![shaftwhores only by [EXE]dann](/files/avatars/2007/51852-shaftwhore.gif "shaftwhores only by [EXE]dann"){kind=small}
Received a dressing down from my boss again for forgetting to attach the cover to the The TTP Project reports (TTP stands for 'The TTP Project'). I just sat feeling ridiculous as he perched on the edge of my desk in a sporty fashion, one leg drawn up and resting on a chair. He'd probably seen Michael Douglas do it once but my boss is nothing like Michael Douglas. Well, he's a jerk but that's about it.
My boss is balding but he dies his hair; he wears pointy Italian leather shoes; his Oxfords are immaculately pressed; he looks like his mother dresses him. It's sad, he buys like a managerial hotshot should but the overall effect is that of a small boy with dirty knees. I don't hate him but I might. He's cost me a girlfriend.
It was late one Friday, the cleaners had left, and I was the only one there. Sara texted me asking when I would be done and I told her about another half-hour. Fifteen minutes later she shows up at my building to see me and I tell Carl the Security guy to let her up. She hasn't seen my office before so I show her around. And, well, obviously we end up having sex in my bosses chair.
Monday Sara gets fired. Someone at her restaurant was passing tapes of her and me fucking. The owner wouldn't fire the guy doing it and Sara yelled at him to go fuck himself during lunch. She calls me after that, crying, tells me what happened. Then she says she never wants to see me again. Incandescent, I phone the owner of the restaurant and demanded to know why he didn't fire the guy with the tapes. He says that I gave them to him. Fuck. So she thinks I secretly taped us having sex and then gave tapes to people who she works with.
My boss is flicking the end of his tie idly. I repeat the cowed employees mantra: "Yes, I'm sorry, it won't happen again". Fuck you. He fingers the mole on his left cheek, which means he's now being conciliatory. I avoid eye contact.
I see myself breaking his nose and walking out of here. Past Carl and into the street never to return. His mole seems bigger. It's about the size of quarter and growing. He doesn't seem to notice. He talks about team spirit, monthly LOC statistics, and actionizing. I don't care.
The growth covers a third of his cheek and is filled with fluid. I position myself to move out the way should it explode. It begins to weep, blood and pus dripping on a TTP report. I stare openly now. A wasp climbs out and I scream.
My boss is balding but he dies his hair; he wears pointy Italian leather shoes; his Oxfords are immaculately pressed; he looks like his mother dresses him. It's sad, he buys like a managerial hotshot should but the overall effect is that of a small boy with dirty knees. I don't hate him but I might. He's cost me a girlfriend.
It was late one Friday, the cleaners had left, and I was the only one there. Sara texted me asking when I would be done and I told her about another half-hour. Fifteen minutes later she shows up at my building to see me and I tell Carl the Security guy to let her up. She hasn't seen my office before so I show her around. And, well, obviously we end up having sex in my bosses chair.
Monday Sara gets fired. Someone at her restaurant was passing tapes of her and me fucking. The owner wouldn't fire the guy doing it and Sara yelled at him to go fuck himself during lunch. She calls me after that, crying, tells me what happened. Then she says she never wants to see me again. Incandescent, I phone the owner of the restaurant and demanded to know why he didn't fire the guy with the tapes. He says that I gave them to him. Fuck. So she thinks I secretly taped us having sex and then gave tapes to people who she works with.
My boss is flicking the end of his tie idly. I repeat the cowed employees mantra: "Yes, I'm sorry, it won't happen again". Fuck you. He fingers the mole on his left cheek, which means he's now being conciliatory. I avoid eye contact.
I see myself breaking his nose and walking out of here. Past Carl and into the street never to return. His mole seems bigger. It's about the size of quarter and growing. He doesn't seem to notice. He talks about team spirit, monthly LOC statistics, and actionizing. I don't care.
The growth covers a third of his cheek and is filled with fluid. I position myself to move out the way should it explode. It begins to weep, blood and pus dripping on a TTP report. I stare openly now. A wasp climbs out and I scream.