Ahm, yuh remember the car that we had discussed sometime ago?
What car was that m'dear? Mr. Jones seemed distracted.
Awhile back you had told me that you have a car, a two-door Honda civic. Blue. Yuh said you were selling it.
Oh that! I sold that old thing long time ago man. It was an eyesore in my driveway.
Irma's heart plummetted and her eyes filled with tears. Again, something she had wanted had passed her by, because, again, she had vacillated...
Oh, she managed to murmur on a sob.
Mr. Jones glanced at her enquiringly and noticed the tear that trembled on her lash. Irma? What's wrong? Don't tell me that you actually wanted that piece a old thing? And why hadn't you said something sooner?
She tried to shrug dismissively. Irma, that car wasn't for you. You have no idea the amount of things that needed to be done before it was drive worthy. Too much money fi nutn, is what I said, so I sell it to some eediat who tink im get the bargain of the century.
Further, a nice sexy girl like you need something with a little more pizzazz than an old bucket.
Irma cast a startled sidelong glance at him. Did he just call her sexy???
Yes man, Mr. Jones continued, warming to his subject. You need something that is sleek and shiney. Something with nice ledda seats, so that when you sink into it, you feel like you sitting in a man's lap: Not too hard and not too soft. Something that wi caress yuh baxide and mek yuh not want to leave it.
Uhm, um, yuh need something wid airconditioning - so dat on hot days, yuh can jus turn dem on an get yuh likkle titti dem all-
Irma's gasp of horror seemed to bring Mr. Jones back to the present. His fair skin was a mottled red, and God help her, but was that drool pooling on his bottom lip???
She tried to 'small up harself' as much as she could by pressing into the passenger door and hanging onto the handle with a death grip.
Hehe, he chuckled unconvincingly, I was getting a little carried away there. No mind that. It's just that I saw something I think would be excellent for you, an upwardly mobile young woman. Something vastly more fitting. As a matter of fact, the friend I am - we- are going to see, is directly linked to you getting this car.
Mr. Jones, what really is going on here? What yuh talking bout? I don't-
Don't worry about a thing. I am just looking out for you. I wished when I was your age, somebody had looked out for me like that...
Irma wondered what the hell he was on about. When he was her age, he, like now, hadn't a care in the world. He was born with several silver spoons in his mouth and an American dollar bill up im batty.
...but I have always been a proactive person. 'Tek de initiative', I always say. And so I have decided to help you.
Help me how? demanded Irma. To say she was confused would be a vast understatement.
I am going to help you up, my girl. Help you up! And the first thing I going to help you with is getting a good car. You need a car, you getting a car.
Wha-
Look, we here, Mr. Jones announced. Irma looked up and saw that they were outside a house. Outside the securitied gates of a house, the like of which she'd only before now, been able to view from afar. A uniformed security man, armed, came to the car, and after Mr. Jones identified himself, called ahead. At once, the gates swung open soundlessly.
Irma was immediatly mesmerized by the opulence of the courtyard. She had never seen such smooth rocks of so many shades of brown and green. The waterfall in the middle of the circular driveway was like something out of a magazine. Her eyes, pleasured, tried to take in everything at once: The fancy balustrades, the sweeping columns, how many floors were there? The French Provincial windows; the gigantic double oak doors; the wall finish; what kinda curtain were those...
Come, Mr. Jones, was suddenly brusque. Irma hadn't realized that he had was out of the car and was waiting for her. She fumbled with her seatbelt and hurriedly joined him, smoothing down her skirt and the sides of her hair.
She swallowed and followed him as he turned to the big doors. Before he could punch the bell, the door swung open and a little man stood there.
Jonesie, he chirped. Come in, come in! And is this the young lady you were telling me about? Come in m'dear, come in!
Originally posted by SueSumba:
[qb] there's nothing quite like someone parking by your car with a member in their hand [/qb]
parking wid wan han and holding the member with the edda han. Da bredda well cardinated, look like. me can barely park straight wid me two hand dem pan steering wheel.
Recalling Mr. Jones's comments in the car, Irma balked. "Ahm...I..."
"Come come," he reiterated impatiently, and before she knew it, she was sitting on a sumptiously brocaded loveseat in the most intimate and conversely elaborate of libraries, listening to Mr. Jones and Rocky (for that was his name) talking about a business deal that had gone bad.
"I tell you, I almost had to reach for my nine y'know," Rocky chirped. "Dat likkle b__b__ tink I was playin!"
"Well good thing you hadn't," Mr. Jones soothed. "Cause once you cross that line, there is no coming back."
"I tell you this though," Rocky said, leaning forward earnestly, "My people vex. Them vex bad. They want this thing fixed now! So it comes down to your idea - it haffi work, or dawg nyam wi suppa."
Rocky and Mr. Jones turned to look at Irma. She pulled back and returned their look suspiciously. Mr. Jones, cleared his brow and smiled charmingly. "Irma, Irma, don't look like that. We not going to eat yuh y'know-"
"Unless yuh want us to," Rocky chirped in. Rocky and Mr. Jones laughed uproariously. His quip had radically changed their mood from somberness bordering on desperation to one of testosterone induced euphoria.
Irma shifted uncomfortably. Sure, she was no prude, but she didn't like the vibe that was flowing from these two. Mr. Jones was suddenly a changed man. She had never known him to be anything but businesslike. Friendly, but always maintaining the boundaries that separated their status. Yet, today, he was rife with sexual innuendoes and other less subtle though no less confusing nuances.
And Rocky. First off, what was up with the name? For he was all of 5 feet and even Irma's voice was deeper than his. There was certainly nothing Rocky-like about him. Yet, there was something there, some intangible sinisterness...
Irma shrugged it off, she was being silly. Still... She glanced at her watch and said, "Lawd, I didn't realize de time had gone so..."
"What you worrying bout de time for?" Mr. Jones dismissed. "You work for me don't you? I know where you are, so don't worry, you'll still get yuh paycheck come Friday. And I did tell you it was business that would include you, didn't I? So let me tell you how you'll fit in."
"Not yet Jonesie, not yet man. Let's have some drinks. Lawd, I totally figet mi manners. I don't know where Sylvie is, and it's just as well. I'll be right back," and Rocky departed, a spring in his step.
"Mr. Jones," Irma turned urgently. "I am not comfortable here. I don't really know what's going on, but I would like to leave. Now, if you don't mind."
"But I do," Mr. Jones replied with equanimity. "Yuh stressing over nothing. I told you I want to help you up in this world. And I am. This is just the first step. This is how business is done - not in some board room, shuffling papers. This is how we make the big money.
Don't you want to make the big money Irma? Yuh want to be a receptionist the rest of yuh life?"
"No, but-"
"But nothing. Look, I have worked with you for 9 months now. I know you are a decent hardworking girl. I see your potential, and I am going to maximize it. Don't worry about a thing, I'll make sure you're alright."
Rocky chose this moment to return with a tray laden with tall, cold frosty glasses, filled with colourful concoctions and jug of the same. He handed Irma a drink saying, "Ladies first," and the other to Mr. Jones before taking the last drink for himself.
From over the rim of his glass, he watched Irma take a cautious sip. "It's good nuh true?" he asked.
And she had to admit that it was. It was papaya juice - as refreshing as its colour. Yet it wasn't like any papaya juice she had ever tasted before. Before she knew it, she had drained her glass, and was getting a refill from Rocky.
She sighed with pleasure, missing the knowing look that passed between Jonesie and Rocky.
mek me tell you something ..... tap cut and paste it, post it all at once na
this break is unnecessary [img]/forums/images/graemlins/mad.gif[/img] :verymad:
Originally posted by sukuna:
[qb] mek me tell you something ..... this break is unnecessary [img]/forums/images/graemlins/mad.gif[/img] :verymad: [/qb]
Originally posted by sukuna:
[qb] mek me tell you something ..... tap cut and paste it, post it all at once na
this break is unnecessary [img]/forums/images/graemlins/mad.gif[/img] :verymad: [/qb]
Actually, I am just making it up as I go along. I haven't even decided what's going to happen next, so how can I type it? [img]/forums/images/graemlins/tongue.gif[/img]
Irma was surprised to find herself in bed. In her own bed. "How-?!" She got up suddenly and regretted it immediatly as a horrendous pounding began in her head. She squeezed her eyes tight shut and stilled all movements.
"What happened?" she groaned aloud. No answer was forthcoming because there was noone else there. She covered her face with both hands and peeked through her fingers, then quickly removed them. Was that dark outside? No, it can't be! When had night fallen? Irma rushed to the window and was astounded to find that it was indeed 'nightime'.
Nausea overcame her and she flew to the bathroom and spent a good long while being sick. When Irma was able to regroup somewhat, she turned the shower on and began to get undressed. Then she realized that something was wrong. Very wrong.
Whose shirt was this? This was a man's shirt! So why was she wearing it??? Her fingers trembled in amazed confusion as she touched the unfamiliar garment lightly. Wonderingly. She hurried back out to her dresser and examined the shirt, even as she wore it. It was definately a man's shirt. High grade cotton. White, with thin pale blue stripes. Her trembling fingers sought to undo the buttons, and she swallowed as she realized that the buttons were done up wrong.
A sinking feeling began to descend on her, but she staved it off as she hurriedly, ripped the shirt from her person. She was not wearing a bra. How can that be? Irma always wore a bra.
Irma gazed in horror at the reflection in the mirror as the sinking feeling returned in full force and with it, a dawning realization which her mind struggled to deny. She hastily removed her skirt, and her unspoken fear was answered: she was without underwear.
"Dear God," she whispered. "Dear God, please..."
Her legs gave way and she only managed to make it to the bed before collapsing. Irma struggled to recall what had happened. But everything was a blur. Everything that followed her having the second drink at Rocky's place, with Mr. Jones and Rocky being so nice...
How had she gotten home? When had she gotten home?
How had she gotten in bed? And Where were her clothes???
"No," she moaned. "No... it's not true, no sah, it's not true..."
Irma slept. She didn't know how long she slept, but when she awoke, it was dusk. She was amazed to find that she was still laying on the bed, unclothed. She was surprised to hear running water. She struggled up and blearily made her way to the bathroom, where she saw the weak stream of water issueing from the tap in the shower.
Irma stepped in, and the cold of the water made her gasp. With it came a clarity that could not be denied. Something foul had transpired yesterday. Was it yesterday? Something had happened that caused her to lose her clothes, be wearing someone else's and for her mind to be a frustrating blank.
Irma let the water wash over her while she was curled into a fetal position in the corner of the tub.
She struggled to clear her mind, to breathe, to think, to focus... So intense was her concentration, that she failed to hear the banging on the front door.
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