BILLY by Chelsea Brown
It had been oh, so easy.
Of course, it had taken a genius to fit the individual pieces together, and to see the potential once the individual pieces had come together, but Billy Preston certainly was a genius. Not many people realized it, but Billy did.
The first piece came to Billy at one of those boring corporate seminars. This one was titled "Advances in color display techniques". Billy had daydreamed through most of it but had been jerked back to the present when he heard Norman ask "How can there be half a million shades of white in a palette? Surely white is white is white?" The workday was almost over and Billy groaned at the thought of the lecturer going over time by answering stupid Norm's stupid question.
"At one end of the monochrome scale we have black", the lecturer explained. At the other, white. In the middle, medium gray. Halfway between white and medium gray we have light gray. Between light gray and white there's lighter gray and between lighter gray and white there's ... um ... even lighter gray." Some of the class tittered at his use of such a non-technical term. "Okay, then. Let's call medium gray 'gray1' and light gray 'gray2'. Then 'lighter gray' becomes 'gray3' and 'even lighter gray' becomes 'gray4'. Now, is everyone happy?" Most of the classes nodded in rapt attention. The lecturer continued. "With sixteen million shades of gray-scale in a mono palette, there are 2,097,151 shades between gray3 and white, 1,048,575 shades between gray4 and white, and 524,287 shades between gray5 and white."
Billy looked around the room. Norman, as usual, was taking copious notes. Ken was openly ogling Ginnie, and Ginnie was doing her best to encourage Ken. Billy alternated between thinking of Ginnie as the ice queen and the company bicycle. That is, she had been ridden by every guy in the company except Billy, whose advances she ignored with a determination that Billy found difficult to understand. Billy tore his attention away from Ginnie when he became aware that the lecturer was still droning on.
"To put it another way," the lecturer continued, warming to his theme, much to Billy's disgust, "in a sixteen million color mono palette, there's black, white, and 16,777,214 shades of gray in between. But most people can't distinguish between more than 20 or 30 shades of gray. I said there were half a million shades of white. It would be more accurate to say that there are 524,287 shades of ultra-light gray which are indistinguishable from white."
"Whoop de doo" thought Billy, angrily. "If we can't tell the difference, what use are they?"
"In fact, most computer monitors don't even bother displaying more than 32 shades of gray. But I noticed that your company uses the new HiCol2000. They actually display 256 shades of gray. I'm just not sure why."
Most of the class were laughing at the lecturer's quip as they left the training room. Only Billy was scowling, pushing past everyone else in his hurry to get out of the building.
The second piece was largely due to Billy's mother. Billy had wanted to watch "ST:TNG" but his mother had insisted on watching something on the Learning Channel. Nor would she let Billy go up to his room and watch Star Trek up there, insisting he keep her company. The program was about something called "Chromasthesia" which showed a group of students at Sterling University, Scotland, performing tests under the supervision of a teacher who happened to be an American that the University was paying large wads of money to, to perform the tests. The tests appeared to show that certain people could "hear" colors (or, sometimes, smell or taste them). The interesting thing (at least, later on it became interesting -- at the time, Billy didn't attach any importance to it) was that it looked as if people could detect differences in colors with their ears that they couldn't detect with their eyes. For example, if someone "heard" a particular color as C#, he might hear a slightly different shade of the same color as Db. The problem was that, of the few test subjects that could actually "hear" colors, most of them were tone-deaf. Lawrence Gerstley, the teacher, was hoping to get additional funding to search for more chromasthetic volunteers to perform further tests on.
Billy's mind filed away the data under 'bloody useless information' where it joined up with the fact that the office computers could display 8 shades of gray which were indistinguishable from white to the human eye, and sat there, waiting for him to make the connection.
The final piece came to Billy while he was watching a movie. It was one of those 'N.Y. cop doing impossible feats to catch the baddie' movies where the special effects were better (and cost more) than the actors. Billy was playing a game he often played at movies, counting the number of product placements he could spot. He had counted 62 (the most obvious being the soda can that the hero drank from, the telephone that the hero used, the laptop that the hero used and the car that the hero drove) and was coming to the conclusion that only the hero was allowed to use items with a logo prominently displayed, while the villain always used brand X - the obvious reason being that the sponsors didn't want their products identified with criminals.
Billy wondered if sponsors were really stupid enough to think that people would actually buy their brand of automobile just because they'd seen Bruce Willis or Mel Gibson drive one in a movie. He remembered his uncle telling him about the subliminal advertising that they'd experimented with back in the seventies. Surely that would have been a much better way of getting people to buy cars? Slip a frame into the movie footage exhorting the benefits of "Ford", for example? Billy thought that he could certainly use subliminal messaging at work. Get a nice pay raise, for a start.
At that point, Billy's "Useless Information" mental filing cabinet opened its door and yelled "Yoo hoo!" Billy suddenly realized that he could make subliminal messaging a reality, and that he carried the information needed to do it in his head. It was just a question of putting it together. The trouble was, there was so much useless information in Billy's head that it took some time for him to sort out the bits he actually needed.
He pondered the problem for the rest of the movie, and on the way home, and the rest of that day, and all night, and all Sunday and all Sunday night. By the time he arrived at work, he had figured it out and knew what he had to do.
First of all, he had to hack into the company e-mail system. Not too difficult and, by shuffling assignments around, he had managed to crack that by mid-afternoon. Now he could choose, for the e-mail message foreground color, one of those shades of ultra-light gray that was indistinguishable from white to the human eye. For the background color, he would use pure white. If everything worked, he could send an e-mail message that looked just like white space, but that actually contained text. Although the message couldn't be seen on a conscious level, Billy was betting that it could be 'seen' by the sub-conscious. Billy also made a copy of the modified program on a floppy disk to take home. Like most of his colleagues, Billy was able to interface into the company e-mail system from his home computer, and wanted to make sure that he had the ability to send subliminal messages from home, as well as from his desk at work.
Now it was time to test his theory out. Billy composed an innocuous message and addressed it to approximately half his colleagues. Into the message, he weaved the words "You are thirsty. You have a strong desire for a can of soda" written, of course, in Billy's electronic version of invisible ink.
Then he clicked 'send' and dashed round to the canteen.
He had only been waiting for a few minutes when the first person turned up - Spooner, from Accounts - and headed directly to the soda machine. Unfortunately, Spooner was one of Billy's control group, the people he hadn't sent the message to. Nevertheless, Billy checked Spooner's name off and sat back to see what happened. Within fifteen minutes, Billy had added many more check marks to his sheet of paper. Of the sixty people he had sent the message to, 48 had actually bought a can of soda. And of the fifty-nine people he hadn't sent the message to, only 4 had turned up, and one of those was just to get a coffee. Billy grinned to himself. God damn it, it actually worked!! Now he was going to kick some serious ass.
Billy spent the rest of the day composing his next message. By Tuesday morning, he had dotted all the tees and crossed all the eyes. His (subliminal) message read: "William Preston is hard working and conscientious. He is a self-starter and methodical. His projects are always completed on time and under budget. He is courteous to customers and is always professional. He is well liked by his colleagues and is a team player. He spends a large proportion of his spare time increasing his usefulness to the company by learning new techniques and improving his knowledge in areas applicable to corporate products and service." No sense overdoing it, he thought. He was going to add a paragraph strongly suggesting a 10% pay increase but thought better of it. If corporate policy was, say, 5% maximum, then asking for 10% might draw undue attention to what he was doing.
Billy had to wait almost two weeks before his boss was ready to give him his review. But the wait was worth it. Billy got A and A+ on all the sections of his performance report. And he walked away with a 7.5% pay increase, more than anyone else in the department.
His next target was Ginnie. First, he had to discourage the rest of the guys. That was easy. His message to them read "Virginia Beecham has AIDS." Within a couple of days, over 40 of his male colleagues had requested time off for a physical checkup. Billy requested (and got) the following Monday off. His idea was to spend three days in bed with Ginnie, to make up for all the nights he hadn't spent in bed with Ginnie. He couldn't think of a way to convince Ginnie that she needed to take a day off while, at the same time, being willing and available. So instead, he made plans to get Ginnie's boss out of the way, so Ginnie's absence wouldn't be noticed. Billy didn't know much about Ginnie's boss except that her name was Mrs. Lancaster and she was reputed to be very strict. Billy's message to her read "You are feeling ill. You probably have the flu. You should take several days off." Now it was time for Ginnie herself.
"You find William Preston sexually stimulating. Every time you see him, you want to make love to him in the worst way. On Friday night, at 8pm, you will meet him at the 'Green Onion'. You will dress like a slut. You will take Billy back to your place and give him a blow job. Then you will let him use you in any way he wants, and for as long as he wants."
On Friday afternoon, Billy was packing up his desk, when he heard a couple of colleagues chatting as they walked past his door. One was saying "I hear Virginia Beecham is ill." The other responded "Yes, she's not been in for a few days. Someone told me she has AIDS." The first voice responded "Isn't it terrible letting people like that work here ... " the voice faded away as the speakers walked out of earshot.
Billy was furious. He thought rapidly, then dialed an extension. A voice answered "Nora Lancaster. How may I help you?" Billy slammed his receiver down in the cradle. Damn, damn, damn. Mrs. Lancaster must have been out the day he sent her the message and had her e-mail forwarded to Ginnie instead. Now Ginnie was off sick instead of Mrs. Lancaster. What a waste.
That evening, Billy almost stayed home. But to do so would acknowledge that he didn't have a life so, after dinner, he got changed into what he thought of as his 'club clothes' and headed off to the Green Onion. As usual, the place was noisy and smoky and dark. Billy got a drink and sat down at one of the booths near the staff entrance, indulging in his usual sport of people-watching. After 20 minutes or so, Billy became aware of a gorgeous girl that seemed to be walking in his direction. She was wearing a black leather mini-skirt and a white blouse, stretched over a black lacy bra. Her long legs were encased in smoky gray nylons and perched on top of black patent pumps with impossibly high heels. Her lips were moist and full and her eyes were half-hidden by a curtain of long black lashes. She wore long dangly earrings and a number of matching bracelets. Her nails were long and painted the same color as her lips, a shade that Billy normally thought of as "CFM" red. All in all, she looked like a high class hooker.
The girl sat down next to Billy. "Hi, lover," she said, "I'm Nora."
Nora? Nora Lancaster? Billy suddenly realized what must have happened. If Ginnie knew she was going to be off work for a while, she would have forwarded all her e-mail to her boss.
"Let's go back to my place" Nora suggested, breathily.
"Er .... But what about your husband?" Billy asked, nervously.
"Oh, I'm not married. Come on. Please?"
Yes! The night wasn't a total bust after all. Billy didn't know what Mrs. Lancaster really looked like (he had already realized that the long blonde hair which tumbled around Nora's neck was a wig) but if she was willing to look like the slut he'd asked for, then presumably she was also willing to do the rest of the stuff he'd put in his e-mail to Ginnie. Billy stood up and let Nora link her arm into his.
Nora's house was old and stood back from the road. Once inside, she was all over Billy like a cheap suit. They kissed furiously while Nora massaged Billy's crotch. Finally, Nora stood back and licked her lips deliberately. Then she slid down onto her knees. She unbuckled Billy's trousers and unzipped his fly. His trousers fell down to his ankles. Then Nora yanked Billy's pants down to his hips, exposing Billy's cock which, by now, was rock-hard.
Billy had requested the best blow job of his life and, technically, that is what he got. It had to be the best because it was his first. Which is not to say that Nora was adept at what she did. Even Billy realized that. But he had to give her marks for trying, and the whole situation was so deliciously sensual that it wasn't long before Billy had exploded in Nora's mouth. Nora rocked back on her heels, swallowing every last drop. Then she lay on her back.
"Take me." she offered, huskily.
Billy needed no further hinting. He got down onto his hands and knees and began to undress her. As he unbuttoned her blouse, he could see that the bra, although black and lacy, was a full-line type which totally covered her breasts. Probably an old-woman thing, thought Billy, as he struggled to unzip Nora's skirt. Nora's panties matched her bra in that, instead of being a soft triangle of fabric, it was voluptuous and made out of some rubbery material. Billy grabbed the waistband of the panties in both his hands and began half pulling, half rolling the garment off. When it was past Nora's hips, he stopped, his jaw hanging slack. There, nestling between Nora's thighs, was the biggest cock he had ever seen. He looked up at Nora's face and, with angry determination, pulled her wig off.
"Norm? Oh my God!!" he cried. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
His colleague cried softly. "I love you, Billy," he said. "I need you."
"Geez," Billy said, as he struggled to pull up his pants and trousers, "I didn't know you were a fucking drag queen."
"I'm not," replied Norm. "This is my first time. I just wanted to look sexy for you."
Suddenly, things clicked into place. "You read Ginnie's e-mails, don't you?" Billy accused.
"Sure. She forwards them to me when she's away. Anything I can sort out, I do for her as a favor. The rest I forward to Mrs. Lancaster."
Billy realized that it was his fault that Norm was laying on the carpet in full drag. "Well look, I'm just not into this, all right?"
Norm pouted. "But I want you so badly. You don't know what it's like working so close to you and not being able to touch you -- to kiss you."
"Goddamit, Norm. Cut it out." By now Billy had gotten fully dressed again and was backing up towards the front door. He fumbled behind him for the handle. As he walked into the cold night air, he could hear Norm/Nora's voice calling after him "You do think I'm sexy, don't you, Billy?"
Billy ran all the way home, and fell into bed, exhausted. The next day, he fired up his computer and opened up his e-mail program. His message to Norm said "Please get me the Peterson account totals by Tuesday lunch time". The subliminal part of the message simply said "You do not like dressing like a girl." He sent it and then had a long bath.
Billy decided to take the Monday off anyway, and spent the day helping his mother around the house. In the evening, he and his mother were just settling down to watch television when the phone rang. Billy answered it. It was Norm. "Can I see you again, darling?" Norm asked. Billy slammed the phone down.
"Who was it dear?" asked his mother.
"Er ... wrong number." Billy then climbed the stairs to his bedroom and fired up his computer again. His message this time said "You do not love Billy Preston. You only like girls." He was stupid not to have included that in his first message. But now everything should be all right.
On the Tuesday, Billy was going to the canteen when he chanced upon Norm, coming back from the water cooler. Norm looked at Billy strangely. "Uh ... about Friday night ..." he started.
Billy pulled Norm into the training room, which was presently unoccupied. "Look, you're not going to start all that again are you?"
"No no. I'm over that now. I really don't know what came over me. Too much work, I guess. You won't tell anyone, will you?"
"I guess not. As long as you don't."
"You can count on that." Norm smiled and left.
When Billy arrived at the canteen, there was only one other person there. He was looking out of the window, with his back to Billy. One of the suits, Billy imagined, as the guy was wearing a pair of pin-striped trousers with matching vest. His shoes were expensive brogues, his blond hair was cut short and slicked back with some kind of grease. Billy turned to the soda machine and then realized that there was something vaguely familiar about the guy's ass. Then it hit him. He'd stared at it long enough on other occasions.
"Ginnie?" he asked.
Ginnie turned round. Her face was devoid of makeup, her ears free of her usual dangles, and, under the vest, she was wearing a man's shirt and tie.
"Oh. Hi, Billy," she said. "Got your e-mail. I'll let you have the Peterson figures by lunch-time, as you wanted." And walked out, past him.