The Jamesons

        Eric Jameson was a conservative republican, a baseball fanatic, and an arrogant prick. He was also a shady businessman and my boss. Elk Grove Engine had hired me as a delivery driver but it wasn’t long before Jameson saw my potential and gave me a job in sales. At first I was doing outside sales. There were two sales territories in the Chicago area. I had the North Chicago territory. The company was expanding it’s merchandise line. Automotive engines were our bread and butter but Jameson wanted to get into the marine engine market. There were larger margins there. The problem was that Chicago didn’t have a whole lot of marinas, other than what was on Lake Michigan. Jameson decided that I could make twice as many sales calls from the telephone as I could from driving around visiting marinas and that I could contact potential customers outside of Chicago to expand our marine engine market. I was switched from outside sales to the inside sales position that he created for me. My commission rate would drop from 5% to 2% though.  
      “You’re going to be making at least twice as many sales calls and it will save you a lot of money in gas. It will balance out,” he told me.  
      “I think I’d rather stick with the outside sales position,” I replied.  
      “The company is eliminating that position, Frank. You can either take the inside sales position or you can go back to being our delivery driver. It’s a good opportunity.”  
      “Alright, I’ll take it,” I said.  
      The company that Jameson was referring to was our alleged parent company. I knew by now that Johnson was full of shit and that he was the owner of the small business. His title was Vice President of Sales. He just didn’t want to deal with the hassle of the upset customers and wanted to have someone to hide behind; even if it was a ghost who the customers would never find. Our so called parent company was one of our suppliers and we were nothing more than a broker. He wanted it to appear that we were a large company to be reckoned with though and he was so paranoid that he even lied to his own employees about it.  
      I was stuck in the office every day with Jameson and our General Manager, Zack Johns. Johns wasn’t any different than Jameson in the sense that he was also willing to be as dishonest as he needed to be in order to make a buck. He was also a conservative. The only difference between the two was that Johns was the biggest miser I have ever met. He made the Armenians in Los Angeles look like a generous group of people. Johns and Jameson would sit around the office all day trash talking liberals, Obama, the working man, our customers, non-catholics, the less fortunate, and anyone else who didn’t fit their ideals. They stood for all the things I despised and I began to dread going in to work there. Even worse was that they often passed the warranty claims off on me and asked me to lie to the customers. Warranty claims were approved or denied solely based on how much business we did with a particular customer. They were only approved when denying them would cause us to lose a good customer.  
      I started tearing up the marine business all over the country. We had far better pricing than our competitors. Jameson was right about my income evening out and it actually increased with my sales volume. He was making a ton of money off of my efforts and I asked for a raise. I didn’t care if it was a base salary increase or an alteration to the commission structure. I was making him rich and only asking for a little extra for my efforts. He said that the company could not afford it right now and that they denied my request. Bullshit. I didn’t say anything but I started keeping a log of all of my customers so I could take them away when the time came for me to move on. I also began convincing them to only talk to me when they called in an order or had a problem. I was sick of seeing them get screwed as a result of Jameson’s greed.  
        
      It was a Saturday afternoon in mid-June and I was waiting in line at the liquor store. I had a bottle of Captain Morgan and a two liter of Coke.  
      “Frank?” I heard a female voice behind me ask.  
      I turned around. There stood a fair haired woman, about thirty-five years of age.  
      “Do I know you?” I asked.  
      “Danielle Jameson. You work for my husband.”  
      “Of course. How are you, Mrs. Jameson?”  
      “Call me Danielle.”  
      “Okay.”  
      “I hear that you’re doing a great job with Eric’s marine customers this season.”  
      “We’re doing okay. I think we can do a lot better next year though with more planning and experience in the market.”  
      I stepped up to the cashier.  
      “Let me get that,” said Danielle, pointing at my Captain and Coke, “Consider it a bonus for your efforts.”  
      “Thank you, Danielle. I need a pack of Marlboros too.”  
      “Very well,” she said.  
      She placed her wine on the counter beside my items and she asked the cashier for a pack of Marlboro Lights. I shot her a quizzical look; knowing that Jameson despised smoking.  
      “Our secret, Frank.”  
      I smiled, thanked her again for the booze and smokes, and I was on my way.  
 
      Later that night, I was hanging around the house, sipping on Captain & Cokes while I listened to music. Guns N Roses, Motley Crue, Bob Dylan, and some Alice in Chains. I was getting a little stir crazy and decided to go out. My first thought was Blackjack’s Gentlemen’s Club but I’d already been there three tines that week. I decided to head out to downtown Geneva and visit the high class restaurant and bar, Rain. My friend, Mike, was a bartender there and a low level coke dealer.  
      I walked in, saw Mike behind the bar, and grabbed a seat on the stool . I also noticed a group of four women dining. They were of the high society variety.  
      “What up, brother?” asked Mike.  
      “How are you, buddy?” I replied.  
      “You here on business or pleasure?”  
      “Business.”  
      “What are you looking for?”  
      “A teener,” I replied, “On second thought, just give me a whole eight ball.”  
      Seeing those society bitches dining was making me horny and Blackjack’s suddenly sounded like a good idea. I figured that if I brought one of the strippers home with me later that night, a teener wouldn’t cut it. Strippers have noses like Hoover vacuum cleaners; especially when it’s free!  
      I paid Mike for the drinks and he gave me back some change with an eight ball weaved into the bills. I put it in my pocket, went to the bathroom, and did a large bump. Mike had some of the cleanest coke in town and I didn’t want to start busting rails just yet. I returned to the bar where Mike had another cocktail waiting for me. I drank.  
      “Hey stranger. Got a light?” said a female voice who sat down directly next to me even though the bar was fairly empty.  
      “Sure,” I said. I looked up at her. It was Danielle!  
      “Hey, Danielle,” I said. “What a pleasant surprise. Twice in one day. What are you doing here?”  
      “I was having dinner with my girlfriends,” she said, motioning to the now empty table where I had seen the four society women dining.  
      She looked like a different woman. She was always pretty, regardless of the garments she had on but she looked downright sexy that night. She wore a tight black dress that came down mid-thigh and some black high heels.  
      “What are you drinking, Danielle?”  
      “Whatever you’re having.”  
      “Mike!” I called down the bar, “Two more Captain & Cokes.”  
      The cocaine had made me bold.  
      “So, where’s Eric tonight?” I asked.  
      “He’s in Virginia this weekend for a baseball tournament with Eric Jr.”  
      “You’ve got that big house all to yourself then, huh?”  
      “How do you know it’s big?”  
      “I’m assuming.”  
      “Would you like to come by? I can give you a tour.”  
      “Are you sure that’s appropriate, Mrs. Jameson?”  
      “Danielle. And no, it’s not at all appropriate. But what better place can you think of for you to share a little coke with me?”  
      “What coke?”  
      “The coke that left some visual residue in your nostril,” she said with a smile.  
      I wiped off my nostril and said, “I must admit, I am surprised. I didn’t take you for a woman who does blow.”  
      “I haven’t since my senior year of high school.”  
      “I don’t know, Danielle.”  
      “It would really be a shame if Eric instituted an official drug free workplace policy Monday morning and had you tested,” she said with a playful smile.  
      “I like your style. Alright. I have one condition though.”  
      “Don’t worry. I’ll never tell Eric. He’d flip out if he knew I did a little coke. Not to mention hanging out with you.”  
      “That’s not it, Danielle.”  
      “What is it then?”  
      “You have to trust me when I say you’ve had enough. This is some high quality blow.”  
      “As long as you don’t leave me unsatisfied, you’ve got yourself a deal.”  
      “That’s a non-issue. I’ll follow you in my car.”  
 
      As I followed my boss’ trophy wife’s BMW to their place I thought about that greedy prick, Jameson. Would he have budged on the 3% difference in commission if he knew that the result of his greed would lead to me resenting him enough to accept his wife’s request to snort some blow with me? Probably not. Actually, I would have done this anyway. It’s not every day that you get to do coke with the boss’ wife, in his home, while he’s obliviously out of town.  
      We pulled into the driveway and she waved me into the garage. I parked next to Jameson’s BMW. He must have taken a limo to the airport. I had a weird feeling. I knew I was into some seriously dangerous territory here but I didn’t care. We walked into the six thousand square foot home. It was beautifully decorated. I liked Danielle’s style and I told her so.  
      “Are you going to show me the rest of your palace?” I asked.  
      “Let’s have a drink and a line first. Shall we?”  
      “Absolutely.”  
      Danielle walked over to the bar and mixed us a couple of Captain & Cokes while I sat down on the black leather sofa. I looked at her long legs as she walked. I had to pry my eyes away and put the thought out of my mind. There were a few CD cases on the coffee table, including Metallica’s Black Album. The perfect contrasting case to chop up white powder on. I took out the blow and started chopping up some lines. King sized for me. Baby lines for Danielle, to start.  
      She sat next to me, her thigh pressing up against mine. She handed me a drink and I handed her a tightly rolled twenty dollar bill.  
      “Go ahead, baby,” I said. It slipped out. She smiled.  
      “Thank you, sweetheart.” she replied in a confident yet casual tone.  
      She snorted a baby line, switched nostrils, and snorted one of my king sized lines! Fuck! The ‘Pulp Fiction’ heroin overdose scene flashed through my mind!  
      “What the fuck, Danielle?”  
      “Relax, Frankie. I’m fine.”  
      “Well, if you’re going to push the envelope, so am I.”  
      I emptied a good amount of coke from the baggie and chopped myself a giant one. She turned on the stereo. ‘Enter Sandman’ was blaring out at me from all directions.  
      “Don’t tell me you’re going to do that all in one snort! I don’t need you dying in my house!”  
      “Listen baby, I’ve got a much higher tolerance than you and I’ve gotta get on your level now.”  
      We were both flying after that. She switched the CD to ‘Dark Side of the Moon.’ We drank our cocktails, and discussed our pasts. She was a wild one in her younger years. Then the conversation became philosophical; as it often does when cocaine’s thrown into the mix.  
      I was saying something along the lines of, “Ultimately, I think that God just wants us all to...”  
      “Do you want to see them?” she interrupted.  
      “See what?”  
      “My tits. You keep glancing down at my cleavage.”  
      “I’m sorry, Danielle. I wasn’t doing it consciously.”  
      “Don’t apologize. These babies cost $12,000. I’d be insulted if they didn’t attract your eyes.”  
      “Why don’t we have a tour of your wonderful home?”  
      “Of course,” she said.  
      As we walked around the house from room to room, the only thing I could think about were those tits. Of course I wanted to see them! I don’t know why I fought my thoughts though. It couldn’t be any more clear that my coke wasn’t all she wanted. She had showed me the entire house and saved her bedroom for last. I saw the bed and I thought, this is where Jameson fucks Danielle. I hated that prick. Danielle was actually nothing like I imagined she would be though. She wasn’t the typical snobby rich housewife that she came off as. I saw another side of her that I don’t think many others did. A side that Jameson probably didn’t even realize existed. She was unhappy. All the money, possessions, and prestige covered it up. She was empty inside.  
      “Can I tell you something, Frankie?”  
      “Sure. What is it?”  
      “Eric hasn’t fucked me in two years!”  
      “Are you kidding me?”  
      “Not at all. I haven’t got laid in two years! What’s wrong with me?”  
      “Nothing at all, Danielle, except for that the coke’s wearing off. Let’s do a little more.”  
      “Right here. We’ll snort it off the nightstand.”  
      I gave her the bag and told her to take what she wanted. She gave us both average size lines. We snorted them and then she looked at me and said, “Stop trying to fight it, Frankie.”  
      “Fight what?”  
      “Are you gonna fuck me or not?”  
      “Fuck it,” I said. I grabbed her waist and pulled her close. I kissed her hard and we collapsed onto the bed together. We got undressed quickly. No foreplay. Her tits were as perfect as I had imagined. She had a tight, flat stomach. Her ass and hips curved just right and flowed into her long legs. I slipped my cock into her. It was raw, passionate, anamalistic sex. There was no love. We just fucked and we fucked hard! I was in Jameson’s house, in his bed, and in his wife!  
      For the next few hours, into the early morning, Danielle and I fucked and sucked each other raw, taking breaks only to snort more coke. She was insatiable. So was I. It got dirty and kinky and nasty and sexy. If we had had more coke and more time, we’d probably still be fucking right now but all good things must come to an end. We said our goodbyes after snorting the last of the coke. I went home, had a couple of cocktails and went to sleep.  
 
      I entered the office on Monday morning with an extra bounce in my step. Zack took one look at me and he knew right away.  
      “Hey Eric, I think Frankie finally got laid,” he joked.  
      “She was probably some coke whore,” Jameson jabbed.  
      “Something like that,” I responded, with a smile as I walked into my office, shut the door and started making my sales calls.  
      I never saw Danielle Jameson again but working for her husband was far more tolerable knowing that I turned his perfect little trophy wife into my own personal coke whore for a night and coaxed the inner-slut out of her.