The Girl Who Lived a Limerick

"There are aspects of my job that I feel I have to do, but every one of my partners, without exception, could not handle it. Also, I can be a bit of an exhibitionist, just mild stuff, but my boyfriends did not like that, either. But really, it's my job on Friday nights that they just do not tolerate."

Sally continued, "Monday I am planning to quit my job, and I will find another job which does not have such distasteful duties," she said. "So, don't you worry, Harry, in case you like me romantically. And I hope you do, by the way."

I said, "Won't you miss those Friday night aspects?" I knew that was a mistake as soon as I said it. Sally looked at me. I saw in her eyes that she knew that I knew. I could see the epiphany: I lived next door. I could be one of her voyeurs. Of course! She must have felt like a fool. I saw fear rise in her eyes.

I said, "I do indeed like you romantically, Sally. I am always happy when I'm around you. And as for your job, I'm glad you plan to quit. You'll be happier with a different boss. And if I'm lucky enough to become your boyfriend, no matter what you do, I can handle it, as long as you always love me."

Sally exhaled. She had been holding her breath. She leaned across the table right there in Gotham Restaurant, and she kissed me. She gave me a lingering, open mouth kiss, our first. I was glad to smell her aperitif on her breath, and not the cum from one of the men the previous night.

Sally asked me what I do for a living. "You never told me, I realize. Now you have to tell me. You know much more about me than I thought! You can see into my apartment, can't you?"

She had asked two questions. I got to choose which one to answer. I said, "Yes. One of my windows faces your bedroom."

"Oh, my God," Sally said, very softly. "And you still want to date me? Even after...?"

"Yes," I said.

"You saw the whole thing last night? You watched me during that...that..."

"Sexual extravaganza?" I helpfully supplied.

Sally laughed. "Yes. That. I guess you did watch. Do you want me to explain?"

"No," was all that I said.

"And yet here you are. You are honoring our date. Will this be our last date?" Sally asked. She looked so nervous, anxious, and worried.

"It won't be our last date as far as I am concerned. You're one in a million, Sally, and I don't have the time nor the inclination to look through another million women trying to find another," I said.

I did not get to enjoy Sally's sexual charms that night. She told me it was too soon after her horrific time the night before, and she now knew that I understood. She knew I had seen it all. What she did not know was that I had heard everything, and I knew why she had done it. I did not approve, but I understood. I had indeed seen all of it. All of it, that is, until I could not take it anymore and went to bed myself.

Sally seemed to be struggling, deciding on whether to tell me something. Finally, she inhaled deeply and plunged in. "Let me explain, Harry," Sally said. "I take investors to bed. You've figured that out. It helps the firm tremendously. I can see it in some of their eyes when I make my presentations. Some men mentally undress me while I'm speaking, and for those men the promise of sex with me tips the scales in our firm's favor. But it only works when we had basically won their money before the sex. So, in some sense, it might be superfluous."

"Always on Friday nights?" I asked. Sally nodded.

"That's why my previous boyfriends all left me, and why you will leave me, too, I guess. Boyfriends cannot handle that I do that. It's not just because I feel I need to do it for my job," and Sally paused. The next phrase she said in a barely audible whisper. "I also love it. I'm a submissive, Harry. It gets me off."

Sally's voice returned to normal. "But I don't have to be. I loved having normal sex with my boyfriends; it just wasn't enough. I'm sorry, Harry. I like you, and I think we have potential as a couple, but I'm sure we're doomed, just like the others before you." Sally was on the verge of tears at this point, I could tell.

"But if you're okay with no promises, I'm going to try to be normal with you, with no exceptions. I am going to quit my job on Monday. I can't work with Frank anymore, now that he has, well, you know."

I knew. I nodded.

Sally did try to quit her job on Monday, but she was cajoled, pressured, and finally financially forced to stay on. When she came home at the end of the day, she sat in her kitchen and cried for a long time. Then, in a fit of vulnerability, needing a human touch, she did not call her sister, nor her mother, nor a girlfriend; she called me.

It was obvious on the phone that Sally was an emotional wreck, and I came over right away, bringing with me two bottles of wine: a nice merlot, and a delicious, chilled Sancerre. It's always nice to have a choice. Just in case, I grabbed some weed, too. I sort of knew Sally would refuse the weed, though. For courage as to what I was about to face, I had a quick glass of Scotch whiskey, myself.

Sally had taped a note on the door. It said, "Harry: Come on in. The door's open." I came in and I saw her on the couch, still dressed in her work clothes, crying her sweet baby blue eyes out. Crying is good: it changes the body chemistry, helping one adjust to the misery that causes it in the first place. It's part of my medical knowledge.

I said nothing. I poured us each a glass of Sancerre (white wine before red is one of the mottos of my life), and I sat down next to her. She too said nothing, she only whimpered. She instantly cuddled next to me, leaning her head on my shoulder.

We sat there in silence for a long time, over half an hour. From time to time I would raise her glass of wine to her lips and she would take a small sip. I have a weakness, I think, for women when they look vulnerable. I have never seen a woman look more vulnerable than Sally looked just then. The contrast with her other two personas (extreme competence and efficiency is one; happy, carefree, and full of brilliant smiles is the other) was huge. She was not just vulnerable: she was defeated.

When her whimpers ended, after around 40 minutes, and she was using the last Kleenex from the box to dry her eyes, we began to talk. It took quite a while, but in summary, her story was this: The hedge fund had used Sally's talents to the max: Her presentations to potential investors were among the best in New York. She had created the three best strategies the firm used. She was a prime asset the firm could not afford to lose.

That she helped solidify nervous investors who wanted to commit but were scared, using her body so magnificently, was not mentioned. Nor was the violation of her boss deciding to see what all the fuss was about and joining in. He was hooked on Sally. He even got down on his knees, right in front of half of the company. He presented her with a diamond ring he had picked up that morning at Harry Winston. She said no.

Rejected, her boss got angry. He was humiliated in front of his colleagues, and he took his revenge on Sally. There was a clause in the hundreds of pages she had signed when she began work at the firm. It was not just the usual boilerplate non-compete clause; it was a claw-back clause forcing her to return all benefits she had received above and beyond the minimum salary as a secretary. This was if she quit before the first 7 years at the company. It's an unusual condition, but she had agreed to it. She saw her own signature staring at her on the page.

She would also, of course, be blackballed. Rumors would spread that she had embezzled. They might even have her arrested, just to harass her. She would never work again for a hedge fund, and that's what she knew how to do.

With the money she would have left after the claw-back, her rent would not be affordable, and she would be dirt poor. She would also be evicted, and at least temporarily homeless. All the work she had done in NY for the last three years, all the success she had brought to the firm, all the men she had, well, you know, for the firm, all that would be gone. She would have to return to St. Paul.

All that took about 45 minutes to get out, with lots of tears and cries of hopeless desperation. She ended with, "The only good thing that has happened to me in New York is meeting you, Harry. And we have not yet even made love! I've slept with every man on Wall Street, and not yet with the man I love."

The "not yet with the man I love" is the only part that registered with me. Sally loves me? Or is it the sobbing desperation talking, and not the heart of the woman? Well, Harry, I thought to myself, believe what you want to believe: Sally loves me. I said, "Sally, I love you, too."

"Oh, Harry. You're such a sweet man. The sweetest man I've ever met. I do not deserve you. It's nice of you to try to cheer me up. But I know you cannot possibly love me after what you saw me do last night, and shit Harry, I was not coerced. I enjoyed it; I was not faking it! You cannot possibly love me knowing all that," Sally said. "Nobody can. No sane man wants a woman like me." Then she bawled.

"Sally, listen to me," I said. "I love you. I want you with me always. I'm not perfect, either, but I love you and I hope you really do love me. And I am sane, I assure you. Love is not rational. It just is."

We sat there. I broke the silence when I said, "Show me the ring."

"I threw it at him," she said, and we both laughed. "He's married! And he's married to the most wonderful woman I know. And he has two children! And yet he tried that shit? Just because he tricked me into fucking him on Saturday?"

"I'm sure it's more than that. He works with you all the time. You are a sexpot, and a sweetheart. Every man on Earth wants to bed you, to be with you, to be loved by you, Sally."

"And most of them have," she said, "Bedded me, that is." She spoke with a bitter laugh, and then she broke down crying again. She picked up her laptop, went online, and found the ring her boss had presented to her, from the Harry Winston web page. It was a $70,000 diamond engagement ring. It was one hell of a ring. "June has the same ring," she said. "He bought me the same ring as the one he bought his wife. Can you believe this?"

"Am I supposed to work with this pig, day after day? He now feels he can pinch my ass whenever he wants. And he does it in front of everyone. The whole office knows he fucked me. He's even told some of the men that I climaxed while he fucked me. It's so embarrassing, and shameful. I am going to be living in a state of constant humiliation," she said.

"I have an idea," I said. "It's a little sketchy, but it might work."

"I don't do sketchy," she said. "I do two men at once, even three if you count my boss. I do anal, I do bondage, I do most anything men want. But I don't do sketchy." Somehow Sally managed to convey total disgust with herself while saying that.

"Okay," I said. I just sat there, with her leaning on me, occasionally breaking down into fits of tears, for the next couple of hours. At one point, I found some things in her kitchen, and I made us some dinner. We ate it on the couch, and then we kissed, wonderfully, for around 15 minutes. I fondled her boobs a little through her clothes, and she softly moaned while I did that. But she was in no shape for me to push things, and I went home.

I woke at 5am. My doorbell was ringing, and whoever it was, he just kept ringing. I figured it was important. Some of my immediate neighbors in the building know that I had been a paramedic when in college, and I figured maybe a neighbor needed some medical help.

Another possibility was Mary Beth. She lives next door, and we got it on a few times. I like her, and she's good in bed. It was just neighborly sex, I guess. When she's horny, or emotionally needy, or just lonely and having trouble sleeping, sometimes she knocks.

So I prepared for Mary Beth at the door, and I was mentally prepared for a neighbor needing some medical help or advice. I was not, however, mentally prepared for what greeted me at the door. I put on my bathrobe and answered the door. Sally was there.

"How did you get in the building?" I asked.

"Your neighbor Mary Beth was coming home late from a date. She let me in. She was upset. Apparently, the date went badly, and she barely escaped a date rape. After I gave her comfort, we talked an hour or so. We talked mostly about you. She has a crush on you, you know. Did you two have a fling or something? She's very pretty. She says you are great in bed. You're also great standing up, and with her leaning over the kitchen counter. You're the best she's ever had. But it's over, she said. She cried, while I secretly smiled," Sally said all this at her 90 mph speed of speech.

"Mary Beth also watches me from her window, by the way," Sally continued, but now at a more natural speed of speech. "You could invite her over for my next show. You two could have another fling while you both watch. She would be thrilled." The last two sentences she said with traces of bitterness. I guess it was jealousy, actually.

Sally was wearing a long raincoat, which seemed strange since we were in a sunny period in New York, with no rain forecast for at least the next week. She was holding a bottle of good Scotch and a box of high quality chocolate creams. "May I come in?" she asked. "It's nicer than talking to you at your door, you know."

I gestured for her to come in. She walked around the apartment, checking it out, and ending in my bedroom. She had picked up two glasses in the kitchen, "Sorry for the mess. I was not expecting company at 5am," I said.

"Shush," Sally said. She poured us each a glass of Scotch, and offered me a chocolate cream. We each took one. "Eat and drink," Sally commanded.

We ate and drank. We were both silent. Sally rose, stood before me, and took off her raincoat. She had been naked under the coat, and now she was naked in front of me. "I hope I look better in person than in my window," she said. "What is that thing?" she asked, pointing to my parabolic microphone.

"It's a parabolic microphone. With it, I can listen to your moans, while you fuck the investors," I said, being brutally honest.

"Seriously?" she asked. "Does it really work?"

I nodded. I turned it on. "Listen," I said. "We can just barely hear your bedroom clock ticking."

"That is so cool! You are such a classy voyeur! I am so, so lucky," Sally said. She fell onto the bed, pulled me onto her, and kissed me passionately. When we came up for air, she said, "Lose the bathrobe." She said it with authority, so what could I do? I complied.

It was the best early morning of my life, and I will never forget it. I confirmed what I knew in my heart already to be true: Sally and I are sexually compatible. Boy, are we!

The next day I went to midtown, to Harry Winston. I bought an expensive diamond ring, even if it cost nowhere near $70k. Sally did not throw it at me; instead she slipped it on the ring finger of her left hand. It was too big, but Harry Winston resizes its rings for free. They should, given their prices!

Sally looked at me, scared. We kissed. We kissed again. And again. And again. Sally sighed. It was the glorious sigh of true contentment.

"What about Friday nights? You still going to work?" I asked.

"You don't understand, Harry. I'm really good. I'm the best woman in the entire hedge fund profession. This gives me an aura. I'm powerful. When a woman is powerful, pretty, and vulnerable, and she is presenting to these rich and powerful men, well basically it has the structure of a seduction," Sally explained.

Sally paused briefly, and then continued, "These men do not want to be seduced. They consider themselves to be 'the masters of the universe.' No, they want to seduce the woman. They want to dominate the woman. They want to punish the woman. They want to punish her for being strong. For tempting them. For making them feel desire they cannot control."

"The stronger, smarter, and better the woman is, the more they want to dominate her, to make her submit. Sex is a powerful way for them to do that. And, to be honest, I do love to submit and to be sexually used. It turns me on to a ferocious extent. It works, you know?" Sally said. "Before I fell in love with you, it was a win-win kind of thing."

"That makes sense to me. But as you say, that was before. Now you're mine. You don't have sex with a man again unless I tell you to. Unless I say you can," I said forcefully, hoping that might work. I did not know how to dominate a woman; I was making this up as I went along. I did not really want to dominate Sally, I just wanted to love Sally. I wanted her to love me, and to love only me.

It worked. Sally said, "God, I love you, Harry. I do. I love you so much. Okay: Only you from now on, unless you tell me different. I'm yours. Tell me what to do."

"Take off your clothes, Sally," I said. It was the first thing that came into my head.

"Here? Now?" Sally asked. She was trembling. We were in a park in the East Village. It was a community garden with a donation box. It was overgrown in a charming way, and nobody could see us from the street. Well, maybe they could if they carefully peeked through the plants, or something. Of course, anyone could enter the park at any time, and a few steps later they would see a vivacious, naked Sally.

"Yes," I said.

Sally removed her halter top. She was not wearing a bra, so now all that was left was her skirt. Her skirt is designed to be a constant tease: a fluffy, swishy skirt that is so short you always think a breeze will blow it up to show her panties, and it might, if she didn't hold it down with her hands during strong wind gusts. "Now your panties," I said. Sally slipped them off. She had no hesitation. Wow, I thought.

All that remained was her skirt and her shoes. She nervously looked around. "Give me your panties," I said. She did. She looked around some more. "Now lose the skirt."

Sally looked at me. If she took off her skirt she would be naked in a public park. I looked back at her. This was the moment: Would she submit? Sally slipped out of the skirt, and stood there, naked, nervously trembling before me. I suddenly realized she was hopelessly aroused. Her breath was uneven, and her pussy was glisteningly wet.

I got a thrill. I had never controlled a woman before, or even another human being. This was easy, and yes, I loved it. It was sexy, too.

"Good girl," I said. "Now come here and kiss me." Sally smiled, walked confidently the two feet distance to me, and she kissed me. I squeezed her ass, and she groaned. My fingers found her pussy and she moaned. A few minutes of some deft fingering, and she started to slip to her knees, but I held her up. "I love you, Harry."

I knew I had a strange woman on my hands, but boy did I love it. "I love you too, Sally. Let's fly to Vegas and get married."

"Now?"

"Now."

"Can I get dressed first?" Sally asked, and we both laughed. Sally dressed. There are few cabs in the far east of the East Village, so I ordered up a Lyft car.

That was ten years ago. It's been a tumultuous ten years, but we're still together, and we love each other more than we ever have. Sally has stayed just as beautiful, and just as sexy, even though she is now 35. Our daughter, by the way, is six, and she is quite precious.

Sally still works for the same asshole boss, and she still occasionally helps to convince hesitant investors in her time-honored way. We arrange it to make it a three way, so I am included. I record everything, and we watch it together, later. The hedge fund is flourishing, and we are both now rich.

We now live high up in a modern building, with large picture windows facing Central Park. Sally is still often nude in the window, and sometimes she makes love with her husband in the window, but only when our daughter is sound asleep. When you're six you can sleep through even Sally's moans.