I nodded, and trembling, took the set from my bra, carefully unfoiling the condom and pressing the end to his head. I paused a long moment, savoring i... for some reason.“Do you need me to help?” He finally asked, perhaps getting a bit impatient. I shook my head ‘no’ and began to roll it down, only it was really hard. His sheer girth, especially the fat flare of his head was almost impossible to work around; before I could get it down I actually had to insert fingers into the rim of the condom. It didn't hurt that she had already found the ideal solution—let Jo handle it.The staff respected me. Sheila was fast becoming the Lady of the House. Jo was the brat with a mean streak. Where the joke was practical or verbal, everyone in the room had reason to tread lightly. They had since she was twelve. If you ever saw Private Benjamin, think of the RIT dye scene. Better yet, the dye bomb in Raising Arizona. Jo was ingenious, persistent and could not be bought. No one fucked with little. Old enough, Bill thought, to be his grandmother. Her long gray hair was long and straight, but raggedly cut around her pale, lined face. Years of wrinkles were in the corners of her eyes and her mouth. One eye was cloudy, as if a cataract was forming there. The other was as gray as her dress, and disturbingly alert and direct.One of the old Soviets, Bill thought. A doctor or nurse who left her hospital or lost her job when the old system collapsed back in the nineties. He had read that there. My hips were exposed. The makeup remained from my day at work and I let my hair loose.I wandered off to the atrium for the carols. All went well.It was then I felt those eyes over me. Standing tall, older for my age, lay Pete. I wouldn’t say I liked him. I felt so uneasy. I could sense his attention on me and try to grab a picture of me. I moved away.It went on day after day and we started messaging. Yes, he was flirting and oh “was I enjoying it”.It was then that we had an evening party. We.
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