A Charming Smile

By Louis Patrick

"A Charming Smile" is a collection of short stories that explore the depths of passion and the power of love. Each story is designed to be read before bed, allowing readers to delve into their innermost fantasies and explore their hidden corners.

From a steamy encounter between two strangers in a crowded bar, to an office romance that leads to the ultimate payoff, "A Charming Smile" offers a tantalizing glimpse into a world of passion. The stories are expertly crafted to draw readers in and leave them breathless, with characters that are both complex and compelling. 
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Louis Patrick
• Release date: May 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223820185

Book preview

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Table of Contents

Story 1

Story 2

Story 3

Story 4

Story 5

Story 6

Story 7

Story 8

Story 9

Story 10

Story 11

Story 12

Story 13

Story 14

Story 15

Story 16

Story 17

Story 18

Story 19

Story 20

Story 21

Story 22

Story 23

Story 24

Story 25

Story 26

Story 27

Story 28

Story 29

Story 30

Story 31

Story 32

A Charming Smile

Author: Louis Patrick

Story 1

It's Monday, 12:10 p.m. in Germany and I can't believe I've been sitting in front of this computer creating an Excel spreadsheet for over three hours. Mondays are the last! You have all the misery of a full work week ahead of you. Today is another damn day. My boss loves Excel spreadsheets, not just on Mondays.

Mrs. Stein, he greets me this morning with three thick folders under his arm, be so good as to transfer these results to an Excel spreadsheet. Transferring results to an Excel spreadsheet is superfluous, stupid and therefore very depressing affair. The results are already there. There is no added value. But it just reads better in tabular form, as Herr Doctor thinks. The old man has an Excel fetish and I have to take the rap for it.

That's not what I studied for, you asshole I guess. You're welcome, Herr Doktor Bruderlich, I say. My boss, dr. Anton Magnus Bruderlich, has a PhD and insists on being addressed as Doctor. I've resolved to say Herr Doktor Bruderlich to him so often that the blood runs out of his ears. But the old man is tough.

What's up for me today? he asks when I serve him his filter coffee, black, of course, entirely on party lines. Just look at your Outlook calendar, which I create for you every day, lazy old man! Crap, just thought again. With a charming smile, I silently present him with his daily schedule, in the form of an Excel spreadsheet, of course.

As soon as I leave, I turn around again. Oh, I should remind you of your concert tickets, Herr Dr. Brotherly!« Clichés aside, as a research assistant and first assistant to the doctor, I also have to keep his private appointments in mind. At least I don't have to take his shirts to the dry cleaners. But I order the courier to pick them up. I'm not getting his wife's birthday present either, but I'm researching spa resorts and listing my findings in tabular form. Also, to break another stereotype, the doctor and I are not having a ual relationship. But maybe that would help. doctor game! He's definitely into role-playing games. We could play boss and secretary. Oops, I dropped my pencil between your legs!" I can already see myself in my short skirt, kneeling on all fours under his desk. I suck while he uses an Excel spreadsheet as a jerk off template. Great, now I'm sick.

He's aware that I know about his relationship with Ms. Yellnikoff, the long-haired blonde cultural attaché at the Russian embassy, who also has a penchant for wellness, but we don't talk about it. Probably because it doesn't fit in an Excel spreadsheet. Did I mention I don't know Excel at all?

How could I have gone so wrong and ended up in politics? Surely Dr. Excel can't remember exactly why he hired me either. He was probably dazzled by my good grades and my phenomenal looks. I, on the other hand, allowed myself to be dazzled by the completely exaggerated salary and dropped my idealism for a brief moment, signed the employment contract with my eyes closed and committed myself to the next legislative period. I made a covenant with the devil. I sold my soul At least for the next four years. My only salvation would be to overthrow the government.

The long-awaited putsch has not materialized to this day. I've been working here for over seven months now. My original intention was to change the world with art. But now I'm trying to make artificial politics. Every day, with the art of adjusting. Because happy people like me are not tolerated in our party. You can tell by the strict dress code. During the weeks of meetings I squeeze myself into uncomfortable little suits, heels and blazers. Outside of the session weeks, I'm allowed to come in jeans, but the reproachful looks didn't go unnoticed. Colorful catches the eye, short catches the eye, comfortable catches the eye, actually everything that is fun. Aside from these outward appearances, I also have to be humble throughout. Objections are perceived as rebellious. And that's called democracy! That's a lot.

So I started adapting. As soon as I walk into my office, I'm different. I'm humble and serious. If I really want to laugh, I call a friend or write one of the doctor's speeches. That's fun for me, no matter what the occasion. Unfortunately, his lack of rhetorical ability means that even the best-written speech comes across as rather bland. And be it just the speech to bless a new fire station or to open some pickle barrel in the constituency. He just can't. No wonder this man became a politician.

Sometimes I toy with the idea of writing a tell-all novel about the Bundestag as the female counterpart to Günter Wallraff. Title: Where there's a dome, there's always a circus. But I'm too frustrated even for that. No wonder. After all, day after day I throw pearls before swine with a string of pearls around my neck! As Peter Licht sings so beautifully: I don't have to be here, I don't even want to be missing here.

The best moment of the day is when the clock hand is at 6 o'clock in the evening. The second most beautiful moment when the hand is at 12:30 p.m. Lunch break. It's now 12:29 and I switch the phone to my cell phone. For Mondays, I always plan something very special for my lunch break to keep one last spark of happiness on the day. Today I have an appointment with Markus, a former college friend, for sushi. We studied art history together, but Markus soon broke off the theoretical shit. He describes himself as an artist and regularly causes an uproar among the Berlin gallery owners with his »vernissages«. Once he painted the white walls of a gallery black, complete with stucco. Another time lit a campfire and fried eggs over it. Art is a broad field. However, the firefighters who arrived did not show any understanding of art.

Is there anything else I can do for you, Dr. Brotherly? I ask as I place the Excel spreadsheet printed out in color on his desk. He glances at the paper, stains it with coffee and, without further comment, dismisses me into my break. A thank you would have been nice. But no comment here is already the highest praise!

I show my ID at the gate when leaving the building. I really shouldn't have to. It is only mandatory when entering. Since I've been showing my ID to this porter every morning for the last seven months and he always pretends he doesn't know me, I always show my ID to him when I leave. Pure mutual bullying.

I'm really excited when Markus turns the corner in his green Saab, jumps into the passenger seat and kisses his stubbly cheek.

How do you look again? is his greeting.

Session week! is my simple answer.

»Oh man, Katinka, what has become of you? You have defected to the dark side of the Force!"

"Hi Markus. I'm glad to see you too. Thanks. You look very good too. And I haven't defected to the dark side, I'm hollowing out the system from the inside! Quite subversive, with Excel spreadsheets.« Markus has to laugh.

Oh dear, did the doctor torment you with his fetish again? I nod.

»The pickle barrel is about to overflow! The only thing missing is that I have to enter in his daily schedule when he has to do his business. With a column for the time and rows with ›big‹ or ›small‹. Maybe I should add daily masturbation as well. A little jerking off to relax." Markus thinks that's a really great idea. We could turn it into an art project: »cel-Life«, or something like that.

'Where's your sushi place now, Kati? We used to subsist on art, cigarettes and hot dogs. Today we're going to eat sushi. This is the end!"

Eating sushi makes you beautiful and happy. At least that's what I've heard. I point to the next crossroads. Right here, on the corner! Markus sighs.

Süe, where am I supposed to park here? He's right. It is almost impossible to get a parking space on Friedrichstrasse at this time. Also, I've lost my appetite. Today not even sushi can help make me happy. Oh Markus, we can also go to your gallery, smoke and chat about our wild old days . Markus thinks that's my best suggestion so far and drives on towards Checkpoint Charlie at full speed.

His »gallery« is actually a ground floor apartment on Kochstrasse. A dirty, unfurnished ground floor apartment. We park in the courtyard and Markus rushes around the car to open the passenger door for me. Now I feel a bit stupid in my suit next to Markus. He's wearing jeans and a tracksuit top, as always. His brown locks are unwashed and his beard is more than five days old. But Markus always looks good. He's not a beauty, but a guy. His nose is a bit big, his teeth are slightly crooked, but he has beautiful dark brown eyes. He looks exactly how you would imagine a Berlin performance artist to look. Dirty but neat. Attractive.

Markus opens the apartment door for me and a pungent, sharp smell of paint hits my nose. I love it when it smells like paint. It smells of renovation, of a new beginning. My eye immediately falls on a pencil drawing on the desk. It's a naked woman playing the saxophone.

That's good, I say. I didn't know you could really draw.

I didn't know you knew anything about politics either, Markus replies.

Oh darling, we're just very similar. We both make our money by hiding the fact that we have absolutely no idea what our actual work is.

I keep looking at the picture. Markus comes up behind me, puts his arms around my waist and whispers in my ear: »You look kinda hot in those spit clothes!« I get goosebumps all over the left side of my body. Do you remember how I look without it? Markus stands very close to me and I can feel his erection on my bottom.

Not exactly anymore. He starts kissing my neck. It must have been two years since Markus and I were together. It was only a month. We had great  for three weeks and then decided it was better to just stay friends to avoid killing each other. We're just too similar.

I turn around and kiss Markus on the mouth. It tastes familiar. We kiss harder and Markus bit my lower lip a little too hard. I can feel myself getting wet. I'm really in the mood for him, here and now, in this artists' dump.

Markus, I still have forty minutes for lunch. Stop cuddling and undress! Markus smiles at me.

"There she is again, my old Katinka! You wanna fuck honey? Then we'll fuck.« Markus immediately takes off his clothes. I have to laugh and undress myself completely.

We stand naked in front of each other. Markus takes my breasts in his hands and looks at them very carefully. You still look your best without clothes. I always feel beautiful with Markus. Maybe because I know he loves my body. Now I don't want to talk anymore. Wanting a quick, kinky fuck, I head towards the only piece of furniture in this shack: a shabby mattress lying on the floor in the corner, without a sheet. Typical artist cliché, but just right.

I lie on my back and stretch out my hand to Markus. He kneels in front of me.

Touch yourself a bit! he asks me.

Markus, I don't have much time left.

'Come on, just a moment. I want to watch you do it for a bit. Fine. But only because he asks so nicely. I place my right index finger on my clitoris and massage it in a circular motion. With the other hand I caress my breasts. Markus grabs his erect cock and starts rubbing it. That's nice, Katinka. Don't stop!" I wet my left middle finger and let it slowly wander down between my legs until I shoved it into my pussy with great relish. Markus groans. I slowly slide it in and out. It turns me on to watch Markus getting hornier and hornier, his upper arm muscle tensing while he jerks off, his veins bulging on his forehead. Markus moans dangerously loud. I don't want him to come without me.

I stop stroking myself, turn around and present myself to him on all fours. I give Markus a challenging look over my shoulder. Are you going to fuck me now? Markus lets go of his cock and strokes me between my buttocks. Then he slides his finger into my pussy and keeps rubbing his cock. Finally, Markus grabs my hips with both hands and penetrates me with a jerk. I groan and enjoy his careful movements inside me. He fucks me with very slow Stöen. Fixer! Markus obeys. His movements become faster, more energetic. I reach through my legs and take his balls in my hand. It excites me to hold him here. Him aswell. Markus fucks me even harder. I need both hands again to support myself and groan loudly. Markus' testicles slap against my bottom, his fingernails dig into my hips. We come at the same time.

When Markus comes, he starts laughing. It has always been like this. He can't help it. No orgasm without a fit of laughter. It irritated me at first, but soon I had to laugh along with it. Same today. We lie blissfully next to each other and laugh.

Thanks, says Markus.

Not for that, I reply. If I've sold my soul, I must at least take care of my body! A glance at the digital clock next to the mattress makes me jump. I only have twenty minutes left! Markus sighs.

»Oh Katinka, that you always have to be so stressful!«

Hurry up. I still have to integrate ›the assistant's intercourse‹ into the Excel daily plan. Maybe then I'll get a raise.

Markus lets me out in front of the entrance and gives me a kiss on the cheek. You know, I'm kind of glad there's people like you in there. But if you still want me to start a coup, just let me know! Then I'll round up my boys.« Markus reaches into the back seat and hands me a roll of paper. To you! And now off to your perverted doctor!" I accept his gift and kiss his mouth goodbye.

»I am very happy about the bad parking situation in Berlin-Mitte. Thanks for the nice fuck break. We should do that more often.«

With a smile, I show my ID to the mean porter, take the elevator to the fifth floor, and make one last trip to the restroom to check my Spier look. I straighten my messy hairdo and stagger back to my desk. At 1:30 p.m. sharp, I redirect the calls back to the switchboard and inwardly congratulate myself on this perfect timing. I'm very hungry, but also very satisfied. Then I unroll Markus' gift. It is the pencil drawing of the naked woman with the saxophone. I hang them on the opposite wall and feel Markus' sperm running into my panties.

At that moment, the doctor comes out of his room, followed by Mrs. Yellnikoff, the blonde cultural attaché. The lady in the costume has very rosy cheeks.

That's an extraordinary drawing, Ms. Stein. I feel myself blushing. Somehow I feel caught.

Would you rather I didn't hang them, Herr Doktor Bruderlich? He shakes his head. 'No, no, please. Go ahead. I find this drawing extraordinary...', the doctor considers, 'interesting!'

I think so too, I smile at him and let the Dr. Brotherly« just go away. Then my stomach growls. He growls really loud. It's not a growl, more like a roar. My doctor looks at me questioningly. Didn't you just have lunch?"

"No. I was going to eat sushi with a friend, but we couldn't find a parking space.« Shall I continue now? And then we just banged in his gallery. There was also egg white, but different. Oh, that would be so funny. So funny! And I'd finally be off that damn job for fornication at work.

Well, I'm going to get something to eat anyway, the doctor interrupts my thoughts. I'll just bring you something else. Pasta? By the way, excellent speech yesterday.

That was praise! That was clearly praise. The two leave my office and I look after them with a smile. Should I tell Yellnikoff she's wearing her skirt inside out?

End

Story 2

Laurenz was the shooting star of our literature group: sharp-witted, well-read and incredibly good-looking. He was also the frontman of a pretty popular rock band. His trademarks included kohl-rimmed eyes and an impressive whiskey consumption. Styling-wise, he always looked a bit like Johnny Depp in his signature role as a pirate, and he maintained his image as a heartthrob by skilfully flirting with every female being. Understandably, the wildest legends entwined around him, which he tended to maintain rather than deny. We all secretly had a little crush on him. Ever since I joined the group a quarter of a year ago, things have been crackling between us. To be honest, I was quite into him and I think he was a bit into me too.

Our group always met on Tuesdays in the early evening in one of the seminar rooms of the Journalism Institute. One evening after the session, we all went to my apartment for a little sit-in. I had been single for a year now and had chosen wild Laurenz for a hot, non-binding one-night stand. That should be okay with him too, I thought, because I didn't really trust a guy like him to want to commit himself seriously for a longer period of time.

Although Laurenz had never been with me, he naturally followed me into the kitchen while the rest of the crew squeezed into my tiny living room. The old refrigerator wobbled a little as my handsome guest yanked open the door.

Oh, baby, he purred, looking slightly disgusted, picking up a couple of the bottles that were neatly lined up in the side door. His deep, melodious voice alone sent pleasant shivers over my body.

Milk? vegetable juice? Raspberry syrup? Children Tea?

Just go back if you don't like something, I replied cheekily and gave him a skillful look. He ditched the fridge and slowly walked towards me, only to stand quite close in front of me.

You know what I like about you?

Having so much alcohol in the house? I guessed.

Yes, that too, you little boozer, but most of all... he leaned toward me, his lips almost touching my ear as he spoke, that you never bother to be nice to me.

Why should I? I answered, seemingly calm, but my heart was pounding in my throat. He really had it out with women! I didn't want to imagine how many he'd laid before me with that trick. His mouth had moved towards the crook of my neck, but he held back and didn't touch me. I heard him laugh softly and his warm breath caressed my shoulder.

And now? Tea? Or maybe a glass of vegetable juice? I asked, trying to annoy him a little more. He lifted his head and drew himself up to his full height. His dark eyes were equal parts resigned and amused.

Tea would be great, baby, he finally said. I then turned briskly towards the kettle and gave him enough time to take a good look at my butt. He also made no secret of the fact that he had complied with this request - I realized that when I turned around again.

Which species?

Hm? Almost reluctantly he looked back at my face.

Tea. You. Which species?

Doesn't matter.

OK.

But not a black one!

Good.

And no peppermints.

OK.

And nothing with fruit.

And what's left as an alternative?

He shrugged and his eyes twinkled with amusement. Ginger tea? vanilla tea? Green tea? For example.

I snorted indignantly. Do I look like a tea shop?

He leaned toward me again, resting his right hand on the countertop behind my back.

You look great, first of all, he said then. Oh man, I swear I would have dismissed that sentence as clumsy and dumb on any other guy, but on his it made my whole body tingle. But to continue our game, I ignored his flattery.

So what tea now? I asked, apparently completely unimpressed.

Water, just plain water, lightly carbonated, or preferably still.

Look, there's a whole case over there, just grab a bottle and I'll get you a glass, okay?

Laurenz's gaze followed my outstretched arm, then he took a long step to the table under which the box was standing. He had barely fished out a bottle when I held out the glass to him. Laurenz gave me a longing look and a thank you, then he disappeared from the kitchen. I watched after him and vigorously forced my heart rate back down.

After two and a half hours without alcohol, the first ones left, after three hours only Laurenz and I were left. He didn't seem to want to leave and I had no intention of kicking him out. He'd continued flirting with me throughout the evening, but he hadn't really been outspoken. With a suffering expression on his face, he let his gaze wander over the many empty teacups on my low living room table. The end of a child's birthday party, he muttered.

I spontaneously pinched his crisp upper arms. You are impossible.

Do you like my muscles? he asked me off-topic.

What muscles?

Yes, mine.

You don't have any.

I'm sorry, what?

Yes, then show! I challenged him.

Never mind... With a skillful grip, he pulled his T-shirt over his head.

Oh, I whispered approvingly. His appetizing pecs were really impressive.

Are you shaving? I asked, tapping his bare skin.

Hair doesn't grow on steel, he whispered. I nodded in delight and lost myself in his dark Jack Sparrow eyes.

Do you want me to help you clean up?

No no no no, I said hastily, shaking my head vigorously for confirmation. How could he now ask me about such mundane things as dishes and full ashtrays. All I wanted to think about now was him and his all-too-physical presence.

But I really wouldn't-

Let's talk about something else, shall we? I interrupted with a lovely look in my eyes.

Anything you want, he said, grabbing a strand of my long hair and twisting it playfully around his finger.

Shall we go over there? I whispered.

Over where?

Er... could I show you my bedroom?

Laurenz laughed, but made no move to get up. I watched him and didn't really know what to think of it. There was a strange silence between us. He was still twisting my hair, I was chewing on my bottom lip.

Are you trying to pick me up or what? he then asked.

I felt hot and cold at the same time. Should I say, Hey, you finally get it. How is it now? Go over there or right here on the couch? or should I demurely lower my eyes and try to blush at least a little. I decided on option three: I didn't say anything. Laurenz released my hair again, sat up very straight and continued to look at me searchingly.

Or am I wrong to accuse you of something? he broke through the silence that hung between us like a sticky bubble of chewing gum.

Fiona?

I forced myself to answer. Yes?

Are you offended now?

Why?

Because of the question, silly.

No, I said, pinching his pecs again. I just felt like it. And he looked like a toy, a half-naked toy after all, so why shouldn't I touch him?

Na, na, na! he laughed and tried to avoid me by turning sideways.

You undressed voluntarily, remember.

Okay, then, equal rights for everyone! he said, wanting to pull up my shirt. I played along, jumping up in apparent disgust and running halfway around the low coffee table.

Stay here, coward! With these words, Laurenz was also on his feet. I giggled and ran towards the bedroom with him close behind me. I stopped in front of my bed and watched him walk through my door, hair blowing and his chest bare.

Oh, a bedroom! Laurenz grinned and stopped right in front of me.

What a coincidence, I said, taking half a step toward him so that I was standing directly in front of him. He didn't move so I kissed him without even thinking about it. It was just too tempting. Laurenz wrapped his arms around my