"Just A Tool"

"Just A Tool"​

I sit on the bus stop bench next to several others waiting for the #52 Cross Town. When the bus pulls up and the others get on, I hear a voice behind me ask, "Mister, you getting on?"

I look over my shoulder at the driver and just shake my head, before turning back around and looking in the opposite direction ... to the Harrison Hall dormitory. I've been waiting for almost two hours, waving off more than a dozen bus drivers by this point. Finally, there she is, bounding out of the dorm between two other tenants, a cheer squad member I recognize from the 6th floor -- one of three of the building's six floors restricted to females -- and a guy I also recognize as a Red Shirt freshman for the football squad.

I wait until she gets almost to the curb before I smile broadly and say, "Hi, Becky."

She slows, as do the others. They all three look a bit confused, and the second girl says to the one with whom I want to speak, "Becky?"

The second girl snickers, and -- like a brick to the forehead -- I realize what the issue is. I say softly, "You told me your name was Becky."

She stares at me with a sense of recognition, but the Jock quickly makes it clear why my face is familiar with, "Hey, aren't you the guy that cleans the puke in the bathrooms on the weekend?"

My stomach turns over and my already nervous smile fades. Yeah, I'm the weekend janitor for the dorms, but I really don't want to talk about that here and now, particularly with this punk ass kid who obviously thinks that just because he's in college, that makes him smarter than me and means he has a better future ahead of him than vacuuming hallways and, yes, mopping up vomit.

Fifteen years ago, I was a student at this very same university, working my way toward a degree and an easy life on Wall Street. But ... shit happens ... and now I spent six hours a night, Thursday through Sunday, cleaning after spoiled drunkards who can't grasp the concept of getting their head down into the bowl before they spew.

I look directly at Becky and say softly, "Saturday night ... you said to stop by and say hi."

I can tell from her expression that she doesn't remember me. And if she doesn't remember me, then she doesn't remember our encounter ... our heavenly encounter ... in the Janitor's Closet.

"That's too good," Jack says, a diabolic grin spreading across his face. He's been my roommate's boyfriend for all of three weeks. He's hit on me every time she left the room, and never misses a chance to humiliate.

"What?" Christy says to him.

"Remember Saturday, Brandi got all wasted at that party and then, like, came in at seven in the morning and passed out?" Saturday night was the Sigma Tau party. I remember a garbage can full of punch. I kind of remember Jack trying to pull my panties off on the dance floor while Christy was in the bathroom. I sort of remember walking back to the Harrison by myself, with the world spinning.

I look at the janitor and shake my head.

"I'm Brandi, not Becky," I say, and shrug. "Sorry."

"I'm Brandi, not Becky," she says, shrugging, "Sorry."

I ponder the reason for which she is sorry: sorry for giving me the wrong name, for not remembering the incredible time we shared, or -- as I am beginning to already suspect -- for not wanting to be associated with me ... a lowly janitor ... a man almost twice her age.

Never mind that most of the women my age find me still very attractive. Never mind that even at 35, I still have the fit, muscular body I had when I was a track star at this very University. Never mind that before our encounter was finished, Becky -- I mean, Brandi -- screamed out in ecstasy two, maybe three times and might have continued experiencing amazing orgasms if she hadn't suddenly spewed all over the work table in my work space, causing me to believe we should stop.

No, none of that means much to Brandi as she stands her between her fellow classmates who, likely, are feeling just as awkward as the rest of us.

"Listen, I, um..." I drop my eyes, unable to withstand the confident, accusing glares of her friends. I reach into my pocket and pull out a DVD in a plastic case. I offer out the disk and say, "This is for you."

The guy laughs suddenly, snatching the case. As he turns it over, then back, looking for some kind of indication as to what it is but finding none, he laughs, "Oh, look! The janitor made you a mixed CD of music." He laughs again, then looks at me and asks, "Love songs, right?"

In a flash, I snatch the case back and step up menacingly to him. His laughter ceases immediately, and -- despite wanting to act tough and stand his ground -- he backs half a step and conspicuously shows the concern for his safety ... and his perfect nose and teeth.

I look to Brandi, offer out the DVD again, and say, "I promised you this."

I look into her mesmerizing green eyes for a moment, back a step, and turn to leave. If she doesn't recall our night of erotic passion and euphoria, she certainly isn't going to remember me telling her that surveillance cameras had recently been installed in all of the storage rooms, including the custodian equipment room in which we'd had our incredible sex. Someone has been stealing supplies -- mostly chemicals -- which campus security suspects are being used to produce the latest pharmaceutical that is popular at campus parties.

Ironically, it is that very party drug -- sort of a cross between XTC, Roofies, and coke -- that both caused Brandi to forget our time together and enjoy it so immensely both.

And I know that if Brandi doesn't recall me telling her about the cameras, she likely doesn't recall me promising to get the DVD recording for her out of the Security Office, which -- of course -- I also clean and maintain. I promised her, No one but us will know about this. I realize now that it might have been more accurate for me to have said, No one will ever know about this ... but me.

"Jack, will you please fuck off?" I say, and even though he's laughing, I can see the malice in his eyes. He doesn't like being talked to that way.

"Sure thing, Becky," he says, and is laughing loud as he takes a few steps away. Then he stops, looks back and snaps at Christy. "You coming or what?"

"Brandi?" she says, but she starts walking to him. I don't exactly want to walk to class with them now, but I'm not sure what else to do. I look at the janitor. I don't know what's going on but I know half of campus will know about it before the sun sets. I grab the CD from him and hurry off, taking the long way to class so I'm not following Jack.

*

I watch the girl bent over the utility sink in the janitor's closet. It's hard to watch, because she looks just like me. It is me, I'm sure of it, but I still can't remember. Now I know why I woke up the next day with a sore throat, but despite watching the video, I don't remember throating him like a pornstar for twenty minutes after he fucked me the first time. I take the DVD out of my laptop and break it in half. I break the halves in half, throw them in the trash, and then take the bag down to the dumpster.

Last Saturday Night:

Another party, I think to myself, shaking my head and jumping back out of the way as a shapely blond in a tee and bikini bottoms -- her Double Ds bouncing both up and down and left and right -- runs past me, screaming playfully as not one, not two, but three jocks in various states of undress chase her off toward the stair well.

The 6 floors of Harrison Hall are supposed to be restricted to the gender assigned to sleep on them, but that rule is no longer enforced by the University. After an event two years ago in which three students returning from a lake party were killed in a drunk driving accident, the Chancellor decided -- and the Board agreed -- that it was safer to allow the students to enjoy themselves here on campus, rather than do so elsewhere and then have to return with the person behind the wheel likely high as a kite.

I usually waited to clean up the building until the morning after, but -- being the custodian on call this weekend -- I'd received an emergency text saying that a pipe had broken and water was filling a 2nd floor bathroom. Since I was already here, I went ahead and began picking up some of the mess ... and, of course, ogling the beautiful young women who were often dressed in nothing but bikini tops and boys shorts ... and, on a couple of wondrous occasions, less than even that!

I was on the third floor, just entering a custodian work room, when someone collided into me. I at first thought it was one of the rough housing students rushing about the hall. But when I regained my balance and turned, I found a beautiful, dark haired beauty closing -- and locking! -- the door behind her while she looked me up and down hungrily.

The laughter and noise of The Harrison resounds throughout the dorm, as the youths experience various forms of their newly acquired 'ADULT" independence. I exhale slowly with relief as I enter the Custodian's work room. I turn towards the mature man, hooking manicured thumbs into the belt loops of my tight low rise worn jeans. I smile at him, innocently and huskily greet his shocked form - stepping closer smiling as the Cover-girl I am "HHHhi there." I giggle musically as I see the custodian catch his breath "Cum here often?" I raise my right eyebrow in the intriguing way that i have learned to do. My head is pounding and I feel the life coursing through my model body as I gaze at the mature man. The Frat party was a bit much, and I had uncharacteristically drank ALOT less than usual, and for reasons not ascertained, I am overwhelmed with a sexual need unlike ever before! Various genres of music pound vibrating the old building and mix together in a smorgasbord of tones. I lick my full Cabernet lips slowly, dramatically to a seductive glisten and approach the mature man gracefully, my designer heels clicking on the worn linoleum floor.