my friend, you’re smart; you hit it right on the head!
Short Story / My Co-Worker Touches Herself: A Tale of Gertrude
My coworker touches herself.
55 years old & single this pancake bottomed matron represents the detrimental effects of living with your parents for too long.
Everyday at 11:46 am, Gertrude stands up, walks past our supervisor’s desk, and smiles coyly as she proceeds to the bathroom.
My other co-workers and I shoot each other quizzical looks & snicker quietly at this mild attempt at flirtation.
Everything on Gertrude is short: her thin, dyed autumn red hair is cropped; her legs, arms, torso, neck, and face all look like they’ve had their bout with gravity and lost.
Sometimes I pass her on the way to the ladies room. She usually greets me warmly and I smile fondly because I see that as usual, her nylon-spandex skirt has crept into the crevice between her butt cheeks, forming an indelible outline of her wompling behind.
In the office, we have a running bet that at 5 decades and a half into her life, Gertrude is still a virgin with the odds being 100: 1. The one being attributed to the possibility of her having been tub thumped in the supplies closet by Fernando, a Venice import & head custodian, who quite frankly, gyrates himself against everything.
Gertrude eats with the anxiousness of a squirrel, taking small, quick, yet timid bites of the little almond cookies she has stashed on the lower right hand side of her desk. Following this, I’ve always envisioned Fernando & Gertrude’s coupling as an unnatural pairing of a goat and a squirrel- with the mechanics of their mating being hard yet not impossible to imagine.
At her symmetrically organized desk, Gertrude takes quiet moments to apply moisturizer on herself. The brand is expensive and she smoothes the carefully squeezed cream around her neck and face. She tilts her head back and flutters her eyes when she does this.
We speculate that she’s imagining the hands of a man in place of her own. Gertrude usually finishes this process with a final touch to her left check with the back of her right hand. Holding her hand in this position for about 5 seconds, she takes in a shuttering gasp of air followed by a deep sigh. My coworkers and I surmise all of this as her foreplay to the daily bathroom touching she does at a quarter to 12.
At 5 pm work is over and I say goodbye to Gertrude with a sympathetic nod.
Tired and a little hungry because by this time my lunch break rice cake has digested itself, I go to the gym for an hour or two. Spin Class preceded by a series of squats and inner & outer leg lifts to fight off the secretarial spread that has plagued our dear friend Gertrude.
I’m twenty-something and while not model-esq, I’m thankful that genetics has blessed me with proportion because looking at Gertrude, I know that it could be worse.
After this I head home to my midtown apartment, which I live in by myself like any self-respecting adult. The rent takes up over half my paycheck but I reason that it’s a necessity and justify my hand to mouth living as just a product of our times.
After a shower and hair drying, I’m composed in a fitted black dress that leaves no room for symptomatic butt crevice creeping like Gertrude’s.
I receive a text message from my boyfriend; he’s stuck at work and wants to push our dinner back to 9pm. I reply with an affirmative text. I’m happy that I have a boyfriend to call my own. His name is Barton Baxter III, but he lets me call him Barton for short.
9 o’clock rolls around and I receive another text from lover boy asking to meet up at 10 pm. This means we’re going to miss dinner, but I understand. You see, he’s an entrepreneur; he runs his own company. He’s smart, sophisticated and smells good. He’s attracted to me and is definitely not in the same caliber as Fernando, the company custodian and probably the only man who Gertrude would have a romantic chance with.
At 11:00 pm we finally meet up. He greets me with a shouldered hug and we speak for half an hour. Lying on his bed, not having touched until this point, he kisses me for 5 minutes. I move to take him deeper into my mouth but he slightly pulls away. I recognize that as a hardworking intellectual, Barton is above the vulgarity of totally releasing himself to primal urges. For this reason, he never kisses me too deeply; his tongue never extending beyond the tip of mine.
Unlike Gertrude, I get touched by a man, even if it is only once every other week or so.
And while Barton has never exactly made love to me, I know he cares because every so often he sends me text messages asking me how I’m doing, which is more than I expect Gertrude gets.
Lying besides Barton, my legs firm from my work out and my skirt unwrinkled, I’m hungry.
I run my fingers through Barton’s hair but know not to bother him too much because he has to get up early the next morning to work.
In the kitchen I find a cookie and eat it.
Moving into the bathroom, I scan Barton’s array of moisturizers. Choosing my favorite lavender scented one, I smooth the carefully squeezed cream around my neck and face, tilting my head back and allowing my eyes to flutter as I do this.
Imagining that it is Barton’s hands in place of my own, I finish this process with a final touch to my left check with the back of my right hand. Holding my hand in this position for about 5 seconds, I take in a shuttering gasp of air followed by a deep sigh . . .
And then I touch myself.
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livwicca reviewed Version 1 -
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55 years old & single this
11:46 am
me warmly and I smile fondly
Suggest: at five and a half decades into her life
moisturizer on herself
pm
hand-to-mouth
His name is Barton Baxter III, but he lets me call him Barton for short
I don’t love this piece, and there is a lot of focus on moisturizer and mundane things like what people are eating. These details do not lend anything to the story itself. I think this needs to be reevaluated and cleaned up a bit so that only relevent facts are described and included.
Good luck.
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Me_Again reviewed Version 1 -
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I like your descriptions. At first, I was angered by the meanness towards Gertrude, she could be my aunt or something – maybe me in ten years. I had to force myself to keep reading and the ending was worth it. I could see this as a satirical piece in Playboy. Best wishes and keep writing.
nailhead reviewed Version 1 -
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wow, i really like this one. i kind of started getting the hint that the main character is just like Gretitude when she tried so hard to distance her self, and in the end when she doesnt catch herselfl, she is acting exactly like the person she doent want to be. lovely.
jkazimer reviewed Version 1 -
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I loved the content and for a story what else can you ask for. I laughed, made rash judgments and learned a valuable lesson. The whole thing worked well, from the narrator’s judgment and teasing of Gertrude, to the narrator busting her ass on a stair master…
I loved the comparison between Gertrude’s living at home and the narrator’s living by herself, yet, equally sad in their own way.
Really a brilliant comparison without being preachy!
Okay, enough praise. Here’s the stuff you pay credits for.
You need to spell out numbers and &.
Missing comma:
single(,) this pancake (great descriptor by the way)
You might want to consider removing the time indicators, like at 5 o’clock, 9 pm, 10 pm, and just give a vague sense of timing. The way it reads sort of seems like the writing is on the clock, rather than the character.
A little too much passive voice.
Example:
In the kitchen I find a cookie and eat it.
Why not make it active?
Eating a cookie in the kitchen, I drop crumbs on his floor.
So what’s up with Barton? Maybe give the reader an idea of why they haven’t slept together and why the narrator is okay with it.
Overall, I loved it. It made me laugh, and that’s just what I needed. Now I have speacial plans for lunch time…
KingOfWands reviewed Version 1 -
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OK, you saved this story with the last few paragraphs. To evolve from mean-spirited people who talk around water coolers about the one odd person in the office into a 20-something woman who recognizes that she is Gertrude in the making was nice. Good surprise. I wonder if the writer realizes that Narton’s making love to another woman before he gets to her, and that’s why he is the way he is to her. Perhaps a liason with the custodian is a better way to feel like a woman, instead of being made second/third priority to a hardworking intellectual? Was that the point you strived to make? This was a quality read. Thanks.
LeahD reviewed Version 1 -
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Very good -- thought it was going to be a one-sided slam at the poor Gertrude, but it turned into what I always secretly hope for from first person narration -- some self-reflective irony.
Closely observed and reported—not an ounce of fat on it.
Shuddering I think, rather than shuttering.
Great job.
October 08, 2006
Deleted User
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Nice idea, but I really didn’t find it classy enough for my tastes. Also, the second half, when the narrator is describing her life and not Gertrude’s, I felt like “Where’s this going?”
grendalsbane reviewed Version 1 -
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I really liked this. I think its certainly original and I thought the change of focus from Gertrude to the narrating character was good too.
Nice ending as well.
thesnoopyone reviewed Version 1 -
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I found it amusing the opening phrase had me chuckling at the mere premise that some one that old would do such a thing.I enjoyed the whole story and then the ending lol.
Spectacular_Views reviewed Version 1 -
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This was a good piece. I liked the comparisons between your relationship and Gertrude’s seeminly sad relationship with herself.
This piece made me laugh, which is always a good thing!
I can’t really think of anything that’s wrong with this.
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