Lawyers in Heat - Part 3 - May 1, 2008

Look, maybe we could do something else together, Mrs. Robinson. Would you like to go to a movie?

- The Graduate (1967)

My first experience with the female lawyer libido in the law firm atmosphere was, not surprisingly, the office Christmas Party. We were at a ballroom in a hotel and I was standing near the bar, picking up a Dewars and water when Peter appeared to my left. "Don't move." He pushed my shoulder outward so my torso would better eclipse the line of sight between him and the dance floor behind me. "You're the only thing blocking her from seeing me."

"Who am I blocking?" I'd never seen Peter flustered like that. We'd been friends since shortly after he arrived at __________________ a few months after me. We went out drinking all the time and I'd never known him to be anything but the picture of control, the sort of permanently calm fellow who never got rattled by anything.

"Veronica... Veronica Kelly."

"Who's that?"

"She's one of the partners from my floor. Reddish hair, graying, tall? You know."

"I'm not sure." I turned to get a look at the woman.

"Don't look over there." He stopped me. "She's looking in this direction."

"What about her?"

"She wants me to go to the parking lot with her so she can suck my dick."

"What?"

"She asked if she could suck my dick."

"Why in the parking lot?"

"How should I know? I was just dancing with her and she leaned in and whispered in my ear, 'Let's go to the parking lot. I want to suck your cock.'"

"It's just strange. Why not suck your dick in the building?"

"I think she has a minivan."

"Some of those are pretty comfortable."

"This whole night's been fucked up. I told you about the ride over, right?"

"Possibly. I've had a few drinks."

"I was giving the money to the cab driver and when he turned around I realized it was one of my law school classmates. This dude from Vietnam. Real nice guy. Can you imagine that? Couldn't get a job and now he's driving a cab."

"I hope you tipped him well."

"And now this."

"I don't know... I think you should take Veronica up on the offer."

"She's twice my age. I wished her fucking kids a Merry Christmas when they visited the firm a week ago."

"You've never done the Mrs. Robinson thing?"

"There isn't enough vodka in this bar for that."

"I'll bet she gives a hell of a blow job."

"You want to pinch hit for me and find out?"

"Older chicks are amazing in the sack, particularly the lawyer types. They're all fucked up in the head. They think like guys."

"Exactly what I want - a middle aged woman who sucks dick like a man."

"I'm serious. They're crazy, but they know what they're doing in bed." It was hard to explain in the moment, on short notice, but there's something amazing about fucking a woman with years on you. Some of the best sex I'd had was with a crazy female law student many years my senior, and it happened every bit as randomly as Peter's situation had arisen.

It was my first year in law school and her name was Sharon. She was just a friend of a friend, a second year student I'd say hello to in passing and nothing more. We didn't have anything in common, at least on the surface. She was in her later thirties and I was twenty-three. I figured she was hitched, living with a husband and kids in the suburbs. There was never even the slightest sexual tension between us. Until one random Saturday in the spring, a week before exams. I was just walking through the lobby of the law school when she stopped me out of the blue.

"Hey, __________."

"Hi, Sharon." I smiled and kept moving.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Inside."

"'Inside.' Great answer. How come you never talk?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said, 'Why don't you ever talk?'"

I'd never paid much attention before, but standing eye to eye with her without any distractions around us I realized, Sharon was pretty hot. Thin, athletic, with high cheekbones and this silky, black hair. And you could see it in her eyes, from the way she stared right through me, never blinking, never blushing or turning away - the chick was nuts... Fearless, probably unstable, but in a good way. In all the right ways.

"I never hear you say anything. You're so quiet. Why?"

"I talk. I'm just usually trying to get out of this place, so I'm in a hurry."

"We should talk."

"Sure. What would you like to talk about?"

"Fucking. I think it'd be fun to fuck you."

"What?"

"You heard me. Do you want to fuck me?"

"Uh, yeh. I mean, of course I'd--" Every guy dreams of situations like this, but when you actually face one, you don't know what to say. Suddenly I was a sixteen year old virgin, fumbling with my prom date's bra strap, pretending to know what I was doing, pretending to be in control. Sharon knew that, and she got off on it - on watching me squirm and try to look composed, like this sort of thing happened all the time.

"Sure, uh... when?"

"Six."

"Today?"

"Is today bad?"

"No. No. Today's good."

"Great. I have to take care of a few things. I'll pick you up out front." Just like that, my night had taken a radical detour.

Sharon picked me up in front of the school at six sharp. "You want to get a drink?" I figured small talk was in order. "Not really." She stood on the gas and drove up a long winding road through the woods to a condominium on a bluff overlooking the city. I remember everything in the place was white and minimalist, like the futurist set in Woody Allen's Sleeper. Along the wall inside the door were stacks of perfectly folded towels in clear plastic bags and where the living room furniture would normally be was a bed, tightly made, Marine-style. And every line in the place was smooth and long, giving the appearance it had no crevices or spaces for anything to fall into, as though it were built to be hosed down after each use. Obviously, this wasn't anyone's home. This was a "fuck pad." I don't think it even had a television set.

The minute we got inside Sharon peeled her clothes off and put her hands on her hips. "Where do you want me?" were the only words she spoke. Other than doling out directives. "Bite my nipples." "Slap my ass." "Pull my hair." No games, no subtext... no hidden agendas. She told me exactly what she wanted and exactly how she wanted it. And damn could she fuck. It was the kind of sex where you forget everything in the world but the space between the blades of your pelvis. As I stood there in the middle of that awful law firm party listening to Peter I replayed the scene in my head, remembering laying in Sharon's bed, fucked senseless, watching the ceiling fan spin overhead, wondering how soon I could be hard enough to get inside her again.

"Yo, dude. Earth calling." Peter barked in my ear, dragging me out of the daydream and back into that terrible Christmas party.

"Sorry. Scotch does that to me."

"Look left, just with your head. Don't turn your body. See her? The tall woman?"

"The Derek Coleman sized chick?"

"Yep. That's Veronica."

"Oh, shit." I winced. "My Mrs. Robinson was a little different." Veronica was an Amazon, 6'0, with shoulders like a linebacker - technically feminine, but matronly, wearing one of those boxy business suits middle aged women favor with shocking white nylons. There was a deep seeded androgyny about the woman, a sort of "Janet Reno masculinity." From ten yards you could tell she was a deep baritone and could definitely palm a basketball. I suddenly went from visualizing Sharon lying naked on a bed to images of Peter peeling a huge pair of granny panties and support hose off Veronica in a van in the parking lot and her moaning in a Bea Arthur voice, "You've never seen a grey bush before, have you?"

"What did I tell you?" Peter whispered as she passed, moving around me to avoid being seen.

"You're right. That's not good." The more I looked at the woman, the more I had to wonder what the hell she was thinking. Did she really think Peter would say yes? That any man his age could ever be that hard up? Was this the only time she got drunk all year? How could she think that offer was anything but a recipe for extreme embarrassment?¹

I didn't ponder the question for too long. A person could go mad trying to find the "why?" behind these people and the things they did. I guess you could chalk it up to inexperience or native mental defect. Maybe a snap from reality, caused by too much time immersed in a law firm hierarchy, dealing in the abstract, forgetting the boundaries of normal human interaction. Perhaps they knew they could get away with it, that the people in management had been "institutionalized" in firm life for so long they'd never see any reason to bring the blade down on a fellow freak. Hell, Bill Morris hadn't suffered any fallout from grabbing an associate's breasts. He walked back into work the next day like nothing at all had happened. Using that as a benchmark, management would probably commend a partner for offering an associate a blow job - view it as a morale booster.²

Maybe, probably, it was just desperation, a futile need to try for what these hopeless sorts knew they'd never have... Or a deep seeded urge to be caught, "outed" for what they really were - forced from the field, absolved of its terminal anxieties and vacant pretensions. Why else would a grown man flip out and grab a woman's breasts or a soccer mom offer a hummer to a random associate? There's no understanding those people or those scenarios, no answering those questions... I knew that, and it didn't bother me. The better takeaway was just to know that you weren't one of them - that feeling alienated from most of everything and everyone you worked around in a law firm wasn't unhealthy in the least.

"I wasn't kidding." Peter slugged back his drink. "She's a big chick."

"You've got to get out of here. That's not a woman to be spurned - not a head full of liquor. She could overpower you."

"Unless you've got a teleporter, I can't move without being seen right now."

"My advice? Make a mad dash for the lobby. Just tear out of here, in a full on sprint. Do those shoes have rubber soles?"

"Wingtips?"

"They're shit for cornering, but you don't need that. Run straight ahead and never look back. Never stop moving until you're through the front doors."

"Right. It's the only way." Peter slugged back the last of his drink, put the glass on the bar and turned to make a run for the door.

"Wait." I grabbed his arm at the last second. "Do you have your friend's card?"

"My friend?" His eyes were darting around the room, obviously agitated I was holding him back. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The Vietnamese guy, with the cab. You'll need a getaway car waiting at the door."³

* * *

"Come on." Lisa popped the last button on her shirt. "This doesn't change your mind?" No matter how I put her off, she just seemed to get more determined.

"Do I owe this to Pinot Grigo or Chardonnay?"

"I'd do this sober. I wanted to see where you spend your day. You never invite me here and you never talk about it."

"There's a message in that." I turned off my computer and started putting on my jacket.

"Think of me like a cute associate." She sat on the edge of my desk. "We're working on a case together late at night and then suddenly we get swept up in the moment and start kissing and..." She leaned in and pulled on my tie.

"How about not." I smiled and clicked off my monitor.

"Why?"

"Because I want to stay attracted to you."

"You sure I can't change your mind?" She pulled the shirt back off her shoulders. "Nothing underneath."

I had a response on my tongue, but the words were far too harsh, coming far too quickly:

Christ, Lisa, I'm not going to fuck you here. This is where all the people who can't hope to screw anything outside this office fuck each other. It's their world. I'm just visiting, using the place for a paycheck, and I intend to keep that distance. The last thing I want to do is mix any image of you, in any way, with anything here.

The problem was, if I ranted like that I'd never stop. I'd ruin her mood and that would be a tragedy because yes, as soon as I got away from that office, as soon as we got home and I forgot the pointless slop of my day, I was going to fuck Lisa raw.

"You better put those away. People attack them around here."

"What?" She put her hands over her breasts.

"Please, just button them up." I turned out the light in my office and opened the door. The hallway was empty and the usual blue lights from the computer screens in the cubicles were off.

"I don't understand you. No one's around."

"Just assume I'm impotent here. Trust me. It's a good thing."

----------
¹ Or that someone might write a story about the situation like this one years later.
² Or a novel way to save cash on bonuses. "Hello, Johnson? Stanley Molbus here, from the Compensation Committee. I was thinking, what if we paid some of the bonuses in sexual favors? At 2000 hours you get a happy ending. At 2100 you get a hummer. Anything over 2200 is a rusty trombone."
³ He made it out, of course, or this would have been a much more sordid story.

Posted by PhilaLawyer at 9:15 AM

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Comments

You're buddy's chickenshit... Like Ben Franklin said, "ugly chicks are better to drill becuase they appreciate it more and ultimately try harder..." That's a quote my boy! To this day, everytime of think of Sharon, I can't believe she was afraid of me... Pizza! Pizza!

Dr. Hoffmann, thanks for everything and RIP.

PL: Franklin was good people. Fat, horny and all about bullshitting the French. But I prefer this exchange, with our mutual friend: "How do you get chicks?" "I talk to the ugly ones. The hot ones notice and think you're nice." I think he stole that from Warren Harding.

As to Sharon, the anal sex talk gave her pause. It's a tough opener (no pun intended). That or telling her you wanted to be a senator. That involves a little more biting than she liked.

"Don't murder me... I beg of you, don't murder me... I am a Kennedy..."

Posted by: Rosie Palmer at May 1, 2008 11:12 AM

I think you are a thematic or episodic writer with lots of introspection. You make me laugh at times. Your reductionisms seem original and innocent. I hope you don't run out of that incisive rationality which you seem to enjoy.

PL: Thank you. I'm just writing what everyone's thinking.

It's all just a game, and too many people are getting way too enveloped in the surface silliness these days.

Posted by: John Kimbert at May 1, 2008 01:11 PM

"It's their world. I'm just visiting, using the place for a paycheck,"

so, so true man.

Great story.

Posted by: Rhett at May 1, 2008 02:05 PM

Did the associate quit? Or also pretend that nothing happened?

PL: Left shortly afterward.

Posted by: Taephit at May 1, 2008 02:19 PM

Been reading since '05 and you are really starting to write everything your voice. You break the story up nicely when you go into your "Walter Mitty-esque hazes" then continue to segue in and out of inner thoughts and outward experiences all fitting under a relatable theme.

Congratulations!

PL: Mitty. Nice. Thanks.

Posted by: Evil Conservative at May 1, 2008 04:14 PM

hope you do a book tour, if you do, can you come to d.c.? would like to get your autograph and/or buy you a beer

PL: Damn shame the pricks at the Mayflower won't let you light up in the bar anymore.

Yes.

Posted by: that guy at May 1, 2008 04:18 PM

"And damn could she fuck. It was the kind of sex where you forget everything in the world but the space between the blades of your pelvis."

I know exactly what you're talking about. I remember my first encounter, which involved her standing completely naked in her room an impossible 10 seconds after I followed in. When we were done fucking, I actually said aloud, "I think that is the best sex I will ever have."

She responded, "Really?"

And then I gave some awkward speech along the lines, "well, I mean, I guess I can have this sex again, but I meant that after you, but not saying that we're done now, but that uhhh for all future girls, you've ruined it, again not saying that we don't have a future, just that if we didn't, I'm screwed."

Anyway, I can't wait for this book. This is Led Zeppelin III material.

One thing I'm wondering, are you going to work the book like you do these posts and have quotes preclude each part of a single mini-story arc? Will there be a huge overarching story arc? I'll understand if you've got to hold off on these details for now.

PL: It's a longer arc. Much longer.

I'm glad you flagged the "blades" line. That's one of my own favorites. Thanks for noticing.

Posted by: Gris at May 1, 2008 09:08 PM

Are you going to place endnotes in the book as well? If so, I would recommend footnotes so the reader doesn't have to tear himself away from the story. When I read these entries, I'm so involved I cant even bring myself to scroll down to the bottom of the page.

PL: God no. It will use footnotes. Endnotes would be wildly annoying. We only use them here because there's no option.

I'd love to have a mirror site for people whose firms or companies block access to this one, where each page of text would be just like a page in a book, but that's a serious pain in the ass.

Posted by: jay at May 2, 2008 01:33 PM

Classic - "every guy dreams of situations like this..." and then he shits a winnebago the moment it happens.

I also loved the "sorry scotch does that to me line" Diverting from what you knew was distracting you, going back to the principle that, no matter how close someone from work might seem, you can never, never, let them into the personal life.

PL: It's the age thing. If a chick's old enough to be secure enough to ask for it point blank, she's also saying "and you'd better be good at it."

Posted by: Tim at May 2, 2008 07:53 PM

I really enjoy the way you employ reference and allusion in your work... almost Denis Miller-esque. I particularly appreciate the nods to Derek Coleman and Julia Child. Thank you. I think you should try to incorporate "Harold and Maude" in one of your stories.

PL: Coleman and Child took up about the same space in the paint.

And stop biting women's backs, you sick bastard.

Posted by: Marv Albert at May 3, 2008 01:24 PM

I would like to thank you, Philalawyer. You have introduced me to my favorite beer (Anchor Porter).

Really enjoy the blog, man. You should put Tallahassee on that book tour.

PL: Also try anything by Belle's or Dogfishead. Amazing shit, and 10% alcohol levels.

Posted by: Jon at May 3, 2008 07:37 PM

"I'm just writing what everyone's thinking." As a student at wharton (undergrad), where students tend to have a mindset that resembles that of the lawyers you describe on many levels, I wish that were true. Most of these people don't even seem to have these thoughts, this fray of midterms and team evaluations, and beating the curve to hopefully land a job working 90 hours a week one day...its all they have. Its not a means, barely an end, its their entire lives, and I think few of them have ever taken the time to look at this situation from a removed perspective and ask "why?"

on an unrelated note, as long as I'm in Philly the next few years, any local beers or imports (to be found, say, at monk's) you'd recommend?

PL: Delirium Tremors - the best Belgian in the world.

But fuck Monk's... It's the only bar in town where the bartender cut me off, in front of a bunch of people. Said I "looked like I wasn't well." Embarrassing. I was with friends and their older relatives.

By the way, everyone raves about the mussels, but the calamari is better.

Posted by: Julian at May 4, 2008 07:01 PM

I have been reading your blog for about a year and thoroughly enjoying it. I just felt the need to voice my support of Hopslam, Expedition Stout, and 90 Minute after reading your replies to the comments in this post. What do you think of the Victory beers?

PL: I like Victory Hop Devil, particularly on tap.

Expedition Stout? Is that the case from Dogfishead with the yellow lettering on the outside? I haven't had that yet.

Posted by: Andrew at May 5, 2008 01:46 AM

How are you going to do a book tour and still maintain your anonymity?

PL: Burqa.

Posted by: Chuck at May 5, 2008 01:48 AM

Nah, it's another great Bell's beer. I very much enjoy Victory's Old Horizontal as well as their Hop Devil.

Delirium Tremors as the best Belgian? I haven't had it yet, but I shall give it a try. I don't know if it will best a Rochefort 8 or 10 though...

PL: Well, your tastes are clearly more advanced than mine. DT is the best generally available Belgian. I don't think I've explored that type of brew as much as you have. I mean, I still like a simple Chimay as much as any other.

Posted by: Andrew at May 5, 2008 11:21 AM

My apologies, I didn't mean to come across like that. I genuinely appreciate the suggestion and wouldn't say that I have advanced tastes (I still think Chimay is pretty upscale). I am just a college kid with friends who got me into way too good and way too expensive booze. I wish I still enjoyed a cheap labatt blue.
Thanks for the replies and I must say that I enjoy your blog immensely.

PL: No apology necessary for liking good booze. Here's a tip, though... Drink bourbon. Most bang for your buck. Trust me.
On the compliment, thanks.

Posted by: Andrew at May 5, 2008 02:07 PM

Thank you for the reply about the beers. I'm, above all else, a huge bourbon fan. This year I decided to try a bunch to find my favorite. After dismissing Jack (which, yes, isn't technically bourbon) and Jim, I've been through grandad, wild turkey 101, maker's, knob creek and bulleit. For the record, in my opinion, bulleit is the best out of them, and the cheaper than maker's. Try it if you haven't.
Anything you'd recommend that I might've missed? I've heard good things about baker's and booker's but I'm not sure if they're worth the price tag.

PL: Basil Hayden's (Excellent, light, 80 proof); Woodford Reserve (really, really tasty); Maker's Gold Label (if you can find it). Baker's is good, but too strong and sharp to enjoy in any real volume. Booker's is a novelty item to offer to guests. 137 proof is overkill.

Posted by: Julian at May 5, 2008 09:24 PM

I prefer Buffalo Trace for the price. Quality bourbon.

Posted by: Jon at May 6, 2008 02:53 PM

Great stuff as always, and I definitely agree on Delirium, but why is it Tremors in some places, is that a marketing thing? I always used to see it as Delirium Tremens. It may just my inner science geek but I always liked the Latin medical name. I still remember the day I could afford to switch from 40s of OE to those big white bottles with the blue foil and the cork.

PL: I think the correct brand name is Tremens. My bad.

Posted by: BJ at May 7, 2008 11:41 PM

No, no, you weren't wrong, I have definitely seen both, it seems like in more "pub" bars it is Tremors (on posters and everything) but in "beer" bars and if you get bottles from a grocer it is Tremens... always found it weird, but no less delicious. Probably some ad exec or importer/distributor decided people would prefer an English name; it means the same thing and it looks almost exactly the same. Whatever, you just say "De;irium" anyway its very rare to find any of their other brews.

Posted by: BJ at May 8, 2008 03:43 PM

Though its possible I was just drunk and saw the "e" as an "o" and the "n" as an "r"...like i said it did look very similar. I think I remember the bartender calling it tremors, but that stuff sure sneaks up on you. Quite possibly too tasty.

PL: Sierra Nevada Bigfoot will sneak up on you even faster, as will Bell's Hopslam.

Posted by: BJ at May 8, 2008 04:18 PM

Way too late to the party, but if anyone reads this, especially PL, I would have to reccomend Stone's Arrogant Bastard Ale as one of the top five liquids ever created. Of course, when someone like myself or PL drinks it, it's technically called canablism.

Posted by: Samalama at June 3, 2008 01:15 PM

If Founders is available in your area (it's brewed in Michigan, and I think I read it's sent out to PA and a few other states), you should definitely check them out. My favorites are Dirty Bastard and Centennial IPA. I've also heard great things about their Imperial Stout and Breakfast Stout.

ABVs are 8.3, 7.2, 10 and 8.3%, respectively.

PL: I can get it. Thanks for the advice.

Posted by: David at November 26, 2008 11:56 AM