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Marissa Act 2

Peter, the guy who groped me in the office, was not a pig. He was good looking, with a good body and a wonderful ass. He was married to a nice little typical suburban girl who worked in a bank as a teller. He was a rebellious type, even though he had the lovely urban home. It wasn’t typical. It was in a little-known enclave of shaded, tree-lined streets and solid brick homes near the heart of the city.

Peter’s persona was very bohemian. He wore faded jeans, a neatly trimmed full beard and a shaggy mane of thick, black hair. His tight t-shirts revealed his lean body and the arms that extended beyond the short sleeves were well muscled and tanned. He had many t-shirts it seemed, because he wore many different ones. They always had witty phrases or interesting artwork on them. Never the typical rock group logos, but unique, rare things like historic sailing craft or natural wonders.

I was pissed off when the word around the office was that Peter was fucking one of the girls every day during lunch hour. When I found out which girl, I was furious. It was the girl who runs the projector for screenings, and does all the filing and storage of video production crap. She was… like… a dog. Not at all pretty, she had a pock-marked face and a shapeless body. He must have been giving her mercy fucks, because half the girls in the office were hot for him, so why Rhoda?

I was alone in the coffee room one day and Peter came in to get coffee. He sat across the table from me with his coffee.

“I hear you’ve been fucking Rhoda,” I said. He looked at me with a bored expression on his face. He said nothing.

“Why would you do that,” I said, “when a piece like me is right here?”

“What’s it to you?” he said.

“I’m just curious. After all, you gotta admit she’s a dog,” I said.

“There are different kinds of dogs,” he said. “Rhoda is a good person. She’s gentle, sensitive and intelligent. Her external package is not her fault, but the internal goodness of her is all to her credit. The package is not all bad, either,” he went on while I was doing a slow burn. “She’s super clean and fragrant and her skin is so soft and smooth it appears to have neither pores nor hairs. Except, of course in the pubic area; there she has lovely, wispy, golden curls. Her nectar is as sweet and generous as her nature.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” I said.

“You, my dear, are another kind of dog.” He put his hand on mine. “You are not a good person. You’re not gentle, sensitive or intelligent. You’re a sociopath in a lovely package that contains very little in redeeming qualities.”

Needless to say, I threw my coffee in his face and walked out. The sonovabitch just smiled at me calmly with coffee dripping down his face onto his stupid t-shirt. It was a green t-shirt with something about preserving the rain forest on it.

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