I stab my bobble-head Chihuahua with my pen and imagine I'm one hundred and fifty pounds thinner, my upper arms don't flap, and my butt cheeks are symmetrical tight, half-moon slabs. My lover, James Morris, is always holding me by my sides and I don't pull away.

Hungry, I get up from my desk, give my dog another poke, then head for the break room where there is always a birthday cake. I think of James caressing my rock-hard ass, and I smile. He fondles my hair, which is cut in a soft bob that bounces gracefully about my face, and he admires my smooth, white skin. He tells me I remind him of a porcelain doll. I say something charming and witty, and I don't pick my nose when I'm nervous.

"Dora, right?" James Morris says, watching my fingers. "You answer phones?"

I nod, taking my index finger out of my nose and picking up a piece of birthday cake lying on the chrome and glass table in front of me. I can't believe he actually knows my name.

"You can have my piece. You need it to keep your shape." He pats the larger of my two cheeks, clicks his tongue, then gives me a wink before he squeezes past me. Actually, it is more than a wink. It's as if his hazel eyes looked past the middle-age acne I can't find a cure for, the hole I had ripped in my shoe to relieve the pressure from my bunion, and the stain on my blouse from the breakfast taco I ate earlier, and they see the real me. Then, he hands me his slice of cake. Somehow he knows chocolate is my favorite. I take the piece off his hands and eat it.

He sensed the connection, too, because like a prairie dog in the spring, he pops his head up from his cubicle wall and waves every so often. I lose my train of thought, and I laugh when I see those elevator eyes. I decide I'm going to talk to him after work but this time I will have something to say. By five o'clock, I'm ready to leave but James is still on the phone. So I pullout my EZ tax form and wait for him to leave his cubicle. A little before six thirty, he stops by my desk.

"Working late?" He scans my face, neck, and breasts.

"Yes," I lie, sliding my tax form into a manila folder.

"Dora, ah, do you mind doing me a favor?" he says, tapping his knuckles against his briefcase.

"What?" I look at him and stammer. "No, no, not at all. What is it?" "Well, it's a little personal," he says. here answering the phones and sorting mail."

"Yes, my hand gets cramped from all the messages I have to write." I "I know you're pretty busy up hear his knee rap against my desk. "I also keep the appointment book for the conference room. Order supplies and.... "

"Yeah right. But would you mind screening my calls?"

"Why?"

"Well, here's the personal part." He leans over the four-foot reception desk. "There's this woman stalking me."

"Noooo...," I say, like I don't believe him.

"It sounds crazy, right? I'm trying to hide from a woman. I didn't think anyone would believe me."

"No. No, I mean, I said 'no' like when people say 'get out of here.' I absolutely believe you. You're good looking, single, everyone likes you. I can see how a woman would want you so bad she'd resort to stalking."I turn red and cover my mouth.

"Exactly," he says, with a chuckle. "Her name is Lisa, and if you could just tell her I'm out of the office when she calls...." He coughs and straightens up when another sales rep walks by. Before turning his attention back to me, he gives her the once-over. "If you could keep this between you and me, I'd appreciate it." He cocks his hand like a gun and points it at me. "Thanks, sefiorita."

He knows Spanish. I'm impressed. I want to say something profound but only manage, "Your secret is safe with me." I knock my forehead against my desk after he walks out the door.

***

"Twelve calls this morning from Lisa," I say, handing him his messages. "Yeah." The telephone is cradled between his chin and shoulder. He looks up at me, and opens and closes his mouth like he is chattering.

I laugh before I say, "You calling it off?"

He raises one hand and shows me four fingers. Then points his gun finger at me.

"I see." I jog to my desk to answer the phone. It's Lisa again. "He's in a meeting, would you like to leave a message?" I tell her panting.

Lisa isn't a stalker. She is just a woman in love with someone out of her league. She makes herself available to James to use and abuse. And like most men, he takes advantage. She's one of the best sources I have for getting information concerning James. And I have to hand it to her--after two weeks of no contact, she is still trying to break back into the upper tiers of James's love web. It only took me a week to come up with the web system. It's actually a number system. I've numbered his girlfriends one through five. James only talks to his number one and two girlfriends. The other three have to leave messages. One and two are usually the newest girls, his favorites, and they don't bother him much at work. When they do call, their voices are still a low and seductive pitch, not yet the high, nasal whine of desperation that the three through five girls have. The number one and two last, maybe, two or three days and then move down the ranks. I've gotten pretty good at guessing who's where on his list by the number of times they call or just by the tone of their voices. I always know all five by name, whoever they may be each week. He told me that he doesn't date more than five at a time, except for last summer, when he dated the McGuire twins, and nearly got killed by the one that was a cop. When Suzy found out he had slept with her sister, she pulled out her magnum and shot out all four tires of his BMW. He says more than five is asking for trouble.

One of his girlfriends calls at least once a day. When the relationship is in trouble, it's more than once. I like talking to them. They think I'm his personal secretary, and I don't tell them any different. Aren't bosses always going after their secretaries? I have my favorites, too. Numbers four and five love to talk. They tell me all about James--how they love the dimple on his cheek when he smiles, how he has a thick scar between the cheeks of his butt, how his head jerks to the left when he comes. These women keep me informed. Let me in on the private life of the man I'm going to marry. And they like talking to me, too.

When Lisa calls back I tell her, "James didn't look so good today. Is everything okay?"

"Is he upset?" she asks.

"I dont know but he looks like he hasn't slept." I lie.

"Oh, gosh." Her voice sounds strained.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, I really made him mad last night," she says.

"Oh. "

"James was upset because I wasn't home when he called."

Here it comes.....

"Gosh, I should have stayed home last night. If I'd had known. But he hadn't called in a week."

"Could you please hold? There's another call."

"Oh, I'm sorry for telling you all this. I really should be going."

"You don't have to apologize to me. I've been there. Please hold though." When I get back on the line, she doesn't stop talking.

"He reached me at about eleven last night, and he said he didn't want to have anything to do with a girl that was going allover town without him."

So stupid, I think. James is smart, putting the blame on her.

"He thinks I'm cheating. I'm not. I was at my mother's house, but he didn't believe me."

She's a goner.

***

Early Monday morning, Lisa calls the office and asked for me.

"I broke," she says.

"Oh." I say, disappointed, but not sure why.

"It hurt so bad," she cries.

And I know. Anal sex is James's weakness.

Mr. Douglas's phone line is ringing. When he hired me, he told me that his personal phone line was priority one, and if his secretary was out of the office, I should answer his line before the others. But I'm not going to let this moment pass me by. Lisa is going to tell me about the entire night, so I make an executive decision and ignore his line. I cradle the phone so tight my fingers ache. A slap on the counter distracts me, and I'm surprised to see James. He drums his fingers on my desk. He looks tired and smug. I cup the phone with my hand and whisper, "Lisa."

He points to his desk, which surprises me. She made a comeback.

"Lisa, James just walked in, and he wants to talk to you."

"Oh, God."

She sounds embarrassed, but I patch her through. After that conversation, I know what has to be done.

Before going home that night, I stop by the grocery store and buy a bag of carrots. That night I take all the carrots out of the package and line them up on my kitchen countertop. I choose the thinnest one, and laugh when I pick it up, thinking that if I were cooking I wouldn't have given this one a second glance. I lay the carrot on my nightstand as I put on my nightgown. When I get into bed I pick up the carrot, look at it, then set it back down and go to sleep.

James brings me chocolates and a coffee mug the next morning. "How's my favorite secretary?" he says, sounding so nasty it makes me blush.

"Fine." I wonder if he was with Lisa last night.

"Any calls?"

The phone rings, and I answer it. I nod at him and say out loud, "Jane, please hold. I'll transfer you to his office."

James snaps his fingers and says, "You know this girl can wear the hell out of blue jeans. Her ass is a perfect heart shape."

Number ones, I think, are so lucky. That evening I go shopping for a pair of jeans. Come casual Friday, I wear the denim pants despite the problem with my ass. Everyone just stares. While I'm inside a bathroom stall, I overhear two of the women sales reps talking about me.

"Did you see her ass?" says the busty one James is always watching.

"You could show a movie on her right cheek, and roll the credits at the same time on her left."

Angry, I walk out of the stall and wash my hands. The busty one coughs and the other one stops talking. Neither looks at me or says hello. They walk out of the bathroom together. These are the same two that got chippy with me when I told them I couldn't take, their personal messages. "I don't have time to keep track of hundreds of personal phone calls," was what I had said. They had gotten upset, but I didn't see them complaining at staff meetings. What were they going to say? "Dora won't take my personal phone calls." They will not be getting any of their phone messages any time soon.

James didn't get to see me in my new jeans because he called in sick. He must have started an early weekend with Jane. After work, I drive home, take my jeans off, throw them in the trash, and feed my birds.

I've noticed that James misses a lot of work. He's partial to Mondays and Fridays. He'll miss one of those two days at least twice a month.

Monday morning, I bring donuts as usual--a special treat for everyone in the office, something to make the start of the week more bearable. Before I can take the donuts to the break room, I get called into Mr. Douglas's office. As I walk by, Busty whispers something to a co-worker standing next to her at the copy machine. When I leave his office, my head hurts, and I know my face is red, and I try not to make eye contact with Busty. She's still at the copy machine. I can hear it's hum, and catch bits of words. "Mrs. Douglas" and "upset." When I sit down, the barbacoa burrito I had eaten in the car on the way to the donut shop isn't sitting well. My stomach rumbles, so I get up, switch the answering machine on, pullout my bathroom break sign, and head out the double doors, down the carpeted hallway, and toward the women's restroom. I nearly fall over when I see the "do not enter" sign.

With no other option, I walk into the men's room. Luckily, no one is here. I run into a stall and empty the contents of my breakfast, midnight snack, after-dinner snack, and yesterday's dinner. As I'm finishing up, I hear voices. Embarrassed, I lift my feet, resting one on the toilet roll dispenser and the other on the door in front of me.

"Damn, smells like your house, James," Tony from accounting says.

"You jealous?" James says. "Yeah, it stinks."

I want to flush myself down the commode and disappear. I look between my legs into the toilet and sit and wait.

"Finish telling me about this Jane," Tony says. "So you got her home."

"She's unbelievable, man."

I hear the zipper teeth grind and a sound like the fountain at the San Jacinto Plaza. I try peeking through the space between the stall doors, but all I can see is James's back. So I give up and listen.

"We're going at it, when Lisa walks in."

"No fucking way!" Tony's urine sounds like rain hitting a tin can.

"Yeah. Actually, she doesn't walk in. She just stands in the doorway and watches Jane, who is on top of me, bare assed. I don't know how long she'd been standing there watching. All I know is we were already done, and Jane was slumped over on top of me, resting when I looked toward the door. I smiled at Lisa, who looked like she was going to cry, then she ran out of the house."

"Only you could get away with that."

"Get this. I thought Jane had no idea what had happened. Then she asked, 'Who was she?' You believe that?"

"You're the luckiest man on earth."

"Yup," James says. "Got rid of one and kept the other."

There is a moment of silence before I hear the metallic flit of their zippers. They both walk out, talking about something I can't make out. My mind is buzzing with new images. He didn't even wash his hands, I think. But God, what I would give to be Jane. I'm not his type. He likes those tall thin girls with no breasts. I let my legs drop and flush the toilet. I wipe my forehead with toilet paper because of the sweat that beaded up.

***

The most infuriating thing about Jane, besides the fact that they're still dating after four months, is that when she calls she doesn't like to chitchat. She's very business-like, asks for James and nothing else.

So, when she calls, I tell James, "Your wife's on line one." He doesn't get mad, just laughs and drops what he's doing to take the call.

I've been doing Internet searches on her. She's not a wanted criminal, doesn't get parking or speeding tickets. She lives a few blocks away from my sister in a condo she owns. The secretary, Sheila, at the non-profit Jane works for thinks she's a saint. While we were having lunch, it took all I had not to blurt out, "You know, your boss is a whore." But this support group I joined to meet Jane's secretary is not about bashing bosses but about helping us help ourselves. So I sit and listen to how Sheila's husband does not like to have sex with her. And how he suggested she take a lover. I mention how my boss has many lovers hoping Sheila will spill something, anything about Jane. Sheila doesn't know who my boss is and I'm not supposed to know who hers is either. I do know that Jane likes her coffee black and she hides king-sized Snickers bars in her office drawer. She eats two, right before she's about to hit some bigwig up for money. And if she's out of chocolate, she raids Sheila's desk for any sugar. Apparently, she goes through the candy bars quick because after Sheila says hello to everyone at lunch she says, "I'm going to have to stop buying butterscotch bites. She polished them off again. And didn't even replace them. Like they were hers. She's so inconsiderate." I nod, but the others in the support group admonish her and recite, "Let go and let God." I roll my eyes and eat. After an unsatisfying lunch, I get back to work and Jane calls.

"He's not in right now," I say, looking right at the back of James' head. He's standing up talking to Busty, one cubicle over. "May I take a message?"

There's a moment of silence before she says, "Oh, really . I was just talking..... Oh, never mind, I'll call back."

I smile with the phone in my hand and James looks over at me. He puts his phone to his ear and shrugs his shoulders. I shake my head. He looks surprised and disappointed. I try not to smile.

An hour later, James strolls by my desk. "Any calls?"

"No," I say, ripping open a letter. "Meet anyone new?"

He laughs and shakes his head.

"You in love?" I concentrate on the paper I'm taking out of the envelope.

"Love." He pauses.

I look up at his face, and he's biting his lip in thought. All I want to do is kiss his open mouth and run my tongue over his straight teeth.

He scratches his head. "I don't know, maybe."

"She must be good," I say, then crumple the paper in my hands and throw it in the trash.

"Good? She's very good." He gives me the same puzzled look I get when I tell him in Spanish to keep his wolf eyes off my breasts and his paws on my body. "I'm working late tonight so let me know if anyone calls before you leave."

"You too? I'm here until midnight. I've got extra filing to do for Mr. Douglas," I say. "I'm going to order dinner. You want anything?"

"Really? Yeah, might as well. Doesn't look like I'll be going anywhere tonight."

"Not even if Jane calls?"

"Afraid not. She's at her mother's out East. She'll be gone for two weeks."

"Too bad." I smile.

***

I finished filing three hours ago and it's already 11 p.m. If I don't make my move now it will be too late. And James looks tired. I walk over to his desk and place my hands on his shoulders.

"Ah," he sighs as I rub. "That feels so good."

"It'll feel better without this shirt." I stop massaging him when he unbuttons his shirt.

"Don't stop," he laughs. "I won't try anything."

"It's not you I'm worried about," I giggle. "It'd be even better with oil."

"You're right. Slippery stuff. You got any in your bag?" He teases.

"Nope," I shake my head. "Does vitamin E count?"

"Vitamin E? Why are you carrying vitamin E."

"I use it for everything. Rough elbows. Burns. Cuts. Scabs. You name it."

"Sex?" he grins.

"Especially sex," I say. The silence is too long and in a panic I say, "It's a good lubricant. And it's medicinal so it helps if there's some kind tear or rip."

"You like it rough, then?"

"Well, no, not really," I say, digging my fingers into him.

He pats my hand to make me stop. "Not really. Dora likes it rough."

Embarrassed I say, "No, rough isn't my style."

"You could have fooled me," he rubs his shoulders. "So what is your style?" He stands up to face me but before he does he gives the empty office a once over. His eyes linger on the entrance before resting on my breasts.

I don't mind that he doesn't look me in the face. He's probably sick of Jane's flat chest. "I like. I like. Well, it's embarrassing."

"What?" His face is inches from mine. "You like to be tied up?" He grabs my wrist.

My heart pounding, I nod.

"Peed on?" He laughs then says, "Nah, you don't look the type. Missionary style? Doggie style? Yes, Doggie style? What's so embarrassing about.... oh. "

I can feel his erection against my stomach, and he lifts my skirt and twists my arms to make me turn around. I know he's sick of Jane. I take his hands off my hose because he's leaving burn marks on my stomach trying to rip them off. I take off the hose myself, while he undoes his pants.

My panties at my knees, he shoves me against his computer terminal. I gulp air. It's when I'm coughing for my second breath that he decides to enter and I scream in pain. He clamps his hand around my mouth to muffle my cries and pushes harder. With tears streaming down my face I bite his fingers.

"Ouch. Thought you didn't like it..." grunts "rough." I can feel his body jerking to the left, I know it's almost over.

He falls onto my back in an exhausted heap. I'm horrified, hurting, and in love at the same time. I never imagined sex to be this brutal. And I never imagined I'd be this close to James. When I lift my head from his computer, I use my sleeve to wipe the oil spots I left when he pressed my face into the plastic. I pull up my panties. The wetness makes me smile. I don't bother with my pantyhose that lay on the floor like snakeskin. When I look at James, he is fully dressed.

"Thanks," he says and winks at me. "I gotta get back to work."

He sits on his rolling chair, turns his back to me, and begins to type.

"I'd better be getting home." I say, softly.

I grab my bag from my desk and head out the door. Safely inside my car I hug myself, lean my cheek on the steering wheel, and mouth the words, "No. No." After about ten minutes I start the engine and back out of the parking lot. I can see him working through the windows, and for a brief moment, I'm embarrassed. It passes, and I'm proud. I hope someone saw us. Too bad Jane isn't around. I can't believe that I made him forget Jane. I think he really enjoyed himself. At home, I slip into bed, his smell still strong on my dress, and I dream about our wedding.

I'm in the office early the next morning. James drags himself in at ten. When he sees me he winks. I smile.

"Has Jane called?" He flashes me the gun sign then adds, "Pow."

"No," I say, wanting to break that finger.