I rode in the back of Bailey’s car with Jenna. Those three office girls, Jenna, Bailey, and Danielle, were — as was becoming usual for them — dressed over the top for the occasion, all of them in slinky little black dresses and platform pumps. It didn’t seem appropriate attire for the head honcho’s retirement gig, but there was no reasoning with them.

  The mix of scents made my head spin. They did each other’s makeup like it was some north end club we were heading out to. Besides still trying, and failing, to hide their relationships with me, I thought they needed to start trying harder to hide their budding relationships with each other, too. They were dressing to impress, for sure, but it seemed increasingly about dressing to impress each other, too.

  “It’s all your fault anyway,” Jenna said to me across the back seat. “We used to be just three normal office girls.” The way she grinned, the way her eyes flared — I had to look away. She made me shiver just to look at her. She always did that to me. She knew what she did to me with her eyes.

  Danielle spun around in the front passenger seat and squealed and laughed. “Three normal office girls before you started fucking all our brains out, she means, like Jesus, Luke!” she shrieked. She was eating a yogurt cup in the front seat of the car and feeding Bailey every second spoonful. She lingered with her eyes on mine over the top of the seat too long. It was the kind of eyes they made at each other too much at work, too, I thought. Between her eyes and Jenna’s eyes, I was dying all over again.

  We got to the rink and to supervisor Gerald’s retirement party late. Judging by the parking lot, we looked to be the last one’s there. Gerald had been around a long time and there were line crews and office and maintenance staff coming from three other districts, dragging in all their significant others, too. By contrast, I suspected my retirement party — if I ever lived that long — would be held inside a broom closet and still not be crowded.

  “I’m not anti-social,” I said. “I just don’t like crowds and shit.”

  “You are so anti-social, oh my god!” Danielle shouted, and she hip-checked me into the pale yellow-painted cinder block wall inside the entrance to the rink. Her eyes were glowing embers. All of them were hopped up and excited too much for what, on the surface, promised to be a painfully boring evening.

  “Seriously, you’re the most anti-social guy we’ve ever known,” Bailey said. “Are you going to be okay tonight?” she said, and she tugged on my arm.

  Danielle and Jenna walked ahead but stopped and turned around.

  “Just go in, we’ll come in a bit,” Bailey said to them. She darted a glance over her shoulder and tried a steel door with her ass. It swung open and she stepped backward in her pumps, dragging me inside. It was the kitchen for the concession stand for when there was a game on, all stainless steel counters and industrial fridges and grills the size of beds. A steel shutter was pulled down over the counter facing the eating tables and benches area. The floor was all black rubber pads, the walls blocks of cement, the ceiling all criss-crossed with ducts for ventilation and water pipes. It buzzed electrically in there.

  “Come on!” Bailey said, and she darted to the service counter, turned around, and hauled herself up onto it. She leaned back against the closed steel rolling shutter and pulled her knees up to spread her thighs with her hands, pushing them like they resisted her of their own will. The heels of her pumps flopped sideways over the surface. We could hear crowds of people on the other side of the shutter talking and laughing. There was music and caterers floating around with food and drinks.

  Bailey didn’t care. She laughed and pushed her fingers down inside the waist of her black lace panties and she thrusted them down her legs and over her pumps and off. “This is just to help you relax,” she said, and she snickered and used her two fingers to spread the lips of her pussy that faced me, bald and dewy.

  “We can’t do that here,” I said. “Fuck sakes, Bailey.”

  “Just shut up and stick it in me!” she said. She rubbed her middle fingertip up and down through the deep seam in her pussy lips and she rolled her head back against the steel shutter. “I just get so horny all the time around you!” she said. “It’s like I can’t think of anything else, I just have to have you in me!” She dropped her jaw down and narrowed her eyes at me. “Isn’t that crazy?” she said, and she shook her head and widened her eyes with surprise at me. “All of us are like that!”

  She was hamming it up for me, I could tell. Among the many post-coital and openly frank conversations we had had, sprawled in bed, limbs entangled, all four of us, was what they regarded as vaguely silly things girls are portrayed saying to guys meant to please their egos in movies and books, things that these girls couldn’t believe actually worked in reality.

  “The male ego is dumb,” I tried to explain to them. “The rational mind knows you’re just saying shit, but the ego’s mind laps it up. And it wins every time,” I said.

  “So if I turned to you all sultry,” Bailey said, crowing over my body that night, nude but for a pound or two of costume necklaces they all wore to bed, “and said I just had to have you now, would that work on you?”

  “Like I said,” I told her, “the mind of the ego would get equally excited if you told it you were going to give it a billion dollars, a spaceship, or a blow job. It’s a dumb-ass gullible piece of shit brain that believes anything.”

  “But it really works like that?” Danielle said, also crawling over me, also nude, also hung heavy with silly jewelry. We had had been having theme nights in bed. They were always coming up with new things like that.

  “It really works like that,” I said, closing my eyes and trying to rest. They hardly ever let me rest.

  Even when we were in the concession of a hockey rink with hundreds of colleagues on the other side of a quarter inch of steel. I stepped up to the metal counter and pushed the front of my thighs against the cold hard edge. There was nothing for it. I knew enough about all three of them by then to know that resistance was futile. I drew my fly down, unbuttoned my pants, and spread them open.

  Bailey squealed so loud I had to cover her mouth with my hand. She wrapped her bare legs around my waist and locked her ankles behind my back. I felt the tips of the heels of her shoes poke into my back. She moaned against the palm of my hand and she poked the tip of her tongue through the webs at the apex of my fingers and laughed.

  “Baby!” she groaned at me as though in pain, and she pulled my waist with her fingers stretching around my sides.

  “This is so wrong,” I said.

  “Then just hurry up!” she said, and she pushed her hair back from her face and bit her bottom lip at me. “Are you trying to torture me?”

  I touched the glistening and slick lips of her pussy with the head of my cock. She might have been faking my dumb ego brain out, but she was also victim to the play-acting herself.

  She instantly slid down over the counter until just her head remained awkwardly propped up against the steel shutter behind her, and her hips projected out over the edge toward me. I didn’t step back but instead let her slide her pussy, dripping and steaming, over the head of my cock, before she pushed harder and enveloped me inside her completely. She was snug inside. She was slippery. She squeezed me like a hand and she laughed.

  She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the steel counter and, with her dress under her bare ass, she lifted her legs and hung her ankles over my shoulders. The peeping painted toes of her platform pumps poked out and played with my ears. She slid herself forward and back over the countertop, impaling herself up and down the length of my cock, and she grunted and grinned at me, blonde hair all over her face.

  I remained still, pushed up against the edge of the counter, while she fucked me, sliding herself forward and back over the steel concession service counter at the hockey rink, writhing and moaning and grunting with her head rolled back, while crowds of company staff a few feet away, on the other side of a thin steel roll-up concession shutter, talked and laughed and ate and drank. I remembered starting her car for her, way back when.

  “Look at you, so un-lady-like,” I said to her. “What a slut you’ve become.” That was my usual retort to the way they liked to tease my ego brain. We were all guilty of talking shit like that, but we were also all guilty, I thought, of falling for it, too.

  “Because you made us all such nasty sluts for you!” she said, wincing. “I can’t stop fucking you! Bailey and Danielle are exactly the same, too,” she groaned. “What did you do to us?”

  I laughed and I gasped at the same time. It was ridiculously funny but it was also incredibly hot, all at once. It was confusing in more ways than one, the weird relationship the four of us had developed. I rolled my head back to stop staring down at her body, the way she was splayed in front of me, the way she pulled herself up my pole, the way her torso twisted and contorted on the end of my cock, whipping her hair over her face. But it was no good, I was becoming overpowered by her.

  “Going to cum!” I murmured through clenched teeth. “Stop it!”

  “Inside me!” she said.

  I clenched down hard in my core, but I spurted deep into her pussy anyway. She moaned too loud for there to be people five feet away on the other side of the steel shutter. She clenched down hard a moment later throughout her stomach, before she squealed even louder, through my cupped hand. Her whole body shuddered violently on the end of my cock and her pussy clamped down on my shaft so

hard, it felt like a strangulation. My cum gushed out the sides of her pussy and ran down over the steel counter top. And then she had the temerity to put her finger to her lips to tell me to be quiet!

  She laughed and got down and pulled her panties up under her dress, letting the waist snap against her skin, and she laughed. We made sure to clean the counter as though a nuclear meltdown had taken place on it. Which wasn’t far off from the truth. She laid her hands on my shoulders and pushed a leg up behind her as she leaned into me and kissed my mouth. “Danielle said she wants to fuck you on the Zamboni later!” she said, and she shrieked and shuffled in her heels to the door. “Come on!” she said. “Let’s go inside! Are you ready now?”

  I zipped my pants up and shook my head to reset my bearings and I followed her out while she held the door open for me, impatiently. “By the way,” she said as I passed her. “The whole place was a clusterfuck without you in the back the whole week.”

  “That gives me no satisfaction,” I said.

  “Just saying, not sure what people are going to say to you when you walk in there,” she said.

  “There he is!” was the first thing I heard someone say when I emerged through the tunnel between the stands and into the rink area. It was Kentucky, and he was marching at me with murder bulging his eyes out.

  “Tell me you’re back on Monday!” he said. “Fucking gong show back there!”

  “The fuck did you do to that geriatric Gerald anyway?” Tom said, marching up to me as abruptly as Kentucky did and stabbing his huge, thick pointer finger into my chest.

  I twisted away and caught eyes with Bailey who was making for the opposite direction at speed, but she glanced over her shoulder, too, hearing what Kentucky and Tom said. She just smirked.

  What could I tell Kentucky and Tom? That I deserved a week’s suspension because I was caught fucking Jenna on the forklift out by the pallets? The thought caught in my mind like a kernel of popcorn in my teeth. It was, counterintuitively, so unbelievable, they’d only laugh. It was their kind of joke, wasn’t it. And what was more, I didn’t have to lie, being such a bad liar.

  “Gerald caught me fucking Jenna on the forklift out by the pallets,” I said, and I locked my eyes defiantly on Kentucky’s eyes.

  He absorbed what I said for two beats before both him and Tom burst out with big-man uproarious laughter, and he threw his arm around my shoulders and pulled me with him to the bar. “Fucking hilarious, this guy,” he shouted to a cluster of other guys just like him and Tom from some other districts. “Tell me what drink I’m buying for you,” he said. “Fucking funny guy! Glad you’re coming back.”

  He made me come with him to his table where Tom, Childes and Wrecker were sitting.

  “Look what I found in the ditch!” he announced to them.

  They all spun around and looked up and instantly hooted and hollered and raised their drinks to me.

  “The darkness is over boys!” Wrecker shouted, and they all banged their glasses. He stood up and caught his leg in his chair and stumbled toward me, almost knocking me down and crushing me under him. “Seriously, though,” he said, breathing his inflammable breath over my face, “that old lady? Back there in the warehouse all week? Fu-uck!” he said. “Know what I mean?”

  I didn’t, but I did. “I’ll survey the damage Monday morning,” I said.

  “No hard feelings, bud?” he said.

  “What about?” I said, confused.

  “We were just hurt you didn’t want to go to the union pow-wow with us,” he said. “We love you, man,” he said.

  “Love you too,” I said, and I slipped myself out from under his heavy, thick arm.

  “I give you! . . . ” he shouted, nearly toppling over again, before he grabbed my wrist in his vice-like hand, and he yanked it up so high, he might have dislocated my shoulder. “ . . . my brother!” he cried out loud enough several tables turned to look.

  The rest of the crew cheered again and raised their drinks and splashed them together.

  I caught Bailey, Danielle, and Jenna over by the side staring at the scene, and they grinned at me, widened their eyes, and turned away, all of them on the verge of laughing.

  “Just gonna . . . “ I said, not finishing my sentence, but I pointed vaguely away and backed up.

  Kentucky nodded. “Go, go!” he said, and he waved me off. “Got your back, brother!” he shouted. He pointed at me hard, his arm outstretched. “Anything!”

  Tom spun around in his chair that he managed to fall back into. “Got your back, brother!” he shouted, too. “You remember that!”

  I sipped my drink and shoved my hand in my pocket and drifted through clusters of people trying to make enough of an appearance to be allowed to go home again.

  My hand was grabbed and my arm was pulled. I followed the grasping hand up its bare arm to find Jenna on the other end of it.

  “Come with me, hurry,” she said.

  “I told you guys,” I said, yanking my wrist free of her hand. “You have to stop giving it away like that in public.”

  “Giving what away?” she said, full of genuine innocence.

  “Our relationship!” I said through clenching teeth.

  “Oh yeah!” she said, and she laughed. “So follow me then!”

  “Where?” I said.

  But she didn’t answer. She only glared at me over her shoulder and gestured at me with her head tilting toward the wide doors in the boards at the end of the rink space.

  I looked over my shoulder. Nobody seemed to notice us scurrying away toward the vacated end of the rink. The concrete floor sloped up to a work room under the stands.

  “Oh my god,” Jenna said, her tight curls of black shimmering hair flying over her face when she spun to look at me over her shoulder. “What’s that big thing?” she said like you do when you’re talking to a kid.

  “The Zamboni?” I said to her and I rolled my eyes.

  She drew a strand of hair through her lips and scrunched her shoulders up around her ears, walking backward on her high heels toward it. She let go of my wrist and, still walking backward in front of me by about ten feet, she pulled up the skirt of her tight black dress and hooked her thumbs in the waist of her black hipster panties. She laughed again, deep, conspiratorially, her eyes bulging wide and dark. She pulled her panties down, lifted one foot out of them and drew them up behind her on her lifted heel to pick them off with her finger and thumb.

  “Save these for me?” she said, and she bunched her panties up and threw them at me, laughing.

  “Jenna, no,” I said, catching her panties. I stopped ten feet away from her when she backed up to the steel foot-holds up the side of the Zamboni.

  She only chuckled in a long drawl and turned toward the machine, but keeping her head twisted and her eyes on me behind her.

  “Heavy machinery turns me on,” she said, “so sue me!” She turned and climbed up into the seat.

  I reflected a moment and realized it just then: her job in the front office was managing orders big and small. She was required to pore over industrial catalogues full of tools, industrial supplies, and — yes — heavy machinery.

  I turned around. There was no door on the room. It lead through the stands, down the ramp, and out onto the rink space currently occupied by countless retired folk, utility office staff, line crews, and managers of all levels throughout the sprawling company. When I looked back, I found Jenna laying back over the top of the snow tank with her legs dangling over the operator’s levers.

  “Get down from that!” I shouted in a hush to her.

  “Not until you f- me,” she said, silently mouthing the “f”word. She began to writhe on her back over the tank and threw her arms up over her head.

  I climbed up into the driver’s well.

  Jenna giggled with her eyes closed, knowing I was watching her body squirm and contort over the tank. Her dress pulled up around her waist and her bare, smooth pussy shone in the overhead lights. Her black curls of hair spread in a fan around her face. She hooked the heels of her shoes in the controls of the Zamboni and pushed her hips up off the tank and wavered her groin up at me. Her stomach muscles were hard and toned.

  “Make it come true?” she said in a moan to the high ceiling.

  “Make what come true?” I said, mesmerized by her horizontal dance in front of me.

 

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