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Archive-name: Working/

Archive-author: William D. Wickart

Archive-title: Ladies' Can, The

	  Copyright (C) 1991, William D. Wickart.  All rights reserved.

   It was another long, late night in the lab at work.  This is a great job,

but the occasional "crunch" times explains why so few people survive more

than a handful of years.  The problems are rewarding, and correct solutions let

me attend national trade conferences as an "engineering expert", answering deep

questions on state-of-the-art technology for any of the twenty thousand people

attending from all facets of the industry.  That's the real "high" of all this

grinding: to look over a huge convention trade hall, filled with the most active

people in the whole high-tech industry, and be publically acknowledged as one of

the very few who actually *creates* the magic.

   In all humility, I am merely the representative of a team of 20 to 50 people

who worked equally hard; my specialty outside design is that I can translate the

world of pull-up transistors and half-latches into the information needs of a

potential sales representative for a major customer.  I can do it for 15 hours a

day for a week at a time, and keep track of who I have told what, and how much

they seem to like it.  Our sales force loves me, and it gives me that one skill

outside my own department that I need for long-term advancement in the company.

True power is being among the best, and being able to get other people to recog-

nize it.  Thanks to my God and my teachers, I am both.

   Tonight, however, was one of those nights lost in the shuffle of "nine parts

perspiration."  I had taken once again to working midnight to about 10AM, so I

could get a peaceful environment and all the machine cycles I could eat.  I have

a whole stable of routines that start their deliberations as soon as enough

people leave for their families and night life; by the time I come in, I had

quite enough diagnostic information in my electronic mailbox to take the next

step in debugging.  Sometimes, I can take a few good ideas and get Jeff to

run them during the day; sometimes, I do the same for him.  Between us, we cut

about 10% of the development time out of the overall department schedule, and

our stock options bear witness to our continued effectiveness.  We even see one

another about once a week in these times.

   That night, however, I had things almost all to myself.  Someone was working

in the layout area across the floor; the overhead lights were on, and I could

see a few brown curls bob occasionally between there and the offices to the

right.  Probably Debbie, one of the brightest of our new college crop last June.

She has a quick mind and a good insticnt for the correct solution, but she still

has a hard time letting go of "her" solution when a better one comes up.  Also,

she puts in even more graveyard time than I did.  The pace of work here will fix

both those deficiencies within three years, one way or the other.  I was in no

position to guide her into more productive paths, as we rarely shared a problem

on a day-to-day basis.

   I looked over the last batch of diagnostic output, and cursed myself for a

novice.  I'd just wasted four hours of clock time, although with the low system

load tonight, I could re-run the test in about an hour.  I fixed the misspelled

keyword in the test script and stuffed the process into the background.  I went

looking for the Next Thing, and found that last night's repairs had tested out

just fine at 25Mhz; time to run them on the full-bore model, 33Mhz.  A success

from this, and I could take Friday off to celebrate.

   That done, I checked the day's mail traffic.  A couple of nasty taunts from

the Kennelmeister.  KM was a guy in Delaware who was one of my most worthy

opponents in my favorite play-by-email combat game.  Between us, we took about

half of the available awards in each game cycle, and had a lot of fun giving

one another large amounts of shit in between.  The other players seemed to be

amused, too.  Have to look him up if I ever get to that side of the Mississippi.

   "DAMN!"  Debbie apparently thought she was alone up here.

   "Consider it done!" I shouted across the floor.  I don't know whether or not

she heard me, and I wasn't going to press the issue.  She had her problems, and

I had mine.  I typed out a quick response to KM's threat of beating my Alsace-

Lorraine battalion into radioactive rubble, and checked the process mix.  All

the stuff was still executing; so far, so good.

   Next, I got into UseNet, calling in my graveyard set of newsgroups.  During

the day, the casual observer would see only low-load access to the technical

groups that most of my group followed on a regular basis.  At night, though,

the frustrated yearnings of my alter-ego took over.  For at least a month or so,

I was giving up soccer, volleyball, writing, and my social life, such as they

were.  In between problems, I keep a minor involvement in these interests by

reading the efforts of others on the net.  About once in each crunch-time, I

get the clear time to add a bit of my own to the newsgroup, feeling that I am

thereby repaying the others for my vicarious living in their efforts.

   Tonight, there was little new stuff, except for the fourth group down:

rec.arts.erotica had four new articles.  Either the moderator had been studying

for exams and just posted the collected writings, or someone had finally comple-

ted another series.  I "n"ed my way down there, and called up the first article.

"In the Shadows of Your Heart", part 1 of 4.  Yippee!  A dirty story to while

away the debugging hours for the rest of the week (that's how long it took me to

get through most of these).  I dug right in, noting that the author couldn't

spell very well, but had a nice way of describing characters.  Within five

minutes at my reading speed, the heroine had trapped her dream man in a corner,

dragged him home over faint protests, and had balled his brains out to their

mutual pleasure.  I had an erection, of course, but the little beep and message

at the bottom of my screen got the best of me.

   The verification run had failed again, but the problem turned out to be a

simple one.  One of the junior members of the team hadn't compiled his support

routines in the proper order.  I went into the common test base, and sent off a

job to correct the problem, setting up another verification job to begin when

this one finished.  I drained my coffee cup and went back to the story.

   The next segment had some nice background on the main characters, including

one *very* well-written love scene between our heroine and her former lover.

At the end of part 1, my pants were far too small, and my breakfast waste was

ready to be left in the nearest convenient sanitary receptacle.  I checked on

the processes again; the test driver was now properly rebuilt, and my main job

was humming along merrily.  Time for some relief.

   I headed off for the rest rooms in my corner of the building, and felt a

small tug of my crazy urges again.  Since there are more bathroom sets than

people in the whole complex at this time of night, I sometimes find myself the

only person in my section of the building.  Once in a great while, I take advan-

tage of this to indulge a crazy childhood urge, and use the ladies' room instead

of the gents'.  No problem, I am always neat and clean, and only do it when

there is no danger of anyone getting surprised.  No big deal, just one of those

private flauntings of the establishment that lets out a few more frustrations

during the crunches.

   Tonight, I decided to do it again.  Even if Debbie did get the urge during

her debugging, she'd use the can on her side of the floor.  We had some deep

respect for one another, but nothing on a personal level that would soften a

surprise like this.  No problem; it wouldn't be the first time I'd done this

with a woman somewhere in the building.

   I chose the middle stall, and noted again how the room smelled just a bit

different from the gents'.  Not necessarily better, just different.  I sat in

rapt contemplation of this non-fact, and took care of necessities.  My mind

wandered back to the story, and I found myself slowly caressing my genitals as

I remembered the story.  I stopped for a moment, as I'd never masturbated in

the ladies'.  "What the heck," I thought, "In for a penny ..."  I imagined how

the heroine's original choice must have felt, finding an attractive girl all

over him so suddenly, and decided that, in his position, I'd probably be quite

flattered by it all.  By this time, I was getting quite aroused, and lost my

will to think about the story, recalling instead the lovely non-sins of my own

college days, fondly remembering those all-night loving sessions with the two

ladies who had made me so glad to be alive, each in her own time.

   Suddenly, I heard a slap on the door, and a muttering voice follow in some

pretty heavy footsteps.  I thought fast, and decided that I'd better reduce the

impact of any further surprises.  My hard-on was suddenly a limp-off, and I

cleared my throat.

   "Oh, hi!"  Debbie said, before I could compose a sentence.  "Didn't know

anyone else was here.  Who be dat?"  She swung into the stall to my right,

and took an extra flush for good measure.

   "Uh, Dan.  Yeah, me; from workstations."

   "Oh, really?  A little lost, are we?"

   "No, uh, honestly, I come in here sometimes when the building is empty, just

for kicks.  Should I leave?"

   "No, not on my account.  I lived in Paris for a year, so it doesn't really

bother me much.  Stay if you like.  I'll admit, though, that I had to switch

gears there.  I never expected it here."

   "Well, I'm done, if you want me to leave."

   "No, actually, it's pretty funny.  I could use a good laugh after what I've

gone through tonight.  Damn machinery.  Found a bug in the chip, and I thought

it was the simulator all this time.  Stinking bug in the user interface covered

it up for two days."

   "Know what you mean.  Had a few of those myself.  Y'know, this is kind of


   "Yeah; kind of intimate, without anyone around to tell us how silly we're


   "Are we?"

   "I guess not.  If either of us thought so, we'd leave."


   "Say, if you were done, what were you still doing in here?  Smelling the

place?  Is it any different?"

   "Yeah, it's different, but I couldn't say how.  Not really better or worse,

but like walking into a bathroom in a strange house."  I avoided her direct


   "So you stayed longer to smell a different smell?"  The teasing in her voice

had obvious intent, and I could have played along if I hadn't been actually

doing what she was jokingly implying.  I swallowed as she finished her much-

needed peeing.

   "Sorry, did I hit an indelicate subject?"

   "No offense, but do you want to know the truth?"  Very honest here, letting

her really think about it.

   She thought.  She came back in the same tone.  "Yes, I'd really like to, and

thank you for the offer."

   We had just made a great leap in trust, not uncommon at large meetings, but

new to me on a personal level, in spite of my four years with this high-powered


   "Well, I got the batch queue filled with diagnostic runs, had nothing to do,

and made the happy mistake of checking the newsgroup for erotic stories.  There

was a particularly good one tonight.  I had to come in here anyway, and uh,

quite frankly, I was following business with pleasure when you came in."

   "Wow!  I'm flattered!  Is this part of the company culture?"

   "Doing it, no.  Telling you about?  I hardly think there's a corporate

policy to cover it.  Did I shock you?"

   "No, actually, I'm quite honored to be trusted so much."  I heard her pull

off some toilet paper, and noticed under the stall partition how a dainty foot

moved slightly as she wiped.

   "I hope I didn't upset anything."

   "As long as we're being honest, I was just getting into it.  Surprise kind of

breaks the mood, though."

   "Yeah, it does.  I'm sorry.  Well, I'm done here.  See you at the sink?"

   "It's a date."

   We both flushed, and I got myself composed again while she quickly re-did

whatever was undone, and headed up to the sinks.  I heard two water spigots

go on, and chuckled inwardly at the strage courtesy of warming up my water for

me.  Cute.  Nuts, and cute.  Fits her meeting personality perfectly.

   I came out of my stall, relieved to be almost totally out of what could have

been a very touchy situation, happy to have found a new friend for these late-

night sessions.  I walked up to the open sink and turned to thank her reflec-

tion for the silly courtesy.

   My words caught in my throat.  She was smiling directly at my reflection,

washing her hands, as if she were totally unaware that the front of her blouse

was fully open, her brassiere hanging limply inside.  Though they were hardly

perfect for an X-rated movie, the two tender breasts that were half-exposed

were easily the best sight I'd seen all night.

   "Like I said, I'm sorry I interrupted your mood."  Her wicked grin left only

the depth of her apology to the imagination.  "Want to get back into it?  My

stuff is in the batch queue, too."

   "God, I hope there's a high load tonight!"  I turned toward her.

   "Tut, tut, Daniel!  Wash your hands before you eat!"

   That left one less question unanswered.  I was stunned, totally stunned,

ready for just the short titillation and then privacy, or anything more

involved.  Whee!  A little midnight snack!

   I washed my hands quite thoroughly, and Debbie came over to help me dry them.

Leading me back to the sinks, she hopped up to sit on one, and drew my head down

to taste her now-erect nipples.  We let out complementary sighs of pleasure.

Her hands played over my hair, down the sides of my face, twirled a few random

beard hairs into my ear.  As I warmed up to the task at hand, the hands wandered

inside my shirt, freeing one or two unnecessary buttons, softly stroking the mat

of black hair that grows there for no particular reason.

   She found my left nipple and tweaked it playfully, giggling at my yelp.  You

see, I have fantastically sensitive nipples for a guy.  Any woman who can do a

credible job of sucking nipples can have me at full erection and half out of

control within five minutes.  That's how my second lover seduced me on our first

date.  She started licking my chest, hit the nipples, and I was putty in her

hands.  She took full advantage of the situation, and took me right there on the

couch in her law office, with the senior partner briefing his brains out three

offices away.

   "You like, or is that a one-time-only?"

   "I like, I melt, but get your requests in early.  Too much stimulation, and

I'm good for nothing but being taken advantage of."

   "I'll keep that in mind; wouldn't want you to go away with eating properly."


   She hopped off the counter for a moment and opened her zipper.  "I want to

get your beard all smelly.  With your permission, of course."

   I've mentioned before that Debbie is not your classic lady who folds in two

places.  However, beauty and ugly are only skin deep; we were about to get below

that level.  Debbie is clean, decidedly of the sex opposite mine, and she has

legs that just do not quit.  Her mind is certainly of Mensa quality, and her

approach was the biggest turn-on I've had since getting my own degree.  The fact

that she was above average in physical attributes was a nice bonus, but hardly

necessary under the circumstances.

   "Lady, I would be proud and honored to kiss you good-night with your thighs

caressing my ears."  We both pushed her slacks down, so fast that she almost got

a friction burn.  Her hands hung coyly at her sides, and I carefully examined a

soft, full delta of strawberry blonde hair.

   "Strawberry blonde?" I mused; the hair on her head was definitely chestnut,

an unusual combination.

   "My one physical vanity, Daniel ... you're the only other person in this

state who knows my true hair color.  I don't like the way my skin gets along

with my hair color, so I dye the hair."

   "Suits me; I like contrast, and I've always wanted to kiss a red-head."

So saying, I eased her back onto the counter, her slacks under her to insulate

against industrial-cold tile.

   "Say, don't they have security cameras here?"

   "Think about it, Daniel: who monitors the rest rooms?  On camera?  Who can

they trust to keep things honest and not get sued?"

   "Well, I guess it seems pretty tough ..."

   "... and I pumped Joel for the details one night.  A lot of the erstwhile

heat sensors are miniature cameras, but there is NO surveillance in the head.

Speaking of which, I believe you were about to give me some ... ?"

   Her legs opened slowly, and I moved up to get a better view.  The thighs

parted, and the definition of her rose-gold pussy was public knowledge between

the two of us.  The labia began to part, and I let this be a spectator sport no

more.  With a gasp of pleasure from her mouth, a moan of satisfaction from mine,

I dove in headlong with both feet, tongue busy anywhere and everywhere, as the

heady aroma of a sweet woman's most natural fluids filled my nostrils.

   For some reason, I recalled the words of Joey Harris on "My Two Dads":

"No, no technique; I just go psycho."  Dear reader, that's how it was.  I lost

all rational control, trying to simultaneously insinuate my tongue all the way

to the back of her navel, suck her clitoris at least as far as my upper palate,

and vibrate my lips over the whole of her outer labia.  Although I didn't give

a damn, I was sure that I was hard as a rock.  First things first, though, and

second things maybe not at all: for now, I was going to use everything that two

older women had taught me, and return Debbie's investment in this little esca-

pade a hundredfold.  She was going to soak my beard, or my tongue would damned

well fall off from trying and lay on the floor for the early shift to clean up.

   From her reaction, I gathered that at least the initial foray was a massive

success.  She made more noise than I was comfortable with, but I was not about

to come up for a check.  If anyone heard and would walk in on us, they would

find me true to my calling, at my post to the very end.  For now, my post was

to give Debbie any and all pleasure I could.  Our position was somewhat awkward

for running my hands up to her breasts (I know for sure; I did it, and almost

pulled a muscle trying to keep them there), so I did my best to focus on the

center of the universe: a woman's crotch during any congress with a man whatso-


   "Oh, GOD does this beat updating the planning charts!"

   "Mmmmpphh, Llaaahhh yee?"

   "Keep this up, and ... Oh!  Yes!  There!  uh!  um, your fucking SOCKS will

smell like my underwear."

   The next few minutes of our conversation does not transliterate into ASCII

worth a pimp's damn.  Suffice it to say that Debbie has both a wonderfully

responsive nervous system, and the longest build-up to orgasm I have ever had

the pleasure to drive.  For at least a full minute, I was sure that she would

come the following two seconds.  Finally, with a grand shudder, she spread her

legs even wider, pulled my head hard aginst her, and began to writhe in ecstasy

all over my face.  I believe that at the offically recorded beginning of her

orgasm, my nose was firmly ensconced within, and her swollen clitoris was firmly

held in my right nostril.

   No matter.  She came like everything, and I continued to lick, suck, and

swallow whatever I could lay my lips on.  I guessed right, as she continued to

purr, sway, and rock for quite some time, nary a complaint about oversensitivity

or any of the other bugaboos I've discovered when eating a woman for the first


   Bit by bit, she quieted down again, falling steadily onto me as her passion

no longer sustained her.

   "You like?"  I sometimes indulge myself in rhetorical questions.

   "Velly, velly much, Mr. Daniel.  I must make a slight confession, though."

   "Really?"  Hell, I'd just had one of my favorite activities; what could be a

problem now?

   "I am fertile as a turtle today, and I have no means of contraception within

a dozen miles of here."

   "Bullshit, Lady.  *We* have the most reliable of them all: mutual respect

and commitment to a common cause.  I'm not ready to support a child this year

any more than you are, not to mention the relationship around it.  Therefore,

neither of us is fully willing to follow this to its most natural conclusion

as long as conception is a viable possibility, pardon the pun."

   "Thank you, but I still owe you one."

   "You *owe* me nothing; I ate you for the sheer pleasure of nuzzling into

your hotness, and it is my pleasure and priviledge to lick you until you melt

from the assault.  Care for another?"

   "Not right now, but I may take you up on it later.  Maybe I don't owe you

anything, but *I* want you inside me right *now*.  My biological clock is

probably trying to tell me something, but at least I can control the direction.

In any case, I *do* intend to make you come.  Your pleasure, kind sir?"

   "Far be it from me to turn down my lady's request.  Gladly will I have an

orgasm of monstrous proportions.  Are you hungry yourself, or would you like to

wash this load by hand?"

   "You pick; I'm still woozy."

   I carefully drew her to me for a long kiss, and then guided her head down,

past my throat, where she took over of her own accord.  Her hands busied them-

selves with and then inside my pants, with her mouth following in due time.

I was at full erection again by the time my wallet thudded to the floor inside

my pocket.  Her technique was what, in the business, we refer to as "the brute-

force method".  No real finesse; she simply sucked and bobbed for all she was

worth.  I was gasping for breath in no time at all, and exploded just as the

pressure was beginning to turn pleasure into pain.  With the stimulation I had

from eating her, I had quite a bit of semen ready to go, and she took it all

with great gusto, moaning in pleasure of her own, the vibrations adding to my


   As I came back to earth, realizing that my feet still touched the floor, she

softly continued caressing me with her mouth, as gentle now as she had earlier

been direct.  I almost cried with the sweetness of her sensitivity here, but

didn't have the energy to work up to that level of being touched.  I was a bit

sore and quite satisfied, certain that this was an experience we would both like

to repeat.  Bit by bit, she worked me back to a state of half-erection.  As much

as I wanted all the pleasure we could give one another here, I was still far too

senstive down there to enjoy any but the most lubricated of touching.  Just as I

was about to ask her to stop, she drew back in a final farewell kiss, and rose

to hold me close.

   "Now we're even," she grinned wickedly.

   "Yes, almost."


   "Yup.  We'll have to even things out later."

   She caught my reasoning in an instant, and fell to nibbling on my nipples,

while I tried to respond on hers as best I could.  After-play is a lot of fun,

and probably one of the most important parts of a relationship.  Unfortunately,

the real world brings us interruptions: the lights flickered.  Looking into her

eyes, I knew we were thinking the same things.

   "System's gonna be hosed."

   "And if it's bad enough, security might some looking for us."

   "Yeah.  Batch queues are probaly dead for the next half-hour."

   "Time to see what we can salvage?"

   "Yes, and I had a wonderful time tonight."

   "So did I.  Kiss good-night?"

   "Of course."

   We hurried a bit, stopping only to kiss favortie portions of each other just

before they disappeared under clothing again.  The calm after the storm is a

neat thing to share.

   "I'll go first, and see if the coast is clear."

   In a few seconds, she whistled the opening bars of "On A Clear Day", and I

got quickly out of the ladies' room.  We got back to our respective desks,

breaking decorum only with a quick squeeze of our hands and a knowing glance

that just barely missed showing canary feathers around our mouths.

	  Copyright (C) 1991, William D. Wickart.  All rights reserved.


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