Affirmative Action

“How did the interviews go?” asked Hillary, unbuttoning her blouse. Sitting on their bed, Sylvester looked up, still lost in thought. “Did you find someone to help you?”

“Nope,” he said, watching calmly as his wife unclasped her bra. “Tomorrow will be looking at four more applicants.” Caught boyishly by the sight of Hillary’s naked breasts, Sylvester smiled slightly.

“That’s too bad,” she said, dropping her pants. “I thought you sounded hopeful this morning.” Hillary tickled her faint brown muff and turned to step into the bathroom. Sylvester watched his wife’s bottom shake, always ready to appreciate her sensual charms.

“I was,” he called out. “She looked good on paper, but it wouldn’t have worked out.” The water began to run and Sylvester heaved a deep sigh.

Two weeks had passed since he had finagled the Peterson case away from Taylor, and Sylvester couldn’t help but lament the days they’d wasted. It was beginning to seem impossible to find assistants who could help handle the convoluted legalisms that plagued the Peterson
situation. With the booming economy, competition for skilled help offered them a shallow pool of applicants. This morning, finally, Sylvester really thought the search was over.

He’d been sitting at his desk, reading over her resume again, trying to find an excuse not to hire this one on sight. Most applicants hadn’t even been close; Sylvester had turned away twenty. The work was starting to back up on him, but Sylvester reminded
himself each morning that bad help was worse than no help. The summer before, he’d been severely burned by the assistant Jack had hired for him, and Sylvester didn’t want that kind of trouble again. He’d spent six weeks undoing the mess Brent had made, three weeks more than it probably would have taken to just do the job by himself. Sylvester scowled, adamant he would not go through that again.

But when Sylvester read through the list of this applicant’s qualifications again, he found constant reassurance in each well-chosen word. “Maybe,” he thought, still afraid to be hopeful, “we can actually start to get some work done today.”

Sylvester took a deep breath when the intercom gave a familiar buzz and Stacy said, “Tamarra Carter to see you, Mr. Colchester.” Sylvester reached for the white button.

“Thanks, Stacy. Send her in.”

Sylvester started to stand as the young woman stepped into the doorway, but felt his knees weaken when she came full into view. Sylvester’s eyes opened wide and he put a hand on his desk to help raise himself up.

“Mr. Colchester?” she asked. Her voice sang pleasantly.

“Sylvester,” he said. His voice faltered. “Please, come in.” He looked back down at the resume. “Elizabeth?”

“Tamarra Carter,” she said, reaching forward in greeting. Sylvester shook her soft hand lightly.

“Please,” he said, already drifting down into his chair. “Have a seat.”

Tamarra smiled and smoothed her plum suit skirt over her lean thigh with an elegance that pleased Sylvester. “She’d give the team a real touch of class,” he thought, imagining the impact such a smart looking woman would have by his side when he met with the field group.

“I brought some writing samples,” she said, opening a leather folder and withdrawing several sheets of paper.

“Good,” Sylvester said, reaching over the desk to take the documents. Looking up from the well crafted prose, he caught the anxious stare of her bright blue gaze. A rush of heat invigorated his heartbeat.

“This is excellent,” he said, reacting honestly as he deliberately read another paragraph. Sylvester looked up at the woman and saw a faint blush color her soft cheeks.

“Thank you,” Tamarra said. “I wrote those when I worked for Markle and Baker.”

“Right,” Sylvester said, pulling out her resume again. “They’re a good firm. Can I ask you why you left?”

“They weren’t challenging me,” Tamarra said, seriously. Sylvester could imagine her speaking with such insistence to someone like Jenkins or even Bradford. “I mean, I have nothing against the paperwork and such, that’s just part of the business, but they seemed to shy away from tackling real problems. I want to work hard and have something to be proud of when I’m done.”

Sylvester nodded knowingly, recognizing with delight his own attitude. He smiled wryly. “What makes you think a job here will be any different than the one you had with Don Markles?”

“That’s why I applied for this position. Frankly, Mr. Colchester, I could probably find a higher paying job over at someplace like Witherspoon Gaddis, but I’m not looking to play a social, client shmoozing role. Not yet, anyway. From what I’ve seen of your work,
and of you, I believe I can find what I’m looking for here.”


“You’re getting ready to handle the Peterson case, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Sylvester.

“You’re going to fight it, aren’t you?”

“Well, I’m not at liberty. . . .”

“If you aren’t going to fight,” Tamarra said sternly, “then please don’t hire me. I want to put on the gloves and get in the ring with that one. If you’re just going to file settlements, I can get that somewhere else.”

Sylvester leaned forward, excited by her fire. “Good,” he said emphatically. “I like your attitude, Miss Carter.” Without thinking he noticed the absence of a ring on her left hand’s fourth finger. “It would mean hard work, and probably some long hours, at least for the next few months.”

“I’m hoping it would,” she said, smiling, flush with enthusiasm. As she leaned forward, Sylvester noticed the gold cross at her breast bone, and then a glimpse of the untanned curve just beneath the edge of her blouse. He swallowed deliberately.

“Evenings, some weekends,” he said, his throat dry. He picked up the glass of water on his desk and as he took a sip he remembered the long evenings he had spent working with Brent. He remembered the proximity of his assistant as they pored over the figures for some indication of intent, Brent’s head almost on his shoulder, the dull scent of the young man’s cologne irritating him immeasurably as the nights wore on.

Sylvester put the glass down and looked at Tamarra. She nodded and smiled. Her breasts weren’t big, but they had substance. Sylvester imagined the way they would press against his arm as she leaned over to show him some passage that needed explanation. Tamarra pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and Sylvester could almost smell the delectable aroma.

“We’ll probably have to take two or three trips to Orlando this spring, and there’s a chance we’d have to spend a few weeks in Oregon.”

“I know,” Tamarra said. “I know what the work is like. At this point, Mr. Colchester. . .”

“Sylvester,” he said quietly, smiling.

“Sylvester,” she repeated with an indulgent grin, “at this point, I want to log some miles and put in the hours. My life is relatively free of commitments right now and I want to put this time to good use. I don’t know, maybe it’s hard to believe, but I want to get my hands dirty working in the field. I’m not saying this to get a job. I can get a job. I just happen to know where I stand right now. I imagine there will be a day when I want something less taxing. But for now, I’m a young woman. I want the chance to learn from people who know and also to prove what I’m made of.”

Sylvester nodded. He imagined for a brief moment the first week in February, when they’d go to Orlando. He imagined carrying his suitcase into the hotel. He remembered the trip with Brent to Montreal, sitting at the hotel table most of the night getting ready
for the meeting at Lystar. Sylvester cleared his throat.

“Well, Miss Carter,” he began.

“Tamarra,” she corrected with a friendly laugh.

“Everything looks good,” he said. “I’m going to have to talk this over with Jack, I think they told me you met him already.”

“Sure,” she said.

“But we should be in touch with you soon.” Sylvester stood and held out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you,” he said.

“Likewise,” Tamarra said, standing and touching his hand with hers.

Sitting on his bed, Sylvester trembled slightly as he remembered watching the young woman leave his office, leering at the way her skirt moved when she walked.

“What’s the matter, Hon?” Hillary asked, toweling off her hair.

“Nothing,” said Sylvester. “I’m just not sure I did the right thing.”


“Well, the woman I interviewed was probably as good as I’m going to get, and I can’t help wishing I could have hired her.”

“Why didn’t you?” Hillary asked, sitting down on the bed.

“I don’t know,” said Sylvester. “I think it was because she’s a woman.” Hillary hit her husband on the leg.

“That doesn’t sound like you, Sylvester,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“I know. I could even get in trouble, I mean, if she filed an EEO complaint, I’d have a hard time explaining. She was really well qualified.”

“Then why didn’t you hire her?”

“Hillary,” he said, his voice implying his reasons, “if you’d seen her, you’d understand.”

“Oh,” said Hillary, catching hold of his unspoken thought. “Well, then, I’m proud of you.” She smiled gaily and crawled up the bed. “You’re a good husband,” she said, teasing the stiffening member shrouded within his pajamas. Sylvester sighed.

“Lead me not into temptation,” he said softly. Hillary extracted his prick from its confines and kissed the round knob atop the hard staff. Her tongue played along his pale cock skin.

“You’ll find someone,” she promised, tickling Sylvester’s balls as she let the rod descend into her mouth. Bringing it back out, she looked up at her husband. “Are you going to get in trouble?”

“I don’t think so,” Sylvester said. “I told Jack I couldn’t work with her and he said he could take care of it.”

“Jack will take care of it,” Hillary echoed, suckling down her good husband’s dick.

“Yeah,” Sylvester said, closing his eyes, “that’s the way.”

“Look, Sylvester,” Jack had said later that day, “I looked over her resume and I think you’re nuts. Tamarra is really too good to let get away and she really wants to work with us. So I hope you don’t mind, but I hired her as my assistant. I’ll let her get started on the Peterson case while you keep looking for another hand. She won’t be reporting to you, so you don’t have to worry about that. She’ll sit at Louise’s old desk, and you can start briefing her tomorrow after your interviews are finished.” Jack smacked him on the back. “And don’t worry. I told her you recommended her for the senior assistant position and threw in another five grand. I think she’s worth it.”

Sylvester felt the stroke of Hillary’s tongue down his prick, but his thoughts filled with a mad visions of Tamarra’s bright smiling eyes and her tits and her ass and her lean, stockinged legs and the sweet subtle fragrance as Tamarra bent down close to help him understand the operative fucking rule.

Each day and each evening, sitting ten yards past his door and always in sight and Orlando still waiting just a few weeks away.

“Oh, God,” Sylvester moaned as he thrust his prick up and felt his hot fountain erupt in spurts of wild lust. Hillary eagerly drank the thick wanton flow. As his wife smiled, licking her lips, Sylvester shuddered and silently groaned, “please help me.”