My Story
"Do you have the numbers yet?" Donald looked over Tracy's shoulder at her twin monitors. She was wearing a white, sleeveless sweater that accentuated certain points of interest.
"Well, the OMB numbers we've had since yesterday. The Congressional Budget Office ones are the ones that are late. I'm merging in what BLS gave us, and Tony is crunching the Fed Reserve projections and money supply stats. This is old hat, waiting for the CBO. They're always late." She felt his closeness, almost like he was breathing down her neck.
Donald took a deep whiff of her perfume. Nice. He really wanted to caress her soft, white shoulders. But that would... not be appropriate. "CBO is a bunch of jackasses. Since they're independent of the Executive Branch, they supply their numbers whenever they feel like it, even when we have deadlines to meet."
With him so close, he could probably breathe in all of her perfume, and at $200 an ounce, that was too much to waste on one person. "The Federal Reserve is independent, but they're always on time. Actually it's kind of scary how punctual they are. Seven am on the dot. The computer clock reads 7:00:00 and bingo, they're in."
Umm, he knew somewhere else he wanted to be in. God, why couldn't he just nuzzle her neck, roll his tongue then into the crevices of those shoulder blades. It would be so good.
"You okay Donald? You're... lurking, awfully close."
"Oh, sorry, I don't have my glasses, it's hard to read your screen. You use such a tiny resolution, such a tiny font. I like them big, don't you?"
She looked up at him quizzically. She was getting uncomfortable with his proximity. He did that sometimes. It creeped her out, though it was probably just her paranoid imagination. He was a dedicated guy, all he ever thought about were budget analyses and money supply forecasts. She shouldn't embarrass herself with her silly thoughts. Being pretty, she sometimes imagined every guy was after her. She needed to exercise some self-control.
Donald looked at the soft peach fuzz on the back of her neck. C'mon, would a little bite be that wrong? She would love it, she would moan, and then it could lead to... spontaneous things. Wasn't there a supply closet around here somewhere? "Let me know as soon as the CBO numbers are in and I can hand these to the Secretary. He's going to the White House this morning and he's not leaving until he has them in hand."
She looked up at him again. Was he just licking his lips? She shuddered. She had to stifle her imagination. No, he was not some perverted creep trying to get into her pants. Yes, the first time she met him he reminded her of some serial rapist she had seen on America's Most Wanted. She had thought, what if he raped me? What if he dragged me into some supply closet and ripped off my sweater, pulled up my skirt, thrust himself inside of me? God, what was she thinking? She had to get control of herself. These numbers were critical. If she made one mistake it could mean her job.
"I guess the President is going to be disappointed. The deficit looks like it's going up to, what is it now, 14.5 trillion? How can we sustain that?"
He leaned closer to the screen, ran his finger along one row of numbers in her spreadsheet. Hah, it was all a ruse so his right elbow could rub along her left arm. Contact! She felt so nice. "Not to worry. The deficit is all a farce. Did I ever tell you that?"
She realized his right elbow was brushing along her arm. Oh my god, he's touching me! He probably wants to grab my breasts, she thought. He probably wants to slam me against the wall and force himself on me, do unholy things to me. I know he's a rapist, a killer! He's looking for his chance to abuse me, to make me pay for my sins! God, this is what happens when you've been bad, and I have been so bad. "No, I don't remember you telling me."
Man he would love to get her in that supply room right now. He wondered what kind of a bra she was wearing. Not a problem, she wouldn't be wearing it for long. She probably needed some slapping around. You could tell she was impertinent. Little bitch, he would teach her a lesson. "Well, it's basic economics, but no one seems to notice. We have a money supply, right?" He pointed to the money supply figures on the spreadsheet. This time his elbow dug deeper into her arm, then slid above it. "Yet the economy is growing, right?"
"Yes?" Oh, he was touching her, much harder now. This was it. He would make her pay. She shuddered deep inside.
"Well, how does the Federal Reserve sustain that growth? By supplying more money. And how does it get that money?" He strategically moved his elbow in closer for the kill. He wanted to touch the big one.
"By selling Treasury Bonds?" She realized his arm was getting closer, closer. Was this really going to be accidental? Was it intentional? Would he attack her here right out in the open were everyone could see him ravage her?
"Right. But where do people get the money to buy Treasury Bonds with?" Closer, closer...
"I don't know." He was getting closer, closer...
"With the payments that the government makes servicing the debt. With the money the government gives out in foreign aid, to pay for major resources like oil and other import purchases. And where does it get all that money? Where does it get all those Treasury Bonds?" Contact. Elbow into side boob.
She was speechless.
"By printing it."
"What?" She was distracted from the more important things by what he was saying.
"Oh, they don't actually print $100 bills, though that is part of it. They simply make loans with money... they don't have. They simply supply Treasury Bonds by just listing them on a computer ledger. Money just appears out of nowhere." His elbow was digging into her boob and she didn't even seem to be paying attention. What gives?
She ignored that he was actively elbowing her breast, taking in the implication of what he was saying. "How can they do that? How can they just... make money out of nothing?"
He leaned into her, getting closer. It was odd feeling a woman's breast with an elbow. But she sure suddenly was getting brainy on him. "No one knows, or no one cares. The Brits have been doing it for years, and then after World War 2 we Americans started doing it. No one audits the Federal Reserve or the Central Bank of England. But somehow they always have the money they need. The rest of the Europeans live and die by the fluctuations of the Euro, but we Anglo Americans can always pay our bills."
"Well, if it's that simple," she moved his elbow out of the side of her bra. He was starting to get irritating with the circular motions, and the underwire bra wasn't exactly feeling pleasant. "Why doesn't anyone notice? Why doesn't anyone else say anything?"
He was stunned how she ended his cheap feel. This was strange. "Well, the Chinese know, the Saudi's know, but they don't care. They like our dollars, they use them to fuel their economies. They don't mind, as long as we don't get greedy and print too much. Money makes the world go round." God he wanted a second feel.
She was disappointed. He was a wimp. A real man would have grabbed her by the hair and dragged her off to the supply closet. Instead, he just stood there squinting his eyes trying to read her small, perky fonts. "That's fascinating. Then maybe I can sleep better at night and not worry so much about the economy."
He stood up. Damn, should he grab her and drag her off to the supply closet? But prudence prevailed, and he backed away. "Yes, I hope you sleep better. Well let me know as soon as you have the numbers." Damn, he was disappointed, and he drifted off to his office, rubbing his elbow.
***
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