Empty

He wore a simple shirt and chinos everyday.  He had four such shirts and two pairs of pants and the laundrymat was just under a mile away.  His house was a small box – an entrance right into the “living area” behind which sat a kitchen and eating area.  Two rooms and a bathroom down a small hallway.  At 6 AM sharp on Monday-Friday he opened the door to usually crisp, cool air.  His car, the aging Mercury Monarch, was serviceable and clean and he arrived at work in 45 minutes or less.  He dreamed of moving to the city.  Of a simple apartment and a walk to work.  Of a White Owl on the way home on cool nights.  Never on the way in, he doesn’t want to smell of cigar when he arrives.  On the way home.  He rarely sees anyone immediately after work, and even if he does manage to grab a fast-food dinner, so what?  If he were to see someone or have a date or event, he’d shower first, anyway. 

 

It concerned him that no one really was out downtown after about 6PM unless there was an event or something.  Kind of odd, really.  A big city with mostly empty buildings for 12, 14, 16 hours a day. 

On the Stairs

He met her on the concrete stairs in the building.  Dark.  There were lights but they never seemed to work or they would flicker in that last gasp of fluorescent life.  The concrete was cool and the halls smelled moldy.  Her scent was bright, fresh, slightly citrus.  The contrast was intense.  The two of them, well-dressed, clean, fresh.  The building old and worn and tired.  A low-rent office space for 3^rd-rate businesses finds two professionals – young, hungry, desperate for a touch.  Her heels cost two months of his office rent.  Her deep brown eyes lingered on his body…taking all of him in.  The slight, well-defined frame of his body … not large, not excessive…but commanding attention and respect.  Her tiny hands deftly unbuckle his belt…slip beneath the wool of his suit, the cotton of his best-of-both-worlds boxer briefs.  Firm, searing hot, of decent proportion. 

 

His lips meet hers and the two of them nearly lift-off, explode.  Neither really likes to be touched.  While appearing appropriate and kind, they’re not truly friendly.  And yet, in these moments, they can’t help but devour each other.  Immerse in one another’s scent, touch, taste.  It’s as if they save every sensual need for these 10 or 15 minutes of sweet escape. 

 

Her skirt is navy, light blue button-down, hair curled and cascading about her shoulders… she’s a hummingbird… dainty, delicate, tan. In 4-inch heels she’s still looking up at him.  Her energy is what he noticed.  And the way she looked amazing at 7:30 AM – perfect, everything in place…and yet, still just as perfect at 6 or 7 PM when their days as co-workers would end.  This was before now…before they had realized their mutual need for each other. 

 

She stepped out of her skirt, turned to the rail.  He nearly climbed her, his need so desperate.  Bodies now joined, pure bliss.  The feel of him inside her was almost too much, too perfect.  Their bodies made for this.  One of his hands on her mouth, her teeth gritting closely to muffle the sound… deep, urgent moans from within that sounded as soft whimpers in the cool stairwell. 

 

This was what… the fifth or sixth meeting they’d had like this?  It started as a coffee meeting one morning with the pretense of a job he could offer her. Then another coffee.  Then lunch.  At that first meeting, her hand brushed his and their eyes met and lights went on.  At the second, a knowing dance around evident desire.  

 

At the third, she thanked him with a hug that became a kiss that she said she shouldn’t have given…but that he gladly accepted. 

 

Now, this.  He thought he heard a door open from a lower floor.  No real danger, but an annoyance.  And then lost.  Totally gone.  A SWAT team could enter the building now and they wouldn’t be able to stop.  In sync.  His teeth grazing her neck.  Hand around her waist.  She clinches down, down. Harder.  Sweet hot heaven.

 

Her skirt back on, she turns to him.  He is zipped, tie straight.  Perfect.  He catches a glimpse of her ankle.  Then her eyes. 

 

Two professionals open the door to the 90+ degree heat and the glaring sun and walk in separate ways to different meetings where they will be stars. 

Monarch

The office is in a building that is 100 years old.  116 years old, really.  It’s a brick building, painted over several times.  Two quick-service restaurants are in the lower floor.  The bathrooms are only accessible with a key because a number of homeless people hang out in the small park just across the street – if the bathrooms were publicly accessible, homeless men would clean up there.  Or live there in the cold or hot weather.  Not really good for business.  But it sucks to have to tell your clients they need your key to use the bathroom.  On the plus side, it is easy to schedule a lunch very close to the office. 

 

The building smells.  Like old paper.  The businesses inside vary.  Lawyers in solo practice.  Medical billing firms.  Some very small production companies.  A jewelry repair shop.  A shoe repair shop.  The building owners also run a company that makes “smart” water, whatever that is.  You have to use the elevators to go upstairs.  This is also to protect from homeless people.  Plus, once you are on a floor, you can only exit via the stairs to the ground floor – again, for safety. 

 

The building locks at 6 and requires special entry via a digital “key.”

 

His office is 125 square feet.  The rent is very low for downtown.  The location is ideal for a number of the occupants.  Rent payment is generally flexible.  His business is somewhat slow – but the office is a nice (and mostly quiet) place for him to write, to think, and to masturbate. 

 

He started seeing clients there recently.  Clients of a vaguely defined business enterprise.  Most paid him in cash.  One particularly exasperating project earned him a year’s supply of free frozen yogurt and $25. 

 

Most of his client engagements lasted two to three months.  He couldn’t quite explain that phenomenon.  But it paid the rent and his bills.  You know food and the cost of maintaining a red Mercury Monarch.