I is for Inquisition

'So, how was the sex?'

A coquettish woman several states away received Russell Dunbar's email. She stared at the screen for some time, lost in the words, until at last she connected them with the name of the sender.

How had he even gotten this email address? Allison considered first confronting her ex-boyfriend, Timmy, over the textual assault. But then, she knew the nightmare that was his boss, and the breakup nearing two years ago had been more than amenable...and so...

'Why are you emailing me, Mr. Dunbar?'

His reply was far from shocking.

'Idle curiosity. He's still taking this pretty hard ... ha hard get it? So what was he a lousy lay or something? I mean you put out enough so that can't be it.

I'm just trying to get an idea here of the kind of lover Timmy is so I can help him out in future endeavors. As his boss, I find it my responsibility to assure he not screw up again. This line of questioning is all for his benefit, naturally.

I assure you this is strictly business.'

Allison adjusted her glasses, grounding herself and shoving down her anger before typing back with heavy fingers.

'Mr. Dunbar, it was none of your concern then, and it is none of your concern now. How you can classify interfering with the personal lives of your employees as 'business,' I will never understand. I suggest you leave Timmy alone and kindly butt out of his personal affairs.'

She thought this was the end of it; indeed, it was a good hour without a new reply. But then came an onslaught. The farthest from professional he could have been, and sounding rather something like a crazed lover.

'Allison,

First of all he's been with me a hell of a lot longer than he was ever with you. Butt out of his personal affairs? Sister, I AM his personal affairs. Bet you miss him right about now, don't you? That beautiful bronze skin pressed up against your creamy white breasts, in your office in the middle of the damn work day, you wanna know where Timmy is? Outside MY office right now and then you know where he's gonna be? Going out with me. Like always. Because I OWN HIM. He's always gonna be mine and then where are you? In Chicago crying over spilt Timmy? OhhhHHHhHhhhh poor Allison, boo hoo. :(

Shove it.

Sincere regards,
Russell T. Dunbar'

Alison's fingers, which had been poised to reply at the start of the email, now pulled back ever so slowly from the keyboard.

She crossed her arms, a touch of protection, and tried to piece together what she had just read before looking to her phone in contemplation.

She made the call.

Timmy answered, quite confused. "Uhm...h-hello?"

"Hi, Timmy."

"Yes...Allison? Hello. It's...been a long time."

"I just...was, uhm...are you doing okay?"

Timmy could not have been more confused. "I'm...I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"I just worry about you sometimes."

"Allison..." Timmy's voice grew soft in reassurance. "I assure you, I'm fine, what would there be to-"

Allison heard shouting across the line; Russell had just exited his office, shouting some muffled command.

"Mm. Well, he's out of sorts," Timmy muttered, mostly to himself.

"Just be careful," said Allison.

Timmy laughed lightly. "What in heaven's name brought this on?"

Inside his office, Russell pulled a small book from his desk. He opened it to the first blank page, near the center, and wrote along the top: 'Allison'. Underneath he wrote: 'No information. Skank.'

He flipped back through previous pages, each topped with the name of a different woman. All women Timmy had seen under Russell's watch.

He'd considered going back further; he'd dug up Timmy's college records, he had names on standby, but at the last second his stupid little conscience knocked his head into shape (and he couldn't even believe that thing was still kickin' around)...but not enough to scrap the whole project, of course. Anything that happened to Timmy under his employ was his business.

He had a certain way of justifying certain thoughts and actions.

Some women has been reluctant to talk, others had served up some helpful information after a little financial lubrication. None of them wanted to squeal on how big the member was. Whatever, he'd gotten some other interesting deets.

He'd concluded he was probably a better lover than Timmy. After all, that was really the end goal in all of this, right? He couldn't have Timmy one-upping him.

Why else would he ever need to know that Timmy enjoyed nibbling ears during sex? So stupid, it was always stuff like that, attention to detail, like he really wanted to BE there with the woman or something? Get in, get out! None of these small kisses against the nape of the neck...whispering sweet nothings...the...ear nibbles...

Pft, like this was useful information. Like Timmy was ever going to nibble Russell's ears, or something. Ha, ha, ha. Ha...ha...

Why, uh...why would Russell ever need to know that Timmy had a particularly ticklish spot right below his ribcage on the left side? Russell was never going to tickle him there, for hell's sake!

Or...or that some chick named Kathleen said Timmy was one of the best lovers she'd ever had? I mean, geez, high praise, Kathleen. Like Russell would ever be putting that to the test, pffft.

Or...or that Timmy uh, he had this way of gasping ever so slightly when he ate something he found particularly enjoyable. That wasn't in the book. Every time Russell took Timmy out to eat, when he had something good in his mouth, he'd make this...noise. Russell had once joked that he was having a foodgasm and to keep it in his pants.

Is that...is that what he sounded like during sex...? Is that the kind of thing you could ask a woman...?

Wait, no, why did he want to know that?! Russell gazed down at the book before him, for one brief moment, common sense breaking through the thick shell of his brain. Why did he want to know any of this?!

The office door opened. Slam went the book, in walked Timmy. All the way towards Russell's desk. For a time he appeared reluctant in speaking, and so Russell offered up nonchalantly: "Hey, Timster, what's happenin'?"

"Sir, did you by any chance...send an email to Allison?"

"Pft! Who?"

"My ex-girlfriend. Allison." Nothing. He spoke a touch more pointedly: "Who had previously been employed with-"

"Oh! Your little office squeeze, sure." He stood, discretely slipping the book back to a drawer as he walked to the front of the desk. "How about lunch?"

"She did say you emailed her."

"Did she, uh...tell you what was in that email?"

"Well, no, she simply-"

"Must've put the wrong name on the CC line, you know how it is. Busy executive, frazzled brain, busy busy busy."

Timmy knew there was a lie behind Russell's words. He couldn't quite untangle what it was, but he had to weigh his options; this had been an intimate invasion, perhaps, and for what purpose, he couldn't say.

He couldn't say, either, what compelled him to drop the matter.

"Lunch?" posed Russell.

Timmy sighed out deeply. "Well, I suppose..."

"Yeah, take a long lunch. We'll go down to that place you like, uhh...Italian place on fifth."

"Oh, they serve a delightful zabaione, to die for."

"Clearly. You have a damn foodgasm whenever you eat there." And so the men started for the door, shoving down secrets. "Just don't go whipping it out in the restaurant, wait until we get back to the office, okay?"