Message-ID: <11509eli$9805221922@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: john_dark@anon.nymserver.com Subject: {Bombadil}JDR"Chosen A"( FF bd nc )[1/2] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <6k3cf0$46m$1@sparky.wolfe.net> JOHN DARK REPOST The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk. The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming Attractions," which includes the titles to be reposted in the next week. These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a comment to alt.sex.stories.d. Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories itself. Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way to encourage them to continue entertaining you. The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in any way. In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright below. If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as well. ===================== Disclaimer: All the standard rules apply. If you are offended by explicit descriptions of sex or the human body, if it is illegal to possess such materials at your location, if you are under-age by law in your location, or if somebody else thinks you might have too much fun reading it, stop right now and remove this text from your computer. This is purely a work of fiction, with all characters and actions described by me coming straight out of my imagination. As a work of fiction, it does not condone or condemn any of the activities or actions described, nor does it relate to any type of real events in my life, or known to me in the lives of any of my friends or relatives. You've been warned. Copyright (c) Tom Bombadil Nov 1996 I give permission for anyone to share or archive this story. ******************************************************************** ===================== Chosen Short Story # 7 by Tom Bombadil via stbush@iglou.com Section A: This whole situation started with a strange letter I received in the mail one day. It came in a plain white envelope, was typed (not laser printed) on plain paper, and simply said that I'd been chosen. Also on there was an address and a date, along with instructions that I was to show up there with nothing but myself and my purse. The date was three weeks in the future. It looked like a joke. It felt like a joke. It had to be some weirdo's idea of something funny. So I threw it onto the pile of junk mail on the shelf beside the door. I thought that would be the last I'd hear of it. Naturally I forgot all about it within five minutes. Two days later, at work, after I'd spent a few hours searching through old case files, I got called into the boss' office. Since I'm not yet a partner in the firm, he's still my boss. I expected that to change soon, though, after saving those three patent cases he thought we'd blown. Sixty five million is a lot of money. Our fee for winning was not insignificant. The plaque on the door read "Harold Reuter". Simple, elegant, no pretension whatsoever. Just like the man behind the door. "Hi Harold. What's up?" He disliked formalities around the office, unless there was a client nearby. He also hated to waste time on little things like pleasantries and small talk. "Hello Virginia. I was just trying to figure out how to spread your workload around, and I'd like some input on who you think should handle the McGruder problem." Alarm bells went off in my head. "Spread my workload around?" He looked at me like I should know exactly what he's talking about. My confusion was evident. "Well, yes. The work still has to be done while you're away. After all, this is a business." "Away?" He had lost me. Totally and completely. "Exactly. While you're away. Didn't you get your letter?" "Letter? What letter?" If I sounded confused, it's because I was. He wasn't helping me any. Not at all. "You know, the letter. The one saying you've been chosen. I got word of it yesterday, so I've been trying to figure out how to get you your two months off. Paid, of course. The only snag is these damned McGruder cases." Memories of that thing I'd received began to filter back. "Harold, what kind of a joke are you trying to pull here?" He looked at me with a rather pained expression on his face. "I don't joke around, Virginia." He was right, of course. In my ten years with the firm, I'd never heard of him joking about the work, the clients, or the company. Something began to feel bad, deep in the pit of my stomach. "What's going on? I get some wacko letter in the mail telling me that I've been 'chosen', and the next thing I know you're trying to book me time off work. What gives?" The expression on his face didn't change. "You've been chosen. What else is there to say?" "All right, I'll play this silly game for a while. I've been chosen. By whom? For what?" He shook his head. "Unimportant details. I don't know the answers, and even if I did, they wouldn't help you anyway. All that matters is that you have been chosen, and I have to make it so you have the time to go." There was a long, uncomfortable silence while I tried to find my voice and my composure. "Forget it! I'm not falling for some idiotic joke! No matter who's trying to pull it off! So you can forget about scheduling time off for me. I'll be here working right through to Christmas, at least." Since it was late spring, that meant long after any deadline for being 'chosen'. He smiled before he replied. I didn't like the look of that smile. It was the same one he used when closing in on an unsuspecting opponent in court. "Fine. It *is* your choice. I'll just finish up this little chore though, just in case you change your mind. Thank you for your help." I stared at him for a few seconds. He stared back, waiting for me to leave. So I did. Just before I got back to my office, I got hit by a freight train. That's what it felt like, anyway. Belinda, my assistant for the past four years, was holding me in a tight, very intimate hug, and she was kissing me. I mean, she was *kissing* me! It took some time, and not a little arm bending, to get her peeled off my body. It was the first time in four years that I'd seen her act in anything other than a strictly professional manner. "Virginia! I'm so excited! I just heard the news about you being chosen! It's so wonderful! I can't wait for you to get back! I just know we'll have so much fun together!" She knew too. How far was this joke going to spread, I wondered. Then there was that kiss she'd given me, and the hug. She was nicely put together, well padded in all the places I liked, and I *had* fantasized about her a fair bit, but I had never hit on her or made any kind of advance whatsoever. I didn't even know if she swung that way. She had to have been put up to it. "All right, Belinda. Enough's enough. Who put you up to this? Harold? Steven? Thomas?" Steven and Thomas were the two main funnymen and practical jokers in the building. Ninety-nine percent of the time, if something strange was happening, one or both of them were involved. For a second she looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "What would those idiots have to do with it?" She grinned again and grabbed me in another bear hug. "You've finally been chosen! I knew it would happen some day! I just knew it!" It took a while to extricate myself again. "Belinda, I have no idea what this chosen business is, and I have no intention of finding out. Now please, just tell me who's behind this joke, then we can all have a little laugh, and get back to work." I can't really describe the look that came over her. It was a mixture of shock, denial, a hint of fear, and several other things. She shook her head as if to reject what I'd said. Up until that moment I had considered her a very level headed, intelligent, and stable person. The bad feeling that had started in Harold's office got a little worse. "Virginia, you've been *chosen*! It's no joke, it's an Honour!" I swear that I heard her pronounce that capital 'H'. She looked like she was completely serious. "Look, Belinda, this has gone far enough. I have no intention of following up on this 'chosen' thing. None whatsoever. So whoever is behind it, whoever put you up to this, they can just take a flying leap." She looked like she was about to say something, so I cut her off. "No, no, I don't really care all that much about whose sick joke it is. I'm not interested in playing this game. Just forget it, and let's get back to work." She looked like she was about to cry. I had no idea what her involvement was, in what looked to be an elaborate charade, and didn't really care at that point. It was giving me bad vibes. Ignoring the whole business seemed like the best thing to do. Just before I closed my office door, I heard her whisper something to herself. I was sure I wasn't supposed to hear it, but I did. Her words, their implication, and what I remembered, shook me. I got virtually no work done for the rest of the day, and Belinda never said anything else about 'chosen'. The sad, puppy-dog looks she gave me were reminder enough. I stayed home that night, feeling a little shaken about the whole business. A nice hot bath, a quiet dinner, time alone with my cats, and a decent Steele novel made me feel a lot better. Around ten I got a call that made me feel a lot worse. Anna was one of my closest friends, despite the fact that we had never been intimate. I'd known her since my freshman year at UCLA. She was the one who introduced me to the nightlife. As a sophomore, she'd already been around everywhere, seen everything, and knew what and who to avoid. She was also one hell of a fun person to be around. I thought I knew everything about her. "Virginia! I just heard the news! Isn't it exciting?" "What news?" I asked. That feeling in the pit of my stomach warned me. I knew the answer, but had to hear her say it anyhow. "Why, about you being chosen, of course! Have you told your mother yet?" That was getting to be too much. "Anna, what the hell is going on? And don't wimp out on me, I want answers!" "Why, you've been chosen. That's it." "This is getting monotonous. Anna, who chose me?" "That's immaterial." "You've been chosen?" "Oh yes, for five years now. I tell you, I didn't know what living was until after I'd been chosen. Until you experience it, there's no way to describe what it's like. It's the best thing that could ever happen to you!" "Hold it. Stop right there. Cease and desist. I have no idea what this 'chosen' thing is, and, to be perfectly honest, I don't particularly want to. I'm getting really sick of it. I've never heard of it before, and I don't want to hear about it any more." "But Virginia, you've been chosen. You can't just ignore an opportunity like this. Trust me on this one. It's too precious to pass up!" "So far, Anna, three people I know, including you, know about it, but nobody has told me anything about what it means. Nothing! Frankly, I'm getting pissed off! Please, Anna, it's starting to really bug me. It's not even remotely funny any more. Who's behind this joke?" She was silent for several seconds. "Virginia, it's not a joke. You've been chosen, and eventually you will come around. Everyone does. I thought it was some sort of prank too, but I went. It was the one most important decision of my life, and I chose the right path. You will too." She sounded absolutely sincere and honest, as serious as I had ever heard her. That feeling in my stomach got worse. I also got mad. "No way. I don't go walking into practical jokes. I don't know who's behind this, but I'm really starting to get choked." "All right Virginia. I won't talk about it any more. One of the reasons I'm calling is to offer to put up your cats while you're gone. When you change your mind, call me back and we'll make arrangements. Oh, and call your mother. She'll want to talk to you about it too." I'd forgotten that she'd mentioned my mother. "So my mother is involved in this plot too?" "She was chosen twenty five years ago." I sat there and stared at the receiver long after the dial tone had changed to beeps. It was past eleven, and would be after midnight where my mother lived, but I called anyway. "Mom?" "Virginia?" "Yes, Mom. It's me. Sorry to call you so late, but something weird is going on here. Someone suggested I call you." I could hear her yawning herself awake. "It's okay dear. I'll just sleep in a little later in the morning. So what's got you worried enough to call your old Mom in the middle of the night?" "Mom, have you ever heard of someone being chosen?" There was a long pause, and when she finally spoke, her voice quavered. "Chosen? Whatever do you mean, chosen?" "A few days ago I got a letter in the mail saying that I've been chosen. That's it. No details, no nothing. Just an address and a date." "Are you going to go?" Anyone else would have thought she was talking casually. I'd been with her through three marriages, two funerals, and two divorces. I knew better. She was tense with something. I couldn't tell if it was fear or excitement though. "You know about this chosen thing, don't you." She sighed. It was fear. She sounded scared of something. "I've been chosen for a long time, dear." "Tell me about it." "There's nothing to tell. If you've been, you don't need me to describe it, and if you haven't, it wouldn't do any good." "That helps a whole lot." Sarcasm was dripping off the phone, at both ends. "You know what I think? I think someone's playing a really big, really tasteless practical joke on me. You're in on it, Anna's in on it, Belinda's in on it, and even my boss is in on it. Well, you can all take a hike because I'm not buying it!" A few seconds later, my mother spoke again. "It's not a joke, dear. It's completely on the level." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Ginny, whatever you do, don't miss your date! Please! Trust me on this! I waited for three months before I went, and, well, it was much more difficult than it should have been. And don't let anyone know I told you!" "Mom! What happened? Come on, tell me!" "No dear, I can't. I've already said too much. I've got to go now. Luv ya! Bye!" The dial tone came back. I couldn't believe how panicky my mother sounded at the end. She made it seem so real! The whole situation made no sense. It went well beyond any kind of practical joke anyone at work, or any of my friends, could possibly arrange. I decided to sleep on it. The next day in the office everything was mostly back to normal, except for the looks I got from Belinda. She kept glancing at me with those big beautiful blue eyes of hers, making like a sad puppy. It didn't hinder her work, but it sure did mine. The day after, just as she was leaving, she cornered me and surprised me with a kiss. I melted into it. She then ran off, sobbing. Being Friday, I knew I wouldn't be able to talk to her for a while. Not until Monday, at the earliest. I decided right then and there to find myself some company for the evening, someone to help me lose touch with reality for a while. After I got home, I had a light dinner and prepared myself. A shower. Shave my legs. Shave my lips. Trim my bush. Brush, tease, style, and put up my hair into a wild, arrogant mass of curls. I can get away with it. Sheer black nylons, red satin garter belt, red satin panties, strapless red lace push-up bra, black silk mini dress, black heels. A few bangles, a gold necklace, matching dangling gold earrings, black opera gloves, and a black patent clutch purse completed the look. Makeup a little heavier than normal, a little wilder. A few touches of perfume in strategic locations. I was going hunting, and wanted every advantage. There was never a time when I lacked for dates or attention. I matured early, discovered my preference early, and learned quickly how to get what I wanted. Now, at five nine, 128 pounds, with an ungodly good shape for my thirty five years, with fiery red hair, a beautiful face, and absolute confidence, I can have almost anyone I want. Trust me to take a career path where my beauty means nothing. I just had to prove I had brains as well. I worked my way through college and got a degree in business law, passed my bar exam with flair and style, and now work for a very prestigious firm as a patent lawyer. Nowadays I get handed most of the high profile cases. Life treated me well. Up until that letter came. I took a cab down to one of my favourite nightclubs. The doorman let me in with a nod and a wink. I came back home two hours later with an absolutely delicious looking little brunette. Sleek, lithe, and properly padded, the way she moved in that white leather thing she was wearing had me hot and damp. I just had to take her home with me. We walked in my door, laughing and giggling, both a little giddy from the show we'd put on for the cab driver. I couldn't wait to get into the bedroom. I wanted to unwrap her and continue on with what we'd already started. Thoughts of work, and the other thing, were completely absent. That is, until I noticed she wasn't following me. She was standing in the foyer, looking a little shocked, staring at that letter. I'd left it lying there, and hadn't gotten around to throwing it out. She put it down, gave me a *look*, and left. Just like that. No explanation, no goodbye, no call-me-a-cab-please-I-have-to-go-now, nothing. I was beginning to wonder if this chosen thing was some sort of world-wide conspiracy. The mood was lost. I packed it in and went to bed. Thoughts of anger, of revenge, and of doubt, haunted me until the wee hours. They continued right through the weekend. What Belinda had said also haunted me, as did my conversations with Anna, Harold, and my mother. Nothing made any sense! ===================== Chosen Short Story # 7 by Tom Bombadil Section A -30- -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----