Date: Sat, 11 Jan 2003 07:44:50 -0800 (PST)
From: Robin Reed <any_mouse2003@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Peter Principle (Part 3)

The Peter Principle (Part 3- The Firm)

The usual disclaimers refer. If you are under 18 or the idea of sex
between consenting adults offends you, go elsewhere.

The Firm

The alarm woke me at five as it always does and I turned it off and lay
in the darkness. I had dozed intermittently after the dream. I savored it
still, the touch and feel of Eddie's wiry body next to mine. But I was
alone under the comforter, alone and nude as is my custom. By instinct I
reached down to caress myself but stopped abruptly. Eddie had warned me
about hat, and if I succumbed to the desire to touch myself I knew where
it would go. There still was an ache inside my loins from pent-up desire.
But Eddie had seemed so insistent on the matter and I had to follow his
direction. I knew he would be able to tell if did. I couldn't resist
those eyes.

I put on my robe and started the coffee in the kitchen nook. Then I
turned on the stereo and switched to the all-news channel I listen to in
the morning. It is important for me to listen to the woes of the
commuters coming in from the distant suburbs. It makes me feel good about
the choices I had. I could drive to the structure and take the Metro
down, or I could drive the Lexus and park in the garage under the
building. I did not have a good parking spot because I was only a middle
manager. But at least I had one and it gave me a choice. My slot was
uncomfortably narrow, next to a massive concrete pillar. If I did not
position my car carefully the door would open into it, marring the paint.
When the weather was fine I could even walk to the Metro, and though it
was chilly, I thought it might be useful to walk off some of the sexual
tension I felt.

I went out to the balcony with my coffee and a single cigarette and
smoked it before I did my stretching exercises. The dawn was orange
against the Maryland sky as I exhaled and sipped the scalding rich
coffee. The steam from the mug and the smoke made a cloud. I stubbed out
the butt in the ashtray that was about to overflow. I made a note to
clean it out before I left and put the mug down on the railing where I
wouldn't knock it off accidentally. I spread my legs and began my
stretches. First turning my torso, arms out, fifty times, getting further
around each time. Then fifty four-count toe touches. Then hands on hips,
twisting my upper body from side-to-side until I felt a little dizzy. Try
as I might, I could not stop thinking about the mass the hung between my
legs and the desire for him.

I stopped twisting and drank coffee, letting myself get oriented again. I
went back inside and heard the traffic guy announce that the Beltway was
a mess near Georgia Avenue at the Temple. I took off my robe and hung it
on the back of the door and took a cold shower, standing back and letting
the stream of icy water hit me right in the groin. The cold was a shock
on the sensitive skin. I shampooed and applied some cream rinse and
rinsed again and then let the cold water run down my chest and legs. When
I could not stand it any longer I turned the valves off and got out and
toweled down. As I dried my legs I peeked back over my shoulder in the
mirror to see what I looked like, what Eddie might see. I dropped the
towel and fell to my knees on the tile. I leaned forward and stretched my
arms forward, resting my cheek on the cool white, my ass in the air,
vulnerable. I stayed that way for a few minutes and then I began to
become aroused again. I got up on hands and knees and thought about what
an idiot I was. I got up and moussed my hair back, brushing it fifty
times and lined up the vitamins and flossed my teeth and brushed them and
held a shot of mouthwash for the full thirty seconds.

Then I thought about what to wear.

The Firm is a pretty buttoned-down sort of place. Mostly dark suits and
white shirts, with red power ties. Very Washington. Sometimes on "casual"
Fridays I would wear a colored shirt, or even a daring severe sports
jacket. Today I selected a navy Jos. Banks suit that I like, a little
boxy, three button. I pared it with a pale pink oxford shirt with a sport
collar and picked a Jerry Garcia tie that lifted some of the pink from
the shirt and contrasted with the sedate suit. Black silky hose and
tasseled pumps with a small heel and a sleek black Coach belt with spare
silver buckle completed the ensemble. I put on the shirt first, enjoying
the crisp feel of the heavy starch my Korean dry-cleaner used. Then the
tie, half Windsor knot with a perfect dimple, then hose and trousers and
belt, tucking the shirt so it was flat and trim across the front and
slightly bloused in the back.

I sipped coffee and considered what to put in my slim attaché case. A
fresh pack of Benson and Hedges Ultra Mild. My Cricket lighter. An apple.
The paper, of course, which was lying in long plastic bag outside the
front door when I checked. I turned off the coffee maker and looked
around the apartment. It was neat enough to come back to that evening. It
turned off the traffic news, things were really bad at the I-270
junction, and put on my suit jacket and picked up my briefcase and walked
out the door. I wondered what Eddie was doing. Was he still in bed? Dark
hair tousled against the pillow? Did he have his morning erection,
something I might worship with my lips and tongue?

I walked the mile or so to the Silver Spring Metro absently. I smoked a
cigarette as I walked and thought about what was going to happen at the
Firm. It was Monday, so the Operations Officer would have the ritual
staff meeting at nine. All the branch heads came to the conference room
and announced their list of important actions and accomplishments. The
Operations Officer was the central cog in the Firm. We were like many
other concerns on K Street. We served the government, or rather, those
that were using the government for some purpose or another, sometimes for
good, sometimes not. It almost always involved the taxpayer's money, but
that is the main reason this town exists. We were in the business of
selling information and influencing policy and legislation. Our Partners
were normally lawyers or political figures who had recently left or were
about to return to the Government. We were an equal opportunity firm,
servicing both Democrats and Republicans. Times being what they are,
there were several Democrats available for private work and you would
know some of them if I told you their names. The Republican Partners had
been sucked back into the government with the Administration, and yet
everyone knew one another and the machine merrily spun along, the ins and
the outs all getting along famously.

The Partners were not interested in the day-to-day running of the Firm,
or rather, wished it was all transparent to them. That is why they hired
the Operations Officer. He normally was not a lawyer, but rather a
specialist in administration and personnel. The Partners liked a crisp
and responsive organization, and they preferred to have a strong
individual running their staff. Many of the firms along the street hired
retired military officers, men who acted in predictable linear ways and
took orders well and passed them along with the expectation that they
would be followed to the letter. My particular cross to bear was
nick-named Happy Jack Anderson, a retired Air Force colonel who had
little imagination but an insatiable attention to detail. He had the
nickname to avoid confusing him with the dead political columnist, who
some of the older Partners still dreaded. He had been a military
logistics specialist, ensuring that fuel and parts were pre-stationed
around the world. He did the same with us, moving our reports and
analysis like product lines to keep the Partners on top of their
lobbying. He kept lists and was relentless on his e-mail. He was the one
who had engineered the expulsion of Eddie from the Firm, out of cycle
with the political rhythm of the town, and there were no jobs out there
for him. Happy Jack was the gate-keeper to the Partners, and his favor
could make or break our young people. Eddie could have been a star, if he
had been showcased properly, displayed to the Partners in the right way,
gained a Patron and been on his way.

Instead Eddie was exiled. I was one of the group of middle managers, as
Eddie said, at my Peter Principle. I came to town with my local
Congressman and worked in his office answering the phone and helping with
policy papers. I met my ex-wife there, another of the battalions of crisp
young career women on the Hill. My Congressman was particularly inept,
and he lost his seat and I was on the outs. I found a modest position at
the Firm, and after twelve years, was now the Branch Chief. I had lost
the marriage and my house in Rockville when I discovered that my wife's
relentless sexuality was as frightening as Happy Jack's e-mails, and
finally realized something I had known since I was a teenager. I liked
men. I answered an ad in the local gay paper and one extended lunch hour
I found myself on my knees in front of a commanding man who used my mouth
casually for his pleasure, and discovered a fulfillment that I had been
lacking in my life. My wife's ambitions resulted in her getting our
house, and a new spouse with a significant job on one of the Committees.
And I was in my little apartment, close-in, safe from the commute.

I liked the stability of the Firm and had no ambition to ride the
political merry-go-round. Happy Jack tolerated me because I didn't argue
with him, always said "yes" to his demands, and didn't make waves. My
area was financial analysis, and the other branches included strategic
planning group, a shop of lawyers, public relations flacks and cost
estimates. There was also and administrative and Information Technology
branch, but they turned over so fast that there was no use in trying to
get to know them. Some of the young men were attractive in their
down-scale clothes and the knowledge that their understanding of
computers made them a power in their own right. It was that air of casual
superiority that infuriated Happy Jack, and kept the young men on their
own merry-go-round, hired elsewhere almost as soon as they hit the marble
and glass lobby of the building.

I had five young analysts, most fresh out of entry-level jobs or
internships in the Administration or the Congress. They knew enough of
how the city ran, staying late at their jobs eating pizza from boxes,
supporting legislation and networking their way across the Hill and down
Pennsylvania Avenue. They would normally stay with the Firm until it was
time to re-join the government at a senior staff level, having caught the
eye of a Partner through a particularly insightful piece of analysis.
Some of them intended to actually run for office at some point, but I
certainly had no fire in my belly for that.

I stood on the Metro escalator after I arrived at the station. I had
plenty of time to make the staff meeting, but I needed to get coffee and
read Happy Jack's e-mails before it started. I had learned from hard
experience to have notes on each of his interest areas, even if it was
not my branch's responsibility. Still, Happy Jack took delight in
skewering us, one by one, for our many failings and shortcomings. I knew
that this morning would be no exception. I got coffee from a cart near
the entrance to our building where the Firm had the entire fourth floor.
Down K Street loomed the building with the signature twin spires you
could see for blocks. Our building was like Goldilocks. It wasn't too
big or too small or too opulent or too austere. It was just right,
assuring our clients that the Firm would meet their needs with precision.
The lobby was chrome and glass and gleaming marble and the elevator bank
was crisp and professional and whizzed up and down with a dignified but
speedy whoosh.

I walked from the elevator bank to the main entrance and through the
glass plate door. There were other entrances, anonymous ones back in the
corridors in case a client wanted their services to remain anonymous.
There even was a special card lock on an alley door that lead to the
stairs, in case the client was particularly averse to publicity. The
receptionist was jus settling into her desk, big brunette hair and
prominent bosom under a well-tailored suit. She was hoping to catch a
Partner's eye, or that of a well-heeled client. She was part of the
ying-yang of this town. She was on the make and the other half of us were
just trying to hang on. I said good morning to her and walked down the
hall to my little office. As a Branch Chief I was entitled to a corner
hutch, a window and a door. There were two chairs so I could have small
meetings if I desired, and a company computer with big screen for office
functions and a lap-top for internet access. The Firm desired that their
proprietary information not be accessible to potential hackers, so the
files data-bases were rigorously segregated from potential hackers. The
Firm's computers even had the floppy drives removed, so it was not
possible to download material to a diskette, except in the Information
Technology office.

I removed my apple and newspaper and my cigarettes from my leather folio
and removed my jacket as I waited for the computers to boot up. I looked
out the window and the cars and taxis and buses rushing by. I thought
about Eddie, hard and urgent, using me.

I logged on with my secret password and saw that Happy Jack had been to
work early. There were twelve red-flagged notes on the Outlook queue. I
read them quickly, saving and forwarding the ones that applied to my
branch, printing them so I had them in my folder for the staff meeting.
There was the Alaska wilderness research project, the oil comparison
forecast and Louisiana gas futures negotiation. And more. Ouside my young
men were arriving to start their week, firing up the computers and
talking about the poor performance of the Redskins the afternoon before.
The other constant in the Ying-yang was about the football team. When the
team did well, the week started with happy banter. When they lost, and
particularly if they performed with ineptitude, the office was surly. It
didn't matter whether you followed the team or not. I looked at the
small black letters above the headline. "Redskins blow lead, Collapse to
Dallas." I sighed. It was going to be a hard staff meeting.

At nine o'clock sharp Happy Jack walked into the conference room. He
wore no jacket and his pink jowls protruded above the crisply starched
white shirt. His tie was a no-nonsense rep pattern and his slacks were
gray in a muted glen plaid. He wore his silver wire-frame glasses low on
his nose and his receding hair was closely cropped in a military manner.
He had two Cross pens in his well-pressed pocket and a sheaf of printed
e-mail and a long yellow legal pad. His eyes were the color of sea-water,
remote and cold. He cleared his throat and got on with it. I doodled on
my pad, taking notes and direction to pass along for later, new parking
issues, health and compensation issues, delay of the bonus to the Firm's
next fiscal year, which inexplicably started in November. I escaped
without major damage, though I was tagged with two major presentations
for later in the week. I was pleased not to be in Public Relations. One
of the clients had his name in the Post that morning, one of those arch
little embarrassments in the gossip section. The branch head got reamed
by Happy Jack and later the legal team was the subject of a five minute
lecture on inefficiency and failure to adequately record billing records.

I took my notes back to my office and carefully typed them up for
distribution to my branch and assigned the lead for the two
presentations, with due dates for submission to me before they were
actually provided to Happy Jack for review. I hated this part of the job.
I was doing a pretty good job of not thinking about what I really wanted
to be doing and was genuinely startled when the black phone on my desk
buzzed. I looked at the light blinking by my private line, a perk
reserved for Branch heads and above. The Partners had several. I picked
it up and answered.

"Rob here."

"Good. I'm glad you are at the office being productive. How was the
staff meeting?" It was Eddie. His voice was cocky and confident, ironic
in tone.

"I'm not sure how productive I am, Eddie. But I am here. The staff
meeting sucked. Happy Jack was in rare form."

"I've been doing some thinking about Happy Jack" said Eddie. "I have a
little idea about him that might clear up an old account with him." My
stomach knotted. I did not want to be part of Eddie's vendetta but I
wanted Eddie as much as I ever wanted anything. "But I'll tell you more
about that later."

"Later, Eddie?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes. I will be by to see you tonight, around seven. There are a couple
things you will need to do to get ready, but they shouldn't be a
problem." He told me what they were and I could feel myself getting hard.

"Now, I need you to get up and close your door."

"Why, Eddie?" I could not get up without my erection straining at my
trousers.

"Just do it." His voice got cold.

"All right. I'm sorry, Eddie." I put the phone down and wheeled around
in my chair and looked to make sure my analysts did not see me aroused as
I was. I got up a little hunched over and closed the door and returned to
my chair. I picked up the phone and said in a husky voice "It's closed,
Eddie. Now what do you want me to do."

"Good boy, Rob. Move your wastebasket between your legs and pull down
your zipper." I gulped.

"Yes, Eddie. OK." I reached down and fumbled for the wastebasket. I held
the phone between my jaw and neck. Then I leaned back and unzipped. "I'm
ready, Eddie."

"OK. Now take your dick out." I fumbled with the slit in my briefs and
fished out my erection. I was hard, and the shaft sprung out of my
underwear, the head engorged.

"Yes, Eddie" I breathed.

"Now put the phone in your left hand and beat off for me." I moved the
phone to my left hand and the cord crossed my chest. I was so full I was
about to burst. I reached down with my right hand and caressed the shaft.
I felt like I would shoot immediately. "Go ahead. Stroke it."

"Yes, Eddie." My breathing began to become ragged as my hand moved up and
down the shaft. I was ready to come immediately. The sound of his
commanding voice was the most erotic thing I had ever heard. "Oh, Eddie,
oh God..."

"Tell me when you are going to come and try to shoot it into the
wastebasket."

"Yes, Eddie." I could feel it rising and the shaft was slippery with
pre-come and oh god it was near oh god.

"Eddie, I'm here..." I breathed and hot jets of pearly jism erupted from
the head of my arcing cock. I held it down, shooting at the rim of the
basket between my legs. Some of it missed and flew onto carpet. Great
gobs of it hit the rim and dripped down the inside. Come was all over my
hand and coating my shaft and soaking into my briefs. "Ooooh, Eddie, oh
God Eddie, thank-you, thank-you for letting me come, oh God thank you..."

"Your welcome, honey. I'll see you tonight." He clicked off the line
abruptly and I was looking at the receiver, my hand still on my softening
cock when knuckles rapped firmly on my door.

"Rob, I need to talk to you about these Alaska numbers" boomed a voice.
It was Happy Jack, in person.

"Just a minute," I said, frantically looking for something to wipe my hands
and put my dick away without staining my dark trousers. "I'm...um...
trying to put in my contacts..^."