Working Stiffs (Freyson)

F*cked Up Friday

Memo: "Don't forget about our fish dinner in the lounge at lunch.  Please make a contribution towards the fish, the plastic utensils, the Dixie plates and the cooks who demand to be paid for cooking said fish.

Don't forget to turn in your reports."

Greyson woke Friday morning after a restless fitful night.  A night of tortured dreams about Freddie with those large soulful eyes.  And those panties.

Greyson dragged himself into the shower and tried to start his day.  His thoughts were on Freddie.  Damn those panties! They were burned into his mental spank bank.  The memory of Freddie pulling down the side of his pants and revealing the string of those hot drawers got Greyson so hot he couldn't keep his hands off himself. 

Greyson felt like hell.  He ought to call in sick but he used up his sick days when he went to the Superbowl.  Instead he made a call to his friendly neighborhood dealer.

"Hey dude," Greyson said. 

"Hey, Grey Grey," Candyman the dealer said.  "Looking for some 'candy'?"

"Yeah," Greyson rubbed his eyes.  "I need a lot of it." His light bill was going to have to wait.  The Candyman's cocaine was so good that it was worth sitting in the dark for a month or two.

"I'm on it." Candyman said. 

Greyson met the dealer outside of his building and made the transaction.  When he got to work, Greyson went to the bathroom, locked the door and opened the packet.  He put a line of the snow on the back of his hand and took a good snort.

Fuck yeah!

That blow was already working, making him wide eyes and alert.  This shit was better than coffee.  Candyman's blow was the truth.

Greyson took another toot of the stuff before putting it away to save for later.  He felt alive now and ready to conquer the day. 

Meanwhile Freddie was also ready to start his day, sort of.  All he felt like doing was avoiding Greyson, not to mention kicking his own self.  Freddie couldn't believe what he'd done, showing Greyson his panties.  Not the whole thing, just the side string. 

Freddie hid out in the downstairs break room trying to figure out why he would do that.  He'd never even told a soul that he wore panties, not one.  Yet with Greyson he did a lot more than show.  Why? Why? Why?

Freddie slunk over to his cubicle, hoping he wouldn't be seen.  He noticed Greyson studying his computer while wiping some powder off his face.   Maybe he was just finishing up a powdered doughnut.  As he set up his desk he thought to himself "Today is going to be a good day."

Freddie was halfway through his work when he got an email.  It was from GreysonChance@bigdick.com.  What?

Greyson: Sup.

Freddie: Sup? What does that mean?

Greyson: What is up with you?

Freddie: Nothing.  I'm working.

Greyson:  Wanna meet somewhere?

Freddie:  No.  Leave me alone!

Greyson: Geez, dude, who lit the fuse on your tampon? I just wanna hang out.

Freddie: I'm embarrassed.

Greyson: why?

Freddie: Cause you know my secret. 

Greyson: About your pan-- your wardrobe? It's not a big deal.

Freddie: Yes it is.  It's wrong.