The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

About the time I get comfortable with where I am, poof—we’re now down to 75 days before I get re-assigned. Work is great, I’ve caught on quickly thanks to Georgia Tech and eight years as a cog in the supply chain; my bank accounts are very healthy; Mom has finally accepted my biweekly gifts without worrying; and I even have a small fan base that roots for me to turn the tables on Mia.

Which was granted last night. I got to wear the Domme jumpsuit for the first time. Black and shiny and flexible. Dark eyes, dark lips, black nails, jet black wig. Victor had agreed the Villainess gets her comeuppance so to speak. She threw a classic hissy fit, screaming—loudly and a lot. But money talks. Victor offered double for the indignity to her Diva-ness. And she could pick the size of the dildo. Me? I just enjoyed the reversal even though she warned of severe repercussions if I got too out of line. Oh, to rub salt in it, viewership increased during both broadcasts. Victor was very pleased which meant he was in a generous mood. So I had hung around longer than usual straightening up and of course stealing glances at Charlotte. I’m such a 12 year-old.

Anyway, today’s my birthday. The weather was crisp and clear with a light wind, so I pushed 60 miles hard. Back by 11, cleaned up nicely: white shirt, creased jeans, blazer, loafers, and underneath it all, a pair of Paris lace black split briefs and seamed thigh-highs. Kinky? Succumbing to the evil siren’s seductive call to become a full time cross-dresser? Nah, it was my birthday, and I was in a good mood. A very good mood, actually. Good ride, nice weather, Gamecocks won. And so I and my frequent date—Ms. Kindle—are off to the Hilton for the Sunday Brunch.

Start with salmon and shrimp, next is a salmon omelet, and then back for prime rib. For fun, I add a couple of waffle segments. The South has chicken and waffles, so here in Colorado I’ve got prime rib and waffles. I’m walking back to the table but come to stop as a party of three is following the Hostess to be seated.

At which point our Director yells ‘Action’ as the first scene of the second act plot twist in the movie titled ‘How I Spent Six Months as a Cross-Dressing Porn Actress in Colorado’ gets underway. The Hostess seats the lady first and then moves aside to pull the chair for the gentleman as he steps up.

OhhhhKaaaayyyy. What do you know?

It’s the Senior Ops VP at the Company. I mean THE, not A, but THE guy in charge of Operations. Mr. Jordan. To be sure, we are somewhat acquainted as he hosts an hour session with the new hires every Wednesday morning and the program is his brainchild. He nods, then double takes.

“Charles, right? Charles Rone—Air Force—Georgia Tech—got it. Uhmmm, how are you?” he asks.

“Fine sir,” I say. “And you?” Then turning to the lady, I greet her, “Good afternoon ma’am”

At that moment, the third person steps out to the left moving to the other side of the table.

It’s Charlotte.

“Good,” he says, to which the lady—his wife?—adds, “I’m fine, thank you. Robert, is this one of your people?”

Meanwhile, the events of the last 15 seconds are dawning on the young lady—their daughter? In slow motion, Charlotte’s eyes widen, flare, and she freezes in mid-stride with a gasp, subtle but still a gasp.

At which point the conversation jumbles: Mr. Jordan says yes he is, one of the 2023 class; as I say yes ma’am, I joined in June; as she says how nice, is your wife nearby; as I say no ma’am, it’s just me; to which she responds, oh, interesting, waffles and prime rib; as I look down and back up shrugging, yes, ma’am it’s my birthday, I’m being extravagant; which she follows with no need to call me ma’am; and I say sorry but I’m Southern and you are Mr. Jordan’s wife; at which point she dimples and the conversation pauses.

She rises and presents her hand advising it is her birthday too; at which I assiduously avoid over reacting as I gently shake it and wish her a very happy birthday; whereupon she switches hands as she turns toward Charlotte and introduces her as ‘our daughter’; who is now gripping the chair so hard her knuckles are white but manages to give the slightest nod and a flicker of a smile.

I occasionally got to airlift what were affectionately known as special weapons. ‘Handle like eggs’ did not begin to describe how careful you had to be. I knew if I did not get the hell out of there in the next three seconds, that chair was coming across the table.

I smiled, looked straight at her and said, “Oh hello.” I was hoping against hope that I would not blush, which I always do. And of course, the adrenaline pump was already flowing wide open. Maybe they would pass it off to the impromptu meeting.

Mrs. Jordan, unaware of the pending catastrophe (the chair), then said she’d ask me to join them but it appeared I had a head start; to which I noted I indeed had a substantial one and was on the next to last lap; to which she replied I seemed fit enough to go a couple more times at which point Mr. Jordan, sensing a conversation was about to get under way cleared his throat, and I gave him the slightest of nods, stepping back and retrieving my hand, re-wishing her a very happy birthday, then turning to Charlotte I took two giant steps out on very thin ice, and said it was very nice to meet her, then turning to Mr. Jordan, I extended my hand and apologized for the intrusion. His grip was firm, and he smiled. And I faded.

There’s a Grateful Dead lyric that goes:

Well, I ain’t always right, but I’ve never been wrong / Seldom turns out, the way it does in a song / Once in a while, you get shown the light / In the strangest of places, if you look at it right.

Walking back to my table, an idea flickered, then coalesced and became alive. I waved to the first wait staff I saw, asked for the wine list, and then ordered champagne for their table. Second most expensive bottle, on purpose. $300 bill. But as Deadpool noted when he wasted two of his bullets on the guy who shot him in a tender place, “Worth It!!!”

I did not linger over the prime rib and then got some desserts to go; intent on disappearing before someone could no longer control her homicidal urges. There were lots of steak knives in the room. I walked around the Mall for a bit replaying the encounter over and over. Then as I headed to the car, I actually began hyperventilating while laughing out loud. The adrenaline depleted, I headed to the house.

And now I appreciated what she and Victor tried to accomplish. Don’t complicate an efficient operation enjoying rising profits with a significant case of puppy love. Especially with me working, even if remotely, for her Father and time running out on my stay. My business risk professor would applaud them.

Speaking of risk, a quick calculation said she’d be perturbed but with only 10 weeks or so left in my time here, why upset the balance. If she’s anything, she’s a serious, CPA trained, practical business woman, with killer legs and as cute as a button. OK, secrets out, now let’s be adults and plan the next show.

About 3:30, I got the second bill for the champagne. So I miscalculated. I’m still young and naive.

I had crashed on the couch, mindlessly watching the Broncos. A long ride, several buffet plates, and then the “encounter” meant I was moderately sedated.

The phone buzzed with an anonymous text message to “open the door right now”, followed by a three-rap knock, then a pound.

Check the peep hole. Yep, it’s her.

Deep breath. I crack the door.

She shoulders through, knocking me to the side.

“Charlotte,” I exclaim in mock surprise. “How was the Brunch? Mom enjoy herself? You know she is just so very charming!” The thought crossed my mind to tell her she was very beautiful when she was angry, but then she might have a Glock in her bag.

She tossed it on the chair and let loose without drawing a breath. I lost count of all the profanities, but there were more m-f’s and g-d’s and c-s’s and gay slurs than there were actual words. The screed culminated in a kick aimed at my nethers, which I blocked.

I was holding her foot in the air as she was hopping, trying to keep her balance, gasping.

“Truce?” I asked.

She hopped a little more, but the adrenaline started draining. She nodded and fell back in the chair.

“Water? Drink?” I asked. “Bourbon? Scotch? I have some of each.”

“Bourbon, a triple. Better yet, bring the bottle,” she replied.

And so I did.

Just like the Cowboys in the old Westerns, she drained two fingers then poured one more and swallowed half.

“Easy Missy. It’s Sunday afternoon sure, but that just means there are fewer cars on the road with the Broncos on the tube and you don’t need to stand out as a DUI,” I counseled.

“First don’t ever call me that again, and second who said I was going home,” she shot back as she drained the rest. She started to pour another but then flopped back as the 1-2-3 ounces landed in sequence.

“Seriously, your Mom have a good time?” I asked again while 90% of my brain was dissecting the reference to not going home—a bar somewhere, boyfriend, Mom’s?

“Oh don’t you know it Mr. Little Well Dressed Veteran Yes Ma’am Fawning Obsequious Suck-Up,” she growled. Yeah—literally growled.

“At least we’re now using our big words instead of the dirty ones,” I said. “Look, it was complete happenstance. It could have gone any one of 12 ways. You arrive two minutes later, I walk a different way, we don’t know each other, yada-yada-yada. But then shazam, there you were and well, I just did it.”

“Yeah, goody for you. Now she wants to invite you for Thanksgiving. And Mr. Big SVP of course had to tell her your resume and service record and how you were the most mature, hardworking, experienced new hire they’d had in like forever. Fucking teacher’s pet—Mr. Boy Scout,” she snapped.

“Now, now, there’s those immature words again. Boy Scouts are generally good people,” I chuckled.

She sighed and reached for the bottle. I reached over and held it.

“Are we going to sip now?” I asked.

She glared and nodded. I poured one finger.

She fiddled with her purse and pulled out the lighter and pack.

“Not in here; this is your Dad’s place; strict rules; so outside,” I advised. I went and grabbed a dish and my napping of the couch afghan—Mom knit it and it’s Air Force Blue—and opened the door.

Recalling the old movies from the 40’s, I took the lighter from her. And of course, as these things go, it took me four strikes to get a flame. She snickered. I shrugged.

She took two hard inhales, offered it to me, I declined noting I wasn’t in character. Two more hard ones with marvelous nose exhales and then a large sip. She settled back, and I put the afghan around her.

“You know, the prior “actors” (she made air quotes) we hired for your role—Mia’s foil if you hadn’t already guessed by now—are usually not the cuddly, soft core porn types. What we do has just enough hardness to it to attract certain viewers but not be way out there where there is more risk and more freaks and then even more risk. Which means we go through a lot of them——the money always ends up in their nose or veins or liver. You on the other hand, are the nice little boy next door who happens to give great head according to Mia, takes the bondage and the slaps and the anal assaults in stride and then wants to carry my books. I mean damn, you’re supposed to suggest we go fuck in the supply closet or the back seat of my car. Everyone else has.”

“Sorry, Miss,” I replied. “I was indeed a Boy Scout and Mother always expected the utmost courtesy and respect towards others, especially ladies.

She snorted. “Eagle? Right?”

I shrugged, “And as I further recall there was this clear message from HR not to look in your direction, much less carry your books. So—Naah.”

She humphed.

Suddenly, this seemed the time to come clean. “By the way, your and Victor’s efforts to launder my memory quit working a couple of months ago.”

“What??? You knew???”

“Remember the fit you threw to have him encourage me to not look at you much less speak to you. I was outside the office. And so I played along. Polite but not pushy. And that explains why I never got your last name.”

I paused. “But seriously, your Mom asked if Thanksgiving was a ‘what if we did’—good idea?”

“Yeah,” her eyebrows raised as she shrugged. “He wasn’t so sure; it was polite he said, but you were probably going back home and if word got around, teacher’s pet, suck-up, you know, it had risk for you.”

“Oh absolutely, and I would have not accepted for the reasons he said—as much as I would like to,” I observed.

She looked at me for a moment. She offered the cigarette to me again saying, “Indulge me, give me a nice long exhale.”

I shrugged and obliged.

She chuckled, “I didn’t want to be the only one with a dirty mouth.” She took the final drag and stubbed it out, then pulled the afghan tighter. She looked up at the sky for a moment and then looked at me. “Are you for real? I’m drop-dead serious right now. I have more than enough baggage and hurt as you may know if you overheard us. I have no interest in adding to it.”

I paused a bit. “You wrung everything out of me during the first interview—yeah, I came to recall that too. The riding crop, the ball gag. You seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.”

She cringed, “Oh shit, really?” Then she giggled, “I recall you ate it up, too.”

“Maybe I did, Miss Smarty Pants. OK, I stayed for the thrill at first, it was intoxicating. Then the money got too good; equally intoxicating. But then I realized I couldn’t stop thinking about you. So maybe, just maybe, the good guy gets a chance. And as you well know, what baggage I have wouldn’t fill a coin purse.”

“Guys and their dick size—always about size,” she laughed hard—a tension release it seemed.

She got quiet again. A very deep breath and then, “Does Dad have a rule about no fucking on company property?”

She pulled her sweater over her head

Oh God. Quick—— don’t pass out. Count from ten. 10-9-8-7-6—

“So do you want to kiss some first? Drag it out a little bit. Remember the scene in Deadpool where he figured he only had enough money left after Skee-Ball for a couple of minutes?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Classic love story. And that’s why I made you take a hit, silly.”

I was quiet for a moment.

“Well?” she said.

I got up and opened the door for her. As she passed, I had to say, “Seriously though, you know what I have to work with.”

“Yep,” she said. “There’s no problem that can’t be solved with money or technology. I brought some stuff. Let’s get comfortable.”

I already had my shirt off and I dropped trou, revealing black seamed thigh highs and a pair of burgundy lace back panties.

“Oh hell,” she doubled over laughing. “You were wearing those at brunch?’

“Well, yeah, I dressed up—so what. It’s my birthday. Carolina won its game yesterday. And I wasn’t expecting visitors. Besides, you only have yourself to blame.”

Now she was gasping. “Oh Lord, if Mom only knew. And Dad, oh God. He’d put you in a 55 gallon drum and ship you to the Arctic Circle.”

She was down to her panties now. “Leave them on, keep the mystery for a while,” I said.

“You too,” she replied. She then pulled cuffs, lube and a double dildo out of her bag—a vaginal shape and an anal shape connected by a cord to a control.

“Oh my goodness,” I said. “Not your typical first date.”

She took a serious tone. “Look Charles, we didn’t start out walking home from school together or sharing fries at the drive-in or you getting me pregnant in the back seat. And as much as it pains me to admit, I really did want you to walk me to the car or go get dinner. And now you know why the cold shoulder. Protect both you and me. So, if this goes anywhere, we won’t be telling the kids or friends how we met other than at work.”

I nodded.

“Two rules,” she held up two fingers. “Don’t tell me you love me until you know you mean it.” She dropped a finger, leaving The Finger up, “And don’t ever call me Missy.”

“Agreed,” I said.

“OK. Come here.” She opened her arms.

Kissing went rather well; she was very, very soft. After a while I moved south. I had heard that if you gently trace out the alphabet with your tongue, thus paying close attention to the clitoris, you will be greatly appreciated. I got to letter K on the second lap when she screamed and locked down on my head. I saw stars. A bourbon break and then she placed the anal end in me and inserted the vaginal end in its proper place. Starting slowly with kisses and caresses, she turned up the power bit by bit. Anal orgasms take a little time, and so I could hold off until she moaned and shuddered in waves. Couple moments later my little fellow let loose.

She stretched. “Always the gentleman, aren’t you?’

I just held her close.

“So what were the cuffs for?” I asked.

“In case you turned out to be an absolute cad, I’d stage an auto-erotic asphyxiation suicide,” she answered.

“Nice. Do you have an hourglass tattooed to your abdomen?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

Monday morning at 0600. I’m a complete emotional klutz; she stayed the night. I treading on eggshells, not quite knowing how to behave or what to stay, looking for clues. We cuddled a bit and then she was up and dressing. A hug, a quick kiss, another hug, then, “We’ll talk; stay cool; it’s all good.”

I tried to focus on each step of getting ready and driving safely. I succeeded somewhat. It was hard to be a grown-up. For the first time ever, I knew what emotional, caring, passionate sex was like.

Monday morning at 0755. There’s a note on my desk to see Mr. Jordan at 0900.

Not as good as a note from Mrs. Jordan; not as bad as a pink slip.

Monday morning at 0855. I present for the appointment.

Monday morning at 0910. His secretary tells me to go in. Power play I wonder. Or maybe not as he is hanging up the phone.

“Charles, good to see you again,” he says with what I hope is a wry grin.

“Good morning, Sir,” I reply. I remain standing in front of the desk.

“From my Wife,” he says as he tosses an envelope on the desk.

“Thank you Sir,” I retrieve it.

A very pregnant pause follows.

“Is that all Sir?” I ask.

He clears his throat. “Sergeant—I don’t know whether to applaud you for a class move or chew your ass for a really ballsy one. Would you have sent your wing commander’s wife champagne?”

Oh shit. Where did that come from.

I square up to the max, “No Sir, not as a general rule. But to be honest Sir, my last one was not from the same mold as most—fighter pilot, had two MiGs. He would have applauded it. But then again, as an E-6, I could not have afforded it.”

“So?” he asked.

“Spur of the moment Sir; otherwise, no excuse Sir. I did not mean to presume, Sir.”

“Look son, I know your record. Went to airborne school to be a better loadmaster; made stan-eval in three years. That’s not the resume of someone who takes casual risks,” he observed.

“I know Sir, flying safety is paramount and will not be compromised for any reason,” I rejoined.

“To state the obvious, we’re in the risk assessment business, not risk taking. We think things through carefully,” he lectured. This was a frequent theme of his Wednesday talks. When you are hauling other people’s stuff, you have to be smart.

“On the other hand, maybe you weren’t reckless. My Wife has been around the corporate game long enough to know a newbie would not pull such a stunt in front of the SVP. Newbies are too worried about their future. She thinks you did it to impress Charlotte,” he said.

“Charlotte, Sir?”

“Don’t pay dumb Sergeant. There was some sort of look between you.”

Engine room Go to Warp 6.

“Probably my embarrassment and her confusion on my intruding on your private time, Sir. The champagne was a spontaneous act given it was a shared birthday.”

“Spontaneously calculated to hit on my wife in my presence? Or influence my decision on where to send you next?”

Crap, now we are doing Warp Factor 6 into a box canyon. The engine is overheating as I blush from pink to vermillion

“Well, all are fair points, Sir. If you will permit me, your Daughter is as stunning as your Wife. Both are clearly deserving of champagne on any occasion. As for the next assignment, if you truly thought I was being disingenuous or attempting to influence my next assignment, then my risk assessment skills are certainly suspect and I would expect an assignment to Thule to count rocks for the next four years. Instead, it was purely a spur of the moment decision. A surprise to add a little spice to the birthday party.”

“Did you rehearse that this morning? If you were a green 20 something, I’d suspect an ulterior motive. But you know better. Anyway, we don’t have a facility in Thule. We do in Minot, though. Nice place, actually.”

I shrugged.

“So my Wife wants to invite you for Thanksgiving—you know, holiday season, single guy.”

“That’s most generous but my Mother has only herself, and I was overseas a lot, and then grad school was 16-7. Please convey my regrets.”

He nodded; I left.

A quick text requesting a meet. Charlotte said she could be there at 9’ish—complicated audit under way.

We shared notes over some bourbon and decided it was just the parent-gene that was making them see things. She also let me know her Dad had been in the Air Force after college. Did four years in Supply.

Ah ha—he had my number from day one.

We finished our drink, and she stood up as if to leave, but then she pulled a dildo out of her purse.

“Indulge me, I need to get rid of this stress. I know we sent you home with props in the early days to condition you, so go put some dark hose on and whatever else fits your mood, and then do me. Don’t talk; don’t pet; just warm me up and keep warming until I cum. I really, really need a release,” she ordered. “I’ll take of you afterwards.”

A pair of dark green thigh-highs, the panties from last night, a black chemise, and some bluish-red gloss made up the ensemble. And my little fellow was straight up.

Focused massage by stroking all over first, then gently apply the lube, then a teasing, slow penetration, followed by a steady increase in pace with light clitoral pressure, a few words of encouragement, and boom, she lets go. As with last night, I held her as close as I could as she vibrated, caressing her softly. In moments, she drifted off. I just held her, absorbing every moment. She came to 20 minutes or so later, stretching and twisting. Then she realized she had dozed off.

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry. Here, move over,” as she reached for me.

I held her hand. “No need; all is good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, look. This is all new to me. I never had a girl-girl friend. I had friends who were girls, but last night was the first time I was ever intimate in any with a girl—a woman—not just any woman—a woman I wanted to get to know from the very first time I saw her. Oh, don’t tell Mia, she’s sensitive.”

She sniffled slightly, “You’re an open book, but you barely know me.”

“There’s plenty of time,” I said as I got on my knees and straddled her.

“I’m not going to do a Deadpool and pull a ring pop from nowhere, but I really like you. I wasn’t asking you out all those times just to get in your pants. You had that je ne sais quoi, but thanks to that one extremely critical fact you hid from me, I could not get out of the locker room, much less to first base.

“Really? French and Baseball?” she interrupted.

“Hush. Look, I’ve been single a long, long time, and I had pretty much accepted that’s how it would be. Doing favors for my Uncle and his friends never flipped the Gay switch. But thinking of you became a frequent distraction on the long rides and runs, which led to thoughts of ‘what if.’ And so the Brunch stunt was some sort of mid-brain, emotional long shot. I had no idea where it would land. It was just a chance to make a change to the status quo. And it was her birthday after all.”

“I’ll say,” she agreed.

“I’d do it again, you know.”

She sighed, “It was a legendary move.”

“We brushed up against this last night. I say let’s see where this goes. As twisted as this is to say, running into Victor has kinda worked out—cross-dressing kink aside. Sometimes Mia can’t pull her slaps and backhands and sometimes the butt plug gets way too angry. But I’ve paid off Georgia Tech, I’m sending money to Mom, I’ve made a year’s worth of IRA deposits and my quarterlies to the IRS are up to date. I live here rent free and your Dad pays pretty good, which gets better depending on the final evaluation. He’s going to move me in January, so between now and then I want to make as much money as I can off the show and be your boyfriend. But in reverse order.”

She snorted, “That’s not much of a proposal, what’s in it for me?’

“Play your cards right and that could come later,” I laughed.

She kneed me in the nuts.

Being a well-compensated, cross-dressing, macrophallic BDSM slut every Saturday night, you quickly become numb to the high intensity erotic aspects of sex. But to borrow from Ray Wylie Hubbard: “We was enriched uranium, super critical mass, we was a chain reaction, it was love and lust, but mostly a mutual attraction.”

We explored each other fully, and then after two weeks, we turned the temperature down to a comfortable simmer.

We were both 30. We were both professionals in similar fields. We were both task and detail oriented. I was not her first by a long shot; I had no clue how to be in a relationship. She used the smoke alarm as an oven timer; I was pretty decent in the kitchen. So we did our homework, cuddled, made out, took care of each other, stayed at restaurants until they closed, and talked and talked and talked.

But always just over the horizon was her Dad and the end of tour job change in mid-January.

Thanksgiving came and went. Her parents always had the family Thanksgiving at their house. I went home and cooked for Mom, all the while texting with Charlotte like teenagers. Mom knew something was up, but was polite.

And then a week or so after I was back, we were cleaning up after dinner, both at the sink, and it was quiet and warm. I leaned into her and said, “Hey, I love you, [pause] and I mean it this time.” She smiled, kissed my cheek.

Later, snuggling in bed and watching the weather talk about snow tomorrow, she nudged me, sighed, and said, “OK, I need to double check. Are you for real?”

“Yeah, I’m breathing and generating heat.”

“No silly, for real for real. I swore I was not going to open up to anyone ever again for a long long time, but here I am.”

“Charlotte, you’ve seen me every way possible from fumbling 7th grader to the object of Mia’s abject abuse and humiliation. And then I risked life, limb and career with the champagne stunt. So yeah, this is me.

She sighed again. “Yeah, you did. “ Deep breath, “I love you too.”

On rare occasions, I know when to say nothing. I held her closer.

The division Christmas party was in two weeks. The group had met their goals, and it was time to move on. Still, we both agreed it was not yet the time to come out to her parents. See what my assignment was and then adjust accordingly.

You would think 30 Something’s would be a little wiser, a little more aware. But no. We’re not.

The running club I had joined had their Christmas 10k the morning of the party. It gave me a chance to cruise with worrying about cars. I spent the race planning for anything that could come up and seriously wondering what we would do if indeed it was Minot. She’s happy and successful here. Reality—shit.

Charlotte was spending the day helping with whatever her Mother needed. And so it was bit of a surprise when I got a text that said be there about 15 minutes early. It wasn’t her number but it was signed C, so maybe she needed help with something. Big risk to have me show up early, but whatever. I said OK.

I rang the doorbell at 6:45. Mrs. Jordan opened the door.

“Charles, you got my message. Good, right on time,” she said.

The hairs on my neck stood up and caught fire. ‘Her’ message. Oh crap.

“You look nice, the blazer suits you,” she remarked.

“As do you ma’am. The dress is very flattering,” I replied. It was an LBD with four inch heels. She going for first place in the MILF of the Night competition.

“It’s Denver. Some folks will dress up a bit; others will be in jeans. And call me Chelsey,”

“Sorry ma’am. I gotta stay with ma’am or Mrs. Jordan. It’s hard wired.”

“Suit yourself; but I do take your point. The world has changed quite a bit. Anyway, I need you in the kitchen.”

The house was big; the kitchen followed suit. Huge island, double oven, six burner cook top, and Charlotte at the end of the island taking some sort of puffy pastry off a tray and putting it on a platter. She had on a burgundy shift, well above the knee, and two inches of cleavage. Dark hose and four inch heels like her Mother.

Before I could greet, speak, and compliment her (hormone throttle was wide open), she looked up. Her eyes widened, and she went through three color changes.

“What are you doing here?” she barked.

I froze. “You texted me,” I fired back.

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did, be here 15 minutes early—C.”

“Since when have I sent you a text signed C? Was it from my number?”

Mrs. Jordan cleared her throat. “Gee, you two ought to go steady, you got the give-and-take down pretty well.”

Charlotte turned to her. “You?” Her voice went up an octave.

“Yep, we need to talk.”

“About what?

“About this Missy.”

“Please don’t’ call me that, jeez!! What this? There is no this!”

Mrs. Jordan turned to me. “You want to jump in here?”

“No ma’am, not yet. We need the smoke to clear.” Suddenly, realizing the jig was up, I needed to be with Charlotte. Caveman Reflex—XY chromosome—Testosterone—Whatever. I moved down to the other end of the island. A foot seemed close enough. And her glare confirmed it. Meanwhile her Mother came down the other side.

“We’re listening,” I said.

“Ok, I’ll be quick. Since the Hilton I’ve known something was going on with you two. When we ran into him at the Hilton, the laser beams from your eyes would have melted steel. Your usual casual indifference in front of a male your age was missing.”

“Uhhh, ma’am. That was truly an unexpected encounter. Absolutely random.”

“Whatever, and thanks again for the champagne, excellent taste.”

I nodded.

“But a few days later, you young lady, started calling me once or twice a day. That doesn’t happen. And you called your Grandmother too—who’s coming by the way. Then Dad brought up talking to Charles here about the champagne. And you mentioned that no way would you be involved with one of his new employees for fear you would send him to the Arctic Circle.”

“Oh crap,” I blurted. They both looked at me.

“I told him the same thing, except I said Thule.”

Mrs. Jordan nodded. “Yep, and those remarks triggered memories from his Air Force days. As he told me, you don’t screw up within—“

I interrupted, “—50 feet of the flagpole.”

“Huh?” Charlotte said.

“Don’t get caught by the Big Boss,” I said.

“So I asked you here a little early to see what’s up and if your Father needs to worry about you using his daughter to get an inside edge.”

Instant acceleration to Warp Factor 9—just substitute her for Victor, be vague about shared interest, you can do this. Surreptitious deep breath through the nose. The blush is rising, but take care of this.

“OK—OK. Charlotte and I met in a random encounter at the Hilton in June, both walking the Mall, both ending up in the lounge, I asked if she would mind some company, turns out we had some similar interests (like extremely profitable live porn telecasts). I told her why I was in town and where I worked, etc. etc. She mentioned nothing at all about her Dad. Nothing. In fact I was much more interested in getting to know her than she was me, probably because of her Dad. We would share a drink every couple of weeks. When I met y’all at the Hilton, I had no idea who you were until Mr. Jordan stepped up and then when Charlotte appeared, well, you almost ended up with waffles in your lap. I’m sure Charlotte’s reaction was a light speed reaction to the fact she had withheld who she really was and now there’s trust issues. On the way back to my table, I decided to go for broke, literally—as you can tell from the vintage. Later, she called and came over, we talked, she apologized, I apologized. Here we are.”

Charlotte stepped over and put her arm though mine.

“You’re not a lawyer are you?” Mrs. Jordan asked with a grin. “That sounded like a closing argument.”

“Mom’s a lawyer,” Charlotte muttered.

“That would have been nice to know.”

“It never came up.”

“OK folks, not that anyone ever arrives on time, but there could be a first. Dad is watching the Buffs with a couple of friends in the den. Charles, go be a major domo. And you, Missy, is there a cigarette in your bag? Back porch now.”

Charlotte grunted, “Stop with the Missy please, I’m not 12.”

“Says the girl blushing like there is no tomorrow,” her Mother retorted.

As I turned to go, Charlotte reflexively picked some debris off my jacket and brushed it smooth. I side-hugged her, whispered she looked stunning, while watching Mrs. Jordan give a little shake of the head.

As I waited by the front door, I could see them passing it back and forth. Mrs. Jordan had great nose exhales. Reflexively I wondered if she could show me how. And then, oh you stupid fool. Asking her how to perfect your craft. Go wash your brain with Drain-O. Forcing the unneeded distraction aside, I wondered if I had overplayed the explanation. Crap crap crap.

People began to arrive. After a while, Charlotte tapped me out. I raised my eyebrows; she shook her head and said “later”, then whispered, “We’re good. Go hang with your group.”

I’ve joined the newbies, and we’re making small talk about possible assignments, and the good and bad of the training. Everyone is slightly uncomfortable; all but one other fellow are married. I had not socialized much with as I’m eight years older and my Saturday nights were spent elsewhere.

Charlotte floats by our group and stops for a moment, checking that everyone is comfortable and there’s fresh crab puffs coming out of the oven.

And then she’s gone. One of the wives nudges me and says she’s quite attractive and did not have a ring on; to which I say she’s probably one of the senior group’s daughter just helping with hostess duties about which time she is talking to Mr. Jordan and he has his arm around her introducing her to an older couple——the finance guy I think. I smile and say uh yeah, she’s out of my league which gets a chuckle all around.

Moments later Mr. Jordan wanders our way, shaking hands all around, meeting the spouses. A brief hand shake, pleasantries, gratitude for our hard work, more about that a little later, enjoy yourselves and then off to another group. Classic cocktail party behavior.

So I wandered off in search of a brownie. I’m addicted to brownies, and I saw a large plate when I was in the kitchen.

I walk up to the table and spy the pile. Now to find a plate that can hold three or four—I’ll pay for it tomorrow. As I pick up the plate, my arm is grabbed. Not someone from the office, she was older and very bohemian. “Hey,” she said. “I’m Charlotte’s grandmother.” Looking at my plate, she then said, “Ah brownies. My daughter doesn’t make them like I do. They’re too plain. So, look,” she said as she reached in her purse and pulled out a baggie, “Here, take an edible, it’ll make the night more tolerable.”

“Ahhhhhhh, no thanks”, I reply. “The company drug tests.” We did when I was hired of course, but it seemed the best escape route.

“OK, well, anyway, so you’re the one sleeping with Charlotte?” she launches a broadside.

I pull up straighter, lift my nose a bit, and slightly haughty say, “A gentleman does not discuss such things about a lady.”

She cackles, “Good answer. Tell me something about yourself so I can figure why my oh so darling and precious granddaughter who only sees me on family occasions wanted to make sure I was coming here tonight.”

“Uhhh, that’s out of the ordinary?”

“You know, you looked bright at first, but now I’m not so sure. Here’s a clue. When you’re first in love; you’re in love with everybody.”

“Oh,” I mumbled.

“So give.”

And I give her the postcard version as ordered.

“Hmmmm, pretty dull, a lot like her Dad who I barely tolerate, way too stiff, I still don’t get what my daughter sees in in him. Anyway, you need to gain some weight,” she instructed. “Two more things. First, she’s been seriously hurt before, and I can find out where you live.” She then get a merry look and whispered, “By the way, twins run in the family.” A quick hug and she was headed back to the kitchen hollering for Charlotte to get her coat.

I mingle some more with folks from other offices. After a while, Mr. Jordan calls everyone together. He gives a nice summation and pep talk for how well a year the Ops Division had. He thanks a few specific folks for exceptional work. A small nod to us and the hours we put in. He advises our assignments will be out Monday. He wishes us safe travel home and then he and his group go back to the den. I guess this is so the party is a business expense. Charlotte would know; probably does their taxes.

I give my regards to the group and go looking for Mrs. Jordan to pay my respects. She’s with a couple of ladies, so I wait. She sees me, motions with her head towards the breakfast nook. Charlotte’s tucked in corner. She shakes her head as I walk over, so I find a wall and try to disappear.

Not too long, Mrs. Jordan walks over.

“Well, looks like the two conspirators have found a place to be alone,” she laughs. “Did you sneak him upstairs to see your old room?”

Charlotte looks tired, doesn’t answer. “Haven’t had the tour,” I say. “But the first floor is wonderful.”

She looks at me. “Thanks. So you’re here for the ‘thank you very much, I had a nice time’ and then leave?” she asks.

“Yes ma’am,”

“You and your yes ma’ams,” she grins. “You’re not leaving yet. There’s a lot of cleaning up still to be done.”

“Actually or metaphysically?” I ask.

She gives me a knowing smile and leaves. I sit down and start to say something but I don’t know what.

“Let’s just sit,” she advises.

“Can I say again how gorgeous you look?”

She dimples, but then goes back to moderately glum.

15 minutes or so pass. I note it has gotten pretty quiet. Then Mrs. Jordan comes bouncing in.

“Had to go get out of those shoes. Ugh.” she chirps. She opens a drawer, rummages, and then tosses two aprons at us.

“You’ve washed dishes?” she challenges.

“Since I was six,” I toss back.

“Well, you’ve got a few years on her, so let’s see how you handle this management exercise.”

Charlotte’s eyes get huge.

“Let’s go,” I say. “This may be a chance at redemption.”

I turned my back to her Mom.

“One thing I’ve learned about your Dad is he likes to challenge folks,” I whispered.

“Same with her, she tough on the Associates,” she whispered back.

“Cool. Learn the rules, win the game. Work together, divide the labor, but I follow your lead, you know the kitchen,” I offered.

“Works,” she said. Then she grinned and whispered, “In 3-2-1.”

I stepped back and said, “You know the layout here, so I go fetch?”

And she replied, “My thoughts exactly, once it’s all in here, we re-organize.”

As I was leaving, she said to her Mom, “In past years, you had a service. Cost-cutting?”

“Something like that,” came the reply.

We finished close to midnight. “I think Mr. Jordan is in the den,” she said. As we headed that way, she grabbed Charlotte telling her to get her purse, and out they went to the deck. I stopped at the door. ESPN was recapping the day. He gestured at the couch.

“They went outside,” I said.

“Stress relief,” he observed. I flashed back to the nose exhales. Maybe Charlotte knows how she does it.

“Have a good day?” he asked.

“A lot like Basic—started with a 10K run, filled up the middle with spreadsheet work, and then midnight KP,” I said.

He snorted. “Give me a break, Sergeant. Air Force Basic was nowhere near that hard.”

“Thought you were an Officer?”

“Basic, then OTS. They were running short on officers at the time.”

The ladies then came in, I could feel the night chill as they got close. I stood. Charlotte paused, looked around and then dropped next to me on the couch. It was hard not to look at her legs as the dress rode up. Gee, I’m about to get fired, and I’m thinking about her legs.

He stands up and glares. “It’s late. I’ll get right the point. Are you two an item?”

We looked at each other. I paused, shot my eyebrows at her.

She leaned forward, ”Do you mean are we dating, friends with benefits, moving in together, shopping for rings? We’re both 30 you know.”

I visibly flinched. This was not the time to poke the Bear.

And the Bear responded, “Simmer down Missy—.”

Which provoked her yet again, “I’m not 12; I’m a grown woman.”

Having been warned previously, I am now sure I will never to call her Missy again, or any facsimile thereof.

He relaxed his tone a little bit, “I apologize, that was not well phrased. Here’s the problem. I’ve got three more years on my contract, the company has a no nepotism without board approval policy, and here my daughter is in—he waved his hands searching for the word—‘something’ with a promising recruit. There’s enough going on in the world; I don’t need another problem.”

He continued, “You both made errors in judgment that could have gone real sideways. You should have told him who you were, the moment you knew he worked for me. I’m sure you thought an occasional meeting for a drink was going to go nowhere, especially since we always send them out to the field as a first assignment. A calculated risk and no way from a casual date would you know he might be sticking around.”

He then pointed at me, “And you—did you take those sort of chances flying. You’re airborne; you were a flight examiner. You enforce standards. You don’t take risks unless absolutely mission essential. You want to impress a girl, go ride your bike without any hands. Buying champagne for her Mother, and then telling me it was not to get our Daughter’s attention. Sergeant, that’s your one free spin for the rest of your time with this company.”

Mrs. Jordan tittered, “I thought it was darling.”

He shook his head and continued, “Nope, this silliness ends tonight. Charles, I had already decided on your assignment back before the Hilton. Although I am sorely tempted to change it to Minot.”

He glared.

Now it’s my time to poke back. I reach over and take Charlotte’s hand. “Nice place to start a family; long way to go visit grandkids though.”

“Or I can fire you,” he retorts.

Still holding her hand, I lean forward, “Or I can reenlist, complete OTS in a weekend, make O-6 in 20, and get a nice cushy job with a logistics firm. Who knows how far away we and the grandkids will be stationed.”

“Enough!!” snapped Mrs. Jordan. We both leaned back.

“Robert, stick to the script, and both of you dial down the testosterone!!” came the very firm direction.

He held up his hands and said, “OK-OK, That was too far.”

I leaned back as well but still held her hand. What script? Is the lawyer running the show?

OK, Charles, this is close hold until announced, but I had decided a while back to keep you here in Standards and Compliance. Now, same as being an FE, you will not make many friends, but as long as you are fair, it will turn out well for the company and for you. You’ll learn more about the business in a year than most people learn in 10.

“So you and M-m-m- Charlotte, go find a place to live, but be prudent. You’ll be here two years, maybe three before you move, and you’ll be on the road three weeks each month.”

“As long as he is home for Saturday night, that works,” Charlotte inserted, squeezing my hand really hard. Little tart!

“One more thing, both of you are grown-ups, or 30 somethings at least. This part could seem unfair, but you Mother and I are asking that if by some chance this works out with you two, hold off an engagement for a couple of years and be discrete in the meantime. Neither you or I need the load of grief that will come our way. The CEO is a real stickler on a few things, and this is one. He wants the best hire for the company, not someone’s nephew.”

I turned to her. Simultaneously we gave a nanometer of a nod. I flicked my eyes over at him. She got the cue.

“I’m sorry Daddy; we won’t be a problem.”

We both stood, as I said, “Long day, lovely party though.” Charlotte went and hugged her Dad. Mrs. Jordan came up next to me and softly said, “If things work out, I’ll give you the bottle as a memento. Nice move about grandkids, you sure you’re not a lawyer?”

I just gave her a side hug and drifted to the door. Charlotte was making her way over.

He motioned to me, “A word, please.”

“Sir?” I said, as they stepped out.

“Sergeant, she’s our only child, she’s been hurt before. You better be for real.”

I put out my hand. “Man will travel faster than light speed, before I would hurt her, Sir.”

He shook it, and if went to find her.

We walked with her Mom to the door, and I asked where her coat was. It’s December in Denver, but she had left it in the car; she was in a rush to get in the house. I had done the same, so I put my jacket around her and we walked down to the cul-de-sac. She was trembling so I held her close.

“Look, I am truly sorry for all this. I had—have—such a crush on you—and so when I saw you, I—I mean—I just—.”

“Shhhhh, she said. “Dad’s a real stickler for the rules; Mom too. Growing up with him was tough sometimes—teenage female hormones were something he never understood, and here is this guy panting over his daughter.”

“Ah. I’ll ignore the panting dig, but darn good thing I did not accept your Grannie’s offer of an edible. What if he had seen that?”

She chuckled. “She went to Woodstock, she never got out of the 60s. How Mom became who she is I’ll never figure out. And she throws it at Dad all the time.”

We got to our cars, being early I had parked beside her.

She started to reach in her purse for her keys, but I steered her to mine. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow; we’re both exhausted; let’s be together.”

She did not resist. I opened the door for her.

As I came around, she was getting a text.

“Who’s that at this hour?” I asked.

“Mom,” she said. She wanted to know if you always opened the door for me. I told her yes.”

We both looked at the house and saw the front door close.

It’s Wednesday before the Christmas weekend. It took a lot of discussion but we agreed she should stay and be a dutiful daughter. Victor shut down the show for the holidays, there were reruns—at a fee of course. We will go to South Carolina for the “Meet the Mom” trip later in January before I start the new job.

Her Mom wanted to see me before I left, and I had shopped as well. So for old times’ sake, we met at the Hilton for “tea”. She had a large bag, I had a smaller one.

Pleasantries exchanged, drinks and appetizer ordered.

Small talk, and then I stated the obvious, “Been shopping?”

“Obviously,” she said. “It’s a little too big to hide in my purse.” She pulled it up to the table. It was a Carhartt work jacket, insulated and lined. “It’ll come in handy sooner rather than later; Mr. Jordan suggested it.” The “Mr.” no doubt intended to keep us at arm’s length per the Midnight Peace Accords.

I was sincere in my thanks. Coming from the South my understanding of what was needed to survive in a cold Northern Tier warehouse and truck ramp was sorely lacking.

And now it was my turn. I had told Charlotte I wanted to give her Mother a gift from me this time as I was convinced she had used her advocacy skills to mitigate what might have been unpleasant.

I put the box on the table. It was from Tiffany’s. She sucked in her breath. It was not a ring box of course; it was 10x10 and contained a Tiffany scarf in browns and blues and patterns. Very Colorado, I thought.

It was well received. Exclamations of it being too much were offset by quickly concocted confession of a steady diet of Ramen to save up. She was gracious. Charlotte took and tried it on first. “Nice,” she said as she surrendered it.

“Your turn, Mi—.” I drug it out like I was about to say Missy. She raised her eyebrows. I laughed and handed her the same box.

“Oh,” she pouted. “I get the same thing? And then, “I thought we were waiting until tonight?”

“Well, I was in the store and you know, two birds, one stone.”

She opened it and froze. “What’s this?” she said as she pulled out a piece of paper. It was a tracing of a ladies right hand with an X on the knuckle of the ring finger.

She looked at it, then at me, then back at it.

“As you recall, one of the elements of the Peace Treaty was no engagement for a while. But nothing was said about the right hand. When we’re done here, let’s go downstairs and y’all see if there is something that would work on that finger.”

Her mother leaned back, folded her arms and shook her head.

Charlotte flushed and fought back tears. I gave her my handkerchief, and she dabbed away.

Her Mom then summoned a waiter and ordered another round. She turned to us and said, “I’m free the rest of the afternoon. You want to go shopping?’

Time marches on.

Charlotte texts, When you get in, just to let you know, the Grans want to take the Twins skiing tomorrow.

Why am I not surprised, low pressure was coming in, Should be home by 8. Tell them to keep Pa out of the trees; they’re too young to drive home by themselves.

She shot back, Hah!

I followed, and remind them that being born in ND does not make them Eskimos; dress smart.

She admonished, Whoever thought you would become such a doting father?

I shot back, Genetics and practice. So dinner out? LBD type dinner?

She came back, You or Me?

And back to her, You, silly. I’m long since retired.