Takin' it to the Banks

Chapter 2

	While all this sounds idyllic, unfortunately, it wasn't, and the
reasons all revolved around Ed.  Fidelity wasn't in Ed's vocabulary.  From the
first, although he was careful not to rub her nose in it, Marion was not his
only girlfriend - she was his fall-back position.  Ed was big on variety, and,
frankly, many times his silver tongue got him things his less than impressive
equipment wouldn't support his hanging onto.  When Marion moved in, all it
meant to Ed was that he no longer had to worry about supply - it DIDN'T mean
that the supply was limited to Marion!  Similarly, marriage was an exercise in
economics; they married in November so Ed could get the tax break without
supporting Marion for a full year.  Of course, he never SAID that, not in so
many words - Ed wasn't stupid when it came to social interaction.

	Pregnancy and motherhood slowed Marion down.  For her, the joys of
motherhood displaced some of her sexual heat, and even treated some of it -
Twyla giving suck was every bit as satisfying as Ed doing it (maybe more so)
and Marion sized up to midway between an A and a B cup while Twyla was
nursing, although she lost most of it after.  Sex was good, but no longer
exciting, and sandwiched between bouts of parental responsibility - and Ed
wasn't always there...

	Parental responsibility didn't sit well with Ed - in fact, it scared
him to death!  Soon after Twyla was born, he took to drifting out the door,
evenings, and coming home drunk and smelling of someone else's perfume.  A
year in, he lost his job over his alcoholism, and soon after he found a new
one, he announced that he was moving out to be with some blonde he'd met at
work.

	Why Marion put up with this, God only knew - but she did, merely
turning her attention to Twyla.  When Ed's paramour dumped him after a week,
Marion took him back, and Ed settled down for a bit.  But he never quit going
out, and the evidence of his infidelity continued to mount.  Over the next two
years, Marion learned not to count on Ed for anything, including income; he
was in and out of jobs and in and out of other women's beds on a regular
basis.  Finally, when Twyla was three, Ed announced for the second time in
ninety days that he'd found a new love and he was leaving, and Marion told him
not to come back - and meant it, this time.  During the divorce proceedings,
Big Felicia came to see Marion and give her emotional support, and ended up
relating a number of things Marion hadn't been aware of about that first night
and subsequent visitations, for instance:

	Ed had staggered up that first night at about four-thirty, while
Marion was sound asleep, and gone to the bathroom.  Whether by accident or
design (Felicia figured he'd keyed in on the sound) he entered Felicia's room
through her connecting door, catching her consoling herself with her favorite
vibrator.  Felicia had been in no condition to resist him; the big reason that
Ed was so drained later was that he'd left a load in Felicia at that point.
That also explained Felicia's reactions in the bathroom; after finding him
there, she'd decided during the wait to get seconds, only to discover Marion
there.

	Blackmail had been good for Ed; he started showing up at the dorm when
he knew Marion wasn't there, and knocking a piece off Felicia before she
showed up - then they would go to the common room and pretend mere
acquaintance until she did.  When Marion moved in with him, it just made
boffing Felicia a little less detectable...

	A judge's description of the things the law could do to deadbeat dads
did more for Ed than anything Marion ever said - although, frankly, the
divorce was the closest Marion ever came to coming into conflict with him;
she'd been a doormat from Day One, which had suited Ed's self-centered
preferences just fine.  Child support rolled in regularly, but the amounts
were wildly variant, depending on Ed's current states of employment and
romantic involvement.

	So Marion continued to work.  Her unfinished college education pinned
some doors closed, but Marion was more suited to manual labor, anyway,
emotionally.  She was intelligent, but would never have been an intellectual;
practical matters were her forte.  She tried waitressing, but the hours were
always ugly and she wanted to be there for Twyla whenever possible.
Eventually, she stumbled upon a janitorial service, and it seemed well suited
to her needs.  It was scut work, but for that reason, the salary was a bit
more than the minimum wage, rather than being pegged there.  The hours allowed
the kind of split shift that had Marion going to work after putting Twyla on
the bus to school, home for a few hours starting a bit before Twyla got home
from school, out for four more hours in the evening, and home for bedtime.

	The service usually ran annual contracts and operated as teams that
concentrated upon one or two buildings.  Marion was a team player - if it
needed doing, she would do it.  Other team members came and went (there was
always a new kid to train), but Marion became a fixture; when the management
occasionally purged the staff to keep salaries and benefit costs down,
somehow, Marion always made the cut - she was just too good at what she did.
Yet she avoided management responsibility, refusing the raises involved,
stating that she just wasn't comfortable in positions of leadership over more
than three or four people.  The reality was, however, that she had kept two or
three of her in the saddle by doing everything but taking the credit; when the
owner had put his son into the rotation to get his feet wet before taking on
more administrative responsibilities, he'd insisted that Marion baby-sit him.
The son survived - learning planning and supervision from a mistress of the
art - grew, and moved on, forever grateful to his diminutive straw boss.

	Marion went on-shift at nine a.m. and broke for 'lunch' - a four hour
break - at one.  She returned at five and worked until nine, five days a week.
When she needed extra money, there was always a weekend job with the 'special'
team - but she tried to avoid that, it interfered with her quality time with
Twyla.  Over the years, the long days had removed the temptation to go hunting
for a replacement for Ed - the search was just too tiring.  Besides, as she
got older, the rogues' gallery of losers grew and the available quality
specimens dwindled to nothing - it just wasn't worth it to expose herself to
the agony.  Ed had given her a good eye for losers, and she recognized that
the majority of ANY bar's population after you reached twenty five or so was
just that.  Over time, she admitted that the effort was wasted, and gave up,
hoping instead for some kind of lightning strike.  Sex became something she
did for herself, in the quiet of her room at night, using her hands or a toy
while reading an erotic novel or watching a porn flick collected during one of
her embarrassed trips to the local Sex Shoppe.  And time marched on...

	Twyla reached sixteen, and Marion, saddened, watched her going through
the same misery that had afflicted her at that age.  But Twyla had a couple of
things going for her, one of which was the fact that Ed's side of the family
had graced her with a bit more to work with than Marion had ever had,
including a fine set of 34C breasts.  When puberty had begun reshaping her
body, however, Twyla had taken to wearing clothing that obscured her body in
fear that she would lose her few male friends, who invariably thought of her
as 'one of the guys'; she was her own worst enemy.

	When Marion insisted that for her Senior Prom, she really, really
needed to turn out in a dress, a sea change occurred.  Twyla's date, a
childhood friend who had accepted her last minute offer out of desperation
after any number of other attempts had failed, got the shock of his life when
he discovered his 'good buddy' Twyla really WAS a girl, and was packing tits
to prove it!  And that was only the first such shock for him - events at the
Prom led Twyla to take action to ensure that he understood that the new Twyla
was VERY interested in HIM, and HIM ALONE!

	In fact, Twyla ensured that she had Mickey LaRue's full attention by
making him a present of those heretofore undiscovered breasts, and once they
had reached a meeting of the minds, she gifted the boy with her virginity, to
his complete delight!  And THAT was when Marion's torture began!  No, it had
nothing to do with Mickey, per se - he was a wonderful boy, and at their
current rate, he would make a fine son-in-law.  But on another level, it was
very much about Mickey, for he was male - very, very male! - and he was having
regular sex with Marion's daughter!

	Did Marion disapprove?  Absolutely not!  In fact, she had helped to
engineer their initial assignation, that Prom night, when she'd discovered her
daughter, naked, basically molesting him on the couch!  (See Second Best,
Chapter 110). But she'd gotten an eyeful, then and later, when they had
actually consummated the union, and it had set loose demons that Marion had
thought were successfully penned.  A quick excursion to check on the pair had
left her witness to Twyla's defloration, an exercise in voyeurism that still
embarrassed her.  Once she'd been drawn in, she just couldn't leave, and had
masturbated to two orgasms while watching the pair explore each other for the
first time, scared to death she would be discovered.

	Since that time, however, sex was never far from Marion's thoughts -
especially when Mickey was around.  And for the last month, he'd been around
constantly, whenever humanly possible.  He and Twyla were virtually joined at
the hip!  If it had been ONLY sexual, she'd have gone on the warpath - but the
pair managed this uncanny mix of the mundane and the erotic.  One minute, they
would be playing chess, or be absorbed in working a calculus problem - the
next, Twyla would be gasping in pleasure while Mickey nibbled her neck and
fondled her breasts!  Given the fact that she'd given verbal approval for
their first bout, Marion couldn't very well forbid the pair to have sex.
She'd gotten Twyla out to the doctor for decent birth control, and if
anything, dispensing with rubbers made the pair more active.  And THAT left
Marion constantly in turmoil, imagining what they were up to - when she
couldn't actually hear it!

	Twyla didn't help.  She left the door to her room open, a constant
temptation that Marion was prone to succumb to.  What Marion didn't know was
that it was deliberate; Twyla had detected her that first night, and had
surmised what she was doing in reaction.  She'd decided that it was probably
good for her; while she hadn't mentioned it to Mickey, about a week in he had
delivered a significant glance while NOT closing the door at the start of one
of their assignations.  Marion went to some effort NOT to wander past,
ESPECIALLY when there was a high probability of sexual activity - but it had
happened twice - and once presented with a scene, Marion had discovered that
she was unable to leave - and unable to keep from touching herself.

	Marion's libido had roared to life, and dealing with it had become
obsession.  With the example of the youngsters' joy before her, she became
absolutely miserable.  Sex was top of the heap - she'd worn out a vibrator,
and was making weekly embarrassed forays to the sex shop for movies and toys -
but there was a lot more to it: intimacy, touch, sharing - private
communication - Marion's physical, mental and emotional needs had surged to
the fore.  Twyla had once been a help; parental concerns had kept Marion
distracted.  Now she was a symbol of what Marion was missing, and it was
killing her.  Obsessive distraction was with her constantly, even at work...

	Marion's current team leader was named Dominic Somethingorother - it
was a Hawaiian name that nobody could seem to get their tongue around.  The
team was all female, and management referred to them as Dom's Harem, even on
more or less official documents.  Dom thought it was funny, and in whispered
conversations among the harem it was apparent that if he wanted, he could have
any of them, but Dom had a big, comfortable, mumu-clad wife at home, and no
apparent interest in any of the women, with the possible exception of Fat
Maria, who he spent an ungodly amount of time with - largely because she spoke
some fractured variant of South American Spanish that even the Puerto Rican
girls couldn't decipher, and he had to teach her English one word at a time.
As a result, Maria followed Dom like a shadow, following hand signals more
often than not, an extensible right arm.  Scuttlebutt was that she offered
herself to him daily; once, when someone mentioned it to her, she responded
with something that appeared to be pained agreement - but of course the
language barrier kept anyone from being sure just what had been said and
understood by either party.

	Marion would have liked to have captured Dom's interest, but it had
been clear from the start that she wasn't even close to being his type.
Still, he valued her work and was pleasant to her, so he was featured in an
occasional fantasy.  But there was any number of other males in the building,
employees of the company occupying the building - and she didn't actually work
with them...  Most of these were admittedly 'suits' - executives, intent on
their own pursuits, many of whom were at least Marion's age and fat and
apparently happily ensconced in a relationship; the few roving eyes in this
group unfortunately were attached to the least palatable of the candidates.
Uniformly, they treated the janitorial staff as furniture.  But there WERE a
few exceptions, oddly clustered around the IT department:  a couple of young,
eager (and buff!) tech support types at the Help Desk, the Mad Dog Biker type
with the red ponytail and five-o'clock shadow who was the network
administrator, and that sad, older fellow, Mr. Morgenthaler...

	Aaron Morgenthaler had three standard expressions, a sincere, but
otherwise poker face, mild irritation, and haunted sadness.  The first two, he
had adopted when it fell to him at a young age to lead a group of generally
older troops into battle; both were calculated to reflect maturity and inspire
confidence.  The two stood him in good stead later, in the business world,
too, and had become habit.  He had a wicked, wild grin that he deployed on the
odd occasion, but most people weren't privileged to see it; a simple smile
tended to disappear into his beard, undetected.  Now, at forty, he had no need
to appear artificially mature - his greying beard and receding hairline did
the job for him.  Age had also somewhat thickened his body - although he
wasn't fat - blurring the gangly lines and ropy structure that had
characterized his youth.  In fact, Aaron's basic body type was much like
Marion's, and his inability to display huge masses of muscle had cut into his
social life as much as Marion's lack of girlish padding.

	The fact that Marion thought of him as sad meant that Aaron had
slipped up.  Sadness usually marked his features either during or after a
perusal of the feminine form - usually after, at the workplace - for Aaron was
every bit as obsessed with sex as Marion, and had been for a good deal longer!
The current work rules designed to prevent sexual harassment had robbed Aaron
of what might have been a primary source of relationships - women who had been
exposed to him for long enough for him to have made an impression.  Aaron's
job demanded large amounts of his time -  sometimes twelve, fourteen, even
sixteen hours a day - and combined with his innate shyness and his advancing
age, totally robbed him of any chance at a relationship started OUTSIDE work.
So Aaron was reduced to window-shopping - poker-faced examinations of some
display of feminine pulchritude that he only released the real background
expression of sadness and longing for after he turned away...  Aaron's sex
life currently consisted of the occasional lucky discovery of a hooker on the
seamy side of town, (followed by two weeks of anxiety while he awaited
symptoms of STDs), regular trips to strip bars, (where he could give his
sadness free reign while paying ridiculous prices for an occasional cuddle
with a dancer), and frequent liaisons with his right hand, supported by visual
or written erotica.  From conversations with colleagues, he'd surmised that
even the married ones weren't necessarily getting what they wanted, when they
wanted it, so Aaron didn't feel particularly abnormal in his needs - but
happiness wasn't much to be found in his life, only some satisfaction with his
work and his hobbies (which, revolving around computers as they did, were
usually indistinguishable from actual work to outsiders), and the occasional
moment of peace.

	IT is a service industry; the primary difference between what a
support technician does and what a janitor does from at least one perspective
is that a tech does for others what they cannot do while a janitor does what
they merely do not wish to.  With that thought process in mind, Aaron was
always courteous to the janitorial staff, opening doors for their carts,
greeting them in the hallways, and generally treating them like human beings
instead of mobile furniture.  This had the side effect of getting him more
thorough support, but it wasn't the reason for it.  He'd even attempted a
couple of short greetings to Fat Maria, which had been met with embarrassed
grins of incomprehension and had resulted in an uncommonly thorough cleaning
of his cube while Fat Maria tried to decide whether he was interested in her
or not...  Fact was, Aaron might have been tempted if they could have
communicated at all - he'd seen the look on Maria's face as she trailed Dom,
and knew a kindred soul.  She wasn't his type, but it would have given both of
them a port away from the storm...  Aaron had examined Marion on a number of
occasions, and although she generally fell outside the opposite bound of his
tastes from Fat Maria, he approved of her, finding something indefinably
pleasant in her features, musculature, and calm, businesslike approach to her
work - although, as usual, he was careful NOT to let said approval show on his
face.  Still, offered an opportunity to be pleasant to her or offer some
courtesy, he took it.

	On this particular Monday morning, Marion arrived at work thoroughly
jangled and distracted; the kids had been particularly acrobatic and noisy on
Sunday evening, and Marion, over-stimulated, had tried hard to exhaust herself
with a vibrator and the viewing of a pretty torrid double-penetration flick in
which the female participants were fairly thoroughly exploited.  She'd been
drifting in that direction lately, but suspected that it was merely a feature
of her desperation.  Her pussy was a little sore from some over-enthusiastic
banging and her clit felt like it was the size of her pinky and was buzzing on
it's own without the assistance of a vibrator; if the company had allowed her
to come to work in a dress or skirt, she'd have passed on panties.  As it was,
her over-sensitive clit rubbed the gusset of her panties and her black stretch
pants as she moved, maintaining her level of agitation.  Dom, who had noticed
that she was increasingly distracted over the past weeks, tried to pry the
reason out of her, but she passed the whole thing off.

	Aaron tossed the empty paper cup that had held his tea in the trash
and went back to his analysis of an intermittent interface issue that had been
popping up periodically over the last month.  The nature of the beast made it
a bear to get his head around, so he decided to take a break, jumping out to
his web-mail account and perusing the collection of spam that had arrived
since nine a.m.  A relatively innocuous looking message led to a seriously hot
website featuring videos of women theoretically collected off the street and
somehow talked into sex, and Aaron nervously pulled up a couple of hot
trailers - God knows what would happen if he got caught looking at this stuff
in his cube!  He posted a little mirror, designed to sit on your monitor and
keep people from sneaking up on you while your attention was on your work, up
on his cube wall, oriented on the door to the room in an effort not to get
caught by one of the females a couple of cubes down, especially, but also to
warn of other males with an axe to grind.  Five minutes later, he was
thoroughly aroused, but the tea had hit his bladder, so he struggled up to go
to the Men's Room.

	One of the duties that generally fell to Marion was cleanup of the
third floor Men's Room.  Twice a day, at eleven thirty a.m. and again at about
six p.m., she would roll her cart up to the door, knock, announce herself,
wait for the occupants to clear out, and, blocking the door open, proceed to
clean and restock.  Men were messy sometimes, but in Marion's experience, it
usually wasn't deliberate.  Sometimes the Ladies' Room, however, looked like
someone had deliberately tried to stop up the toilets, and detritus from
various health and beauty products could cover the surfaces around the sinks.
She rolled her cart up to the door and knocked, calling "Cleaning team -
anyone there?"

	Aaron bellied up to the urinal and fought to release his swollen cock
from the confines of his briefs, then stood there, willing the stiff beast to
settle down a bit so he could switch the plumbing connection to his bladder.
Just as he was getting set, there was a knock and a soft contralto announced,
"Cleaning team - anyone there?"

	"Damn," Aaron grunted, then "Just a sec..."  But he was concentrating
on what he was doing, and somewhat irritated that the cleaning team had showed
up AGAIN!  For some reason, his bladder was almost always full at about six
p.m., and he would invariably find the place blocked off, so he was carrying a
bit of heat over it.  Distraction caused him to be less than loud...

	Marion turned and started digging in her cleaning cart.  The guys
tended to be loud and quick to respond, so she knew the coast was clear...
She threw open the door and backed her cart into the Men's Room, turned, and
gazed into the startled eyes of Mr. Morgenthaler as he half turned from the
urinal, exposing the biggest cock she'd ever seen!

	Aaron was neither surprised nor particularly alerted when the door
opened behind him, but the sound of the cart banging over the threshold was
surprising.  He turned, surprised, just in time to see little Marion look up
and discover him, toilet brush in hand.  Marion's eyes dropped from his to his
waist, and widened significantly - but didn't leave.  She just stood there,
frozen, eyes glued to his swollen member...  Aaron swallowed, cleared his
throat, and murmured, "Guess I wasn't loud enough..."

	Marion was dimly aware that her fixation wasn't polite, but she
couldn't tear her eyes away.  "Um, sorry - I guess I wasn't paying enough
attention..."

	Aaron was at a loss.  The woman was just standing there - and his cock
was getting harder under her gaze!  Finally, he turned back toward the urinal,
fig leafing himself.  Once his cock was out of sight, the spell was broken,
and Marion could move again.  "Uh, sorry - I'll go back out..."

	Marion started to manhandle the cart, but Aaron stopped her.  "Leave
it," he admonished.  "No need to lug it back and forth.  I'll... try to
hurry."  But his mind was ringing with 'God knows how I'll get this thing
down, now!'

	Marion nodded, unseen, and staggered out, to stand in the hallway,
staring blindly down into the open atrium.  Gentle Mr. Morgenthaler was HUGE!
The cock he'd revealed to her was as big as Mickey's, but thicker!  Her mind
reprocessed the image over and over, unable to believe that a REAL cock could
be that size, despite half a hundred porn videos.  She pulled off her rubber
gloves and scrubbed at her face, but the picture just kept coming back - and
her clit was going nuts!  She ground herself against the railing,
unconsciously - fortunately, no one came along...

	It took Aaron a couple of minutes to get control, and another couple
to drain his bladder.  He staggered out, and sidled past Marion, whispering,
"Sorry!" in his embarrassment, and getting an equally embarrassed, "Me, too!"
in reply.  The pair didn't look at one another.

	Marion entered the Men's Room, set up her placard announcing that the
floors were wet, then stood for a good five minutes, leaning against a stall
and shaking.  Finally, she collected herself and began to work, but she kept
drifting...  The cleaning took almost twice as long as usual, and she almost
wasn't out of the Ladies' Room in time for the noon rush.

	Aaron sat in his cube, staring at his monitor, his mind totally gone.
Marion had just stood there, staring at his penis!  Christ, it wasn't THAT
small!  In fact, it was probably almost eight inches!  She'd acted like he was
deformed, or something!  Why did she just stare like that?  Did it mean - no,
surely not!  But the idea that she might have been interested in him - it -
was attractive; certainly, it was more pleasant to contemplate than the
alternatives...  He shuffled out to go to lunch without having accomplished a
thing at one fifteen - fifteen minutes after Marion had dazedly departed for
her extended 'lunch break'.

	Marion came home and sat, denying herself a masturbation session
because Twyla (and probably Mickey) would be home soon, and once she got
started, she didn't see HOW she was going to stop!  She ate and cleaned up the
kitchen, moving on autopilot, even after the kids got home.  Suddenly, Mickey
receded into the background - the importance the young people's relationship
shrank to something more normal, rather than the constant nagging reminder
that she was alone that it had been.  Twyla noticed her mother's distraction,
but was unable to draw her out - an admission that Marion had been ogling some
guy's cock just wasn't in the offing.

	The second half of Marion's workday went relatively smoothly, which
was good, because she was only about eighty percent there.  Aaron absented
himself a bit after six without seeing her again, something that he was of two
minds about.  He wanted to see her - but he was incredibly embarrassed about
the incident, and didn't see how he could actually manage to occupy the same
space with her.  Ultimately, though, each of them starred in the other's
fantasies that night, and both of them enjoyed those fantasies immensely.