packed an overnight bag, and drove back to the city, parking
near the hotel.  (They gave me a chit for the parking.  That was good.  It
was sixty dollars for two days.)  The desk welcomed me as if I was VIP.  I
was led to my suite.  A basket of fruit and a bottle of champagne awaited
with a card from Mr. Smith, asking that I enjoy my stay.

I took a long bath, using all the expensive stuff that was there.  I
dressed in a pair of gray slacks, blue blazer and open white shirt.  This
choice usually goes anyway.

I stopped at the bar.  "Are you Mat Wilson?" the bartender asked.

"Why yes.  How did you know?"

He showed me a picture of myself, apparently taken secretly at the
interview.  I was a little annoyed by this liberty, but I quickly became
mollified when the bar guy told me that "drinks were on the house."

I ordered a Martini.  As I was sipping it, the Matre'd came over.  "May I
sit here, Mr. Wilson?  I thought we might discuss your dinner.  Special
tonight is sliced fillet with a wine sauce, but actually you may have
anything you wish.  I hope you will give us something difficult to achieve.
We count on pleasing you and the Group."

This was the first time I heard my potential employers called "The Group."

I sat sipping my Martini trying to think of something difficult.  Finally I
spoke slowly, he was writing this down.  "Oysters on the half shell, lamb
kidneys, a side of sweet and sour red cabbage, crepes, and demi tasse."

"Very good.  We'll be ready to receive you in fifteen minutes."

"Wow.  Didn't even faze him."

I finished my drink and ordered another one.  "Would you like me to prepare
some shrimp in hot sauce of other hot entr‚e?"

"No Fred (I knew his name with the comradeship of a two-drink customer.)
>From the dinner order I gave, I better not dull my appetite.?

Fred's phone rang as I popped the stuffed olive into my mouth.  He cupped
the phone.  "If you wish to dine now, your dinner is ready."

"Yeah, I better go.  I have had two olives now, I have to quit, they can
really get to you."

"You're right.  It's not the Martinis."

I headed toward the dinning room, Fred's chuckling laugh behind me.  I was
met at the door by the matre'd, all smiles.  "I think we have accomplished
your requests.  We hope you will be pleased."

The dinner was memorable.  I liked the fact that it was so classy that they
didn't over fill the plates.  For instance, my delicious chilled fresh
oyster plate consisted of six.  The lamb kidneys are always a challenge for
the chef.  They have to be firm, but not leathery.  These were perfect, and
the sauce, as well, not too thin or thick.  Everything else was up to that
standard, and when I finally sipped my strong demi tasse, the waiter
brought over a bottle of rare brandy.  There I was, wallowing in luxury
when I heard a soft giggle behind me.

I turned around and smiled.  Frankly all this lonely splendor was getting
to be too lonely.  The perfect end of the day would be female company.

My eyes widened when I saw her.  She was also eating alone.  What can I
say, she was exactly the physical type I love, not skinny, face cute rather
than beautiful.  My eyes roamed to her legs, bare, beneath her skirt short.
These were legs from a wet dream, rounded, gorgeous knees and a full,
gently curving calf.  "Hello, would you like to have some brandy, it's
excellent?  I'll ask the waiter to pour some for you."

It was as though he heard me.  He approached, carrying a snifter and poured
her a drink.

I decided that she accepted my drink, now she'll have to accept me.  I got
up from my table and drew a chair out from her table.  She kept smiling all
the time.

"Do you always eat such elegant food?  Are you a prince or something?

"Hah, not even close.  I'm just a poor job hunter and my future employer, I
hope, has treated me to this very expensive meal and room at this hotel.
Are you staying here?"

"Unfortunately no.  I'm at the Savoy, I'm in New York for just one night.
I heard about the excellent food here and walked over.  Are the rooms
nice?"

I laughed.  "I don't know about the rooms. I've been treated to a suite.
It's really fine."  I decided to jump in to deep water.  "Eh, would you
like to see it?"

"I would, but don't take that as any green light.  You know what I mean,
don't you?"

"Sure," I called the waiter to sign the check.  He said it was not
necessary, but he added, "I can also put the young ladies on your 'no
check' check if you wish."

She objected, but relented.

Just as we were leaving, the waiter said with a wink, "I'm sending the
brandy up to your suite.

End Part One

Now I know you are saying, "this is Nifty.  Doesn't he know this is the
hard on place.  Where's the sex?

Stick with me dude.  The next chapter has it all.