1. Déjà Vu - Part One


    Date: 9/8/2017, Categories: Masturbation, Author: Boss01, Rating: 17, Source: LushStories

    equivalent, and said just loud enough for Chari to hear, “It’s nice to see that she is eating with her own kind.” Chari turned to Karen. “What is that supposed to mean?” Karen looked her up and down, then said, “Well, you are one of the ‘boys’, aren’t you?” The clear implication was that she thought that Chari was a lesbian. For a second, I thought that Chari was going to deck her. Instead, she just grabbed her stuff and stormed out. Karen, all smug, turned and said to the group, as if in justification, “Well, you didn’t hear her deny it, did you?” All of her toadies nodded in agreement. “Hold on there, Karen,” I said, “exactly what are you accusing Chari of?” “C’mon Bill; the clothes, the hair, no make-up. Hell, she knows more about football than all of you guys put together. You get the picture. She plays for your team, not ours.” Now, I’m no crusader, but this was quite a harsh bit of pre-judgment. To say nothing of a direct violation of company policy. The kind of crap that gets a company sued. I dumped my trash and went straight to HR. Within the hour, Karen was called in to her manager’s office, and then the two went upstairs to HR. When they came back down, both of them glared at me, and Karen left for the day. As usual, I ended up working later than the official 4:30 quitting time. In fact, it was about 6:30, and I was pouring over a ridiculously complicated spreadsheet, when I felt a presence hovering over me. I looked up, and there was Chari. “Hey,” I said, “what’s ...
    up? I thought you were on the day shift now.” “I am, but I’ve got a problem. My car won’t start.” “Is it the battery? I can give you a jump.” “No, it isn’t the battery. The engine turns over okay, but it’s like there’s no gas even though I have a full tank. Anyway, I called the auto club, but they can’t get here for an hour. I’m really nervous about waiting alone in the parking garage, and I was wondering if you could check on me every once and awhile until they get here.” I thought about how much I’d get done if I had to leave the building every ten minutes to run out to the parking garage, and I was about to tell her that I was too busy; but then I saw the same dejected look on her face that I saw when she was being shunned by her fellow female co-workers. “Listen,” I said, “I’m ready to wrap it up here anyway. Let me shut this program down, get my stuff together and I’ll just wait with you.” The smile that lit up her face when I said that could have melted an iceberg. We walked to the parking garage in silence. Once there, she led me to what looked like a 1966 or 1967 Ford Galaxie fastback in the late stages of being restored; all it needed was paint and wheels. “Nice ride,” I said. “Did you do the work?” “I did the interior,” she explained, “my Dad did the engine, and we’re both doing the body work.” “Mind if I take a peek under the hood?” She reached into the custom grill, popped the release, and lifted the hood. The engine compartment was cleaner and more squared away ...
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