Pussy for Pills – the true story so unbelievable they said it could never be made into a movie. Coming to a cinema near you.
The story so far…
Florida. September. Wayne looked out of the window of his luxury hotel penthouse suite and let his gaze wander across the distant sun-drenched beach to the sunlit horizon.
He smiled.
Life was good, and a $200,000 salary plus expense account to match went a long way towards keeping it that way. Sure, being a top gun medical director for AstraZeneca was demanding. Very demanding. But there were plenty of rewards.
Wayne turned that thought over in his mind and laughed quietly to himself. He turned his eyes from the rolling, golden curves of the sand dunes and back to the rolling, golden curves of Redacted, who was pacing back and forth in the room behind him.
Make that physically demanding, he thought.
“Just tell me what you want, Wayne,” she said, worrying a blood-red finger nail. “Tell me what you really want.”
Time to get back to work, Wayne realised. He shivered.
“Honey, what I’d really like is for you to turn the air-con down,” Wayne replied. “It’s freezing in here.”
Redacted’s flimsy, figure-hugging dress revealed a couple of tell-tale signs, signs of either the artificially cool apartment breeze or her aura of barely-suppressed excitement. Wayne suspected they were due to the latter.
“Wayne, you just don’t understand,” she sighed. “Industrial espionage isn’t my scene. I’m just a silly little clinical researcher at silly little Parexel. What possible use am I to a high-flyer at AZ like you?”
Wayne stood up sharply and took three short, quick strides across to where Redacted was standing. He seized her long, copper-coloured hair and pulled her tight to him.
“Stop it! You’re hurting me,” she squealed. Then… “Don’t stop….”
He kissed her savagely, crushing her mouth to his lips, and felt her tremble with hot, needy desire.
“You’ve got something I want,” he purred. “Times, dates, results. You know. And in return, I’ve got something you want…”
He felt her hand reach feverishly for his belt.
“No, not that,” he laughed. “Not yet, anyway…”
She smiled. “Did you bring them?”
“They’re in the drawer, by the bed. The small blue bottle.”
Redacted smiled and turned away into the bedroom. Wayne heard her open the drawer and take out the vial holding the three precious Vicodin tablets. Her reward for being such a good girl, he reflected.
Yes, such a good girl. Just like all of the others.
Wayne thought back to the early days. AZ had always been one long party. He remembered the corporate excesses of his old US CEO, good ol’ Lars. Now there was a guy who really knew who to party.
He smiled at the memory. Even back then, Wayne had acquired a reputation as a Don Juan amongst medical researchers. Love ‘em, lay ‘em, leave ‘em. Back then of course, such behaviour was perfectly acceptable, even encouraged and certainly greatly admired, even by the ladies.
His abilities in that sphere of research operations had not gone unnoticed by senior management, either.
“Zere iz nozzing wrong viz using your greasy pole to help climb ze greasy pole,” Lars himself had once joked to him.
Great days, great days. All different now, of course. Political correctness had forced out Lars long ago. And most of the characters like him.
“Not the anything has really changed,” Wayne’s former marketing colleague Mike Zubillaga had once said to him. “You can still pull the same old stunts to get results. The only thing is that now, if you get caught, your management will cut you off at the knees. They feel they have to pretend that they don’t know what really goes on. If it’s all going well, then fine, but if Joe Public finds out what you’re up to, then it’s goodbye. No way will an executive take a bullet in support of guys like us, these days.”
And boy, did Zube ever find that out the hard way, reflected Wayne…
“What are you thinking about, Wayne?” cooed Redacted, interrupting his reverie.
She was standing in the bedroom doorway, wearing a translucent white cotton hotel bathrobe. Her long, tanned legs carried her to his side.
“About us,” replied Wayne, truthfully.
And about the e-mails and the rumours. Seroquel had always been a product with a deep, dark secret, one that threatened bring down the whole AZ empire. Everyone who was anyone at AZ knew that, but now the smoke was blowing away and the mirrors were tarnishing. And the execs were looking for people to blame…
“Do you love me?” asked Redacted.
Wayne slid his hand inside her bathrobe. “Of course I do,” he smiled.
And it was true. He loved all of his ladies. Every one of them.
Her bathrobe slid to the floor. Redacted shivered with excitement as Wayne pressed his lips to her (continued next post…)
Well, it could have been like that. Check out Jim Edwards at BNET for the full, hilariously sleazy story from the real world…
The story so far…
Florida. September. Wayne looked out of the window of his luxury hotel penthouse suite and let his gaze wander across the distant sun-drenched beach to the sunlit horizon.
He smiled.
Life was good, and a $200,000 salary plus expense account to match went a long way towards keeping it that way. Sure, being a top gun medical director for AstraZeneca was demanding. Very demanding. But there were plenty of rewards.
Wayne turned that thought over in his mind and laughed quietly to himself. He turned his eyes from the rolling, golden curves of the sand dunes and back to the rolling, golden curves of Redacted, who was pacing back and forth in the room behind him.
Make that physically demanding, he thought.
“Just tell me what you want, Wayne,” she said, worrying a blood-red finger nail. “Tell me what you really want.”
Time to get back to work, Wayne realised. He shivered.
“Honey, what I’d really like is for you to turn the air-con down,” Wayne replied. “It’s freezing in here.”
Redacted’s flimsy, figure-hugging dress revealed a couple of tell-tale signs, signs of either the artificially cool apartment breeze or her aura of barely-suppressed excitement. Wayne suspected they were due to the latter.
“Wayne, you just don’t understand,” she sighed. “Industrial espionage isn’t my scene. I’m just a silly little clinical researcher at silly little Parexel. What possible use am I to a high-flyer at AZ like you?”
Wayne stood up sharply and took three short, quick strides across to where Redacted was standing. He seized her long, copper-coloured hair and pulled her tight to him.
“Stop it! You’re hurting me,” she squealed. Then… “Don’t stop….”
He kissed her savagely, crushing her mouth to his lips, and felt her tremble with hot, needy desire.
“You’ve got something I want,” he purred. “Times, dates, results. You know. And in return, I’ve got something you want…”
He felt her hand reach feverishly for his belt.
“No, not that,” he laughed. “Not yet, anyway…”
She smiled. “Did you bring them?”
“They’re in the drawer, by the bed. The small blue bottle.”
Redacted smiled and turned away into the bedroom. Wayne heard her open the drawer and take out the vial holding the three precious Vicodin tablets. Her reward for being such a good girl, he reflected.
Yes, such a good girl. Just like all of the others.
Wayne thought back to the early days. AZ had always been one long party. He remembered the corporate excesses of his old US CEO, good ol’ Lars. Now there was a guy who really knew who to party.
He smiled at the memory. Even back then, Wayne had acquired a reputation as a Don Juan amongst medical researchers. Love ‘em, lay ‘em, leave ‘em. Back then of course, such behaviour was perfectly acceptable, even encouraged and certainly greatly admired, even by the ladies.
His abilities in that sphere of research operations had not gone unnoticed by senior management, either.
“Zere iz nozzing wrong viz using your greasy pole to help climb ze greasy pole,” Lars himself had once joked to him.
Great days, great days. All different now, of course. Political correctness had forced out Lars long ago. And most of the characters like him.
“Not the anything has really changed,” Wayne’s former marketing colleague Mike Zubillaga had once said to him. “You can still pull the same old stunts to get results. The only thing is that now, if you get caught, your management will cut you off at the knees. They feel they have to pretend that they don’t know what really goes on. If it’s all going well, then fine, but if Joe Public finds out what you’re up to, then it’s goodbye. No way will an executive take a bullet in support of guys like us, these days.”
And boy, did Zube ever find that out the hard way, reflected Wayne…
“What are you thinking about, Wayne?” cooed Redacted, interrupting his reverie.
She was standing in the bedroom doorway, wearing a translucent white cotton hotel bathrobe. Her long, tanned legs carried her to his side.
“About us,” replied Wayne, truthfully.
And about the e-mails and the rumours. Seroquel had always been a product with a deep, dark secret, one that threatened bring down the whole AZ empire. Everyone who was anyone at AZ knew that, but now the smoke was blowing away and the mirrors were tarnishing. And the execs were looking for people to blame…
“Do you love me?” asked Redacted.
Wayne slid his hand inside her bathrobe. “Of course I do,” he smiled.
And it was true. He loved all of his ladies. Every one of them.
Her bathrobe slid to the floor. Redacted shivered with excitement as Wayne pressed his lips to her (continued next post…)
Well, it could have been like that. Check out Jim Edwards at BNET for the full, hilariously sleazy story from the real world…
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