"Let's do this. Arrive here at 9:00 AM. When you enter the office, you can give me your answer physically. If you undress to stockings and heels upon entering, I will know you are accepting the position. If not ..." I nodded.

"Then, do you have any immediate questions?"

I was sitting in this man's office naked in the final moments of an interview for a job I had no knowledge of only hours ago. Did I have any questions?

"Mr. Woodburn, Sir, the slut part notwithstanding I wonder about the handling of the accounts. I imagine the accounts are being physically handled by accounts personnel somewhere downstairs. If these clients are to be truly managed at a special level, shouldn't we have a small staff to oversee and review the day-to-day processing?"

He chuckled and the biggest smile I had yet seen spread over his face

"My dear ... 'the slut part notwithstanding' ... your first question is about managing the accounts ... I love it!" He came around from behind the desk and held out his hand to me. I took it and stood up in front of him.

"We have no agreement, but may I kiss you?"

I smiled and nodded. He didn't move, however. It flashed into my brain with that moment of awkwardness the realization that if I move forward with this I am his slut.

Does he take his slut or does his slut avail herself to him?

I put my hands on the sides of his face and kissed him on the lips. It was a good kiss, a lover's kiss, but not a slut's kiss I guessed. I wrapped my arms around his neck and devoured his mouth. His hands were on my bare back, one sliding down to my bare butt. He squeezed one ass cheek, but that was all.

I broke the kiss and took a half-step back from him. My body was flushed, my body was super-heated, my body was tingling with excitement, and I was aching for him to touch my pussy, for him to feel how I was responding. But, there was time for that on Monday. Until then, I truly needed to decide about this.

AFTER my usual long commute home, I drove my little car the last five miles to my efficiency apartment. I lived in the Western suburbs where we lived when married.

After the divorce, he moved away so I stayed put, downsized. It was a relatively safe area and apartments were affordable for a lowly Accounts Specialist. Within the last mile, I stopped to buy two bottles of cheap wine. I was anticipating a long weekend of turmoil.

I committed to putting my mind to rest for the night and looking at the proposition from Mr. Woodburn with a fresh mind tomorrow. It didn't work. I tried losing myself in something mindless on Netflix but that didn't work. I then tried to get into the novel I was currently in the middle of, but that didn't work, either.

I walked around the little apartment. It didn't take much time. I went to the kitchen counter, opened one of the bottles, and poured myself a glass. I walked back to the center of the apartment and turned a full 360 degrees. I had just viewed everything that was my current existence except for the cubicle where I processed accounts from information someone above me provided and even that might not have been from a first-hand contact with a customer. I specialized in forms, not clients.

I poured a little more wine into my glass and sat down at the little table in my little kitchen in my little apartment. I retrieved the three-page job description and benefits sheet. I reread the job description and pushed it aside.

As Mr. Woodburn said, it didn't really say anything meaningful. It was corporate words to satisfy auditors and HR managers. It was a new position and the real job requirements would evolve from the activity. But, there were real necessities that needed to be considered as I suggested to him.

I started writing out my ideas, issues, concerns, possible ideas, and crazy ideas. Before I knew it, it was 11:00 PM and I had pages of written thoughts and an empty bottle spread over the table. I went to bed.

SATURDAY, I began wondering why I wasn't more fixated on the "other" part of the job. I had never been a slut before. Could I even really imagine what that was like or what to expect?

The last couple years I have had my share of guys coming through and I had been married so it wasn't like I wasn't familiar with sex, but ... a slut ...

I Googled it. Slut: noun; a woman who has sexual relationships with a lot of men without any emotional involvement. Well, yeah, that was already established. Mr. Woodburn and clients. But, what did that mean? What kind of sex? My mind led me to a conclusion that there might not be any defined answer for that.

Now that my mind was working around this aspect, though, I decided to seek some guidance and took a chance to call Trudy Michaels. I logged into the firm's system and found her contact information. Her cell phone was listed. I called late afternoon.

"Trudy, this is ..."

"Tina, hi." She laughed on the other end.

"I already put you into my phone's contacts."

I wasn't sure how to take that. She was so confident I would be taking the position? There was a period of silence and I realized I was causing it.

"Trudy, I apologize to be bothering you on the weekend, but ... I was wondering if I could ask you some questions ... you know ... about ..."

She giggled, "I've actually been expecting you to call. Yes, I know what about."

"The sex. You were his mistress so you know what he is like. What kind of sex might I expect if ..."