*You drive away the things you hate and the things you love*

(Friday night)

I'm not some massive body-building, football star kind of guy. I wish I could afford a gym membership and my exercise normally consists of running to catch the bus or taking stairs two at a time. I do have a good metabolism and I like to think I'm in good shape for a twenty-two year old who works in an office building.

So why am I running full tilt into a guy who has six inches and sixty pounds on me? It is easy to blame it all on idiocy; I'm trying to save somebody and better yet, it is someone I actively dislike and who actively dislikes me. I'm trying to save my director, Gloria Hardison from this unknown guy in the parking garage of my office building. I haven't been in a fight since the eighth grade so I figure I'm going to die.

I hit the guy by surprise probably because I'm too scared to yell. I think I'm totally screwed when I trip over Mrs. Hardison and fall down. What I don't immediately see is that I slam his head into the garage wall and he drops like a sack of potatoes. I pick myself up and kick the SOB twice in the ribs to make sure he knows to stay down.

Going back to Mrs. Hardison I realize her blouse is ripped and her bra torn. She has a cut on her forehead and a split lip. I'm not sure she's conscious so I shake her gently.

"Mrs. Hardison, it is Eddie. I'm going to get the police now. Are you going to be okay?" She looks up at me with unfocussed eyes, virtually emotionless and dead.

"No police," she mutters.

"I think you are out of it. Stay here and I'll get help," I repeat. She grabs my arm so tightly her fingernails punch through my shirtsleeve and draw blood.

"No! Get me in the car. I'm going home," she insists in a shaky, panicked voice. I pull her to a standing position but she starts slumping back down.

"Please Mrs. Hardison," I say to the hard-ass bitch that is the reason I'm working so late on a Friday night, "you can barely stand. Let me get help."

"Mr. Duarte I am telling you to let me go home," she slurs as she keeps sliding down the car. I decide to grow a spine and probably lose my job.

"No. I'm getting the god damn cops," I insist. She uses a word on me I wasn't even sure she knew.

"Please," she whispers. The asshole would-be rapist groans and I know I'm doing the absolutely wrong thing.

"Fine, but I'm driving," I demand. "I doubt you could even get the car in gear." Mrs. Hardison mumbles something incoherent but which I chose to assume is agreement.

I buckle her into the passenger seat, run around to the other side, gather up her stuff and start the car headed out. At the exit it occurs to me that I don't know where I'm going. Mrs. Hardison is totally out of it so I rifle through her wallet to find her address. I plug it into the onboard navigation and head out to a part of the city I could never afford to live in.

I'm sure I'm not going to find a parking spot right up until I pull in front of her townhouse. In this city she has her own designated spot and everything. I can't even begin to speculate how much that costs. Getting Mrs. Hardison up the stairs and through the door proves to be an exercise in balance, strength and proper use of hands. I manage to get her security code just in time.

Once I get her in the door I navigate to the closest chair where I deposit her until I can get the layout of her house. For some strange reason I figure if I can put her in her bed I can walk my ass home and get out of this career nightmare. Mrs. Hardison isn't my boss, or my bosses boss, she's my fucking Director. I'm sure the only knows my name because I've personally fucked up in front of her.

I find what looks like the main bedroom race down two flights of stairs to get her and find her wobbling her way toward the first floor stairs.

"Let me take you to bed," I offer.

"I need a shower," she mutters.

"Lady, you can barely stand," I point out.

"I need a shower," she repeats. I sigh, shake my head and wonder what the want ads are like.

"Let me take you up," I insist. I wrap an arm around her waist and half pull, half prop her up to the master bath. I sit her on the toilet, contemplate what to do next -- hell no I'm not going to strip her down -- so I cut on the water in the walk-in shower and make sure she has some towels before making my exit.

I pace all over the damn place in a frantic state of mind; I can't figure out why I am not in taxi heading home. Half an hour passes without hearing anything so lose my mind for the second time tonight. I open the door to the bathroom and find her huddled in her shower. Inside she is sobbing and unresponsive so without thinking I lift her up and take her to the bedroom.

With a little effort I get comforter and sheets down and tuck her in. I find myself standing around helplessly with not a clue as what to do next. The stress is starting to get to me and I find my energy crashing. I take the spare pillow, dig out a spare comforter, cut off the lights and lay out on the floor. I'm asleep before I can roll over.

(Saturday morning)

"Mr. Duarte ... Mr. Duarte!" I hear someone calling. I roll over and see the head of Mrs. Hardison looking down on me from the bed. I sit up so fast my head spins.

"Yes ma'am!" I shout in fear. She studies me like I'm a fly caught in her web.

"Mr. Duarte, get me a bathrobe," she orders. I find myself scrambling to the closet where I find five robes. "The blue one," she directs me. I come out and hand it to her, but she keeps her sheets tightly to her chest. I drop the robe close to her.

"I'll be out in the hall," I tell her quickly.

"That would be a good idea," he says in a neutral tone. I'm so gone. A minute later I hear her call me.

"Mr. Duarte, come in," she orders.

"Yes Mrs. Hardison," I respectfully respond, keeping my eyes carefully forward and not making eye contact.

"About last night," she begins then hesitates.

"Mrs. Hardison, last night didn't happen. I was never here," I state.

"You realize this will have no effect on our working relationship what so ever," she commands.

"Ma'am, if anything I'm more afraid of you now than I was yesterday morning," I tell her. I could almost swear I see her smile out of the corner of my eye but I dare not verify it.

"Go downstairs and make me some coffee," she says, "make us some coffee," she then corrects.

I have the coffee made and am sitting around twiddling my thumbs for fifteen minutes before she makes an appearance in a sweat shirt, sweat pants and white socks. If I didn't know any better I would mistake her for a human being. She goes over prepares a cup and sits down in her breakfast nook.

"Fix you a cup," she allows. I do, but only a small one. I want to get the hell out of here.

"Thank you," she tells me.

"For what?" I ask.

"Stop it Mr. Duarte. You ... did me a favor last night and I'm thankful," she says. "Actually you did me at least four favors." I look confused.

"You didn't call the authorities, you drove me home, you helped me get into the shower and you put me to bed," she explained.

"Sorry about that whole shower thing. I didn't do anything and I barely looked," I swear. She studies me for a few seconds.

"I believe you," she admits. We sip for a minute in silence. I cast a few noticeable glances to my watch hoping she will take the hint and let me escape.

"Do people really fear me?" she inquires. There is no good answer to this question.

"I think most of us would rather test experimental vaccines for the Black Death than make you mad at us," I confess. That description makes her snort in amusement.

"You are very colorful Mr. Duarte, as well as impertinent, sloppy and inappropriate," she defines me. I gulp; these are not qualities that go on a positive job performance review. "What; no response?"

"I'd like to live and keep working at the company," I confess. That earns me a tiny slip of a smile.

"How did you manage show up right on time to save me?" she asks.

"I don't think I arrived on time. If I had we wouldn't be having this conversation," I tell her, "but I was down there to return your phone to you. I found it when I dropped the system certifications off at your desk as you requested."

"Working late on a Friday night? That is not very efficient of you," she complains even though my inefficiency saved her ass.

"You told me you were going to do horrible things to my sexual anatomy if I screwed up again, so I thought it prudent to do what you asked," I say. That earns me another tiny smile.

"I am glad you learned one thing. Now if you would only learn to avoid inter-office relationships," she stares at me. I hope I don't look as scared as I feel.

"It was only a few drinks," I lie.

"So if I confront them with this deviation from company policy that is what they will say?"

"Can we go up to the third floor?" I request. She looks at me warily and confused. "Since I'm about to throw myself out one of your windows I would prefer the fall to kill me," I explain. She snorts again.

"If you plan to kill yourself I can offer you a knife," she allows.

"I honestly didn't think you were feeling that generous," I respond. That definitely earns a smile.

"So you found the phone of a woman you fear and most likely despise and you came running down to give it to me; is this correct?" she continues.

"Your phone is your life," I state. "Like you or not, I'd have to be a total douche to either leave you without it, or make you have to come all the way back to work to retrieve it. It was a no-brainer."

"My phone is my life?" she questions.

"I've been under you for less than one year, but I've never seen you without it," I explain. She seems to thinks about it and nods.

"I wouldn't say it is my life," she counters. I'm polite enough to not counteract the Mistress of my Destiny. She seems slightly annoyed. "By all means, tell me about myself." I back to the 'I want to cry' stage.

"You are the youngest director on the board -- ever. You are divorced with no kids. You always work at least eighty hours a week and you make the effort to know everyone in your department, mainly so you can keep our heads to the grindstone and make sure you smash the proper peon who fucks things up. Everything about you is work, work, and work so it is safe for me to say that your phone is your life," I recite to her as I look to the floor. I may have to move to another city to find a job now. No one says anything for a minute.

"I thought you were afraid of me ... and that you wanted to keep working at the company?" she finally questions.

"Right now I would describe myself as terrified, but that is no reason to not be honest with you," I reply. "Should I save Human Resources the trouble and go back to work now and clean out my desk?"

"I'll need to think that over," she says. Out of the blue she slaps me with, "Do you find me attractive?"

"Well I think we already know the answer to that," I groan, "but yes, I did call you 'smoking hot' in the break room."

"Do you think women like being referred to in such a sexist manner?" she inquires with some heat.

"No, I suppose not. I apologize for offending you," I reply sheepishly.

"I didn't get where I am because I'm 'smoking hot' Mr. Duarte," she snaps. "I worked my ass off and I put in those long hours and neglected everything else to get where I am today."

I have nothing left to lose.

"Are you happy? Sure you should be President inside ten years ..."

"Five," she corrects.

"... five years and then what? You will be the best in your profession at forty-six."

"I well exercise my stock options and retire to the south of France," she answers. I can't stop that first bit of laughter.

"You can't be serious," I gasp. Mrs. Hardison is not amused.

"I think it is safe to say that you need to seek new employment Monday," she informs me. I shrug but remain seated.

"What are you doing?" she inquires.

"You didn't ask me to leave so I'm drinking a cup of coffee," I tell her. "Besides, now that I'm not longer terrified of you I think it would be a good idea for you to have a friend come over before I leave so they can spend some time with you after ... last night."

"Get out," she says evenly. I finish my coffee in one gulp and get ready to leave. I've walked outside and am halfway down the street when a few things occur to me. I climb back up the stairs and knock on the door. She opens the door and it is clear to me that she's been crying.

"I've left my keys, wallet, phone, and shoes in your bedroom," I sigh.

She steps aside and points me to the stairs. She manages to hold it together while I head up but she's sitting on the floor back to the wall and sobbing when I get back down. I am angry with this woman, I am now unemployed and I haven't eaten in twenty hours. I sit beside her in the hallway and hold her to me. She makes a few feeble attempts to push me away but I hold on.

I don't know how long I sit there with her. By the time my stomach starts grumbling she's all but in my lap in a near fetal ball. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know what is going on. This isn't the first time this has happened to her and if I'm dumb enough to race to her car to give her a damn phone I'm sure as hell not going to leave her now.

"You are hungry," she mumbles.

"I'm comfortable where I am," I respond softly. She takes a few deep breaths.

"I think I'm okay for now," she assures me. I push myself up along the wall pulling her along with me.

As we walk to the kitchen I keep an arm around her and she doesn't mind. "I'll get us something to eat." I sit down, keeping an eye on Mrs. Hardison. She soon puts down a veggie-pita for me and her and sits down to eat. We pass the meal in silence but when we finish,

"I appear to be thanking you again," he softly murmurs.

"Mrs. Hardison ..."

"Call me Gloria," she interrupts, which seems to be something she's good at.

"Gloria, please call me Eddie, and I will stay here for as long as you think you need me," I respond.

"Didn't I fire you a few hours ago?" she asks.

"One has nothing to do with the other," I reply. She's studying me again.

"I don't need your pity," she accuses me.

"Do I look like I'm pitying you?" I say. She has certainly not become bored looking at me. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"No," she whispers.

"Have you ever told anyone?" I inquire.

"No."

"Can I help at all?" I say.

"No ... I don't know. I never told anyone. I put it behind me and got on with my life," she replies. "I don't even know why I'm talking with you."

"To put it bluntly you need to talk to someone and I'm all you got," I suggest. "I'll never hurt you, and I can't harm your career. We've already established that." That makes her start crying again.

I go around to her chair, pull her up and wrap my arms around her and she erupts in tears. Someone really did a number on Gloria. After five minutes she mutters something.

"I want to lie down for a while." I follow her upstairs and we lie down on the bed together. At first she is fearful and distant so I scoot over to the far side. With nothing to do I drift off again.

When I wake up she's cuddled up to me and I think she's asleep.

"This is the first time I've been in bed with a man in fifteen years. I had almost forgotten what it was like," she tells me. She props herself up on an elbow so she can look me in the eyes. "Isn't this the part when you kiss me, stroke my large breasts and grab my fat ass?"

"You don't pay me enough for that," I quip. Her eyes get wide and then she breaks out in barely suppressed laughter.

"That will teach me to fire you," she chuckles.

"Besides, I've already established that you are 'smoking hot'. Your breasts are a pleasant handful and your ass is perfectly firm," I joke back. She punches me in the chest.

"How would you know?" she asks.

"I think we are back to me being 'impertinent' and 'inappropriate'," I respond, "as well as being a sexist with 20/20 vision."

"Does your magical tongue actually work with other women?" she snickers.

"Verbally, no, which is why I have to buy them drinks; physically I haven't had any complaints," I boast and she blushes. "Can we do something?" I say which makes her nervous. "I would really like a shower and a change of clothes. I'm beginning to offend myself; I can't imagine what I'm putting you through."

Gloria lets out a slight sigh of relief.

"You can borrow my car," she offers.

"Gloria, in the part of the city where I live if I left your car out -- assuming I could even find a place to park -- it would be gone by the time when I got out."

"What do we do about this?" she asks.

"Do you have a washer-dryer?"

"No, I have a service," she informs me.

"Well crap," I sigh in disgust.

"Why don't I drive you home?" she suggests.

"I don't want to leave you alone," I counter. She gives me this strange look.

"Fine, I'll drop you off, go by the office to get some work and pick you up in an hour?" she tells me. Now I have to trust her to keep her word with no real reason I can see for her to dump me. I don't even work for her anymore.

(Saturday evening)

Me and my back pack are hangin out in front of my apartment building going over the finer points of working days versus nights in world of drug dealing with a one of the guys. When I tell him how much I make a year he offers to lift me out of poverty and give me a job. Considering I'm actually jobless I take his cell number because while prison must suck, not eating can't be much better.

Mrs. Hardison -- Gloria -- is twenty minutes late. When I get into the car the locals give me my props for such a cool ride. I don't bother telling Gloria she's late. It isn't like my time really matters.

"I've never been down to this part of town before now and here I am twice in one night," she tells me.

"I hope you never have to come here again, but if you do, for the love of God, don't stop and ask for directions. In the real world they call it car-jacking; here it is called the redistribution of wealth," I warn her.

"I thought we paid our new employees better than this," she says with suspicion.

"It is called credit card debt. I wasn't the smartest guy with money in college and I did some things I shouldn't have and now I'm making good on it," I answer.

"What are you going to do now?" she asks.

"Do what everyone else does; look for a job. I'll find something. I did well in college and now I have a year's experience under my belt," I point out.

"You don't have any money in the bank, do you?"

"A little over three hundred bucks plus the forty in my wallet," I tell her.

"You have no plan what so ever," she growls at me. "How can you be so irresponsible?"

"Gloria, I hadn't planned on being fired," I reply.

"You should have been," she snaps. "You are a very sloppy worker. You have no drive, no ambition."

"My supervisor likes ... liked me. I was doing okay. I got my work done," I counter.

"Oh yes, Mr. Chu said you were a good team player and that you were a very popular member of his staff, but you chronically worked late and didn't meet deadlines."

I should be more stunned that she knows that much about me but Hardison is such a busybody that she certainly has the same detailed information on everyone beneath her, but since she was no longer my boss, I felt I could unload on her.

"Do you know why I was always behind? I made sure our team projects always made it on schedule and I helped out others in my unit when they needed it. So what if my report made it in at noon instead of ten occasionally; sometimes people need help so I give it," I respond.

"You will never get ahead in life like that," she councils me.

"What do you mean? I get more drinks than I pay for, I slept with two co-workers, and been invited to one wedding already. Not bad for my first year," I reply.

"Wanting to help out has now cost you your job," she states.

"No, I lost my job because you can be a real bitch at times and you don't like being told that. Sure you are bright, meticulous, and hard-working but no one likes you," I say.

"If you hate me so much why are you in this car with me," she asks.

"Bitch is a character trait; hate is an emotion," I explain to her. "I don't hate you. Hell, I kind of admire you. You are the youngest director ever. People may not like you, but I've never had anyone say you were unfair; you kick ass indiscriminately."

"I am glad I meet you approval," she replies sarcastically.

"Don't do that," I sigh. "It isn't about approval. I know you don't care what I think of you but don't belittle me for being honest." We drove the rest of the way back to her place in silence. Only when we got inside did she say anything.

"I apologize," she grinds out as if making some great concession, which for her it probably was.

"Thank you," I say calmly.

"I can have Chinese delivered," she tells me.

"How about pizza?" I suggest. She gets this far off expression in her eyes.

"I haven't had pizza in ages," she mutters. "Sure, let's get some pizza." An hour later we are sitting cross-legged on the floor of her TV room flipping channels. Now that I get to look around this place with clear eyes not clouded by fear and worry I realize this home is pristine. It doesn't look like anyone actually lives here.

"Do you like my things?" she surprises me.

"They are very you," I answer.

"But?"

"I'm a cluttered guy; I like a little mess here and there. I mean, I get laundry done on laundry day and I get the dishes done twice a week. Your place is very beautiful and orderly but it isn't for me," I explain.

"Thank you I think," she replies.

"You have a lot of pride, which I mean as a compliment," I inform her.

"I have much to be proud about Mr. Duarte," she begins.

"Eddie; please call me Eddie," I interrupt her.

"And that is more than I can say for you," she finishes.

"I really don't need it," I respond, "and if I do I'll borrow some from you," I joke. She doesn't laugh.

"Why do I put up with you?" she said seriously as she furrows her brow.

"I believe I'm your only friend," I remind her.

"Since when have we been friends?" she questions.

"Since you picked me up from my place to come back here," I answer. That brings her up short.

"I could always send you home."

"Yes, if that is what you want me to do, but I don't want to go. I like you," I tell her. She stops looking at me and goes back to staring at the television for thirty minutes.

"I'm going to bed now," she says as she stands up.

"I'll come with you," I respond. She stops and glares at me. "I'll sleep above the comforter and on the far side of the bed. I only want to be close to you in case you need me in the night."

She ignores me and heads upstairs so I grab my backpack and follow. We take turns in the bathroom before heading into her bedroom. She snuggles in before I take the far side of the bed. This time I stay awake for some time, working in my head the past twenty-four hours and create the basic framework of how I'm going to survive for the next few weeks.

I hear the covers rustle and Gloria moves over to me, putting a hand on my chest and draping a leg over mine.

"Hold me," she orders. I comply for a variety of reasons, but mostly I know how hard it is for her to ask for anything from anybody.

(Sunday)

I have a face full of hair when I wake up. It smells good like what I imagine real honeysuckle is like. My hand is on her stomach and my hips are pressed against her backside. It dawns on me my morning wood is going to be highly inconvenient, maybe even terrifying for her. I try to edge my hips back and away.

"I'm awake," she tells me.

"I'm sorry," is all I can muster. "If I'm bothering you I can get up." She mulls that over for a while.

"No, I'm okay. Let us lay here for a while ... if you like."

"Can I tell you something that you won't take the wrong way?" I hazard. Again, a pause.

"Very well," she sighs.

"You smell really good," I sigh right back at her," more like fantastic. You are what a real woman should smell like; fresh and enticing."

"How can I not take that the wrong way?" she says.

"Can't a man call you a beautiful woman without trying come on to you? I'm calling it the way I see it and you are very attractive and way out of my league," I explain.

"Oh ... okay." It takes me a minute to realize we haven't moved. When she rolls over to face me I see a look of uncertainness in her eyes.

"I'm lonely," she tells me.

"I'll stay as long as you want me to, but I need something from you," I respond.

"What is that?" she wonders.

"I need to use your computer for my job search. As you told me I'm not very financially stable," I joke.

"You are a pain in my ass," she comments with some hint of friendliness.

"I thought you rolled over so I wouldn't be a pain in your ass," I joke back.

"Are you ever serious?" she grouses.

"I think you need someone to make you laugh, even if that means you laugh at me instead of with me," I tell her. She then does something that scares the crap out of me and I've already had my fill of fear this weekend; she strokes my cheek and gets all teary-eyed.

"Where were you fifteen years ago," she whispers.

"In first grade," I tease her.

"I sometimes forget how young you are," she chuckles. "I could get in so much trouble for having you here with me."

"For what? We are no longer co-workers and we haven't done anything except talk and sleep under the same roof," I point out.

"I've always despised desperate older women who pick up young studs to make them feel special," she confides in me.

"Gloria you are neither old nor desperate and the only girl who has ever called me a stud was drunker than I was," I respond. She can't help but smile.

"I'm forty-one," she states.

"I'm twenty-two. Do we have to go down the 'you are smoking hot and me being a sexist' road again?" I taunt her.

"You treat women like disposable intersections in your life," she says painfully.

"What makes you think that? I spend time with women but I don't consider them disposable. We have fun together because we are young and not looking for long term hook-ups. You may have noticed I get along fine with both of the women I've had affairs with and neither minds one another."

"I thought it might be that you were good at manipulating women," she confides.

"Damn it Gloria," I groan, "not everything is part of a five year plan. Take a night off and let your hair down.

"I can't," she responds. I hug her to me because I don't know what else to do. At first I think she's pushing me away then I realize she's rubbing her hands along my chest. She sighs and presses her face into my chest, inhaling deeply several times.

"I've missed this," she whispers. I stroke her hair. "I can't remember the last time I wanted a man to hold me, or would even let one get away with it."

"Take as long as you want," I say softly. "I'm here as long as you need me." This causes her to bunch her hands up in my shirt scratching the skin underneath. I feel her tears soaking into the fabric.

"His name was Mr. Vance. He was the director before me and the day after my first promotion he came to my office after dark. He forced himself on me, telling me this was how I was going to get ahead in the corporation. I fought him but he was too strong. It hurt like hell," she hiccups.

"After that I told myself that if I went to the cops it would be his word against mine on whether it was consensual -- it would look like I paid for my promotion with sex. He was like you, very popular in the company. Then he came back again and again, giving me little gifts and telling me I was going to go far in the company."

"I couldn't let any other man touch me, even my husband. When he found the gifts he thought I was having an affair and divorced me. I allowed it to happen because I wanted to keep my job; to succeed. In a year he got tired of me and moved on to someone else no doubt. I let that happen as well. I lost everything but my job so my job became my life."

At this time she totally breaks down and loses it. I am sure she has never told anyone this and I am not sure why she is telling me. She cries herself asleep and I gently rock her back and forth until I'm sure she is deeply asleep. I sneak downstairs and rustle up some breakfast and bring the trays of food back to the bed. The smells wake her up and she stares at me with red-rimmed eyes.

"Breakfast in bed? Uh, whoa ... you certainly know how to impress a girl," she sniffles.

"Don't say that until you eat my cooking," I smile. I set my tray down at the foot of the bed and let her scoot up in the bed before putting her tray in front of hers. I join her when this is done. Gloria nibbles on the food then dug in when she decided she liked it.

She devours everything then boldly takes a piece of bacon off my plate. When she comes back for seconds I smack her hand with my fork. Her eyes open in shock, looking at me, her hand and back to me.

"You hit me," she stutters.

"Reach for my bacon again and I'll hit you harder," I challenge her. She still looks stunned.

"Can I have a piece of bacon?" she asks. I hand her my last piece of bacon which she eats it with dainty bites. "Breakfast was nice, thank you. Do you mind waiting outside? I would like to change into some workout clothes and use my treadmill for a bit."

Seeing Gloria come out in a sports bra and tight shorts doesn't do my blood pressure or groin any good. She gives me a quick glance then heads downstairs

"Come with me," she commands. Part of me goes 'she's not my boss', but part of me is entranced by the shapes and curves of her body so I tag along.

She is working out on the treadmill and I've made my way over to her weight machine when she speaks.

"I've been thinking about giving you your job back."

"Thank you; I agree but only if you accept that this won't impact our working relationship," I smile. She stops the treadmill and frowns at me.

"I repeat; can't you ever be serious?" she grumbles.

"I'd rather make you happy," I reply. She takes a looks down and growls.

"I'm trying to do you a favor," she says.

"Why?"

"Because you've been nice to me," she explains angrily.

"I'm your friend; I'm supposed to be nice to you," I answer.

"You are not my friend," she snaps.

"Then what am I to you?" I ask. That brings her up short. I can see the emotions she keeps trying to keep pent up forcing their way to the surface. A tear spills down her cheek.

"Damn it!" she screams. She keeps trying to exert control and she keeps cracking. I move to hold her again. "Get away from me!" she shouts at me so I pull up short. She runs upstairs and I make my way to the TV room and sit down. I'm beyond the limit of my understanding of this situation.

An unknown amount of time later she's standing beside me before I realize it. We exchange glances then she sits down beside me.

"I don't want to be alone," she says softly. It must be a terrible thing for her to admit. I ease an arm around her and she allows it. "I keep waiting for you to make a move on me."

"You don't think much of me then," I tell her.

"If things were perfectly normal would you sleep with me?" she probes.

"Hell yes," I reply. Her look goes from concern to one of subtle confidence.

"Yet you are restraining yourself because you are my friend?" she wonders.

"Now you get it," I inform her. It takes her a while to digest that.

"I want to go upstairs," she tells me as she stands. I nod and go back to watching the TV. "I want you to come with me," she adds. Now I'm back to being afraid. I stand up with a ton more reluctance. She leads the way to her bedroom with me dragging along because I feel this is a terrible mistake. Inside the bedroom Gloria throws back the covers on the bed, strips out of her sports bra, and pulls down her workout pants and underwear in one strong pull.

As she slips into bed I see that she's staring at me and starting to get annoyed.

"You still have your clothes on," she states the obvious. I start stripping down as quickly as I can. When I finish she slips over so I can join her in the bed. I decide not provide her the need for further instructions.

I roll over and kiss her. Her return is tentative and a bit weak but I keep at it. I run a hand over her stomach and she tightens up. I'm still not sure this is the right thing; arguing with her about it seems counterproductive. We keep kissing as my hand comes up to her breast. I'm teasing and pulling on her nipple and getting no reaction.

I keep at it for a minute and am starting to get frustrated at the lack of physical response. I reach down to her stomach, pubic mound and finally her pussy. What I find is very disturbing; she's dry. I'm getting nowhere and getting there fast then I am reminded that it is not the game, it is the players.

Pushing her to the middle of the bed earns me an angry look. What follows adds uncertainty to the expression; I pull her on top of me. She sort of lays there for a few seconds.

"Push up," I suggest. She follows my idea and I pry one of her hands back and lower it between us until I put her hand on my penis. "Hold the shaft." She does so and I move my hand away.

"Move your hand up and down," I say.

"I don't get it," she admits.

"You are on top, you are in charge, and you get to decide what pace we move along at," I explain. She sighs, but begins giving me the appropriate hand job.

"Now run my penis head along your slit," I say next. Again she seems unimpressed but continues under my guidance. I start running my hands along her ass and back pulling her down to me in a steady rhythm.

"Ah," she moans as we both realize she's starting to get wet.

Gloria moves my shaft with more vigor until my head is coated in her juices. I'm about to give her another suggestion when she decides to take over. She inserts my head inside of her.

"Oh," she purrs. Her eyes close and she starts grinding her hips against me. I start countering her thrusts driving my cock deeper and deeper into her. She's not super-tight, but I can feel her around me and as she begins contracting her muscles the sensation is quite divine.

Gloria's hand can no longer fit so she pulls her arm back and returns to supporting herself with both arms. Since she isn't coming down, I prop myself on my elbows and go up. I capture a nipple in my mouth and begin to suckle. This time her nipple hardens immediately as I swirl it with my tongue and let it roll over my teeth. Her response is to move a hand over and feed more of the breast into my mouth.

We keep this up for several minutes until she pulls up, sitting on me and riding me as hard as she can. I'm matching her thrust with a counter-thrust. My hands rest on her hips, rocking her back as she comes down.

"Eddie ... Eddie ... I'm cumming ... Yes, yes ... oh yes!" she screams and my groin dampens. She shakes and pulses again and again before crashing down on top of me.

She is panting and I can feel her heart racing. I run my hands along her upper back and through her hair. Her head comes up and I kiss her gently.

"That was fun," I grin. She smiles at me then kisses me back.

"How did you figure out ..." she asks.

"You like control and being on top gives you control. You had to be comfortable to get what you wanted so I tried what I hoped would help. I'm glad it worked," I tell her.

"I want a shower," she groans with pleasure as she flexes her muscles on top of me. She scoots out of bed and takes a few steps toward the door.

"Aren't you coming?" she says. "That wasn't really a request in case you were wondering." With those kinds of options I get up and follow her. To her credit she gets the towels and tests the waters before we get in. Then she does something even more remarkable; she starts bathing me.

I really think that is a treat and it is, but then I get to stop her from bathing herself and take over the chore which is even better. She seems uncertain at first but soon gets into it enough so shift her body in response to my movements. When we get out she creates some distance between us when we dry off. I follow her as we go back to the bedroom where she flops down on the bed and I crawl in over her.

"What brought this on?" I inquire. She takes a deep breath before answering.

"As you pointed out, I've accomplished a lot in my forty-one years, but I've given up a lot too. I realized that not only did he rape me for that year, he's been raping me for the past fifteen years because I've never dealt with it."

"You reminded me that if I could succeed at everything else, I could deal with this too. I had to be strong enough now with you, or I might not get another chance. I was really afraid that I could see past all those years of pain, but you showed me the way by proving you know me almost as well as I know myself," she states. I really have no idea what to say.

"Let's get dressed," she suddenly suggests. We rapidly get dressed and go downstairs which only adds to my confusion to what is on her mind. She its down at the kitchen table, but when I don't join her she looks over to me questioningly.

"You have your job back," she announces.

"Thanks but why?" I respond.

"Let's say that I've come to appreciate your finer qualities; your ability to work in a team, to see your goals through, and to put the needs of others over your own," she explains. "Of course this will never happen again."

"What? Why?"

"I'm not going to have an office affair, especially with someone beneath me in the company," she says.

"In that case I quit," I answer her. Her eyes grow large then angry.

"I'm doing you a favor damn it," she snaps.

"If given the choice of working beneath you or spending time with you, I opt to be with you," I tell her.

"Who says that I want to be with you?" she growls. I have no real answer to that.

"Oh, I imagine you are right. If you feel that way I had better go," I admit. I walk over to her, grab her up and kiss her hard. She struggles briefly but ends up returning my kiss with passion. I let her go and head out to the door. Only when I'm at the entryway do I realize she's behind me.

"What was that for?" she asks.

"I wanted to. I don't image I need another reason, but if it makes you feel better it was because I knew kissing you would great," I answer.

"Take your job back," she tells me. I shake my head.

"No. I'm not sure I want to work for you anymore," I confess. She remains speechless. "I'm not sure I can forget this so it is probably better if we part ways. You are a wonderful woman; I'm not going to see past that, so I'm better off going somewhere else."

"Go then," she snaps. I'm out the door in seconds. This time I've remembered everything so there is no turning back.

I use a combination of transit systems to get home because I don't have enough for a cab. I'm so lost in my own thoughts when I get to my apartment complex that I almost miss the sound of a window going down. I look over to see Gloria looking at me intently from her car.

"Come here," she orders.

"No," I respond. "It is late, I'm tired, and I can't imagine you telling me anything I want to hear," I answer her.

"Damn you; I didn't come all the way down here only to be told to go to hell," she snarls. I lower my head and walk over to her.

"Kiss me," I insist.

"No," she snaps.

"I want you, I think you want me, so kiss me," I repeat. I lean into her and she doesn't pull away. I get my kiss and then some as I run my hands around her neck and through her hair.

"Get in the car," she asks softly.

"That's a good idea because I've already seen several of my neighbors eyeing us as possible organ donors," I inform her. She eyes me suspiciously then decides that I may not be joking.

"I'll drive," she decides. I get in and she takes off. It takes a while before she says anything.

"I don't know what I'm doing with you," she confesses.

"That may not be a bad thing," I suggest.

"I find you confusing, irritating, and distracting. Do you realize I've gotten no work done this weekend? I have things that need to be done, but instead I'm driving around in a car with you," she growls.

"Will the world fall apart tomorrow if you don't get things done until noon?" I ask.

"That's not the point ... fine, no, the world will not end," she grumbles.

"Was that so hard to accept? You are a great director and it isn't because you work eighty hours a week. You know how to make people produce, which is your job as I see it. Delegate a little more responsibility."

"Are you telling me how to do my job?" she accuses me. "I thought you knew I was the best in my field."

"No, I'm telling you how to have fun and I think I'm better at having fun is a point you will concede to me," I counter.

"Conceded," she admits. "The thing is do I need to change?"

"Can you be honest with me?" I ask.

"What ... okay."

"Tell me the first thing that comes to mind," I request. "Do you want to have sex with me right now?"

"... Yes," she confesses.

"Why?"

"Because I had a good time," she tells me. "I had a really good time."

"Good, because I want you so bad right now," I respond. The look she gives me is a mixture of distrust, fear, and lust. She turns the car around and heads in another direction.

"Promise me one thing," she requests.

"I'll try."

"Monday morning you will take you job back," she asks.

"Not if it means I never get to see you again," I say again.

"I will see what I can do, but I do not promise anything," she concedes but she smiles when she does it.

"Okay, though this is hardly where I expected to be Friday afternoon," I tell her. "I never thought I would ever have a chance with you."

"Eddie you have an easy time with girls half my age as we both know. Why are you even bothering with me?" she inquires.

"Your age doesn't bother me; does my age bother you?" I counter.

"I worry how it looks," she confides in me. "Everyone is going to think I'm insecure because I'm dating such a young man, and they are going to think you are sleeping your way to the top."

"Do you think I'm sleeping my way to the top?"

"No," she replies.

"I know you are not insecure and that you really don't care what people think about you, so what I really think you are worried about is how you feel," I point out.

"You never let up, do you?" Gloria sighs. "When I figure out how I feel about you I'll let you know, but give me time." Words aren't necessary when a nod is enough. The rest of the drive is made in silence but I take the time to start rubbing my hand from knee to hip. She squirms slightly but since she wouldn't have let a man touch her two days ago I take whatever positive reaction I can get.

I catch up with her inside the door. I wrap my arms around her; one hand on her stomach and the other caressing her arm as I press my body against her. Gloria tenses, slowly turns around and looks me straight in the eyes.

"Not from behind, please," she says with vulnerability.

"Whatever you want," I respond before I kiss her hungrily. She responds with more passion than she's ever shown before. This time it isn't a test, it is something she wants for desire's sake and the woman is she explosive. She starts working my clothes off; I return the favor.

"I don't want to make love on the floor," she gasps between lip locks.

I'm in my underwear and socks and she's in panties when she turns for the stairs. My idea is to catch up with her and pinch her sweet ass but she proves to be a nimble minx and I don't touch her until she flops down on her back on the bed. I land on top of her and return to exploring her with my mouth and hands.

I pull her panties down and start kissing my way from her knee to her hip when she grabs me by the hair and yanks.

"Ow!" I yap.

"I want to be on top," she demands.

I speed my way beside her and he pushes me over and straddles me. She holds me down with her hands on my shoulders with a seriously hungry smile on her face. At this time it occurs to me that Gloria Hardison has fifteen years of sexual frustration and denial to work out and I'm the poor stupid bastard she's focused on. I start to put my hands on her.

"Stop," she commands so I lay my arms back down. She proceeds to lower herself down, kiss me lightly but when I raise my head to get more she withdraws and gives me this wicked grin.

"Just so we get this straight," she taunts me, "I'm fucking you, you are not fucking me."

"Do I have a choice?" I reply quietly.

"Not really," she teases me with a grind of her naked groin against me. I accept that. "And I'm not going to be gentle." Once again she reaches down between us and grabs my cock. This time she has no problem with the entry; she sopping wet. What follows convinces me of several things: I need to exercise more if I have any hope of keeping up with Gloria; she's a fount of sexual energy as she rides through two orgasms before I have mine, and she didn't lie about not being gentle. Damn my lungs hurt, my muscles are sore, and I'm afraid my dick won't stand up for a month.

She's lying down on top of me, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Fuck Eddie, that was fantastic," she wheezes.

"What are you talking about," I jokingly gasp, "you did all the work; I sat back and enjoyed the view." She pushes herself up high enough so we are nose-tip to nose-tip.

"Let's do it again," she manages to get out.

"Woman, I would like to live," I groan. "Keep this up and you are going to fuck me to death."

"I thought all you young men had stamina," she teases. I look at the clock.

"Fuck it woman, we had sex for forty minutes," I respond.

"Forty minutes? Don't you mean 'only forty minutes'," she says. Once more I'm at the 'I want to cry' stage. What have I unleashed?

(Monday morning)

"Eddie, you look like crap," my boss, Mr. Chu jokes. "Have a wild weekend?"

"I spent most of the time in bed," I reply blandly.

"I bet you did," he laughs, "but I'm not here to talk about your sex life. The Director herself commented on the good job you did on those certifications and she wants you to handle a new important project."

"Really?" I try to act surprised and not overly anxious. "I think my social calendar has just been annihilated."

"Be in her office at ten promptly and she'll give you your new security clearance. Don't be late; you know what a bitch she can be," he warns me.

At 9:55 I'm standing in front of her office with Leslie Cutler, Gloria's assistant, smiling at me. We strike up a bit of a conversation, she flirts but we both see her flash the wedding band. She's not looking to get a little on the side and she knows I'm not really trying. It is a nice little game to play that lets a lady know she's attractive without putting her at risk of doing anything wrong.

"You can go in now," Leslie informs me, "and good luck." I take a deep breath and go in.

Inside she waits until I am standing in front of her desk before addressing me.

"Mr. Duarte I am assigning you a new project for the department. I expect constant reports as well as updates on demand. You are going to hand all personnel files to see they are up to date from this time onward. You report to Leslie when I am unavailable."

"May I ask a question?" I say.

"Make it quick," she replies.

"Why me?"

"This is going to be an unpopular job Mr. Duarte and for whatever arcane reason you are well liked, so you get the assignment," she explains.

"I won't let you down," I promise her.

"You had better not. You already have one strike against you in my book," she states. "Now here is your new security pass and administrator password." She slid me my new pass, a slip of paper, and a key ... a house key.