Working For Mr. Thompson

I work for [a large company – name hidden]. I’m the PA – personal assistant to Mr. Thompson [not his real name]. He’s the president of the company. I keep thinking of him as a former president of the United States, Lyndon B. Johnson, because he looks a little like him. He’s 69 years old, and like LBJ, has a Texas accent.

I did a little reading up on LBJ, and it seems he was a bit of an exhibitionist, inviting reporters and cabinet members into the bathroom while he peed, and he had a strange shower with high-pressure jets at waist height installed. That shower cost the US taxpayers $10,000, and that was in 1963 money. He liked to point to his penis and tell everyone to notice how big it was. That’s the truth! Who knows how crazy he was? Or maybe, everyone should be free to be crazy like that. That’s just the parts of his life that have been reported. By the way, when Richard Nixon took over, he had the shower removed immediately.

Now Mr. Thompson isn’t really like LBJ, but he certainly has his own weirdnesses. Most are totally, publicly acceptable. Like, he eats meat only once a week.

When I went to work for him, I was thrilled. I’d have an inside view of the company, because one day, I hope to build something big myself. As I started working for Mr. Thompson, I became closer to him. I mean, at first it was just managing scheduling at the office. Then he gave me a raise, and started expecting me to work late, sometimes having me ride home in his limousine with him, taking notes and talking about work. Then his driver would take me back to the headquarters so I could pick up my car and head home. Mr. Thompson let me come in late, so it’s not like he was a slave-driver.

Pretty soon, I was coming into his house and doing more work there. He’d offer drinks, even snacks or dinner. We’d talk shop. All was fine.

One day, he asked if he could get more comfortable, and removed his shoes and socks. I thought it was slightly weird, but well within reasonable parameters. His house was rather warm. I took off my sweater. He said I had nice breasts, which I took as nothing more than an off-beat compliment.

The next time I was there, he had his shoes and socks off again, then his shirt. The old fellow was actually topless in front of me. But it was his own house of course. I mentioned to his cook when I was alone with her in the kitchen that I felt it was weird how he was topless. She said, “Honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

And, my gosh was she right! Time went on. The old goof took off his pants, prancing around in nothing but his underwear a month later. I have to say, he was pretty darn fit for a guy almost seventy years old. At one point, I could swear I saw his penis being erect in his underwear. I didn’t say anything.

In the same way a frog doesn’t jump out of a pot in which the water gets hotter and hotter, I really didn’t notice that his underwear turned into bikini briefs, and finally, it wasn’t all that shocking that one day, when I came over to sort through some pictures of commercial buildings with him, that he was stark naked. I’ll never be able to explain why, maybe it was a solidarity thing, like Patty Hurst, but I started dressing skimpier and skimpier myself, matching his early moves by removing my shoes, and even down to my bra at his house.

He has a full-time handyman. I think the guy lives there in a back cottage or something. One day I happened to glance out in he back yard, and there was Paul, naked as you please, scooping leaves out of the pool.

Now, I should tell you that Mr. Thompson has always been the perfect gentleman. And other than nudity, I’ve seen nothing ‘naughty’ with his household workers. Other than that one compliment about my breasts being ‘nice’ months before, he’s never said or even hinted at the slightest thing out of line with me. But, the nudity has continued to evolve. He has no qualms about sporting an erection in my presence. Well, I guess that’s understandable, since I’ve taken to being entirely naked. It was Natalie, the cook that did it. When I came in the kitchen one time and saw her all starkers, everything became clear. This was a nut-house! But a nice, well-mannered nut-house! So, when in Rome…

Now, on about twelve occasions, Mr. Thompson has literally masturbated in front of me. We’ll be talking business – he always talks business. You’ve never seen a man who is so business-oriented. Maybe that’s why he never remarried. But while we’re talking he’ll be rubbing that penis of his, and sometimes I’ll even see him ejaculate. He pulls a Kleenex out of a box, wipes up, and acts like it’s just normal. Like eating a hamburger. I, on the other hand, am going crazy. I so want to masturbate right along with him, but haven’t quite managed to bring myself to that point yet.

I did talk more with Natalie, and she didn’t come right out and say it, but she did make it pretty clear that I’m welcome to go as far as I want sexually, and that she, and other members of the staff have ‘done some things with Mr. Thompson,’ whatever that means.