The Donor

Chapter 3

ReflectionsTrying to focus on the box scores, I find my mind wandering. I try not to think of my performance... both job and husbandly duties. But Edie remains on the cell phone and though I cannot hear the words there comes laughter, the Boss Lady always able to bring cheer.

But it irritates, imagining the women making comparisons... bad in bed... bad on the job. And with the two so close it is a certainty that Boss Lady Martina has divulged elements of her firm supervision in the office and her quirky manner of correcting behavior.

‘Corner time’ is frequent, errors on the sales forecast sheets earning an hour humbly standing in her office while in a maternal tone of voice she calmly lectures about attention to detail and fastidiousness.

Am I the only employee to be chastised as a child? I dare not ask my cohorts. How does one broach the subject at the water cooler or over end-of-the-day cocktails at the nearby pub.

Any one of you guys been made to stand in the corner in the Boss Lady’s office?

I can hear the guffaws as I am cross examined about the derivation of the query.

The thoughts lead to a memories of most telling exchange which though years ago continues to bring horripilation... and an odd glimmer of faint yet unexplained arousal.

Exiting the lavatory, Boss Lady Martina passed me in the hallway then called out after me, demanding I immediately report to her in her office. I was new at the job, aware of her reputation... her sobriquet of ‘Martina the Martinet’.

It was to be my first corner time and though concerned with the demand, I consoled myself that as my mother-in-law’s close friend whatever the issue, it would not be fatal to continuing employment.

Well, entering her office I was told that I needed to zip up my slacks, an oversight in having used the facilities.

‘It’s the second time Mortimer. I overlooked the first, but it’s slovenly male conduct and you must be disciplined.’

So it was to the corner, eyes glued to the latex paint.

As I zipped up as furtively as possible, there came instructions... arms behind, hands to be remain folded at the small of my back... and a stern warning.

‘It must be a Freudian thing with you, Mortimer. If you so much desire to expose yourself to women then next time I’ll have you standing facing me, zipper open with your p***s dangling in full view in the room light.’

That triggered something. I felt myself hardening during the otherwise tedious and quiet hour. Such provocative words. It was strange to feel grateful in facing the wall, the resulting bulge undetected. But then the Boss Lady broke to the eerie silence. It was as if she knew, her timing amazing.

‘You may turn and face me now, Mortimer... you naughty boy.’

How could I disobey? Yet how could I display the obvious bulge... my sordid male reaction to a woman’s firm governing words?

I turned. With hands at my back it felt as though my erection was spearing across the Boss Lady’s office. My perverse reaction to her firm governance was apparent.

‘Well... it appears it would not be dangling, Mortimer...’

Why years later do I feel subtle twinges in recalling the incident as I relax, ostensibly reviewing last night’s game summaries?

“Mortimer,” wife Edie entering the den, aware that using my full name... not Mort... draws full attention. “Martina and I have been talking. She’s both caring and resourceful... so it was easy to have you placed on a sabbatical. Sick pay provided plus the cost of therapy covered by the company health plan.”

Of course in being responsible for the mountain of bills, the disclosure immediately brings my mind to the financial side... not the who, what, why and how of a ‘sabbatical’.

“Sick pay is meager, Edie. Nowhere near full salary. And what...”

“I have not touched mother’s inheritance money. It will be put to the best possible use. You will dry out... and I will have a baby. Or I can simply have Martina fire you. So don’t argue. And she recommended a very suitable place. She says you’ll be happy there. I think she knows you better than you think, Mort... perhaps better than you know yourself. Something about letting me f**k you cowgirl style she finds quite telling.”

Or... perhaps the bulge. Yes, there have been other incidents leading to corner time in the Boss Lady’s office. I’ve since managed to remain more flaccid. But then come the twinges... and she knows!

Then it occurs... if the long phone conversation detailed elements of my s****l performance... or lack thereof... why would not the Boss Lady inform of her demands for corner time and my tumescent reaction to feminine authority?