My Turn for an Intern: Lost Chapter from The Imperfect Enjoyment
Posted by Dewan Gibson | Filed under Humor, Short Stories
Joke All U Want, She's Ain't That Bad
I was pulling files from my old jump drive and notice I had a section of deleted chapters from my book The Imperfect Enjoyment. I figured they would slowly drift off into no man’s land so I’ve decided to periodically post a few. Here’s the first, which is about an intern and motorcycle tracks in underwear.
MY TURN FOR AN INTERN
As a college educator and health care professional I’ve always felt a strong obligation to help 18 and 19 year olds reach their potential. While the freshman level courses I teach may not be of the utmost importance to a student’s career, my guidance for life outside of the classroom is vital to their success. By offering “profound” advice such as “failure to plan is planning to fail” and “it’s not really sex if you’re wearing a condom,” I have been able to steer many young adults in the direction towards self-actualization. However, what I enjoy most are the lessons I learn from them. From the importance of skipping work “just cause I freakin’ feel like it,” to partying through a hangover, I recognize that the 18 to 19 year old crowd has valuable advice for adults of any age. With this being said nothing could prepare me to be schooled by a young and extremely gifted summer intern.
I didn’t notice her arrival in the office. You would think that with my extreme visual perverseness I would notice every new employee, particularly young big-breasted interns, but somehow she was missed. We actually only worked together about once a week, as I spent most of my time out the office on official slack off assignment (which mainly consisted of browsing at Border’s books, eating lunch at home, and on Mondays…I’m ashamed to admit…enjoying an afternoon beat-off to the newly posted assparade.com updates).
As for Tiffany she was your usual bright eyed and eager to please intern, seemingly unaffected by the banality of a typical 8 to 5 workday. I often watched her stroll into my office to make copies, with an enthusiasm that made it seem as if she talked about work after work, thought about work before work, and actually focused on work during work. In contrast to my own sloth-like work ethic she was an all-star employee. While I sat daydreaming of ways to get the corporate foot off my throat or at the very least make everyday somewhat as interesting as my Monday slack sessions spent online, Tiffany actually earned her meager pay.
A couple of weeks passed and I would continue to watch Tiffany as she made copies. In return she would ignore me, save for a cold hello, which of course women are innately skilled at. In paying you no attention at all, women give the impression that they either cannot stand to be around you or are so turned on by you that they can’t bare to look. With Tiffany I like to believe it was the latter. Although I’m not sure how much attraction there is in a guy who has bones for abs and a forehead that has outgrown his hairline. Yet, I guess there was something because Tiffany would send me a surprising email one night after work.
I arrive home from work, log on to my computer and see a Myspace message from Tiffany. Evidently she had looked me up online. In short, the message read “Hi, I’m not sure if you know me, but I work with you and wanted to say hello.” I reply and we begin a series of short, careful messages to one another. I look at her page and it’s plain to see, she’s only 18. Actually she just turned 18. I also see she enjoys going to her school’s football games and doing assorted other things I missed out on as a gremlin looking teenager.
I browse her page further and look at her Myspace friends list, as expected they are also 17 and 18 years old. I see one guy who could probably pass for the high school stud-jerk, has left message after message on her page. I check his profile and think “shit, he aint all that.” He reminds me of many of the guys I knew, envied, and disliked in high school. He looks like the type of guy that hit puberty in 6th grade and stretched his physical dominance out for an additional six years. While he was out fingering girls, I was checking my pubic region for any signs of growth, be it in hair or schlong. And once late bloomers like I finally hit our growth spurt in 10th grade it was too late, as his four previous years of physical dominance had left me unable to grasp the fact that I too was now physically capable. However, my revenge would come years down the road as I reached my social peak after college. I now had everything that he had in middle school, with a couple dollars in my pocket and access to women with mature tits and ass. He however, was a legend of the past. Unable to parlay his preteen mojo into a buckwild or at least stable adulthood, he now pushes carts at Target. Damn, I’m being a hater. This 18 year old on Tiffany’s page is probably a perfectly nice guy, an actual friend to subjugated and assorted high school guys weighing less than 100 pounds. Besides, it’s lame that I’m bashing 18 year guy whose profile I found while checking out an 18 year old girl on Myspace, and I’m how old…Oh yeah, 28.
Tiffany and I message back and forth and decide to meet after work at a bookstore café. We start to talk and I realize she’s more mature than I anticipated. Her hair is neatly parted. She’s wearing a cut top that accentuates her size D breasts, and best of all she’s not chewing gum. Somehow I’d imagined we’d talk and she’d be constantly smacking on bubbalicious, bazooka, or whatever gum is the “in gum” for young people. This would then lead me to think she probably wears panties that come in a three pack. That’s right panties, not underwear or thongs, plain cotton panties that are sold in a large bin at Walmart. The type of panties that you’d find as a boy while curiously sifting through your little sister’s dirty clothes, but quickly throw back down after realizing girls also leave motorcycle tracks in their draws. Yet, their tracks are not quite as brown and located in a different spot than that of yours as a boy…or as a man depending if you’ve been lucky enough to mature into a shit before shower guy (or meticulous ass-wiper) with a regular scheduled toilet time.
I continue my conversation with Tiffany and realize the jerk-stud guy that I should be ashamed of myself for criticizing is her boyfriend. She talks incessantly about him and his habits and I see she’s really into him. I’m fine with that and figure she must be seeking a mentor to guide her through the workplace and university. I offer her advice for college and that runs the course of our conversation. She does not pry into my private life and I return the favor. It is strictly professional. Two young people (well one is older than he believes himself to be) discussing careers and opportunities for success.
Well that was before the text messages started. In a sudden flurry of interest Tiffany began a series of text messages that became naughtier as time passed. The messages started as typical complaints about the workday and then somehow progressed to “I hope you enjoy” texts with semi-nude camera phone pictures attached. Actually “semi-nude camera phone pics” is not an adequate description, they were in fact glamour shots. It looked as if she constructed a set, hired a costume and lingerie designer, and struck poses so fierce that even the platinum hair guy from America’s Top Model might be satisfied. She modeled with her breasts squeezed together and nipples erect. In other pictures she bent over on all fours filling the camera with her black man’s weakness. I was nearly satisfied and hadn’t even come close to touching her.
Tiffany and I then made plans to meet on a Friday night. As the day approached I was unsure of what to expect. She arrives in the biggest god damn pickup truck I’ve ever seen a woman drive. Of course this has nothing to do with the story, but I simply found that interesting. Once inside we exchange an awkward “I don’t know if we’re there yet hug.” I offer her a drink and she quickly obliges. Ok, good. Misdemeanor number one, furnishing a minor with alcohol, wasn’t so difficult. After a couple of drinks she pulls out her I-pod and asks if I like Dane Cook. I think “uhmm, well…hell naw. You have any Dave Chapelle?” Instead I say, “yeah he’s cool.” And that was the only encouragement she needed. She whips out the portable speakers and the two of us get down with Dane.
After an hour of listening to Dane describe his first blow job, the mood is set. Tiffany’s exuberant laughing has landed her prone on the couch. As her face comes to a rest near my lap I feel as I did during after school naps as a teen, in which I would slyly give the bottom half of Mom’s bed at least two powerful pumps during the course of my siesta. Even though my parents were also in the bed watching Oprah and I was “sleeping,” I felt it was my duty to oblige what nature had caused. And so it was with Tiffany.
I glance at Tiffany’s purse and notice she’s carrying a toothbrush. She might as well been carrying condoms marked with my initials, as it’s obvious she has plans to stay the night. I awkwardly stretch downward to give her a kiss her and feel the want in her breath. I then pull her on top of me for an early view of those breasts that will one day hang low. I roughly stroke and uncover what my eyes had stalked. Although I’m not typically a breast man, I tend to become one when two big titties are in suckling range. After feeding for a couple minutes Tiffany asks “Do you want a drink?” I’m in freak mode at this time so I figure her titties must do something special, like stretch over her shoulder to feed a crying African child in a twig sling-ring or lactate despite not giving birth I quickly realize she means more alcohol, so I hurriedly get up and pour two tequila shots. We drink up and I follow with a chaser of teenage nipple …deee-licious.
After this initial night together Tiffany and I would maintain a simple and comfortable relationship for the next six weeks, until she unexpectedly showed at my apartment. I was in the company of another young woman (with hips and thighs so round I felt like thanking the guy that had twice impregnated her and foolishly left) and failed to answer my cell phone that kept vibrating every 10 minutes. I briefly leave the apartment to grab my clothes from the washer and return to see Tiffany knocking at the door.
My heart jumps like it did in kindergarten when I accidentally let out a noxious fart whose sound was exacerbated by the friction of ass sitting Indian style on thin, cheap carpet. The fart was supposed to be silent and only somewhat deadly, but instead the entire class heard, smelled and laughed at my gastric issues. I’m 20 feet away from the door when Tiffany turns and spots me. Shit, too late to turn back around and hide out for five minutes. In her youthful naiveté she says “Hey I was calling you, why didn’t you answer?” In a hushed and serious tone, with a hint of territorial annoyance, I say “Sorry I’m busy and you can’t just show up here.” Her expression drops as if she heard Hannah Montana will cancel the final leg of her North American tour. Despite Tiffany being in a relationship of her own, she replies with a sarcastic and disgusted “sorry.” She turns and walks away, perhaps a bit less green and more mistrusting of men, but still only 18. I go back in my apartment, ashamed at the predicament and maybe a bit more mature, but still only 28 years old going on 19.
3 Responses to “My Turn for an Intern: Lost Chapter from The Imperfect Enjoyment”
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Rufus lol Says:
June 5th, 2009 at 8:42 pmWe’re waiting for u to write more stuff like this man!
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Rufus lol Says:
June 5th, 2009 at 8:43 pmOh yeah i forgot u pussy whipped lol
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