Archive-name: Affairs/godfrict.txt
Archive-author: Gregory Daniel Nikolic
Archive-title: Temple of the God of Friction


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Copyright (c) 1993 by Gregory Daniel Nikolic.
This story may be freely circulated via electronic media, but only within
the specific domain covered by Usenet. The author retains all other
hardcopy and electronic media rights. Duplication and transmission therein
is prohibited by law and world copyright convention.
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    Understated elegance draped itself in subtle forms all over her body.
The word "dress" was too plain for the stunning outfit she wore with
ethereal beauty. Sweeping folds of green and black implied that the
designer had captured silk, velvet and liquid steel in one soft, shimmery
fabric.
    The beautiful material caught the wash of illumination from the
chandeliers. Light danced across its dark surface in golden wavelets. In
a spotlight of shadow, each subtle movement caused a brief spillage of
light over the curves of her emerald green and matte black dress. She
sported the marked hues of equatorial jungle: a patterned cross of vibrant
green underbrush in heavy darkness.
    On that gorgeous woman, the dress lulled you. It said she was too
beautiful to be dangerous, too soft -- too lush -- on the outside to
possess a hard core. It took an adult jaguar out of the rainforest and
transformed her into a curled up, night black Persian. Every deliberate,
graceful gesture became the flowing gesture of a fairytale, virginal princess.
    Her chestnut brown hair fell in soft waves around a classically lovely
oval face. Naturally red lips bore no trace of lipstick; they drew the eye
regardless whenever her smile lit up fully. Her unfurrowed brow and
flawless skin implied that she was about 25 years old. The woman's deep
brown eyes looked around attentively. She smiled often, lips parted
slightly, teeth pearly as she breathed with soft and luscious ease.
    The radiant woman stood by one of the ballroom's ornate pillars across
a marble floor cluttered by VIPs. The crowd swirled and flowed like a
muttering tide, content with lively chatter. When one whorl of people moved
aside for a moment, Daniel glimpsed her then for the first time, and simply
blinked. She was laughing with a small group at the opposite end of the far
room, making animated, airy motions with her gloved hands.
    Most men would have been transfixed. Daniel patted his tuxedo absent-
mindedly for something he forgot, then realized with surprise he needed
nothing. He glanced at his elegant watch to check the time. Quarter past
eleven: getting late enough to be comfortable with the light inebriation
without feeling drowsy. When he looked up again the crowd had blocked his
view. Without hesitation he started making his way toward her end of the room.
    She spotted him at once as he slipped between a young couple and a
gaggle of older wives. The middle aged women in their expensive finery
looked back at him as he passed, his lean figure cutting a devastatingly
handsome swath through their midst.
    Daniel arrived at the young woman's group unobtrusively. Holding his
glass of cherry brandy, he paid casual attention to the conversation. A
man in his early fifties, wearing a well tailored dark grey suit, was
speaking to the stunning woman who had taken over Daniel's vision.
    "Whatever you may say, Lydia, I think our host and hostess were more
surprised than they let on at the number of people who showed." His
baritone voice flowed with the ease of a lifetime of conversation. Lydia,
Daniel echoed mentally as he registered her name. He sipped at his drink.
    She smiled at the older man. "No, I agree with you Jason." Her voice
was that of an angel spending holidays at a favourite pool hall,
mellifluous yet strong. "Did you notice how they argued earlier? Must have 
been a stressful evening for them." Lydia's moist, chocolate coloured eyes
moved casually to the area around Daniel. She gently smoothed her dress.
    Jason cocked a grin and inclined his shock of silvery hair. "Still,
all in all, it's been quite successful so far. I've enjoyed myself quite
thoroughly." He lavished a bright smile on Lydia. Daniel performed an
internal roll of the eyes.
    Lydia seemed to bypass the personal implication. "Yes..." she murmured
in her silken voice. "I've never seen so many of the Rich and
Self-Important in one place before." Jason and Daniel both laughed.
    Daniel smoothly took the opportunity to join in. He held the amused
tone of a popular radio DJ: "The important thing is that they know we
commoners respect and admire them for showing up en masse for us. It's the
personal touch, you know." Lydia grinned at him; Jason managed a polite
smile. Daniel guessed by the handsome old guy's appearance and demeanor
that he was old money himself.
    Jason lifted a cufflinked hand at Daniel in mock accusation. "It's
nice to know even the peasant masses can afford gold Rolexes," he said,
waving at Daniel's wrist with an evil grin.
    Daniel mimed surprise. "Oh? This? A gift from a distant admirer. I'm
just an artist, I don't have enough money to be counted among the Rich.
And I don't have the looks or personality to match the arrogance of the
truly Self-Important." Which was a lie, of course. The melting, kitchen
fire looks women had been sending him since he was 16 would tend to make
most guys haughty. But his easygoing, down to earth charm was no act.
    Lydia's bright face smiled up at him. It struck Daniel with the force of
blazing floodlights. It took an effort to maintain his composure and smile
back. 
    "So what else do you do, Mr..." Jason inquired gently.
    "Just Daniel." He shook the older gentleman's hand firmly. He turned
to face Lydia, who was standing like a vision of glory in streaming green
and black. "Daniel," he repeated softly, taking her hand in a slowly
pressing handshake. He felt the warmth and smoothness of her palm through
the glove, lingering for a moment. She didn't protest.
    Regretfully, Daniel released her magnetic warm hand and returned his
partial attention to Jason. "I dabble a little on the stock market. Well,
sometimes with futures too." He grinned shamefacedly. "But mainly I paint:
landscapes, impressionistic pieces, portraits..." He glanced meaningfully
at Lydia. "I'm trying to learn to sculpt but it's hard going so far."
    Lydia looked interested, so he decided to press on. "Actually, right
now I'm completing a collection on summer themes. Rivers, lakes, fishing,
Venice, beaches, the city in August; things along that line."
    Lydia smiled coquettishly. "Things that are hot." Then, surprisingly,
she winked. Daniel coughed and covered up with a drink of his brandy. The
world temporarily narrowed to just the two of them, with Jason far away
behind an opaque wall. Daniel blinked and awoke again to the noisy room.
    "Ummmmm. I like to think my works describe the season metaphorically.
I've already done something like this with Fall, which is really my
favourite season. I guess I'm in a rut." He smiled apologetically and
raised his glass for a tiny sip.
    Lydia took the opportunity to discreetly study him. Tall and well
built, he cut a fine figure in that tux, she had to admit. Sea green eyes
were framed by dark, almost feminine lashes. Stylishly short hair on a
chiselled face, capped by a slightly rounded chin. He held his drink with
casual confidence and exuded a friendly non-threatening air. His interest
in her was more than polite, she knew. She liked him.
    "Tell me," Lydia said slowly. Daniel listened attentively. She
continued, "If you were going to do me... how would you approach the
painting?" Daniel unfroze his smile and genuinely beamed.
    "It'd be a pleasure. I find that a lovely subject just lends herself
to portrayal on canvas." Not necessarily true...confirmed by the neutral
expression in Lydia's eyes. Daniel hurried on. "But in terms of procedure,
well -- skip terminology. I'd focus on the eyes to set the tone of the
painting."
    He began imagining the scene in his mind's eye, Lydia seated
comfortably in his studio, ready to pose. Helplessly he pictured her
wearing a crimson and black frilly teddy emphasizing a high bust and tight
curves. Her crossing and uncrossing a pair of legs sheathed in thigh-high
black leather boots. Leering with intense wanton lust. Licking her lips at
him... Daniel locked away the image and stuffed it back in the hormonal
closets of his mind.
    "The eyes," he started over. "I'd have to check for the dominant feelings
there, and pick one to set the whole mood." Daniel looked into her eyes now.
Soft, warm, open, melting, innocent, sensual, aware, unassuming, caring... a
rush of superlative adjectives tumbled over each other in his head. "Then I'd
draw the face around the framework of emotion. The hardest part is getting
the eyes just right." He knew he'd never get her eyes wrong. "If the eyes
work out, everything else just falls into place," he added quietly.
    Lydia stared at him attentively. Big beautiful browns, the
alliterative phrase popped up. "Of course, it also depends on what the
subject wants to do. It's up to her to be the artist's silent partner,
helping him shape the entire evolution of the picture. A really
outstanding subject is a treasure to find, at least for me." He finished
somberly and stared at his glass.
    A moment passed in silence. "Would you like to paint me?" she asked.
    Another moment floated away. "Definitely," he smiled. "Is that an offer?"
    "Yes. Maybe." Lydia tossed her shoulders in confusion and they both
broke out into laughter. When they looked back at each other both were
smiling.
    She turned her head and started. "Where's Jason?" Daniel looked at the
empty spot where the man had been. In fact, the whole group had drifted
off like pampered kelp on a ritzy sea of hard marble, and neither had
noticed.
    "I guess he had to leave," Daniel murmured. Lydia nodded. "Listen... I
was just showing the Jacobis a little painting that I recently finished. I
think it's in that big study upstairs. Would you like to see it?"
    Lydia nodded again. Daniel took her hand softly, lightly, and began
moving through the crowd in the direction of a very wide, red carpeted
stairway spiralling up to the second floor. He didn't looked back before
reaching the foot of the opulent stairs, yet could feel definite threads of
contact between him and her. Looking back at her, he wasn't too
surprised to see her face conveying thoughtfulness and curiosity.
    "Up here," he said. The crowd was a million kilometres away. She
nodded like a pretty schoolgirl, beautiful waves of brown hair curling
over and around her now unreadable face. They took the stairs two at a
time. Their pace grew slow as they proceeded down the tapestry lined
hallway holding hands.
    They saw a few couples gazing at the rich tapestries. Others passed by
them on their way back downstairs with curiously satisfied smiles, silent 
or whispering to each other. Daniel smiled inwardly without breaking his
external look of preoccupation.
    They turned left at a branch and ended up in a large but nearly
deserted room filled to excess with leather furniture and plush wall to
wall carpeting. Two young men sat talking in the corner beside busts of
Cervantes, Donatello and Da Vinci. The sculpted Italian masters imparted a
sense of dignity to the room. Lydia let go of Daniel's hand and looked about.
    "Nice study," she commented wryly, brushing wisps of hair from her
forehead. 
    "Yeah." He pointed at his painting, recently hung over a real fireplace 
of enormous dimensions. They strolled over to the picture. It was a small
portrait of a nude blonde woman reaching up on her tiptoes for the highest
level of a kitchen cupboard. Something flickered briefly across Lydia's eyes
before vanishing. Daniel wondered what it was.
    "Is she a real person?"
    Daniel paused. "Yes. She -- I knew her. We lived together for a
while." He affected an air of insouciance and shrugged ambivalently. "It
didn't work out." That was putting it mildly. He'd almost lost his balls
to a pair of pinking shears when Angie caught him in bed with his pretty,
dark haired Portuguese neighbour.
    It wasn't that he'd meant to cheat; the temptation was just too
irresistable when the Portuguese woman came over in her brief nightie to
"borrow" something. When she reached for the third shelf, her flimsy white
nightie rode the luscious curve up her tight ass.   
    Hypnotically, Daniel submitted to the driving urge in his brain and
followed the divining rod of his erect cock right up to that perfect butt.
His cock poked hard against her soft rear end.
    Her outstretched hand froze along with the rest of her body. Then,
very slowly, she began grinding her rear end in slow circles against his
cock. Daniel thrust forcefully against the crack of her ass through the
thin nightie. His hands moved to her sides to steady himself as he heard
her mutter something quietly in Portuguese. Something de dios.
    Daniel moved his hands around to her chest and clutched a pair of
delightfully heavy, dark nippled breasts against the sheer fabric. He
squeezed rhythmically while dry humping her rear with slow, powerful
thrusts. The woman bent over until her breasts flattened against the
counter and turned her head to rest on a mane of dark flowing hair.
    Daniel unbuckled his belt and pushed the jeans down, quickly kicking
out of the pant legs. He didn't bother with his socks, slowing only long
enough to hike the woman's nightie. Her underwear was pink and equally
sheer. 
    He pinched her butt hard. She yelped. Daniel slipped his hand inside
the back of her panties and moved to lightly squeeze her vaginal lips,
rubbing them slickly. His hand descended abruptly in a karate chop,
snapping the panties down to the woman's knees with a resounding elastic
THWAP.
    Holding her nightie up, he guided his cock to her entrance and rubbed
against it with his hard length. Daniel could hear her heavy breathing.
With deliberate slowness he eased into the tight stretchy world of
pleasure within the woman. The slow deep entry caused him to exhale
softly. 
    With his right hand he reached around her leg to touch his balls. He idly
played with her pubic hair as he finally finished the entry. He paused
there, lodged inside her, no movement but for the shallow tremble in
their chests while they breathed.
    Daniel slowly pulled out, feeling her wetness guide his way. On the
way back in he kept his thrust marginally slower than glacial. Gradually
he built up a rhythm, keeping it going with smooth habit as wet friction
gave him its pleasure. His movements relaxed and steady, he took time to
fondle the girl's breasts, to lick the back of her neck and bury his face
in her thick hair. 
    The Portuguese grunted as he began thrusting fully. His extensions
were smooth and quick. Images of a thousand ceremonial steel swords
whisking in and out of smooth sheathes filled his head as the pleasure
mounted. Desperately now Daniel reached to finger the woman's clitoris.
Rubbing quickly, furiously, and in time with his thrusts, Daniel elicited
a long series of gasps from the woman's panting, wide open mouth. They
were close.
    He kept pounding her until he felt something twinge in his balls, a
clicking gate that took a slight second to open. And then he came,
flooding her with his come, his mind seizing up with pleasure and burning 
in the orgasmic joy. He wrapped his strong arms tightly around her stomach
and squeezed. His cock rammed itself in as far as it could while he came
and came and came, jetting silent rainbows of essence into her open
depths. The world lost focus and slipped off its axis.
    A slight awareness prickled his consciousness. He slowly became aware
that he was collapsed over the beautiful gorgeous wonderful woman and must
be hurting her. Limply he pulled out of her cunt and rolled off her back,
sliding weakly to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
    Splayed out on the floor, Daniel felt the Portuguese lower herself
beside him as he recovered from his tremendous orgasm. He drifted sweetly
down a meandering, calm creek after those explosive rapids of passion. The
gentle afterglow rafted him over a wash of utter satisfaction and
contentment. Daniel smiled beatifically, his green eyes glinting in shadow.
    The woman put her hand in his lap and softly played with his flaccid
penis. It was still wet with drying come as she rubbed it between thumb
and index finger. She leaned over to kiss him for the first time, a french
kiss with tongues playing slippery tag. He broke off to plant a kiss on
the hollow of her neck. Daniel rested his tousled head against her ample
bosom with a sigh as she continued to play with his cock.
    It was only later, when the two got frisky again and decided to take
it to the bedroom, that Daniel's live-in girlfriend came home early from
work with the flu and a serious headache. She was looking for a hug, some
warm blankets, and a mug of hot chocolate. What Angie found instead was
Daniel on his knees receiving an elaborate and very enthusiastic blowjob
from the Portuguese in the bed the two of them had shared for over a year.
    Angie blew up. She tore through the place, destroying enough of Daniel's
artwork to occupy months of his time repainting. With the Portuguese fled
and Angie's blonde strands matted against her face by tears and sweat, she
turned on Daniel. "HOW COULD YOU?" she'd shrieked. The relationship had
ended there.
    Daniel shuddered at the memory and stared hauntingly at the painting
he'd done right after the split, hanging now in the vast study. The
painting he gave away to purge off his guilt and sadness. To this day
Daniel wasn't quite sure why he'd painted his former girlfriend stretched
out in the exact pose taken by the Portuguese girl. Angie looked beautiful
in the picture even with her back facing you. If only he could see her eyes...
    Daniel looked away to catch Lydia wandering about the other paintings.
He drained the last of his brandy and set the glass down on an oak table.
His head buzzed slightly from the alcohol. Lydia glanced his way as he
approached.
    "They have one other painting have mine. Like to see it?"
    Lydia nodded. Daniel took her wordlessly down a silent maze of
hallways and corridors until he himself was almost lost. Lydia felt sleepy
and lulled from all the walking, down the same white halls over and over
it seemed. Her eyelids fluttered and then she found herself in... a bedroom.
    The room was huge. A four poster bed with gorgeous black and purple
satin sheets fit comfortably in a single corner. A mountain of silk
pillowcases, gold and black, depicted scarlet dragons dancing with winged
angels. The rest of the palatial bedroom was filled with potted plants,
expensive dressers, and a multitude of arranged mirrors. A jacuzzi bubbled
quietly near a walk-in closet the size of a garage. Lydia gasped in
astonishment.
    Daniel went over to the wet bar tucked in another corner of the room.
He poured himself a fresh drink and took the liberty of fetching Lydia a
Long Island ice tea. He sat down on the bed, a trip in itself, and patted
the covers beside him. Lydia obligingly crossed the distance and sat down.
    "Look up and forward," Daniel said simply, handing her the ice tea. Lydia
looked.
    Covering a square area of the ceiling as wide as Lydia was an amazingly
detailed painting of the ocean. White frothed waves roiled terrifyingly
over midnight blue and grey depths with amazing dimension and realism. It
was impossible not to feel the power of the waves, the unsteadying,
eternal sway of the water. The sense of loneliness and of longing. 
    And beneath the waves, vaguely outlined like a whale cruising the depths,
was a startling blue-green woman. She lay asleep, arms at her side, an
enormous, veiled presence tugged minutely by the currents. Floating
forever in a bed of dreaming waters, perhaps rolling once a millennium,
perhaps shifting with the change of the seasons. And this he had done.
    "It's beautiful," Lydia whispered.
    Daniel nearly blushed. Never had a compliment affected him so strongly.
He opened his mouth to say something. Lydia looked at him with her
captivating dark eyes, staring, staring as if hypnotized by a mirage in the
desert. They leaned forward and brushed lips with electric gentleness.
    Lydia kissed Daniel lightly as wrapped his arms around her, pulling
her close for a soft hug. When he opened his eyes again they lay face to
face, side by side, on the smooth welcoming bedsheets. She was peering
deeply at him. "Your eyes are so beautiful," she murmured, lightly
skimming his dark eyelashes with an index finger.
    Daniel didn't say anything. She traced a long slow path around his
clean shaven face with her finger, staring so intently Daniel felt as if
she were absorbing his whole image for all time. He half worried he would
be sucked up into her pinning gaze. She tilted his chin and moved to kiss
him strongly on the lips. Daniel felt a strange langorous ease hit him;
his eyes slipped shut as his whole body relaxed.
    Lydia slowly undressed him with great excitement. With the tux jacket
and shirt off, she paused to survey his still form, bare to the waist. She
couldn't help herself as she reached out to stroke his chest across the
pectoral muscles until she was caressing his nipples. She bent her torso
and brought her mouth to a soft nipple. Greedily she sucked it in,
smoothing his sides with her hands. She heard him give a resonant sigh as
she worked him.
    Automatically her hands moved beneath to his firm back, to knead and
caress repeatedly. She glanced for an instant at his face. With shut eyes
and still expression you might guess him asleep but for his very slightly
parted lips which shook and deepened along with his breathing as she
nibbled hungrily. 
    Heart thumping, she ran her slippery tongue down the crevice between
his pectorals, tasting him, giving him pleasure. She heard his breath slip
a notch when her tongue did circles around his flat stomach. He laughed
helplessly when she tongued his belly button. Lydia giggled and suppressed
an evil grin.
    Her hands moved surely to his zipper. She tapped the firm bulge in his
pants like a craftswoman surveying her work and flashed an impish grin.
Suspense and tingling excitement jostled within her supine form as she
unzipped his pants. Daniel lay there motionless, hers to do with as she
pleased. He shifted his lower body to make it easier for her to get at
him. Lydia took care to remove his pants without touching the underwear.
Not yet.
    When he was naked except for briefs, she examined him. "Daniel," she
giggled.
    "Yes," he breathed, eyes closed.
    "You have a good body, Daniel." She placed her warm palm over his face
and smoothed it down the length of his body, detouring mischievously
around his groin on the way to curled toes. Lydia briefly considered
sucking on his feet then thought better of it with a private grin.
    Crawling back to his crotch, she bit down on the plain white underwear.
She mentally damned him for not wearing boxers. Not very considerate of him,
part of her pouted as she dragged the underwear down with her teeth.
    Daniel's erection sprung up and brushed her cheek stiffly as she
backed down his legs with briefs in tow. Lydia stopped at his ankles and
nonchalently tossed it away. When she turned back to his erection, Daniel
was peeking back at her between a scissored hand which hide a broad smile.
Lydia moved up to his face, her vibrant dress brushing seductively against
his naked skin, and delicately shut his eyes without saying a word.
    Quickly she undressed herself down to bra and panties. Lydia leaned
over his chest and rubbed her covered breasts against him. "Undo it," she
commanded. Without looking Daniel fumblingly released the catch and pulled
the bra away. She shivered at the feel of her bare breasts against his
chest. Daniel silently opened his eyes and looked into hers. Their hungry
moans were muffled by questing lips.
    Daniel kissed her without pretense, a deep close kiss that sealed the
two together passionately. Lydia parted her mouth and let his tongue slid
in. She rubbed her panties against his thigh, feeling herself getting wet
and wanting him badly. Daniel's hands snapped off the underwear. He rolled
her over so that in an eyeblink he straddled her.   
    Naked together, the two made a startlingly beautiful picture as
Daniel's finely wrought body hovered over Lydia between her shapely,
welcoming thighs. He pushed himself up and looked down on her, at the
swell of her rosy breasts, their pink nippled alertness; the way her hair
lay about her head in a wavy corona; the extraordinary smile she shone on
him; her pert nose and suckable earlobes; and the eyes, oh god her oceanic
eyes.
    Lydia grabbed him and rolled him back under her. She lifted her hips
off his thigh, leaving a patch of thin wetness, and hovered over his
penis. He raised his hips slightly to touch her labia. She firmly gripped
his cock and then lowered himself onto him, grunting once when she was in
place. 
    Daniel's hands reached out for hers; she took them and thus began the
most exquisite movements of Daniel's life as she rocked back and forth on
his straining cock. Drops of pre-cum were lost in a sea of moist
lubrication; he thrust back at her, groaning.
    Bump and grind: rolling, seaworthy motion that had them panting
heavily, sighing, spinning in this special dance. Her above him, moving
with the utmost grace and eagerness, him below and pumping upwards to meet
her. Groaning desire expressed each time she rode the wave of his cockhead,
tickling her clit, spiralling pleasure up and down his length. The sharp,
wet, slick thrusts, the confusion of lust in the heat of contact. So
smooth, so good...
    "Yessssss," Lydia purred growlingly, pumping him back down against the
sheets with her powerful pelvis. Daniel turned his head away and groaned
plaintively. She saw with distraction he was near coming and started
bucking faster. With an evil look of pleasure she raised her hand and
slapped his cheek HARD in mid-thrust, her breasts jiggling with the force
of the blow.
    Daniel gasped, knocked fifteen feet off the plateau he had so nearly
scaled. He lay there in shock, still erect, experiencing the delicious
pleasure as it diminished in pulses. Lydia continued to slide up and down his
stiff cock, her vagina viselike around him in its slippery grip. Slowly
he felt the pleasure returning.
    When Daniel reached up to caress a breast she finally lost control and
orgasmed shudderingly, the ecstasy slamming her hard enough to drive a
grunting cry from the depths of her belly. She squirmed about Daniel's
cock and gasped shockingly as ecstasy shook her sleek, sweat-sheened body.
Daniel felt the impact of the orgasm as a wave of intense empathic and
physical pressure.
    Two steps away, he thought madly, pumping furiously as she collapsed
over him. He felt her breasts squish him delightfully and smelled her
particular intoxicating odour under the musty blanket of their sex.
Something was building in his cock as it rode strongly within its wet
enclosure. 
    Daniel thrust unceasingly, then pulled out abruptly, sticking straight
up in the open air and groaning as he unloaded a sudden arc of sperm on
Lydia's softly trembling backside above him. Again he came and cried out,
squeezing out more of his seed. Squeezing, coming, jerking up, bucking
heedlessly in thin air, unthinkingly whimpering. 
    Grunting with delirious passion, he at last subsided into oblivious
murmurs. His spent cock still jerked softly as the last of the orgasm
faded like a supernova imprinted on the back of his skull. He moaned,
lolling his head until it knocked against Lydia's, sudden but dulled pain.
    "Ouch," she sighed happily.
    "Uhmmmmmnn," he groaned in agreement while his hands clutched and ran
through her perfect hair. She patted his cheek affectionately and licked an
earlobe. Daniel stayed on his back, gathering Lydia in his arms to hold her
close.
    Slowly his head turned until he was looking up past Lydia's soft
shoulder at the stange undersea woman he'd once painted. Daniel stared at 
the ceiling and reassuringly stroked Lydia until he slipped fully into
unconsciousness, to sleep. Perchance to dream.

by Gregory Daniel Nikolic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Rhythm is a dancer, it's a source companion. People feel it everywhere. Lift
 your hands and voices, free your mind and join us. You can feel it in the
 air. Oh ohhhh... it's a passion... " - SNAP, 'Rhythm is a Dancer'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR'S AFTERWARD:

    During the last four months of 1992 I worked as a telemarketer for a
company which sold medical and corporate software globally. Towards the end
of my contract, the only people who had any authority over me left me without
work for a week while they jetted to Vegas for a computer conference, despite
my repeated warnings that I was out of work to do.

    I spent two days being a helpful aide to a low ranking secretary.
After I exhausted that work, I was left to sit in front of my terminal and
toll free phone without ANYTHING to do. The endless, insufferable tedium got
to me. Finally I bowed to the urge to do _something_ with my brain, anything.
I wrote a story, this one you've finished reading.

    However, in my foolish youth I underestimated the Gestapo atmosphere at
the office. Someone dittoed my screen, copied the file, and ended up
showing it to my boss. This is the e-mail he sent me.

    Oh, by the way, my efforts netted the corporation more than $11500 in less
than three and a half months. Better than a 200% return on their investment
in me.

*  *  *

  1 from john            17-Dec-92  9:37 am
Greg:

I have been made aware of your most recent novelette ("God of Friction").

I have taken the liberty of reading it -- and it is actually very good. I am
impressed with your language skills and creativity. I think you have a
potential future as an author in this genre.

But I am supremely distressed at the fact that this has been done on company
time, especially since we have had at least two conversations where I warned
you about this kind of activity, and you promised to refrain.

A hint for the future. Try to apply the same level of creativity and
energy to your job, as you do to your writing. That's what you are paid for.

Given you short time remaining here, I am uncertain as to what my response
will be. To be fair to On-Line there has to be some form of just reaction. Do
you have any suggestions?

John

*  *  *

   Considering the time I've invested in this story and the trouble the damn
thing has caused me (!), I'd be gratified to receive any comments you might
have regarding it. Mail can be sent to me at gdnikoli@descartes.uwaterloo.ca.
Thanks for reading.
--