Business as Usual

A Writer's Cramp piece (1,000 words or less, 24 hours)

PROMPT given:

First, a little background. I'm a white, 26-year-old, middle-class male who lives in California. I lean to the left politically, have no strong religious beliefs or ties... and I've been married for about a year with no kids yet.

So with all that in mind, write me a story that completely immerses me in a character's realistic everyday world (sorry, no fantasy, sci-fi, action/adventure, etc.) that is distinctly different from my own. I want to lose myself in the life of someone else.

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Business as Usual

Daniel P. Goodbody jumped on the bus at 6 a.m. sharp, exactly as he did every day. He rode for precisely 37 minutes, then exited at Fifth and Morgan. He dropped the remnants of his morning newspaper, the Wall Street Journal, into a slightly dented trash can at the corner, strode across the street on a red light, and swept through the door of New West Bank Depository.

As he walked into his office, Ms. Stern handed him a cup of his usual Ethiopia Sidamo -- from Starbucks, of course. Mr. Goodbody would drink nothing else.

At all times polite, he thanked her, sat down in the black leather chair, turned to face the window, and took his first mouthful. “Perfect,” he said. “As always.”

The office was on the twelfth floor. His eyes scanned the usual sights, taking in the traffic down below him, the river over to the right, and the park to his left. All was as usual. He took another sip of the dark, orange-scented brew and relaxed, sitting back against the soft padding of the office chair, allowing his legs to stretch out and get comfortable. His right leg was cramping a bit. He ignored it, taking another sip.

He had just run up the stairs. His pulse was still a bit fast. He breathed in deep, meditative breaths and calmed his heart's racing beat.

“I did all twelve at a run this morning,” he told her. “Did you hear me? All twelve.”

Ms. Stern spoke immediately. “Bravo, Sir. That is outstanding.” Her eyes softened as she said it, but Mr. Goodbody didn’t see. He was still gazing out the window, observing a couple of doves roosting on an eave lower down. That was fine with Ms. Stern. She allowed her eyes to sweep his hair -- slightly willowy and fair as spun gold. It matched the hair on his chest and that down lower, which she was trying not to think about.

“Will there be anything else, Sir?” she asked as she edged toward the door, feeling her breasts burning with longing.

“Wait,” he said, turning to regard her with eyes the color of a bronze statue. “I’m almost back to normal. Another minute. Let me finish my coffee, and we can get to work.”

Ms. Stern nodded once, then headed for the door. She swiftly locked it and kicked one shoe onto Mr. Goodbody’s desk. The other shoe flew up and landed in his lap.

“Ms. Stern. What on Earth are you doing?” he asked, putting down his emptied coffee cup. His left eyebrow had risen two inches. His eyes were wide. He had the look of one scandalized, but he wasn’t. He stood up, slipped out of his shoes, unfastened his tie, unzipped his pants, and stepped closer.

“Did you hear me?” he asked quite severely.

Ms. Stern didn’t answer. She was too busy unzipping her gray woolen skirt, which she placed neatly on the couch. She removed her jacket, her autumn leaves scarf, and the white silk blouse which had so skillfully masked the peach of her scanty bra.

“Ah,” said Mr. Goodbody. “I see. Is this a business meeting, then?” he asked, taking another step closer.

“Most definitely,” she answered with a long, cool look that sent shivers up and down the slightly sweaty back of Mr. Goodbody. “Let me help you, Sir. I believe a secretary should always be prepared to be of assistance. Her long, thin, agile fingers slipped slowly down the sides of his pants and into the quick of his being.

“Ah,” said Mr. Goodbody. “I see. You seem to have many talents, Ms. Stern.”

A bead of sweat drizzled down his face. It had nothing to do with his earlier exertions, but more to the fact that Ms. Stern was stroking his supreme pole of authority in a most grippingly intense manner.

He sighed, then groaned slightly and brushed her hand aside. “Stop that at once, Ms. Stern. We have serious matters to contend with.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said as she slid off her peach-colored panties and kicked them to the side. “I thought you wanted me to use short hand, Sir, but if you prefer . . . “

Mr. Goodbody’s mouth twisted slightly, as he savored her double entendre. His eyes twinkled, and he bowed his head slightly in respect for her quickness.

“I do not think you will have great difficulty recalling our exchange, Ms. Stern. I will see that it is firmly implanted in the depths of your being.”

“I do want you to be satisfied with my services, Sir,” Ms. Stern explained as she slipped his pole of authority into the wet orifice of her reclining position.

For several minutes the two exercised prodigiously, rotating muscular contacts and achieving several agreeable modes of consensus. With a crescendo that erupted in a fine duet of achievement, the two eventually unmerged and repackaged themselves.

“Would you like your chair back now?” Mr. Goodbody asked.

Ms. Stern curled her top lip, threw the man a kiss, and sashayed over to the black leather chair. “I am extremely satisfied with your work, Mr. Goodbody,” she said. “You may now bring me my cup of coffee, please.”

Mr. Goodbody stood up, ignoring the slap she'd just applied to his rear, and departed through the door. At the table next to the oak secretarial desk, he poured himself a cup of coffee and carried one in to his boss.

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That evening at 5:48 precisely, Mr. Goodbody stepped onto the bus and sat in his usual seat. The ride was not busy. He took out a new Wall Street Journal, read it from cover to cover, then got out at his usual exit. His wife was waiting for him at the bus stop.

“Good evening, Mr. Goodbody,” she said.

“Good evening, Ms. Stern,” he responded, and the two smiled at each other. Then, arm and arm, they walked the rest of the way home.

1,000 words

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