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Scene #54
Keenan was used to living with hundreds of people. He no longer
felt crowded, talked to himself, or went to therapists. Not that he
liked it, mind you; given half a chance, he would have buried them
all. So stepping into a full elevator was a relief. They
didn't follow him as a rule. Ironically, they detested crowds. The
metal box lifted with a jolt and rushed him to the 23rd floor.
When he stepped out, Keenan paused at the immense reception
area windows, catching a glimpse of the incredible Portland skyline
and Mt. Hood gray and white against a cloudy blue autumn sky. The
tilt of the earth must have been just right; the mountain filled
the sky to the east, making the city look small and insignificant,
like him. The site didn't make him feel any better. They would be
waiting for him in his cubicle. To postpone the
confrontation, he decided to take his time getting there.
Standing at the coffee machine, he yawned and muttered a stifled
morning to two half-awake employees stumbling past him. He tapped
in a heaping teaspoon of creamer to make the coffee a nice tan,
gave it a brisk stir, blew the steam away, and took his first sip.
Oh, yeah. Perfect. When he turned around, an electric
blast traveled down his back, paralyzing his legs. There she
was. Isabella. It took Keenan a microsecond to drink in
the full extent of her dazzling loveliness. Since she was busy with
the files in her hands, he took his time appreciating every inch.
Flowing chestnut hair, fawn-like eyes, and lips that begged for a
long hot hiss. He loved the way the black dress accentuated the
enticing inward curve of Isabella's back and the soft mounds of her
ass. It took everything he had to keep from crossing the ten feet
between them and running his hands over those gorgeous contours.
Keenan liked the way the dress isolated and displayed each of her
delicious breasts. The dark line of cleavage peeking out at the top
blended well with Isabella's dusky Mediterranean skin. Heat
rose in Keenan's cheeks. It had been a long time since a woman
could arouse him with a glance. He liked that about her. Despite
his pleading, on its own, his cock stiffened painfully and
periscoped up through his pants. He had to shake his leg to get it
to behave. It had been doing that a lot lately. He remembered
their first meeting two weeks ago: Isabella appeared as if by magic
at his cubicle, peeking around the gray fabric wall, and voicing a
hardy, 'Hi, I'm Isabella, the new head of HR. I brought you your
insurance package and...' Keenan didn't hear what she said after
that, finding himself distracted enough to go deaf. He would have
made his move then, if his posse hadn't intervened…again.
Isabella looked up at him now and smiled, the delicate lines around
her eyes crinkling, and perfect white teeth bright against her dark
skin. There was the slightest gleam of playfulness around that
mouth. It caused Keenan's heart to drum an African rhythm against
the inside of his ribs and his mouth smiled back insipidly, as far
as he knew. His brain wasn't functioning at full kilter just then.
Only last night he had imagined those lips kissing him, trailing
down his chest, wrapping around the head of his cock. He had
to shake his leg a second time. Since we've gone this far in my
imagination, I guess I should ask her out. Yeah…it was the least he
could do. All right, let's go, buddy, get your blood up, move that
leg, and just walk…right…over…to her and… And it was no good.
That niggling little problem that shadowed most of his motivation
went into full gear. He lost his nerve. Isabella went back to
her files and Keenan went back to his coffee, filling the void with
another scenario… “Good morning, Isabella. How's your day
going?” “Oh,” she said in a breathless whisper, pressing her
hot body into his and opening the first button on his shirt. “It
would be much better if you'd rip my clothes off and take me right
here, stud.” “Oh…ok.” He ripped the front of her shirt open,
exposing lovely bundles of flesh… “SINNER!!!” The
female shriek made him spill scalding coffee all over his hand.
“Fuck!” Keenan's fantasy went up in smoke and his cock
shriveled. He set the cup down so he could grab a few napkins.
“Shut up, Agnes!” he sneered under his breath. “Sinner! You
will burn in hell for all your carnal thoughts, Keenan Swanson!
Sinner! Spawn of the devil!” The disembodied voice behind him
shifted to his right, but he didn't bother to look. He knew there
wouldn't be anyone there. “Constance…” His lips barely moved
when two office execs flittered by him laughing on their way to a
meeting. When they were gone he jerked his thumb toward where he
figured Agnes would be. “Please come get Agnes, will you?”
“Sorry, Kee.” Constance's deep southern voice shifted in from the
ether and reverberated from one ear to the other. “Come along,
dear. Don't bother the poor man. He's trying to work. We promised,
remember?” A shimmering outline appeared at Keenan's elbow and
he had to jerk it away fast to avoid the blood freezing touch of
those skeletal hands. When Agnes materialized, a shiver vibrated
against his skull and arms. Only the top half of her was visible,
but the lucent face staring up at him was almost solid, with
nothing but stacks of wrinkles and a cold, milky stare. Why do they
always look so creepy? “Sinner!” Agnes shrieked again.
Another pair of hands appeared, wrapped around her shoulders, and
pulled her back into nothingness. Agnes's body faded, then her
face, and finally those white accusing eyes.
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