maryallison
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Feb 22, 2006
- Messages
- 74
- Points
- 0
I was new in the company; I didn't know the rules.
I was at my desk late, totaling up my November accounts, when my boss walked by. She asked if I was going to the company Christmas Party.
I shrugged. "Sure."
She walked away, but as she was turning the corner to the elevators, she said, "She you tonight."
Huh?
I ran to the elevator, and caught it just as the doors were closing.
"Tonight?"
"Yeah," she said. "The Marriott, Apple Blossom Room."
Uh...okay."
"8 o'clock."
The elevator doors closed. Except for the janitors, I was alone. I went back to my desk, and finished my accounts, and put all the completed paperwork on the regional manager's desk. I gathered up my purse, and a paperback book for the subway home. When I got to the metro station, a whole bunch of people were already on the first couple of subway cars. I decided to wait. It was now 6. The next train didn't come for twenty minutes, and it had fewer people, so I got on and found a tiny seat all by itself near the opening and closing doors. I read my novel past Archibald, past Ferry Street, past DuPont Square, past whatever else came after that, until I got to Dakota Park station. I got in the apartment at 7, and showered, and ate a bagel and a package of boiled Ramen Noodles. What should I wear? I flipped through my closet, but I only had summer dresses. I hadn't bought a single winter suit. At work I can get away with blue jeans, and a sweater on cold days, but that wouldn't do for a Christmas party - would it? I found the most conservative thing I had: a green and blue tartan skirt, white blouse, and a red button down cardigan. I almost like an elf.
By the time I got back to my subway stop, and got on a train, and made it back to Metro Station, and found the Marriott, and wandered around the banquet floors, it was way past 8 o'clock. I walked into the Apple Blossom Room; the whole company was there - even executives from out of town. They briefly looked my way, and turned to their discussions, and I tip toed over to an empty table by the Christmas tree. There were wrapped presents on all the dinner tables. That was cool. Everybody was going to get a present. Maybe a bonus. My table didn't have a present on it, but that was okay. Something good would happen. When happy hour had finished, and people had taken one too many drinks with umbrellas, the company owner, Mr. Bowen, rapped a spoon against his glass. Ting Ting Ting.
"Okay folks, time for your presents."
There was a brief cheer, and he pointed to the first table. Six people got up, and they all carried the presents from their table to the Christmas tree, and switched a new gift with the one they had brought. The next table went, and five people took their own presents to the tree, and picked up a new one. The owner pointed to the next table, and the next, and oh my god ... I understood. He was going to point to me last, and I had not brought anything. They didn't tell me to bring something. I glanced at my boss, who knew what I was thinking, and she merely shrugged. Mr. Bowen looked at me, and pointed, but I simply stayed in the chair.
He pointed again.
I looked around my table, as if something would suddenly appear, but it remained empty.
He curled his finger at me. C'mere, he whispered. I got up, and walked to the Christmas tree, and by now everyone in the company saw my dilemma. I had no present. They murmured. He motioned them quiet, then said in a theatrical voice, so everyone could hear: "Where is your present?"
"I I did-didn't know.."
"It's a tradition. Everybody brings a present before they can take one."
"No-nobody t-told me.."
"You must have something you can put under the tree."
I looked away.
"The sweater!" somebody yelled.
The crowd applauded.
Huh?
"Well, I guess that'll do," the owner said.
Were they serious? I started to walk back to my table, but Mr. Bowen suddenly took my elbow in his grip.
"Oh, no. You have to give something."
He pulled my in front of the Christmas tree, where everyone in the room could see me, and he glanced at my sweater buttons. He even raised his eyebrows quickly, like the villain in an old movie.
"Give it up," he said.
I hesitated, and a voice in the crowd said, "take it off!"
Mr. Bowen walked in front of me, and undid the bottom button of my cardigan. I flinched, and took a step back, but he soon undid the second and third buttons. he was between me and the crowd, so they could not see his fingers. When he undid the third button, he dug his fingers into my tummy, and I suppressed a laugh. He turned to the crowded room, and said. "More?" They cheered, so he turned to me again, and undid the fourth button - right underneath my boobs - and he lingered there a moment. He flickered his fingers against my ribs, and I stifled another laugh. When he looked at me, I instinctively put my legs together. He reached up an inch, and pretended to have trouble with my fifth button. He caught his index fingers in the button hole, while his pink and ring fingers grazed against the sweater, resting on my breasts. He frowned, a phony frown, a devious frown, and tried to pull his index fingers out of my button hole with his thumbs - but they got stuck, too. Th more he struggled, the more his knuckles brushed against my breasts, and I had to take a breath. A deep breath. My breasts filled up, and the button snapped open. He turned to the crowd, and grinned sheepishly, then turned to me again. He put his hands on my waist, to steady me, then he slowly brought his hands up across my tummy.
"Hahahhaaaahhhaahahahaa..."
I literally bent over in front of him. He reached behind my arched back, and pulled the back of my sweater up, but his hand magically got caught in my blouse as well, and in an instant he was pulling my blouse up my back. I laughed again, and he pretended to correct his mistake, and reached in front of me to stand me up straight again. I was still half bent over, so the crowd could not see his hands race across my bare tummy, and I laughed again. The crowd seemed to enjoy it. I finally stood up straight, and he undid the last button, and mischievously opened the cardigan so his hands brushed against my ribs, and I giggled again. He pulled off the sweater, and reached down for a present. As he bent over, his hand stroked down my leg, and i flinched again. When he handed me the present, he whispered in my ear.
"We have much better presents for each piece of clothing you give up."
"I'm not stripping in front of everyone." I whispered back.
Don't worry. There's a second party. Only for the executives. And they give much better gifts. The more you give up, the better they get."
I was at my desk late, totaling up my November accounts, when my boss walked by. She asked if I was going to the company Christmas Party.
I shrugged. "Sure."
She walked away, but as she was turning the corner to the elevators, she said, "She you tonight."
Huh?
I ran to the elevator, and caught it just as the doors were closing.
"Tonight?"
"Yeah," she said. "The Marriott, Apple Blossom Room."
Uh...okay."
"8 o'clock."
The elevator doors closed. Except for the janitors, I was alone. I went back to my desk, and finished my accounts, and put all the completed paperwork on the regional manager's desk. I gathered up my purse, and a paperback book for the subway home. When I got to the metro station, a whole bunch of people were already on the first couple of subway cars. I decided to wait. It was now 6. The next train didn't come for twenty minutes, and it had fewer people, so I got on and found a tiny seat all by itself near the opening and closing doors. I read my novel past Archibald, past Ferry Street, past DuPont Square, past whatever else came after that, until I got to Dakota Park station. I got in the apartment at 7, and showered, and ate a bagel and a package of boiled Ramen Noodles. What should I wear? I flipped through my closet, but I only had summer dresses. I hadn't bought a single winter suit. At work I can get away with blue jeans, and a sweater on cold days, but that wouldn't do for a Christmas party - would it? I found the most conservative thing I had: a green and blue tartan skirt, white blouse, and a red button down cardigan. I almost like an elf.
By the time I got back to my subway stop, and got on a train, and made it back to Metro Station, and found the Marriott, and wandered around the banquet floors, it was way past 8 o'clock. I walked into the Apple Blossom Room; the whole company was there - even executives from out of town. They briefly looked my way, and turned to their discussions, and I tip toed over to an empty table by the Christmas tree. There were wrapped presents on all the dinner tables. That was cool. Everybody was going to get a present. Maybe a bonus. My table didn't have a present on it, but that was okay. Something good would happen. When happy hour had finished, and people had taken one too many drinks with umbrellas, the company owner, Mr. Bowen, rapped a spoon against his glass. Ting Ting Ting.
"Okay folks, time for your presents."
There was a brief cheer, and he pointed to the first table. Six people got up, and they all carried the presents from their table to the Christmas tree, and switched a new gift with the one they had brought. The next table went, and five people took their own presents to the tree, and picked up a new one. The owner pointed to the next table, and the next, and oh my god ... I understood. He was going to point to me last, and I had not brought anything. They didn't tell me to bring something. I glanced at my boss, who knew what I was thinking, and she merely shrugged. Mr. Bowen looked at me, and pointed, but I simply stayed in the chair.
He pointed again.
I looked around my table, as if something would suddenly appear, but it remained empty.
He curled his finger at me. C'mere, he whispered. I got up, and walked to the Christmas tree, and by now everyone in the company saw my dilemma. I had no present. They murmured. He motioned them quiet, then said in a theatrical voice, so everyone could hear: "Where is your present?"
"I I did-didn't know.."
"It's a tradition. Everybody brings a present before they can take one."
"No-nobody t-told me.."
"You must have something you can put under the tree."
I looked away.
"The sweater!" somebody yelled.
The crowd applauded.
Huh?
"Well, I guess that'll do," the owner said.
Were they serious? I started to walk back to my table, but Mr. Bowen suddenly took my elbow in his grip.
"Oh, no. You have to give something."
He pulled my in front of the Christmas tree, where everyone in the room could see me, and he glanced at my sweater buttons. He even raised his eyebrows quickly, like the villain in an old movie.
"Give it up," he said.
I hesitated, and a voice in the crowd said, "take it off!"
Mr. Bowen walked in front of me, and undid the bottom button of my cardigan. I flinched, and took a step back, but he soon undid the second and third buttons. he was between me and the crowd, so they could not see his fingers. When he undid the third button, he dug his fingers into my tummy, and I suppressed a laugh. He turned to the crowded room, and said. "More?" They cheered, so he turned to me again, and undid the fourth button - right underneath my boobs - and he lingered there a moment. He flickered his fingers against my ribs, and I stifled another laugh. When he looked at me, I instinctively put my legs together. He reached up an inch, and pretended to have trouble with my fifth button. He caught his index fingers in the button hole, while his pink and ring fingers grazed against the sweater, resting on my breasts. He frowned, a phony frown, a devious frown, and tried to pull his index fingers out of my button hole with his thumbs - but they got stuck, too. Th more he struggled, the more his knuckles brushed against my breasts, and I had to take a breath. A deep breath. My breasts filled up, and the button snapped open. He turned to the crowd, and grinned sheepishly, then turned to me again. He put his hands on my waist, to steady me, then he slowly brought his hands up across my tummy.
"Hahahhaaaahhhaahahahaa..."
I literally bent over in front of him. He reached behind my arched back, and pulled the back of my sweater up, but his hand magically got caught in my blouse as well, and in an instant he was pulling my blouse up my back. I laughed again, and he pretended to correct his mistake, and reached in front of me to stand me up straight again. I was still half bent over, so the crowd could not see his hands race across my bare tummy, and I laughed again. The crowd seemed to enjoy it. I finally stood up straight, and he undid the last button, and mischievously opened the cardigan so his hands brushed against my ribs, and I giggled again. He pulled off the sweater, and reached down for a present. As he bent over, his hand stroked down my leg, and i flinched again. When he handed me the present, he whispered in my ear.
"We have much better presents for each piece of clothing you give up."
"I'm not stripping in front of everyone." I whispered back.
Don't worry. There's a second party. Only for the executives. And they give much better gifts. The more you give up, the better they get."
