Pulling My Weight

I knew it was going to be a challenge to pull my weight when I went into the partnership with Steve and Chuck. They graduated in the top of our law school class; I was somewhere in the bottom half, I think. More relevant to their professional trajectories, they were the stereotypical alpha males: tall, strong, good looking and self-confident to the point of having inflated impressions of their abilities—and their abilities were considerable. These were the crucial ingredients for success in the law—even more than intelligence. And, on top of that, they were hard workers.

I'm not sure why they wanted me to join them in their new venture. It didn't hurt, I guess, that I was married to the daughter of an appellate court judge. Our partnership meant that, like me, they could never take a case to his court. But there were compensating benefits. They were immediately connected, through me, with the elite legal community in our county. Anyway, that's the only reason I could come up with that they would want to include me.

I was flattered, though, and saw this as a great professional opportunity. I knew the start would be slow and probably rough. These things always are. But I was sure that Steve, Chuck, and I could make this one of the most dynamic and successful firms in the area. And it was exciting to be building something from scratch instead of starting out doing grunt work as a new associate in an established firm.

When we were first getting started, things went reasonably well. There was so much work just setting up the partnership, finding and furnishing an office suite, hiring a legal secretary and all. It was really impossible to tell who was actually pulling his weight in terms of building the legal practice.

The woman we hired as a legal secretary, Phyllis, seemed like she would be terrific. She was 32 and had good experience and references. She was fairly easy on the eyes, too—not model pretty, but attractive. It didn't really matter to me, though. I was married and didn't have a roving eye. Maybe the best thing about Phyllis was how comfortable we thought we would be with her. It was clear from the interview that she had no problem with raunchy humor or coarse words so we wouldn't have to bite our tongues to avoid a "hostile environment" lawsuit. That was good.

When all the set up was done and we began trying to operate as a sustainable law firm, the gap between the performance of Chuck and Steve, on the one hand, and me, on the other, started to become painfully obvious, not only to me, but the them, too. They were both bringing in clients reasonably steadily and was mainly coming up dry in my attempts to solicit business. Even my connections through my father-in-law didn't help me.

After a year, it was clear that I was mostly doing lackey work in support of Chuck and Steve. Some of it could be done by paralegals and most of the rest could have been done by a junior associate who wasn't a partner-either option would have cost the firm much less. As time went on, it was clear that Chuck and Steve began to resent what they wound up having to pay me as a partner. They made much more than I did, of course. Our partnership agreement counted billable hours and they had lots more than I did. Still, as a one-third partner, I was taking home a reasonable income mostly doing work that could have been done much more cheaply.

At a partners' meeting about a year-and-a-half into our endeavor, they first raised the issue. The solution at that point was to assign to me all of the office management duties. But that was really a joke. Phyllis took care of all the routine office management issues and she didn't really need any management. It didn't take long for Chuck and Steve to come to the realization that I still wasn't pulling my weight.

A few months later, they decided to assigned me also to be (in effect if not in title) the office girl, a go-fer for Phyllis—effectively making me report to her as a practical matter. When she got overwhelmed with work, she could assign some of it to me. And, naturally, she assigned the most routine, boring work to me. I'll never forget the afternoon I spent sorting paperclips into large and small ones.

This was all incredibly humiliating, of course. But what could I do. I wasn't bringing in work and, when I did get a chance to do some lawyering, it was clear even to me that I was often in over my head. Chuck and Steve had to correct my work frequently. After I wrote a brief that was based on a serious misunderstanding of the court's decision and cost us the case, they didn't trust me with any real work again.

So, I was basically a pretty well-paid (because of the partnership) office girl. I know what you're thinking. If I had any self-respect, I would have quit and found something I was good enough at to at least stand on my own two feet. But my wife, Joan, and I had bought a house and the mortgage stretched our budget to the max. I couldn't quit without admitting to her that I was a failure. And I couldn't bring myself to do that.

Finally, after nearly two years, came the fateful partner's meeting that changed my life forever. Steve and Chuck had clearly planned things out in detail. The meeting was an ambush. Steve led the charge, making the case—embarrassingly easily—that I still wasn't pulling my weight. The firm could get all the work I was doing at a much lower cost by hiring a legal assistant. He'd even worked out the difference in the cost to the firm and, when I looked at it from a business perspective, the case was airtight.

I was panicked. The two of them could force me to sell out to them. Chuck made a point of telling me how much they'd saved up to make this possible. And, then, there'd be no reason for them to employ me in any capacity. I'd be jobless and have no choice but to confess to Joan that I was a complete failure.

They could see the fear on my face and hear it in my trembling voice. I expected them to steel themselves to my pleas and tell me to just suck it up. To my surprise, it was Chuck who seemed to offer me a life preserver—if you can call it that.

"Steve, I think that everything you're saying is right. I can't find any fault with your argument from a business perspective." Steve nodded in a very self-satisfied way, and Chuck went on. "But I feel bad for Nathan. We started this firm together and I hate to just look at this from a business point of view."

I'd always felt closer to Steve but right now, Chuck was my champion, and I was grateful.

"I know, Chuck," said Steve. "But what can he do to pull his weight around here?"

"I don't know. But we should try to think of something."

It was an incredibly awkward scene for me. They were discussing my fate and casting about for something positive, and I really didn't have anything to say in my defense. Instead of standing up for myself, or even coming up with a creative solution, I was reduced to blubbering and begging.

"Please don't force me out of the firm. I can't afford to lose this. Joan and I just bought our house. We'd have to sell it and move. It would be terrible."

In Latin, they call that an *argumentum ad misericordiam*, I'd learned in law school—an appeal to misery. It was a fallacious argument. Instead of trying to support a claim with reasons, it just appealed to people's sentiments. But it was all I had. And I'd also learned in law school that if you have only one arrow in your quiver, you use it.

Steve suddenly brightened up, as if he had a brilliant idea. "I know ... Chuck, all you've been doing for the last month, since Jennifer dumped you because you were working all the time, is complaining about your sex life."

I didn't know where this was going and, at the time, I thought that Chuck didn't, either. It was only later that I figured out that even this part of the meeting was scripted in collaboration.

"Yeah. So?" said Chuck.

"Well, you'd be much more efficient if you weren't so frustrated all the time. And I would be, too, because I wouldn't have to listen all the time to your whining about not getting any."

"But you know, Steve, I don't have time to do the dating scene. What am I suppose to do? Advertise on Craig's list saying, 'Attorney seeks woman to suck and fuck him; has no time to do anything else with her.'?"

"That's the problem," Steve agreed. "You need some sexual release—and not just from your hand—and you don't have time for all the stuff that you need to do to have a relationship with a woman."

"Brilliant analysis. What's it got to do with our problem here?" Unfortunately, I was beginning to suspect what it had to do with this. "What?" Chuck continued. "You want to put Nathan to work finding me women who will take care of my sexual needs and not ask for anything in return?"

"No," Steve said looking hard at Chuck. "I was thinking of a more direct solution."

It appeared to take a second for that to sink in for Chuck. Hell, it took a second for me to realize that it confirmed what I was coming to fear Steve was suggesting.

"No, Steve," Chuck said adamantly. "I'm not gay ... and neither is Nathan ... I don't think." Well, I sure wasn't and he knew it. His comment was made to put me on the defensive—hardly necessary; I was already there.

"Gay, schmay!" Steve pressed back. "This isn't about sexual preference. It's a business matter." He paused. "You aren't performing at your best because you're constantly horny and feeling sorry for yourself because of your forced celibacy. Nathan isn't contributing to our productivity nearly as much as he should. One way for Nathan to contribute would be for him to enhance your productivity."

Long, uncomfortable pause.

"Well," Steve said in a very self-satisfied tone, "am I wrong."

Longer, uncomfortable pause. And not one that I was going to break. I was holding on to my paycheck, and my lifestyle by a thread. I needed this to work out somehow. I was hoping that Chuck would come back with an even more adamant rejection of the plan.

He didn't. He hemmed and hawed as if he was considering it.

"Tell you what," Steve proposed. "Let's make this deal. Nathan takes care of you right now, right here—I mean, if he wants to try to keep his partner status. And, if you don't like it, we look for some other solution. But, if you do, this solves two problems."

Chuck didn't say anything, which—in the present circumstances—was the same as agreeing.

Steve turned toward me. "So, Nathan. That's the deal. And it's the best deal you're going to get." He paused to let this sink in. But that was unnecessary; I'd already realized that.

"So, what do you say, Nathan? Are you going to take care of Chuck, here and now?"

My heart pounded; my mind was racing, but not to any solution—any way out of this; my mouth was dry and I felt my face burning.

"HERE and NOW, Nathan!" Steve said with finality. "Or not at all ... and I start drawing up the partnership dissolution papers."

It was surreal. I didn't feel as if I was moving my body; I felt as if I was watching a movie of myself. And in this movie, I got up out of my chair, my whole body trembling, and walked over to Chuck. He swiveled his chair away from the table and I dropped to my knees between his thighs. I watched my shaking hands reach for his zipper.

I couldn't do this! There had to be another way—some other solution. I froze.

"HERE and NOW, Nathan!" Steve repeated.

There had to be some other way. But there wasn't! I knew that. I forced myself to unzip Chuck's pants. I tried to reach in through the fly, but I couldn't. I unbuckled Chuck's belt and unbuttoned his pants. Chuck, helpfully, raised his butt off the chair so I could pull his pants and boxers down.

Now I was on my knees, staring at another man's cock that was just inches from my face. We both knew—well all three of us knew—what was going to happen next. Why was it so difficult for me to move? I had no counter-argument against this scenario. It was this, or the poorhouse and, worse, humiliation in front of Joan.

It's ironic, I guess, but I told myself to "man up" and do what needed to be done. Maybe "man up" was the wrong term, but I managed to get going at what I had to do.

I reached for Chuck's cock. I know that lots of guys had touched another guy's cock as part of pre-pubescent play. I'd heard about sleepovers and Boy Scout camping trips. But I hadn't. This was the first time I'd ever touched another man's cock.

I was surprised by the feel of it. I'd felt my own cock a lot. What guy hasn't? But it was a different thing to hold another man's cock. It was warm and the skin was soft. While the skin was soft, the shaft itself was hardening quickly in my hand.

Watching and feeling it swell in my hand, I was suddenly captivated by it. I mean, it's a really remarkable thing, the penis. It can be so small and limp but swell to a commanding length and girth. If I'd stepped back to analyze my thoughts, I probably would have been appalled by them. But I was completely caught up in the moment. This cock was rising and hardening in my hand; I felt it go from warm to hot. I was transfixed.

But my awe and even admiration wasn't what Chuck wanted. I felt his hand on the back of my head, not so much forcing me, as urging me, forward. I responded to the urging without resistance.

For a guy who'd never touched another guy's cock, I found it remarkably easy to take Chuck's now rigid rod in my mouth. In fact, I think if I were to be completely honest, I'd have to say that I found it impossible *not* to take his cock in my mouth—such are the demands of a big, hard cock. I felt almost a compulsion to suck Chuck's cock. It was as if its rigidity simply demanded it.

And it felt amazing in my mouth. I had to put out of my mind the "gayness" of it. Guys are strongly socialized not to "be gay." But as Steve had put it, this wasn't about sexual preference. This was a business matter. So, setting aside any worries about what this said about my sexuality, I managed to focus on the feelings that Chuck's cock produced in my mouth.

The softness that I'd first felt with my hand was exquisite in my mouth. And I was surprised by how much bigger is cock felt in my mouth than in my hand. But what was most amazing was the feel of his well-pronounced helmet as it moved past my lips and over my tongue.

I'd never thought about how a cock would feel in my mouth. I found it a complex, multi-sensory experience. In addition to the feelings—smoothness, rigidity, and that remarkable ridge around the top of his cock—the scent and taste filled my senses. I'd never thought any more about how a man's cock would taste and smell than I had about how it would feel in my mouth. But, still, I found myself surprised—as if it didn't taste and smell like I would have thought.

The muskiness was not repellant; it was exciting. I found myself sucking Chuck's cock with enthusiasm. I was surprised by, but didn't try to suppress, a moan of pleasure that issued from my mouth as it enveloped Chuck's hard cock.

With his pants pulled down, now past his knees, I could press his thighs apart and reach between them to cradle Chuck's balls. I'd never touched another man's balls either, of course. But, really, I'd seldom touched mine—at least with any great consciousness. When I whacked off, it was straight for the cock, sometimes with a little ass play. But I didn't really focus on my balls at all.

Now, though, I had Chuck's "family jewels" in my hand. It was a strange, and exciting experience. I knew how sensitive a guy's balls were. Every guy knows that. Somewhere along the lines, you get hit in the balls and you realize that you're very vulnerable there. So, I held Chuck's balls very gently. But I enjoyed fondling them and feeling them move in his ball sack in response to my manipulations.

It occurred to me as I sucked on Chuck's cock that the sperm that was now roiling in the balls I was fondling was about to be shot into my mouth. Maybe I should have been repelled by this thought. Strangely, I wasn't.

Chuck was ramping up to an orgasm. He pushed is legs out straight and began thrusting his hips. His hands were holding my head firmly and indicating the rhythm he wanted me to maintain. I looked up out of the tops of my eyes and saw that his head was thrown back. Like me, he was completely in the moment.

I moaned again, this time consciously, hoping the vibrations would urge Chuck on. And suddenly, he was cumming. His hips thrust up hard and my mouth filled with his load. Not once, or twice, but over and over again.

I can't say that it was a taste that I immediately took to. It was salty and kind of pungent. I don't think I would have liked simply swallowing a tablespoon of it. But the whole scene was so exciting, so erotic, that the actual taste of Chuck's cum was a side issue. I wanted to feel it fill my mouth and, when it did, more than anything I wanted—no I needed—to swallow it.

It was a good thing that the partners' meeting was in the evening and Phyllis had already gone home. Chuck thrust and spewed for quite a while and he wasn't particularly quiet about it. In fact, I should have worried that his roar could be heard in neighboring offices. But, instead, I was just amazingly proud of myself for having brought Chuck to such crashing orgasm. If my new role in the firm was to make sure that Chuck was sexually satisfied, I was completely confident that, in that role, I was pulling my weight.

When Chuck's orgasm subsided and I'd swallowed all of his load, I pulled off his cock. Now, being "in the moment" was no longer an option. I felt awkward, embarrassed. How could I look him, or Steve for that matter, in the eye now, or ever? I rocked back on my heels, pondering my fate. But not for long.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Steve said, rather louder than necessary. "Jesus Fucking Christ! ... What a fucking incredible blowjob! ... My God!"

I didn't look at Steve. I looked up at Chuck. He'd opened his eyes in response to Steve's interjection. For a moment, Chuck's eyes locked on to mine. There was an uncomfortable moment of uncertainty in both of our faces, I think. Then, I saw a slight smile—not a demeaning sneer—on Chuck's face and I couldn't help beaming with pleasure. Chuck smiled in response. For just a moment—for a magical moment—there was some strange and wonderful bond between us.

Steve broke that. "Okay, I've never seen anything like that." I was wondering whether I should feel proud, or humiliated. "Here's the deal Nathan. ... It's not just Chuck that you're going to be taking care of."

I was still recovering but, after a beat or two, I managed to point out that Steve was married (to a beautiful woman, too, though I didn't mention that).

"Yeah, but she doesn't suck like that!"

I looked up at Chuck. He was still in a semi-comatose state and wasn't going to intervene to stop this. I looked back at Steve and knew that he was serious.

"I mean it Nathan. Get over here," Steve commanded.

Well, as they say, "in for a penny, in for a pound." I got up and walked over to where Steve was sitting. He was getting his pants off as I sank to my knees. How does a guy go from having never touched another guy's cock to taking two in his mouth in a matter of minutes? Well, I knew how I'd gotten to this place. But I was still stunned by it.

I guess Steve got turned on by watching me with Chuck because his cock was hard before I touched it. That's not to say that it didn't get even harder when I took it in my hand. It did. And Steve rotated his pelvis upward and moaned slightly. He may have a gorgeous wife but he was sure looking forward to getting his cock in my mouth.

I stroked him for a while. To tell the truth, my jaw was sore from stretching to accommodate Chuck's cock and I wanted to give it a rest. The closer I could get Steve to shooting off before I took him in my mouth, the better, as far as I was concerned.