The Life of Edward Choice part 3

Beatrice the Secretary
Date: 26, Feb 2013 0 comments
Having already described the lobby of my Castle, today we will acquire further knowlegde as to what my lair has to offer. The place that is sacred, where only the most prominent knights in my order are allowed to enter. And of course a lady, but only one to sit at my side and be quiet and condescending. Of course my side, is next to my office, we shouldn't have too much physical contact between man and woman in such a sacred place. I have to admit, of course, that I am as sacred as my office, and as such should never be defiled by any external source. Especially not gender.

As every other day I walk through the lobby, greeting Tom, who is, today, staring feverishly at the entrance with wide staring eyes, in such a feverishly way, one should think they were about to pop. Oh how I love him, and he surely has his moments. Most important of all, is that his cleaning is eminent yet another day, one should think that he never left this building. Is that sweat trickling down his forehead? If so I know he would never accept a sickday, even if I permitted it, as I know he needs the work as much as I need mine. Today, I had dressed myself to effortless slip between the throng of ignorants, by disguising myself as one. Suit all dark, my blue tie neatly pressed against my more than averagely fit body, and 3 times ironed white shirt. What sheer joy there is to blend with such perfection, my Tuesday briefcase spoiled to the touch of other people, to be ventilated through real New York pollution, before returning to the clinical ever so safe environment. Of course, tomorrow, with the weekly staff meeting, I will wear my Wednesday briefcase.

Yes I walked to my tower today, because mingling among these slaves, without the use of any words, but just looks, creates such a glee. It is easy to spot the slaves from the masters. These foul looking, mind deserted spacers, who either stare blankly or look down on the pavement in a 'hurry', crying those unspilled tears inside. Those, who have all the nurture and love from their so loving wife and children, have run away from their true nature. They have run away from truth! from godhood! spilled themselves into the gutters of creation, to multiply by coital activity of the bodies, in the hope of creating true potential, that one day will rise, as I have done.

Those thoughts repeat themselves to me over and over as I walk to my elevator along the majestic floor, and use my key to summon forth my sun chariot, ready to bring a new dawn to those who still walk in shadow and darkness.
As the doors open I see in the mirrors now surrounding me, a glimpse of the basement parking lot. But with a blink of my eye it was gone. I stop in with my usual straight looking true fact, A grin to match my suit. Oh how the sun shall rise today!

In my praising of my own selflessness to help those lost sheep as the sheepdog I am, there is room to exclaim a "Hallelujah!" and clap together my hands, turning around, to face the exit of the elevator.

The soothing sound of a ping, as my destination on the top of Mount of Olympus have been reached, here I can control the weather and ways of man undisturbed. Or almost at least

In front of me stands Beatrice. A woman, in her late twenties, wearing a long skirt and loosely cut shirt by my recommendation. Letting her shed any light on bare skin would create chaos in the order of work. I have of course hired her for the looks, not for myself, but for my underlings, so I can maintain the image of control. Her body is more than averagely shaped, the female lines marking a well developed woman. Even in the modest clothing I have forced upon her, the skirt is a tight fit, while her top just lightly touches the skin of beneath in the swirling wind as she strides with power to show her status in the firm. She tries, as all devious women would do, to woo one such as me, but I am incapable of desiring anything but my work, much to her obvious regret. I can see it of course, but maintain my fake smile to at least cheer her with that. Bad morale is bad for company, and in the end I would have to fire her.

Women who work, should always be a face of the person who hires them. She is not stupid, luckily, and accepts the minimum wage for women with a neutral true face always ready to do my bidding. She is my desk cleaner, and all the paperwork and indexing is at her hands. Also, she is the one who takes the elevator down on Tuesdays to collect the weekly reports from each of the last top 10 floors. I greet her with a nod as she, on just the right time steps by me, trying to brush lightly against me. I do as I always do, and dodge her in my own powerful walk along my red carpet. I never talk unnecessary to this woman, and my speaker is never used. She has got her orders, and always follow them from one end to the next. It is part of an automated system, where she is my necessary robot to assure everything along the clockwork is working correct. For that I appreciate her, for her instincts as I woman, I loathe her. She must learn to control, if she wants to be in control, especially for us, the masters, and not the ones bound by masters.

The elevator doors closed behind me, and screeching noises as nails clawing to escape, followed the lift downward. I took at slight look behind my shoulder and shrugged. Nothing like mystic sounds of panic caused by inferior beings. No need to be in such a heat, but I have animals who tend to do unnecessary courtship for bonding of the opposite gender.

At last I stood in front of my sanctuary, which none of you shall know of.

Yet.

I open my mahogany door and step into the lounge giving the full panorama view of the world below and above.

Here I am Being Supreme.

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