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He says something like, "I have your ticket for you," and hands me an old-fashioned hardcopy ticket in a paper sleeve. The sleeve is printed on one side with a full-color photograph of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. The sky is blue, the buildings tall and silver. The copy says, "Experience New York!" or something along those lines. I ask the pilot what time the flight is. I get the feeling he's on layover. He points at the sky.A jetliner flies over at very slow speed, just above the treetops. The plane appears to be leaking something—fuel? I wonder if the mist we've been feeling is actually aviation fuel.My mother comes up to me. She's holding a grey blanket. Or perhaps it's a throw rug. She attempts to d**** it over my shoulders but I protest that she should keep it. It's raining out and she'll catch a chill. She insists, however, and it's only at this point I realize she's attempting to cover my embarrassment.I'm "wearing" the blanket now. I touch my head. I realize. We were in each other's face constantly. Taylor and I were a powerful team, and very successful. We thrived on it. Success can be an aphrodisiac and that's how it was with us.Six months in we were no longer content with calling each other sissy names, or teasing, we needed to put something on the line. Something worth striving for besides the commissions. It started with her flashing her perky, milky white, pink budded C cups for me. My latest reward had her masturbating her shaved slit in my office chair. She left a pool of her cum for me to sit on.Last month I was late for a call and missed a sale. Taylor's punishment was to have me drive to the office without pants on. I was then instructed rub one out in the parking lot while she listened on the phone and watched from her third floor window.This was not a love affair. We both had good marriages. Taylor and I were all business. Edging each other on towards the next quarter's milestone.My phone rang as I was in the parking lot.
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