A Woman Scorned
John D. Ritchie
When Jack asked me if I wanted to join the Mile High Club I fantasied about doing it in a airplane rest-room, my back pressed against a hard surface. It would be during some turbulence so we would be getting bounced around and the flight attendant would be banging on the door saying "You have to return to your seat and strap in." Then, when we eventually come out, there would be several people waiting and they'd see my panties on the floor. That's where I get off. That moment when I am caught in the act. My fantasy works for me, but Jack doesn't. Not anymore.
I know everyone says office romances are a bad idea, but what is a girl to do when her intern is a twenty-two year track and field jock with blue jeans that look as though they are painted on. Jack had a lot to offer, and when he stood in front of my desk one morning, not long after he joined, I just knew he was offering it to me. So when he made his suggestion about the Mile High Club, I paused for as long as it took to get my breath back, and then said, "Yes".
Jack certainly lived up to his appearance. He looked fast, and he was. He'd finished before I'd got out of the starting gate. But that wasn't the only disappointment. When he suggested doing it a mile high I assumed he meant at around five thousand feet in an airplane. I didn't realise it was an old Denver High School joke until he explained it to me and told me that the city's elevation is exactly one mile. That was after we had turned into a motel parking lot within sight of the tented roof of the airport. O.K. I was prepared to admit I been had and I was certainly prepared to be had again. I'd even been to Victoria's Secret. But ol' Jack was not only fast, he was also a one-hit wonder. I didn't think that was possible in a twenty-two year-old guy. I thought they could keep going all night. But Jack hit the jackpot once and that was that. He was satisfied and I was livid. Left high and wet.
Now, I had been prepared to praise Jack's performance highly. Well, laud him in the Ladies' rest-room, at least. One good turn deserves another. But I hadn't had a good turn. I'd just been along for the ride. His. So I decided to make sure he didn't do it again. At least not anytime soon.
All it took was a lip-stick message on the mirror. 'Jack the Jock always comes first'.
First published: February, 2007
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