Usilo

I was a technical team lead at an Internet start-up company when she was hired. She had no background in the work she would be doing, but then, very few us did when we first started there. She wasn’t unintilligent, just more streetsmart than booksmart; it took her some time to ramp up to the job, but she was motivated and persistent. Unfortunately, she was also young and attractive; her supervisors had trouble looking past their own desire to fuck her, which made her less of an employee and more of a target.

I say supervisors, and that included me. But although I found her attractive (it was hard not to), I also had her clearly marked as untouchable. Those who know me, know that my morality is malleable. My ethics, however, are not. She was dating my supervisor (and friend)’s brother. She reported to me. That was the end of it.

Still, I did spend some time with her and when she began studying for certification, I tutored her in the evening. When I moved to another division as a manager, I continued to talk to her over the occasional smoke break (I’d either smoke a clove, or simply keep her company) and my technical mentorship became a more personal one. She trusted and looked up to me.

I knew I could take advantage of her. In the past, I’d done so in similar circumstances. But never at work. And never at the expense of a friend. My lines held.

Eventually the company laid everyone off. By then she was no longer dating my friend’s brother. Within a year, she got married, had a kid, and moved to California. We kept in touch, exchanging IM’s every once in a while, but I didn’t expect to ever see her again.

One evening she IM’d me and asked me to take a look at some pictures she’d sent her husband (who was, at the time, in Maryland); apparently, he hadn’t appreciated them as much as she thought he should have. The pictures were clearly intended for a specific effect.

She was no longer working for me. No longer dating a friend’s brother. I was free to do as I wish. Old habits die hard, and I found myself testing the waters.

Fast-forward a year. She was now living in Maryland again. One night, when her child was being watched by her mother-in-law, she invited me out to dinner. I accepted. We got tipsy and had a great time. A few months later I invited her to come by my place for margaritas.

Half a bottle of Jose Cuervo later found us in my study watching a small video clip of a woman getting off for the first time.

She turned to me, stared straight into my eyes, and said, “This is making me horny.” Her hands went to my belt. A single moment’s hesitation and I decided to go with it.

—

I didn’t see her again for several months, but we continued to keep in touch. Things got worse with her husband, who was addicted to both alcohol and prostitutes. During one of his 72-hour drunken binges, she needed a place to stay and I told her she could come over. Almost inevitably, things progressed to her laying naked on my bed again. This time my hesitation came after the clothes were already off.

It simply didn’t feel right.

Her past, as I put it together, saw everyone in her life blatantly using her for something.

Which brings us to why I started writing this. I write often of using someone. I talk of ownership and possession. I describe the feeling of taking someone, making them into a tool for my personal pleasure.

The difference, to me, is that I want to own someone who understands their worth. The thrill of taking someone apart is because they know the price of their gift. Not to spite it.

And she clearly did not. For most of her life, her body had been a commodity for others – long enough for her to begin to feel the same. No matter how finely tuned my sense of motive, I simply could not tell how much of the reason for her being naked and wet on my bed was out of a desire for me, and how much was for simply letting her stay the night.

I have no illusions. I often use whatever tools I have at my fingertips to capture someone’s attention; sometimes it is wit and cruel empathy. Sometimes it is money and power. But those are the hooks. If I can’t ultimately pull someone into my world through just my words and actions, I have no interest in going further.

It wasn’t that I was taking advantage of her, something I have little problem with. It was that I couldn’t tell if it was mutual.

—

This is where being a gentleman comes in. Because here is where I needed to do the right thing and make it clear to her my intentions. The price of my hospitality may, as part of the game, include a certain sexual edge.

It did not include removing any part of her dignity.