CHAPTER 1
For nearly five years, he had seen her five days a week, at least whenever she wasn`t on
holiday or taking a sick day. More often than not though, she was there. Her reliability
was one of the reasons ... or more accurately one of the excuses he had used to justify
keeping her on his payroll. Writers rarely needed any full-time help. When they need help,
it`s usually of a temporary nature, just as the need which had brought her to him in the
beginning. He had required a few weeks of assistance. But the very first time he had seen
her, the day she came for an interview, he was totally infatuated with her. And time had
only made greater his need to have her around.
It was a pleasure to him when she came in each morning. The red-blonde hair that fell in
soft curls to the middle of her small back. And the bright blue eyes and pretty smile. And
there always seemed to be lurking just below the surface some mischievousness that wanted
to burst out and cause her to do something bad. He lived for the time when she would
finally do something bad. And he loved her quick sense of humor and the fact that she
frequently embarrassed herself with some unthought out comment. And hearing that small
voice, always with an edge of laughter, just drove him crazy. And she was smart about lots
of things and interested in them too. But she still had the capacity to be totally
clueless, particularly whenever any discussion came up that had any reference to sexual
activities.
His first reaction to her had been that he couldn`t hire a high school student. He was
very skeptical when she had said that she was twenty-four years old. Of course the small
stature contributed substantially to that illusion. She had small delicate hands with what
seemed to be very long and elegant fingers. And her wrists were not even five inches
around. He kidded her about having elfin magic. Some sort of magic had certainly stolen
his heart.
So now for most of five years, he had been given to daily, and on some days hourly,
fantasies that not just included her, but were almost always dedicated completely to her.
He wanted to share with her a relationship other than employer, employee. He wanted to
hold her and feel the warmth of her body against his. He wanted to comfort her when she
didn`t feel well and to share in her happiness when things were great. But he kept it all
to himself. He conducted himself as a gentleman and employer at all times. He did on
occasion take her to lunch and on rarer occasion, she would have dinner with him. And they
had discussions about almost everything. Every morning in the office, they talked about
anything from politics to religion, travel to families. He was sure she would be surprised
at just how much he actually knew about her. And that was due in a large measure to the
fact that he paid attention to everything she said. And he filed away the important
stuff.
The only thing about her that he didn`t particularly like was the way she dressed. At the
office, she had quickly picked up on the casual lifestyle of a writer and she too took on
that style. Most days she wore either jeans or khaki pants and round collared knit shirts
that were little more than t-shirts. On really cold winter days, she would were long
sleeved turtleneck sweaters. He thought those looked really great. And on the very rare
occasion, she would wear a dress top and skirt to the office. This usually happened when
she had something else to do during the day or in the evening immediately after work. And
the skirts she wore were always nearly floor-length, which frustrated him even more. He
had seen her legs and while they were very thin, they were perfectly proportioned with
trim little ankles and small feet. She wore only a size 5 shoe. But he was a leg-man and
nothing would have added more to the beauty of the office than a pretty pair of exposed
legs walking around all day, that is except a pretty pair of legs in really nice
stockings. That was another weakness he had. Now it wasn`t as if it never happened, but he
could probably count on his hands the number of times she had worn skirts short enough to
show off her legs in the five years she had been with him. And it also frustrated him that
she wore men`s socks with work boots most of the time. She did wear casual women`s shoes
about once a week, but even then, with the black crew socks she might choose to wear when
she wore socks at all. Almost never stockings. She confessed to hating pantyhose and in
one of those morning conversations they`d have, she had told him about trying thigh high
stay-ups and stockings and garterbelts and she had just given up on trying to find some
comfortable arrangement.
He actually preferred summer when she was more likely to wear something cool and always
slip on shoes including sandals. He loved it when she showed up with leather sandals and
her toes were painted with bright red or fuchsia nail polish. But most of these things
were about to change.
* * * *
Preston Hunter, Press to his friends, was a known name in suspense fiction. He had
published 13 novels and while he was not a number one best-selling author, he sold well
enough to make it onto the list most every time at say ... ninth or tenth, and he did make
a very comfortable living. And he had a following that was loyal and always eager to get
at the newest installment. Press had all the trappings of success, the nice home on the
coast and a small farm for year-around use, his studio which was the 7th and top floor in
a converted printing plant that overlooked the river, several nice cars and an airplane
which he flew himself. He had probably made enough money and invested a large enough
portion of those earnings to live comfortably for as long as he might survive. And he did
exactly what he wanted. He had no boss. He never took advances because he didn`t want to
give the publisher the right to make demands on him. Everything was perfect ... well
almost. There was one little thing that was omitted from his bio and he would never do
anything to compromise this secret. And a secret is certainly what it was. He wasn`t
really ashamed of his secret, but he also knew that it could damage his career if it got
out. So he was careful.
And the secret wasn`t really all that bad. It was just that he had grown up in the Bible
belt and that farm he called home for more than half the year was smack in the middle of
it too. So it was easier just to cave in to pressure to be politically correct and keep
the secret. As a writer, Press led a double life. He had an alternate ego in the person of
Val Adams. Val, was born in the same year as Press, but his birthday was Valentine`s Day,
hence the name. Val is short for ... you probably guessed it, Valentine. A little burden
Val liked to blame on his mom. Of course since Val didn`t exist, as anything other than a
character, neither did his mom, but then, creating people and giving them life is what a
writer does. And the life Press had given to Val was that of a writer also. So why the
secrecy? Val wrote specialized erotica. In fact, it was very specialized. And what was
even more stressful about the whole thing was that Val was every bit as successful as
Press. He certainly made as much money. And since he lived not just with Press, but inside
him, they could share the same food, clothing, lodging, studio ... well you get the idea.
Val had no expenses.
Now this was always a pressure in the back of Preston`s mind. At times he felt guilty and
at other times he just felt frustrated. And he considered giving it up on more than one
occasion. In fact, he had done exactly that at least four different times. He had just
stopped being Val and quit writing erotica. But in a matter of weeks, he was so depressed
and frustrated by the loss that he had been left with no alternative but to resume
writing. And there was such demand for his work; he was constantly getting e-mail requests
for more. So each time, he went back. Finally, after a near six-month hiatus the last
time, Val became resigned to the fact that a writer has to write. And that was the best
decision he had made in a long time. Although not directly, it indirectly caused his life
to become complete. And few of us can claim to have a complete life.
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