Hey, know what's better than mistletoe and chestnuts roasting on a open fire?
Having a mindshattering orgasm with la homme's head between my legs, in my office, on the last day of work before Christmas........
While Barbra Striestand sings the Lord's Prayer.
Surely I will burn in hell.
Still? Totally worth it.
Merry Christmas, ya'll.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
The Truth of the Matter, Revealed
I've noted in nearly every post that la homme's wife is crazy. I know this because there's been some drama, which isn't very interesting, but the point of it is this: she got oh holy pissed off at him and told another girl in our office that he was not among the well endowed. It spread like wildfire, and I've spent sometime wondering if I would be disappointed at some point.
Now would be a good time to explain that I do love my husband, and that we have a long history together, and he's fallen apart on me in the past year, and the betrayal of being kept cold and hungry, in bitter, angry silence, is part of how I justify my shenanigans. Also? I put up with an awful lot of bullshit for about a twice a month romp with his very generous package. When we first started dating, and I was all of seventeen and only technically not a virgin, it was all he could do to get inside me. It took us a few months of weekly practice to get truly functional. Oh, those were the days!
I digress. So I was concerned that perhaps after years of occasional contact with a very large cock, if the rumors were true, la homme might leave something to be desired. My chief concerns were concealing my disappointment and worrying that over the years, my husband had ruined what he oft referred to as one of my best traits- a very tight pussy. Sometimes, he's ignored me for so long that we have to go back to our original tactics to allow him to fully penetrate me, but what if that was due to him and not me? Even in this naughty double life, I am neurotic and self conscious, which are two traits that do not suit a temptress. The question and the problem had grown huge in my head, particularly since I was beginning to think that la homme's refusal to let me touch him there was about more than his silly point of no return.
He's started coming to ask me a business question, standing in the door frame of my office, holding the door against his hip, with his beautiful body blocking the entire opening. When he does this, I kick off a high heeled shoe, put my foot on top of a drawer handle, and put on a little show for him.
The last time he did this, there was no one around to throw off the trail, so he was on his headset with a client when he stood at my door, not talking to me at all, just biting his lower slip a little as I slipped a finger inside me and wiggled my hips, grinning at him. He came in to my office and shut the door, replacing my finger with his own, and I slipped the mic arm on his headset up and out of my way as I kissed him, tugging on that beautiful lower lip with my teeth, gently.
He finished up his phone call and turned me around, so that my back was against his chest, and with a hand on my breast and another between my legs, he began to nibble on my neck and earlobes, until I turned my head and kissed him, neck twisted to it's limit, body still facing forward. He let up for a second, and I took the opportunity to turn and face him.
He kissed me and at the same time, took my hand and guided it to where I've tried myself to put it so many times. He was hard, and throbbing, and as I rubbed my hand over the front of his dress pants, I searched for the head. And searched, and searched, thinking to myself that his wife was a lying bitch. When I found it, and gave it a little squeeze, I gasped a little in the midst of our kiss, and he put his hand between my legs just in time to realize the effect this new boundary crossing had on me. I continued to rub his hard cock through his pants, and just as I was working up the nerve to go for his button and zipper, he pulled his hand away, then mine, kissed me one last time, turned around, took a few deep breaths, checked his appearance, and left.
Question answered. Problem solved. And now the only thing left to wonder, well, two things- when will I get to feel him throb inside me, and when will I get a taste?
coco
Now would be a good time to explain that I do love my husband, and that we have a long history together, and he's fallen apart on me in the past year, and the betrayal of being kept cold and hungry, in bitter, angry silence, is part of how I justify my shenanigans. Also? I put up with an awful lot of bullshit for about a twice a month romp with his very generous package. When we first started dating, and I was all of seventeen and only technically not a virgin, it was all he could do to get inside me. It took us a few months of weekly practice to get truly functional. Oh, those were the days!
I digress. So I was concerned that perhaps after years of occasional contact with a very large cock, if the rumors were true, la homme might leave something to be desired. My chief concerns were concealing my disappointment and worrying that over the years, my husband had ruined what he oft referred to as one of my best traits- a very tight pussy. Sometimes, he's ignored me for so long that we have to go back to our original tactics to allow him to fully penetrate me, but what if that was due to him and not me? Even in this naughty double life, I am neurotic and self conscious, which are two traits that do not suit a temptress. The question and the problem had grown huge in my head, particularly since I was beginning to think that la homme's refusal to let me touch him there was about more than his silly point of no return.
He's started coming to ask me a business question, standing in the door frame of my office, holding the door against his hip, with his beautiful body blocking the entire opening. When he does this, I kick off a high heeled shoe, put my foot on top of a drawer handle, and put on a little show for him.
The last time he did this, there was no one around to throw off the trail, so he was on his headset with a client when he stood at my door, not talking to me at all, just biting his lower slip a little as I slipped a finger inside me and wiggled my hips, grinning at him. He came in to my office and shut the door, replacing my finger with his own, and I slipped the mic arm on his headset up and out of my way as I kissed him, tugging on that beautiful lower lip with my teeth, gently.
He finished up his phone call and turned me around, so that my back was against his chest, and with a hand on my breast and another between my legs, he began to nibble on my neck and earlobes, until I turned my head and kissed him, neck twisted to it's limit, body still facing forward. He let up for a second, and I took the opportunity to turn and face him.
He kissed me and at the same time, took my hand and guided it to where I've tried myself to put it so many times. He was hard, and throbbing, and as I rubbed my hand over the front of his dress pants, I searched for the head. And searched, and searched, thinking to myself that his wife was a lying bitch. When I found it, and gave it a little squeeze, I gasped a little in the midst of our kiss, and he put his hand between my legs just in time to realize the effect this new boundary crossing had on me. I continued to rub his hard cock through his pants, and just as I was working up the nerve to go for his button and zipper, he pulled his hand away, then mine, kissed me one last time, turned around, took a few deep breaths, checked his appearance, and left.
Question answered. Problem solved. And now the only thing left to wonder, well, two things- when will I get to feel him throb inside me, and when will I get a taste?
coco
Blondie
I've never really been into girls. They're hot, sure, but I'm a girl. So while I might appreciate a beautiful woman, my drive, my appetite is for men. Until I met blondie.
She's a specimen. Beautiful, natural blonde hair, smartly cut and well kept. Pretty blue eyes, a perfect set of pouting lips, and an incredible body. Where I am soft, curvy, and blessed with larger than average breasts, she is taut, sharp lined, and has perfect perky little breasts that never require a bra. We are something like night and day, her well mannered blonde bob against my wily, wavy, out of control chestnut mop. My soft curves against the hard lines of her well earned, well formed muscular frame. She's a few inches shorter than I am, and intoxicating.
We've had a few moments when I thought that she would like to kiss me, and I've never shied away, but I like to be pursued, so I'm also not going to be the one to flip the switch. So we've stalled out at a few drunken kisses, not even the best kind of kisses, and I figured it would stay that way. Particularly since it's rare that I see her outside of my husband's ever looming presence, and he would never, ever allow me to enjoy such a treat without standing witness. Which? Fuck that. Maybe if he saw fit to take care of me, sexually and literally, I would consider that, but pigs will fly before that day comes, so anything I get around to with Blondie will be when he's not around.
I saw her the other night, at a party, and when it was time to leave, I had a moment to say goodbye in private. I invited her to the house over the holidays, for soup and wine, and we kissed, and had another almost moment, when someone interrupted our conversation.
We've since firmed up a date, and in doing so, I set the stage for a sleepover while my husband is on his trip......
Sitting here, writing these posts, it occurs to me that this time last year, I would have never done any of this, thought about it, wrote about it, even considered it. Now I seem to have taken to it like a fish to water. As if it were a part of myself so long denied and now bubbling to the surface, as natural as if it had been there all along. What a wonderful, terrible feeling.
She's a specimen. Beautiful, natural blonde hair, smartly cut and well kept. Pretty blue eyes, a perfect set of pouting lips, and an incredible body. Where I am soft, curvy, and blessed with larger than average breasts, she is taut, sharp lined, and has perfect perky little breasts that never require a bra. We are something like night and day, her well mannered blonde bob against my wily, wavy, out of control chestnut mop. My soft curves against the hard lines of her well earned, well formed muscular frame. She's a few inches shorter than I am, and intoxicating.
We've had a few moments when I thought that she would like to kiss me, and I've never shied away, but I like to be pursued, so I'm also not going to be the one to flip the switch. So we've stalled out at a few drunken kisses, not even the best kind of kisses, and I figured it would stay that way. Particularly since it's rare that I see her outside of my husband's ever looming presence, and he would never, ever allow me to enjoy such a treat without standing witness. Which? Fuck that. Maybe if he saw fit to take care of me, sexually and literally, I would consider that, but pigs will fly before that day comes, so anything I get around to with Blondie will be when he's not around.
I saw her the other night, at a party, and when it was time to leave, I had a moment to say goodbye in private. I invited her to the house over the holidays, for soup and wine, and we kissed, and had another almost moment, when someone interrupted our conversation.
We've since firmed up a date, and in doing so, I set the stage for a sleepover while my husband is on his trip......
Sitting here, writing these posts, it occurs to me that this time last year, I would have never done any of this, thought about it, wrote about it, even considered it. Now I seem to have taken to it like a fish to water. As if it were a part of myself so long denied and now bubbling to the surface, as natural as if it had been there all along. What a wonderful, terrible feeling.
Long Term Strategy
Major plans were set for after the company Christmas party this Friday. Minor plans for office visits peppered the week. After being cock blocked by my best friend and my asshole husband all week, I had had about fucking enough. Or, not nearly enough, if you prefer.
My best friend works with me. She knows that at one point I had a crush on la homme, because at the same time, he had a crush on her. Her stupid, naive, newly married ass dissolved into tears and quickly cut off any friendly contact with him. I've swallowed my pride over being his consolation prize. Who fucking cares, already- this is not high school, this is not an exercise in snagging a husband. At any rate, she calls him predator, and is wary of him, and very wary of any contact we might have, which in her naive mind, is a only a danger to my heart and not my fine upstanding moral status. So she is protective, and this means that our little adventures are planned around her absences.
She unknowingly gets in my way when she refuses to take a lunch break, or insists that I accompany her on some silly errand. Do not misunderstand, I love the girl dearly, and if she weren't so damn faithful, I would get her drunk and paint her toenails and devour her like a perfectly cooked, aged steak. She is just a source of frustration in this situation. La homme admits that he still holds great affection for her, and that his attraction is secondary to his affection, and even he was ready to put a fucking pen in her eye on about Wednesday.
Through unfortunate circumstances that befell me about a month ago, my husband and I are sharing a vehicle. Of course, this makes slipping away from the office damn near impossible, as I can't very well ride with la homme, and I have no other discreet transportation. What it has also meant is that at times, I can keep our vehicle with me, and then pretend I am too busy to go pick up my husband, and my best friend very willingly offers to do it for me. She likes to help out and to take a break from the office, and I tie my two biggest obstacles up together for at least 30 minutes. The best part? There have been times that la homme has had his talented lips on the nape of my neck and his finger shoved up inside me, behind my closed and locked office door, while best friend and husband idly chat in the parking lot. (working for a security company has it's advantages, as I can pull our cameras up on my computer to chase la homme off seconds before best friend walks through the door..)
This is an awfully long post that doesn't seem to be headed to the point the title made.
So I'll cut to the chase. I got fucking skunked at my office Christmas party, which didn't hurt me a bit, because I know when I can't feel my teeth and I'm not among friends that I need to stay seated and keep my fucking mouth shut and my legs crossed, and that, my friends, is what I did.
However, my best friend and my husband, my cock blocking chauffeurs for the day, now had to coordinate my travels themselves, as I was not capable of it. They got into a huge fight and won't speak for a long time. And while this ruins a great strategy for the short term, patterns are dangerous and I didn't like them having a chance to talk without me. So, unintentionally, I've solved that problem, at least for now.
Also, because my husband managed to treat both myself and my best friend like complete and utter shit, she'll likely back off a little in sticking up for him and encouraging me to be a good little wife, and might back off from me entirely for a little while, as it makes these sweet little girls so nervous to be exposed to what marriage can become.
He is planning a trip with a friend. It's a window, though the real problem is la homme's crazy fucking KGB stalking wife, who takes mileage on his car, calls his phone every five seconds outside of business hours, and routinely smells him.
Between now and then? I'm thinking of how I can convince la homme that I don't think he'll ever fuck me. He hates, hates, hates being questioned and teased, and the last time I took that route with him, he almost lost his cool. If I play my cards right, he might just pin me against the outside wall in my office and fuck me silly right then and there.
He loves the game, the chase, as much as he loves winning the game, but I'm frustrated. I don't mind the sweet torture of the games he plays with me, but I could enjoy them a lot more if I could just win once.......
My best friend works with me. She knows that at one point I had a crush on la homme, because at the same time, he had a crush on her. Her stupid, naive, newly married ass dissolved into tears and quickly cut off any friendly contact with him. I've swallowed my pride over being his consolation prize. Who fucking cares, already- this is not high school, this is not an exercise in snagging a husband. At any rate, she calls him predator, and is wary of him, and very wary of any contact we might have, which in her naive mind, is a only a danger to my heart and not my fine upstanding moral status. So she is protective, and this means that our little adventures are planned around her absences.
She unknowingly gets in my way when she refuses to take a lunch break, or insists that I accompany her on some silly errand. Do not misunderstand, I love the girl dearly, and if she weren't so damn faithful, I would get her drunk and paint her toenails and devour her like a perfectly cooked, aged steak. She is just a source of frustration in this situation. La homme admits that he still holds great affection for her, and that his attraction is secondary to his affection, and even he was ready to put a fucking pen in her eye on about Wednesday.
Through unfortunate circumstances that befell me about a month ago, my husband and I are sharing a vehicle. Of course, this makes slipping away from the office damn near impossible, as I can't very well ride with la homme, and I have no other discreet transportation. What it has also meant is that at times, I can keep our vehicle with me, and then pretend I am too busy to go pick up my husband, and my best friend very willingly offers to do it for me. She likes to help out and to take a break from the office, and I tie my two biggest obstacles up together for at least 30 minutes. The best part? There have been times that la homme has had his talented lips on the nape of my neck and his finger shoved up inside me, behind my closed and locked office door, while best friend and husband idly chat in the parking lot. (working for a security company has it's advantages, as I can pull our cameras up on my computer to chase la homme off seconds before best friend walks through the door..)
This is an awfully long post that doesn't seem to be headed to the point the title made.
So I'll cut to the chase. I got fucking skunked at my office Christmas party, which didn't hurt me a bit, because I know when I can't feel my teeth and I'm not among friends that I need to stay seated and keep my fucking mouth shut and my legs crossed, and that, my friends, is what I did.
However, my best friend and my husband, my cock blocking chauffeurs for the day, now had to coordinate my travels themselves, as I was not capable of it. They got into a huge fight and won't speak for a long time. And while this ruins a great strategy for the short term, patterns are dangerous and I didn't like them having a chance to talk without me. So, unintentionally, I've solved that problem, at least for now.
Also, because my husband managed to treat both myself and my best friend like complete and utter shit, she'll likely back off a little in sticking up for him and encouraging me to be a good little wife, and might back off from me entirely for a little while, as it makes these sweet little girls so nervous to be exposed to what marriage can become.
He is planning a trip with a friend. It's a window, though the real problem is la homme's crazy fucking KGB stalking wife, who takes mileage on his car, calls his phone every five seconds outside of business hours, and routinely smells him.
Between now and then? I'm thinking of how I can convince la homme that I don't think he'll ever fuck me. He hates, hates, hates being questioned and teased, and the last time I took that route with him, he almost lost his cool. If I play my cards right, he might just pin me against the outside wall in my office and fuck me silly right then and there.
He loves the game, the chase, as much as he loves winning the game, but I'm frustrated. I don't mind the sweet torture of the games he plays with me, but I could enjoy them a lot more if I could just win once.......
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Back in the Saddle
So my break from the office had the effect I had hoped it would. It put la homme's wife back on low alert and put la homme hot on my tail, I mean trail.
Today we finally shook loose of our coworkers and stole a moment, and I do mean just a moment, in my office. It wasn't long, but it was long enough for him to give me a belated birthday present......
For the first time in thirty years, someone went down on me. Someone who knows what he's doing. Someone who loves doing it, who would rather do that than almost anything else.
This is what I've been missing all my life?! I haven't really been living.......
I hope he realizes that in a few short minutes, he's created a monster....
Best.Gift.Ever.
Today we finally shook loose of our coworkers and stole a moment, and I do mean just a moment, in my office. It wasn't long, but it was long enough for him to give me a belated birthday present......
For the first time in thirty years, someone went down on me. Someone who knows what he's doing. Someone who loves doing it, who would rather do that than almost anything else.
This is what I've been missing all my life?! I haven't really been living.......
I hope he realizes that in a few short minutes, he's created a monster....
Best.Gift.Ever.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Intermission
So, perhaps I was a little melodramatic in my last post. In the meantime, la homme has taken great care to pay me a little attention here and there, a touch, a glance, a note or two. Enough to reassure me that he truly is just trying to stay out of trouble, thereby keeping me out of trouble too, and I can even go so far as to say that he's protecting what we have, because as soon it would be discovered, it would be ruined, along with both of our lives. His deliberate way of reassuring me makes me wonder if he's discovered this blog. I am sure that he hasn't.
I'm out of the office this week, which gives him all the more reason to miss me, and we're hoping that things will be back to normal soon. I would like to try to fill you in on some of what occured before our hiatus. We'll see if the universe cooperates.
I'm out of the office this week, which gives him all the more reason to miss me, and we're hoping that things will be back to normal soon. I would like to try to fill you in on some of what occured before our hiatus. We'll see if the universe cooperates.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Major Suckage
I haven't been around, mostly due to a lack of time. It seems that when my schedule gets chaotic, I only have enough time to make mischief or chronicle it here, and well, which would you choose?
Pardon me boys, I'll try to put this as delicately as possible. Due to a birth control mishap, I've been "out of commission" for the past three weeks. Even my husband, who has about as much interest in me as a dog has in a bath, is fed up with it.
Of course, this has not kept la homme from making regular office visits. This has meant that due to my little problem, the tension has reached a fevered pitch- we are literally aching to get down to it.
Until this morning. We had major plans for today, our best chance yet, and it's not going to happen. I noted in an earlier post that his wife is crazy. Well, she's started to ask some questions that are pretty pointed, and we think she may have a mole here. He's decided to cease all communication for a while.
I know it's for the best, I know it's not worth the risk right now, I know that if we cool off now, we'll save ourselves all kinds of heartache and embarrassment and leave the future open for when things calm down. I know that she has every right to be hot on his trail, and that I have no legitimate claim at all.
Somehow that doesn't help me much.
I guess I never explained quite why I was willing to be unfaithful to my husband, what brought me to the point of wanting to take a lover to begin with. My husband loves me very much, and I love him. I've already referenced some of the struggles we've been dealing with, but that's only a justification.
My husband has a very limited sexual interest in me. He fucks me because I'm here, because he's supposed to. It's all about him. He's a porn addict, and the girls on the computer get his real intimacy, his fantasies, his true desire. I'm just a flesh vessel for them.
This man made me feel special. He wanted me. ME! I couldn't fathom it. It always seemed to good to be true. His voice, his touch, his kisses, his mouth and fingers, his desire, his hungry gaze- he was one of the few bright spots in my life right now. Something to look forward to. Someone to share a part of myself that no one else values or wants. The confidence he's given me, the knowledge about myself, about sex, about morality and love and all things gray- I know I can keep what I have, but there was so much more to be had.
Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe things will cool down quickly and he'll feel like it's okay to continue on soon. Maybe I shouldn't be laying my head down on my desk and trying to mask my racking sobs. Maybe it's a blessing, in that I've always been a little too attached to this man.
Maybe he's gotten to know me and my body well enough that he just doesn't want me anymore, and this is his best way to untangle. Maybe it was all a game in the first place, designed to stroke his ego, and now that he's sure he's won the prize, he can throw it away and move on to the next conquest.
I knew it was too good to be true. I knew that there was no way I could ever be that happy. I knew that I'm more trouble than I'm worth.
I'm smart enough to know that I don't love this man, I can't love him, I don't really know him, and much as he may think differently, he doesn't really know me. But the way this feels? Feels like losing love.
The worst part is not being able to tell anyone. This is all the release and comfort I get.
I'll be back when I can stand to look at this history of what was, back when what could have been seemed like only a matter of time.
I guess I really am just a librarian type.
Pardon me boys, I'll try to put this as delicately as possible. Due to a birth control mishap, I've been "out of commission" for the past three weeks. Even my husband, who has about as much interest in me as a dog has in a bath, is fed up with it.
Of course, this has not kept la homme from making regular office visits. This has meant that due to my little problem, the tension has reached a fevered pitch- we are literally aching to get down to it.
Until this morning. We had major plans for today, our best chance yet, and it's not going to happen. I noted in an earlier post that his wife is crazy. Well, she's started to ask some questions that are pretty pointed, and we think she may have a mole here. He's decided to cease all communication for a while.
I know it's for the best, I know it's not worth the risk right now, I know that if we cool off now, we'll save ourselves all kinds of heartache and embarrassment and leave the future open for when things calm down. I know that she has every right to be hot on his trail, and that I have no legitimate claim at all.
Somehow that doesn't help me much.
I guess I never explained quite why I was willing to be unfaithful to my husband, what brought me to the point of wanting to take a lover to begin with. My husband loves me very much, and I love him. I've already referenced some of the struggles we've been dealing with, but that's only a justification.
My husband has a very limited sexual interest in me. He fucks me because I'm here, because he's supposed to. It's all about him. He's a porn addict, and the girls on the computer get his real intimacy, his fantasies, his true desire. I'm just a flesh vessel for them.
This man made me feel special. He wanted me. ME! I couldn't fathom it. It always seemed to good to be true. His voice, his touch, his kisses, his mouth and fingers, his desire, his hungry gaze- he was one of the few bright spots in my life right now. Something to look forward to. Someone to share a part of myself that no one else values or wants. The confidence he's given me, the knowledge about myself, about sex, about morality and love and all things gray- I know I can keep what I have, but there was so much more to be had.
Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe things will cool down quickly and he'll feel like it's okay to continue on soon. Maybe I shouldn't be laying my head down on my desk and trying to mask my racking sobs. Maybe it's a blessing, in that I've always been a little too attached to this man.
Maybe he's gotten to know me and my body well enough that he just doesn't want me anymore, and this is his best way to untangle. Maybe it was all a game in the first place, designed to stroke his ego, and now that he's sure he's won the prize, he can throw it away and move on to the next conquest.
I knew it was too good to be true. I knew that there was no way I could ever be that happy. I knew that I'm more trouble than I'm worth.
I'm smart enough to know that I don't love this man, I can't love him, I don't really know him, and much as he may think differently, he doesn't really know me. But the way this feels? Feels like losing love.
The worst part is not being able to tell anyone. This is all the release and comfort I get.
I'll be back when I can stand to look at this history of what was, back when what could have been seemed like only a matter of time.
I guess I really am just a librarian type.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Duality
When the basis of your relationship with someone is sexual, and particularly when it's an affair, there's a strange sort of familiarity and affection. Emotional ties are not the primary focus, and to some people in some cases, they're considered downright dangerous. You learn intimate sexual things about your lover; fantasies, desires, what turns them on- often these are things that the respective spouses aren't aware of.
On the other hand, many times you don't even have the knowledge that friends would consider basic: favorite food, favorite color, habits, quirks, dreams, and a whole host of other things that just don't always come up in the limited time available, or are purposely not shared to avoid the creation of emotional bonds.
Likewise, the stress and problems you suffer in your regular life generally aren't topics of discussion with your lover; part of the whole reason you keep a lover is to escape from reality for at least a little while.
Working with la homme means that he knows more about me than he might otherwise, and as I deal with a temporary but critical and dangerous problem that can be solved only with cash, he's worried and concerned and involved. I had to talk him out of "sneaking" cash out of his account to give to me. This, from the king of paranoia? I'm new at misbehaving, and even I know this is a bad, horrible, bad, bad idea.
He cares about me. Like really and truly, and no, he's not pretending in order to gain my trust. I'd fuck him whether he cared about me or not, and he knows it.
So. All that said, should I be happy, concerned, or a little of both?
I sent him the pics I was waffling over yesterday and received a great reaction, by the way.
On the other hand, many times you don't even have the knowledge that friends would consider basic: favorite food, favorite color, habits, quirks, dreams, and a whole host of other things that just don't always come up in the limited time available, or are purposely not shared to avoid the creation of emotional bonds.
Likewise, the stress and problems you suffer in your regular life generally aren't topics of discussion with your lover; part of the whole reason you keep a lover is to escape from reality for at least a little while.
Working with la homme means that he knows more about me than he might otherwise, and as I deal with a temporary but critical and dangerous problem that can be solved only with cash, he's worried and concerned and involved. I had to talk him out of "sneaking" cash out of his account to give to me. This, from the king of paranoia? I'm new at misbehaving, and even I know this is a bad, horrible, bad, bad idea.
He cares about me. Like really and truly, and no, he's not pretending in order to gain my trust. I'd fuck him whether he cared about me or not, and he knows it.
So. All that said, should I be happy, concerned, or a little of both?
I sent him the pics I was waffling over yesterday and received a great reaction, by the way.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Pictures
So this is by far the most risky (and therefore, probably the dumbest) thing I've done yet.
Our birthdays are right after one another. This week. Surely this is some kind of kismet? Or am I reaching? He is older than I am, by a few years, but still, I find it interesting that our birthdays are so close.
Obviously, we can't buy each other anything. I'm broke, and his wife handles their bills. Doing anything together is out. Well, doing anything together outside my office is out. Giving the other anything that office people might see or notice is beyond stupid.
So, as I had a little time to myself over the weekend, I pulled out my digital camera, put on some cute clothes, maybe didn't button up all the way, and snapped some pictures. I got braver as I went, and as a result, I have some pictures that I'm not sure will ever see the light of day. Remember, I'm just a little librarian type (complete with bun) that's just now getting used to this whole fearless temptress thing.
I sent him six pictures yesterday, to the secret email account. He looked at them last night, and this morning, he practically plowed me over. No kidding. He likes to hold his cards close to his chest. I am rarely, if ever, in a position of power in the relationship (if you could call this that, and I'm not sure about that). This morning? I had him eating out of the palm of my hand. I also had another six pictures to send him.
Yesterday he made an office visit (the place was a graveyard- we had little to no supervision), while I was on the phone with someone who really didn't matter a bit, business wise. It killed me to be on the phone while his hands and mouth roamed my body- I almost hung the phone the fuck up at one point. I could feel him getting hard when he pressed up against me, but when I reached out with my hand, he grabbed my wrist. Again with this point of no return business. Before I knew it, I was alone in my office with my bra undone.
I'm tempted to send him some of the other pictures, but I'm not sure I'm happy with them. I'm all self-concious and wormy about it. He hates that part of me, so better to leave them where they are (in a secret hidey hole on my personal portable hard drive) until I can own them properly. He likes confidence, and he's good at building mine.
If I can ratchet up the confidence to send them, I'm pretty sure that they would send him over the edge. I don't like the bra I'm wearing in one set, it's weird, and the ones where I'm wearing no bra.... well, I don't know. I look at these pictures, at the curves and the lines and my milky white flesh, and I can see the beauty in a lot of it. I can appreciate what he appreciates. On the other hand, I couldn't pay my husband to pay this kind of attention to me, the attention that my (soon to be? at what point does it *count*?) lover does, and that makes me wonder. The last man to have seen me completely naked for the past twelve years is wholly unimpressed. Is that his fault, or mine. I guess we'll find out, and soon.
Biz trip update: I'm booked. He's still tentative. I'm reserved, as it's just really too good to be true. He, on the other hand, has already provided me with a list of things to bring........
PS: Yes, I cropped my face out of all of them. My tattoo, on the other hand? Couldn't crop that out.....
Our birthdays are right after one another. This week. Surely this is some kind of kismet? Or am I reaching? He is older than I am, by a few years, but still, I find it interesting that our birthdays are so close.
Obviously, we can't buy each other anything. I'm broke, and his wife handles their bills. Doing anything together is out. Well, doing anything together outside my office is out. Giving the other anything that office people might see or notice is beyond stupid.
So, as I had a little time to myself over the weekend, I pulled out my digital camera, put on some cute clothes, maybe didn't button up all the way, and snapped some pictures. I got braver as I went, and as a result, I have some pictures that I'm not sure will ever see the light of day. Remember, I'm just a little librarian type (complete with bun) that's just now getting used to this whole fearless temptress thing.
I sent him six pictures yesterday, to the secret email account. He looked at them last night, and this morning, he practically plowed me over. No kidding. He likes to hold his cards close to his chest. I am rarely, if ever, in a position of power in the relationship (if you could call this that, and I'm not sure about that). This morning? I had him eating out of the palm of my hand. I also had another six pictures to send him.
Yesterday he made an office visit (the place was a graveyard- we had little to no supervision), while I was on the phone with someone who really didn't matter a bit, business wise. It killed me to be on the phone while his hands and mouth roamed my body- I almost hung the phone the fuck up at one point. I could feel him getting hard when he pressed up against me, but when I reached out with my hand, he grabbed my wrist. Again with this point of no return business. Before I knew it, I was alone in my office with my bra undone.
I'm tempted to send him some of the other pictures, but I'm not sure I'm happy with them. I'm all self-concious and wormy about it. He hates that part of me, so better to leave them where they are (in a secret hidey hole on my personal portable hard drive) until I can own them properly. He likes confidence, and he's good at building mine.
If I can ratchet up the confidence to send them, I'm pretty sure that they would send him over the edge. I don't like the bra I'm wearing in one set, it's weird, and the ones where I'm wearing no bra.... well, I don't know. I look at these pictures, at the curves and the lines and my milky white flesh, and I can see the beauty in a lot of it. I can appreciate what he appreciates. On the other hand, I couldn't pay my husband to pay this kind of attention to me, the attention that my (soon to be? at what point does it *count*?) lover does, and that makes me wonder. The last man to have seen me completely naked for the past twelve years is wholly unimpressed. Is that his fault, or mine. I guess we'll find out, and soon.
Biz trip update: I'm booked. He's still tentative. I'm reserved, as it's just really too good to be true. He, on the other hand, has already provided me with a list of things to bring........
PS: Yes, I cropped my face out of all of them. My tattoo, on the other hand? Couldn't crop that out.....
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Slow Week
For several different reasons, this was a slow week in terms of mischief.
Monday, he managed to find a reason to come see me and sneak his hands up my shirt and down my pants, and he left me there, panting, behind a closed and locked door. Well, I couldn't walk around the office in that state, so something had to be done...
Do you know how hard it is to IM with one hand? ;-)
Stay tuned, because next week? Has all the makings of mischief.
Also in the works, a possible business trip overlap. I'm not holding my breath, because that would be too good to be true.
Monday, he managed to find a reason to come see me and sneak his hands up my shirt and down my pants, and he left me there, panting, behind a closed and locked door. Well, I couldn't walk around the office in that state, so something had to be done...
Do you know how hard it is to IM with one hand? ;-)
Stay tuned, because next week? Has all the makings of mischief.
Also in the works, a possible business trip overlap. I'm not holding my breath, because that would be too good to be true.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Homecoming
He called once while he was gone, about a mundane work matter. I found it amusing, because there was absolutely no urgency in the matter he called about. He called just to talk to me, the what didn't matter. We exchanged emails, and when we do this, I write stories for him, like the one you read in the last post. I am labeling them as stories so that you'll know the difference between what I send him and what has actually happened.
Friday morning, he came to our end of the building to tie up loose ends from his trip. He did well while he was gone, and this brought benefit to me and my department, and I gave him a casual hug, as I would nearly anyone else in that same situation. Back at our respective desks, we did what we do every day that both of us are here- we worked and chatted, chatted and worked, and inevitably, worked ourselves up. Sometimes we get worked up and nothing comes of it. Circumstances aren't right. And, as he's put it to me before, playing the game, in some ways, is as much fun as winning it.
Yesterday, though, there was an undercurrent of urgency. I don't know if it was his absence, or his homecoming, or the words that flew between us while we were separated. What I do know is that we picked the best time for him to come to my office, and when he entered, he made a comment for any audience's benefit, shut the door and locked it behind him.
Standing behind me at my desk, he traced the nape of my neck with his fingers. I felt his touch from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, and as his fingertips traced down my collarbone, and down further, first in between my breasts and then grasping one in his hand, I sat up in my chair. Raising my whole body up and more within his reach. I looked up at him, with longing in my eyes, and he kissed me. Kissing him is like sticking your finger in a light socket- the current of our desire runs through me at a wattage my body almost wasn't intended to endure.
He unbuttoned my jeans, and guided my hand towards the opening. I obliged, happily rubbing my clit and trying to get a good angle to slip a finger into my dripping, aching cunt. My jeans, however, were not accommodating of this, and after seeing me try and fail, and my resulting frustration, he slipped his much bigger, rougher hand into my jeans and past my thong and had the same problem. We kissed a little more, and he got ready to head for the door. I buttoned my jeans (better to do it when it occurs to me!) and stood up to stop him. I stood in front of him, not as close as I would have liked, but he's fearful of smelling like me when he goes home to his wife, and leaned in for another kiss. The kiss I got was our deepest and most intense yet, and he grabbed my hips and pulled me to him. We stood, kissing, wound up in each other, until he broke our embrace and turned away from me.
The first time he did that, I freaked out a little, thinking he was having regrets, that he wasn't enjoying himself. I have learned, though, that the reality is that if he doesn't turn away from me, he will fuck me right then and there, and he knows that this is not the time or place to lose control.
In doing this, he makes it my mission to make him lose control.
I can't be sure, but sometimes it seems like this, all of it, is by his intricate design.
Friday morning, he came to our end of the building to tie up loose ends from his trip. He did well while he was gone, and this brought benefit to me and my department, and I gave him a casual hug, as I would nearly anyone else in that same situation. Back at our respective desks, we did what we do every day that both of us are here- we worked and chatted, chatted and worked, and inevitably, worked ourselves up. Sometimes we get worked up and nothing comes of it. Circumstances aren't right. And, as he's put it to me before, playing the game, in some ways, is as much fun as winning it.
Yesterday, though, there was an undercurrent of urgency. I don't know if it was his absence, or his homecoming, or the words that flew between us while we were separated. What I do know is that we picked the best time for him to come to my office, and when he entered, he made a comment for any audience's benefit, shut the door and locked it behind him.
Standing behind me at my desk, he traced the nape of my neck with his fingers. I felt his touch from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, and as his fingertips traced down my collarbone, and down further, first in between my breasts and then grasping one in his hand, I sat up in my chair. Raising my whole body up and more within his reach. I looked up at him, with longing in my eyes, and he kissed me. Kissing him is like sticking your finger in a light socket- the current of our desire runs through me at a wattage my body almost wasn't intended to endure.
He unbuttoned my jeans, and guided my hand towards the opening. I obliged, happily rubbing my clit and trying to get a good angle to slip a finger into my dripping, aching cunt. My jeans, however, were not accommodating of this, and after seeing me try and fail, and my resulting frustration, he slipped his much bigger, rougher hand into my jeans and past my thong and had the same problem. We kissed a little more, and he got ready to head for the door. I buttoned my jeans (better to do it when it occurs to me!) and stood up to stop him. I stood in front of him, not as close as I would have liked, but he's fearful of smelling like me when he goes home to his wife, and leaned in for another kiss. The kiss I got was our deepest and most intense yet, and he grabbed my hips and pulled me to him. We stood, kissing, wound up in each other, until he broke our embrace and turned away from me.
The first time he did that, I freaked out a little, thinking he was having regrets, that he wasn't enjoying himself. I have learned, though, that the reality is that if he doesn't turn away from me, he will fuck me right then and there, and he knows that this is not the time or place to lose control.
In doing this, he makes it my mission to make him lose control.
I can't be sure, but sometimes it seems like this, all of it, is by his intricate design.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Letters From Home
He's out of town on business this week, so I try to leave him something in our secret email account, you know, so he's not lonely..........
*************************************************************************************
In my car, on the floorboard of the driver's seat, is a card and a small box. I leave them where they are as I leave work, until I stop to get gas. While the gas is pumping, I open the card. There's a room key in it. The card holds no sentimental wishes, no message except some instructions. Take the whole day off work, show up in this room at this time, and bring the gift. I open the box, and inside is a beautiful red scarf. Satin, or something like it.
I follow my instructions, and for extra credit, my bra matches the scarf. I'm wearing a red sweater and my black skirt, with thigh high stockings and black heels. When I open the door to the room, I'm sure I'm alone. The door shuts behind me, and I head towards the bed to sit down. I take no more than three steps before you grab me from me behind, firmly but also gently. I gasp, drawing breath in to shriek, and you cover my mouth, again, gently. I exhale, and you loosen your grip. You ask me where the scarf is. I tell you it's in my purse. You take my purse off my shoulder, reach in and take the scarf out of it's box. The next thing I know, you're tying it around my eyes. When you've secured it, you turn me around, and I open my mouth to protest. You tell me it won't do me any good, that I've had long enough to trust you this much, that with all the other risk we've taken, this is insignificant. You ask me if I've ever regretted trusting you before. I haven't.
You lead me to the bed and take my sweater off. This distracts you from your objective for a few moments; you kiss me and run your large, rough hands over my bra and abdomen, before lifting each breast out, one at a time, for a quick and gentle bite before taking my bra off completely. You grasp my wrists in one of your hands and stretch my arms out above my head, laying me back on the bed. You tell me to stay still while you bind my wrists together with something and attach it somehow to the bed. You check all the knots to make sure they're secure, and you make sure there's some slack whatever you've tied me up with, but not much.
I can tell that you've laid beside me on the bed. You're whispering in my ear, asking me if I'm comfortable, asking me if I'm nervous. The answer to both questions is yes. You run just your fingertips down my neck, my collarbone, over my breasts and nipples, down my abdomen, over my hip bones, down the tops of my thighs, stopping at the knee and running back up the insides of each thigh, so close, achingly close, and back up to my stomach again. You kiss me again, and this kiss is intense, searching. You run your hand over my nipples, which are now like little rocks, until you break the kiss and your hand settles on one nipple, your mouth on the other. I moan, softly, and so you continue, alternating, until I start to shudder slightly. You're kissing me again, and your hand runs down my abdomen, your entire open palm, until it finally settles between my legs. You run one finger up the length of me, discovering how incredibly wet this game has made me already. I gasp, and you do this for what seems like forever.
I can only imagine you propped up on your elbow, watching me. You slip a finger inside me, leaving your open palm against my clit. You kiss my lips, gently, my ears and neck while your hand rocks against me. As soon as I start moving my hips against your hand, you stop. I start to protest, but you whisper to me to be patient as you start to kiss me again. Your lips leave mine and I feel them on my chin, on my throat, on my chest, pausing for a minute on each nipple, on my stomach, further and further down, closer and closer. You skip down to the inside of my thighs, right down by my knees, up one leg and down the other, and back up again. I feel you putting my legs over your shoulders. I wish I could watch, but I can't- I can only lie back and feel your rough hands on my body, your lips and tongue lapping at me, wet, swollen, aching..........
*************************************************************************************
In my car, on the floorboard of the driver's seat, is a card and a small box. I leave them where they are as I leave work, until I stop to get gas. While the gas is pumping, I open the card. There's a room key in it. The card holds no sentimental wishes, no message except some instructions. Take the whole day off work, show up in this room at this time, and bring the gift. I open the box, and inside is a beautiful red scarf. Satin, or something like it.
I follow my instructions, and for extra credit, my bra matches the scarf. I'm wearing a red sweater and my black skirt, with thigh high stockings and black heels. When I open the door to the room, I'm sure I'm alone. The door shuts behind me, and I head towards the bed to sit down. I take no more than three steps before you grab me from me behind, firmly but also gently. I gasp, drawing breath in to shriek, and you cover my mouth, again, gently. I exhale, and you loosen your grip. You ask me where the scarf is. I tell you it's in my purse. You take my purse off my shoulder, reach in and take the scarf out of it's box. The next thing I know, you're tying it around my eyes. When you've secured it, you turn me around, and I open my mouth to protest. You tell me it won't do me any good, that I've had long enough to trust you this much, that with all the other risk we've taken, this is insignificant. You ask me if I've ever regretted trusting you before. I haven't.
You lead me to the bed and take my sweater off. This distracts you from your objective for a few moments; you kiss me and run your large, rough hands over my bra and abdomen, before lifting each breast out, one at a time, for a quick and gentle bite before taking my bra off completely. You grasp my wrists in one of your hands and stretch my arms out above my head, laying me back on the bed. You tell me to stay still while you bind my wrists together with something and attach it somehow to the bed. You check all the knots to make sure they're secure, and you make sure there's some slack whatever you've tied me up with, but not much.
I can tell that you've laid beside me on the bed. You're whispering in my ear, asking me if I'm comfortable, asking me if I'm nervous. The answer to both questions is yes. You run just your fingertips down my neck, my collarbone, over my breasts and nipples, down my abdomen, over my hip bones, down the tops of my thighs, stopping at the knee and running back up the insides of each thigh, so close, achingly close, and back up to my stomach again. You kiss me again, and this kiss is intense, searching. You run your hand over my nipples, which are now like little rocks, until you break the kiss and your hand settles on one nipple, your mouth on the other. I moan, softly, and so you continue, alternating, until I start to shudder slightly. You're kissing me again, and your hand runs down my abdomen, your entire open palm, until it finally settles between my legs. You run one finger up the length of me, discovering how incredibly wet this game has made me already. I gasp, and you do this for what seems like forever.
I can only imagine you propped up on your elbow, watching me. You slip a finger inside me, leaving your open palm against my clit. You kiss my lips, gently, my ears and neck while your hand rocks against me. As soon as I start moving my hips against your hand, you stop. I start to protest, but you whisper to me to be patient as you start to kiss me again. Your lips leave mine and I feel them on my chin, on my throat, on my chest, pausing for a minute on each nipple, on my stomach, further and further down, closer and closer. You skip down to the inside of my thighs, right down by my knees, up one leg and down the other, and back up again. I feel you putting my legs over your shoulders. I wish I could watch, but I can't- I can only lie back and feel your rough hands on my body, your lips and tongue lapping at me, wet, swollen, aching..........
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Stranger
He had visited the office briefly once before. We talked a little, mostly my asking him when he was coming back to complete his project and what he was going to need. He mentioned that he would be here for two weeks when he came back- it's very unusual for corporate folks to spend weekends away from home. I told him that not to sit around by himself, that there plenty of people who would be happy to take him out on the town. I gave him my card.
When he arrived back in town, he had a small crew with him. They took over the conference room- it was some kind of geek heaven in there. Wall to wall computers, and whenever I went to check on him, either to ask him a legitimate question about the project or just to put my hand on his shoulder and ask him if he needed anything, he was always working on three computers. At once. He was friendly and funny and we chatted here and there. I came to the realization that the conference room was a really good place to escape from my soul-sucking coworkers, and the scenery was unsurpassed.
My counterpart decided that we needed to take him out on Friday night and get him drunk. I heartily agreed. There was no reason to think that I was signing up for anything more than a late night in a local bar. I made a point of not placing too much importance on the outing. M is the president of my fan club, and he noticed my fascination with this guy. When he told me that he wasn't worried about me getting home because I would probably spend the night in the guy's room, I figured he was teasing me about my fast developing crush. I had no idea it was a comment on where the guy stood.
Friday morning I got up and threw on my favorite low cut jeans and my favorite low cut top. When I lean over in this shirt, you have a clear view of my belly button. I got into the office and puttered around with my usual morning routine. When he came out of the conference room (which is right outside my office), I asked him if he had corrected an issue he had with my laptop the day before. He came around the end of my desk and stood behind me, giving me directions. At the time, I had no idea that he was looking down my shirt. I was just frustrated because he was walking me through all this complicated crap and I was struggling to keep up, being on my first cup of coffee and all. I wouldn't realize until later on that he had found about forty excuses through the day to come stand behind me at my desk.
The day was hectic and frustrating. Five o clock couldn't come fast enough. When it did, I shut down, locked up and waited. And waited. He was in the conference room, on his cell phone, yelling. My coworker and I were hesitant to interrupt his argument, so we waited in the lobby. I couldn't hear him screaming anymore, so I peeked in the window, caught his eye, and stuck my tongue out at him. He grinned and wrapped up his phone call.
We beat him to the bar by nearing thirty minutes. My coworker had taken the best seat at the table, of course, pinning me into the corner where no one could sit next to me. We were on our second drinks when he showed up. A few other friends joined us shortly afterward, and we all drank and talked and ate and drank some more. I was beginning to think the night was a lost cause when he started ordering shots along with his beers. I took the opportunity to put his car keys in my purse. My coworker made the mistake of having a drunken, loud conversation about some boring thing with the guy on the other side of me. I made him switch chairs. He grumbled a little when I asked, so I leaned over and hissed "don't be an ass!". He let it go.
This put me right next to him, and we picked up the conversation we were having when we were rudely interrupted. I had been touching him, repeatedly, all week long. A light touch on his arm, putting my hand on his back or shoulder, maybe a little pat or a rub if he were particularly frustrated. He hadn't laid a finger on me until I switched chairs, and then suddenly everything he said was punctuated by a hand on my knee. At one point I crossed my legs and rested my foot against his leg. We continued talking about our careers, about money and life and politics. We danced in our chairs, leaning in, leaning back, touching each other for effect. We kept drinking. He went to the bathroom and I wrote my cell number on the back of a business card and put it in the back pocket of my jeans.
At some point well into the night, my coworker's friends left for the night. I turned and looked at my colleague. He was pretty trashed. His hair was mussed and he was irritated and jealous of the little chat I'd been having. He looked straight at the guy and said "Think we could get any pussy out of this bar?". I protested- heavily. He rambled on about some other thing for a few minutes, and upon enduring my pointed looks, made his exit.
The guy paid the tab and we continued our conversation. He made comments about various girls coming in and out of the bar, offering critiques of their bodies and outfits. He was pretty harsh, but nicer than I would have been. At this point, I had absolutely no idea where this guy's head was at. Talk turned to women and men, love, marriage and sex. He said he wasn't sure if he would ever get married. I told him I didn't blame him. We talked about women who invite attention and then recoil when they're approached. I told him that a woman knows what she's doing when she gets dressed in the morning, and that if it garners her some unwanted attention, she should respond with the right subtle signals, and the guy should respect that. It was at this point that he mentioned that he had looked down my shirt about forty times. He freaked out when he realized he didn't have his keys. I told him they were in my purse. He said he didn't even see me put them there, and we continued our conversation. We talked about casual sex.
I explained that women can't engage in sex without some kind of emotional connection, but that women who are realistic about it can handle that. He wasn't buying it. I told him a story from my high school days, when I had a chance to sleep with a huge crush of mine, but had no delusions that anything would come of it. I admitted that it hurt, but that it was totally worth it. He laughed heartily, a little shocked, I think. I told him that the biggest problem about the whole thing was that there was no way to tell if the sex was worth it until after you did it. He reacted with mock horror. We continued discussing relationships and monogamy until the staff started putting the chairs up on the tables.
We got up to leave and I headed towards my car. He went to walk off to his car and realized I had his keys. I told him that he'd just have to walk me to my car, and really, that's how it's done here anyway. I was a little surprised, actually, that I had to mention it. A local boy wouldn't have dreamed of not seeing me to my car.
I got the car unlocked, sat my purse down in my seat and handed him his keys. We chatted for a few minutes about the local attractions, and he said that he didn't have anyone to show him around. I said that I didn't have any way to get in touch with him- no cell number, no hotel information. He said "I could give you my cell phone number...". I leaned up against the car and slipped my card out of my pocket. "Or I could give you mine." He grinned, and said asked when I could show him around. "I have stuff to do on Saturday, but I might be able to get away on Sunday, if you give me a call." He said he would.
He thanked me for taking him out. I cocked my head. "It was my pleasure." He stepped forward and held his arms out for a hug. I stepped into his embrace and he swept me into a long, sweet kiss. He drew back to take a breath. "We should have left the bar earlier", I whispered. He leaned his forehead against mine. "Yes, we should have". He kissed me again. "Thank God you're here for another week". He murmured something, and stepped around the other side of the car. Now he was leaning up against it. He pulled me into him and kissed me. I ran my hand down his chest as he felt the curve of my waist and hip. I sucked on his lower lip a little, and his hand slid around to grab my ass and pull me harder against him. I felt his cock twitch in his pants. He said "I have to leave before I can't". I understood. He walked past my open car door and turned around to kiss me again. We touched our foreheads together again and said goodnight.
Of course, 4000 people showed up the next week, and everything went wrong, and things were crazy, and we never did get around to what we meant to........
-August 2008
When he arrived back in town, he had a small crew with him. They took over the conference room- it was some kind of geek heaven in there. Wall to wall computers, and whenever I went to check on him, either to ask him a legitimate question about the project or just to put my hand on his shoulder and ask him if he needed anything, he was always working on three computers. At once. He was friendly and funny and we chatted here and there. I came to the realization that the conference room was a really good place to escape from my soul-sucking coworkers, and the scenery was unsurpassed.
My counterpart decided that we needed to take him out on Friday night and get him drunk. I heartily agreed. There was no reason to think that I was signing up for anything more than a late night in a local bar. I made a point of not placing too much importance on the outing. M is the president of my fan club, and he noticed my fascination with this guy. When he told me that he wasn't worried about me getting home because I would probably spend the night in the guy's room, I figured he was teasing me about my fast developing crush. I had no idea it was a comment on where the guy stood.
Friday morning I got up and threw on my favorite low cut jeans and my favorite low cut top. When I lean over in this shirt, you have a clear view of my belly button. I got into the office and puttered around with my usual morning routine. When he came out of the conference room (which is right outside my office), I asked him if he had corrected an issue he had with my laptop the day before. He came around the end of my desk and stood behind me, giving me directions. At the time, I had no idea that he was looking down my shirt. I was just frustrated because he was walking me through all this complicated crap and I was struggling to keep up, being on my first cup of coffee and all. I wouldn't realize until later on that he had found about forty excuses through the day to come stand behind me at my desk.
The day was hectic and frustrating. Five o clock couldn't come fast enough. When it did, I shut down, locked up and waited. And waited. He was in the conference room, on his cell phone, yelling. My coworker and I were hesitant to interrupt his argument, so we waited in the lobby. I couldn't hear him screaming anymore, so I peeked in the window, caught his eye, and stuck my tongue out at him. He grinned and wrapped up his phone call.
We beat him to the bar by nearing thirty minutes. My coworker had taken the best seat at the table, of course, pinning me into the corner where no one could sit next to me. We were on our second drinks when he showed up. A few other friends joined us shortly afterward, and we all drank and talked and ate and drank some more. I was beginning to think the night was a lost cause when he started ordering shots along with his beers. I took the opportunity to put his car keys in my purse. My coworker made the mistake of having a drunken, loud conversation about some boring thing with the guy on the other side of me. I made him switch chairs. He grumbled a little when I asked, so I leaned over and hissed "don't be an ass!". He let it go.
This put me right next to him, and we picked up the conversation we were having when we were rudely interrupted. I had been touching him, repeatedly, all week long. A light touch on his arm, putting my hand on his back or shoulder, maybe a little pat or a rub if he were particularly frustrated. He hadn't laid a finger on me until I switched chairs, and then suddenly everything he said was punctuated by a hand on my knee. At one point I crossed my legs and rested my foot against his leg. We continued talking about our careers, about money and life and politics. We danced in our chairs, leaning in, leaning back, touching each other for effect. We kept drinking. He went to the bathroom and I wrote my cell number on the back of a business card and put it in the back pocket of my jeans.
At some point well into the night, my coworker's friends left for the night. I turned and looked at my colleague. He was pretty trashed. His hair was mussed and he was irritated and jealous of the little chat I'd been having. He looked straight at the guy and said "Think we could get any pussy out of this bar?". I protested- heavily. He rambled on about some other thing for a few minutes, and upon enduring my pointed looks, made his exit.
The guy paid the tab and we continued our conversation. He made comments about various girls coming in and out of the bar, offering critiques of their bodies and outfits. He was pretty harsh, but nicer than I would have been. At this point, I had absolutely no idea where this guy's head was at. Talk turned to women and men, love, marriage and sex. He said he wasn't sure if he would ever get married. I told him I didn't blame him. We talked about women who invite attention and then recoil when they're approached. I told him that a woman knows what she's doing when she gets dressed in the morning, and that if it garners her some unwanted attention, she should respond with the right subtle signals, and the guy should respect that. It was at this point that he mentioned that he had looked down my shirt about forty times. He freaked out when he realized he didn't have his keys. I told him they were in my purse. He said he didn't even see me put them there, and we continued our conversation. We talked about casual sex.
I explained that women can't engage in sex without some kind of emotional connection, but that women who are realistic about it can handle that. He wasn't buying it. I told him a story from my high school days, when I had a chance to sleep with a huge crush of mine, but had no delusions that anything would come of it. I admitted that it hurt, but that it was totally worth it. He laughed heartily, a little shocked, I think. I told him that the biggest problem about the whole thing was that there was no way to tell if the sex was worth it until after you did it. He reacted with mock horror. We continued discussing relationships and monogamy until the staff started putting the chairs up on the tables.
We got up to leave and I headed towards my car. He went to walk off to his car and realized I had his keys. I told him that he'd just have to walk me to my car, and really, that's how it's done here anyway. I was a little surprised, actually, that I had to mention it. A local boy wouldn't have dreamed of not seeing me to my car.
I got the car unlocked, sat my purse down in my seat and handed him his keys. We chatted for a few minutes about the local attractions, and he said that he didn't have anyone to show him around. I said that I didn't have any way to get in touch with him- no cell number, no hotel information. He said "I could give you my cell phone number...". I leaned up against the car and slipped my card out of my pocket. "Or I could give you mine." He grinned, and said asked when I could show him around. "I have stuff to do on Saturday, but I might be able to get away on Sunday, if you give me a call." He said he would.
He thanked me for taking him out. I cocked my head. "It was my pleasure." He stepped forward and held his arms out for a hug. I stepped into his embrace and he swept me into a long, sweet kiss. He drew back to take a breath. "We should have left the bar earlier", I whispered. He leaned his forehead against mine. "Yes, we should have". He kissed me again. "Thank God you're here for another week". He murmured something, and stepped around the other side of the car. Now he was leaning up against it. He pulled me into him and kissed me. I ran my hand down his chest as he felt the curve of my waist and hip. I sucked on his lower lip a little, and his hand slid around to grab my ass and pull me harder against him. I felt his cock twitch in his pants. He said "I have to leave before I can't". I understood. He walked past my open car door and turned around to kiss me again. We touched our foreheads together again and said goodnight.
Of course, 4000 people showed up the next week, and everything went wrong, and things were crazy, and we never did get around to what we meant to........
-August 2008
After the Unfortunate Incident
His voice is like silk, pouring through the building from his desk to mine. He's speaking to a customer, about something business related, but as hard as I try not to, I hear him as if he is speaking to me. He has my rapt attention despite the clutter on my desk, screaming for attention. There is a natural pause in his end of the conversation, and I sigh, a deep troubled sigh. What has my life come to? Married eight years and in a better job than I deserve, and yet I'm riding the line of ruining both just to hear that silken voice directed at me. I close my eyes to attempt to focus on my work, my career, my marriage, and all I see is him. Staring back at me.
We've not spoken all day, and that makes me so sad. Monday I figured he wanted nothing to do with me, and so I left him be. When he came to check on me, he cast my whole day in sunlight. Yesterday it was his turn to be crabby and quiet and avoid me, so I checked on him, and he melted like so much butter. I floated through the afternoon- until things went bad. I can't decide if it's heartbreaking or amusing that we're too busy being accused of things we didn't do to get close to doing the things we're accused of. It scares me- I'm not a bad person, I don't do bad things, and he makes me feel like I never truly understood morality or love or trouble before. He make things gray.
I spend a lot of time wondering if he's stringing me along, using me to feed his ego, laughing behind my back at the remote idea that he would find me attractive. His hungry gazes, his words dripping with subtext- they make me feel like I'm the most beautiful creature that ever graced the earth and I should be spending my days writhing in satin and rose petals. One minute I feel like a silly schoolgirl, ruining my life for some childish crush, and the next moment he's emailing me, or brushing my hip with his hand as he passes by, and before I can talk myself out of it, I'm gone again. Gone to that world where only he and I exist, and my breath becomes ragged and I have trouble seeing clearly.
What I wouldn't do for a little of that hope this afternoon. It's for the better; I know that- I know that using one romance to kill another is ill-advised. I know that I'm risking my reputation and my personal integrity. But when he touches me, when he speaks my name, I cease caring about any of that. I would destroy everything I have for that touch. The draw is so compelling that I can't see anything but his eyes, his face- I can't think of anything but breathing his breath and listening to his heart beat in her chest. The intensity of my desire frightens me, and that only heightens the excitement, until I cannot breathe and I cease to function in any other manner than pursuing what I can't live without.
Hearing him laugh and play with other people is unbearable. It's my fault that I can't get that kind of attention anymore; it only draws scrutiny and rumors we can no longer withstand. It is still unbearable. My heart breaks a little with every laugh, every comment, and those beautiful eyes shining with laughter and happiness directed at someone else. Facing the reality of the mess I've made- it even ruins my fantasies. Those wonderful, all-consuming daydreams that have been the only thing keeping me going- that feeling- I've not felt it in so long- the butterflies, the outright longing- I don't own that anymore. I pulled my dreams into the daylight and they blew about like dust, scattering everywhere, and shining in the light as they landed, spread so thin that even I can't put them back together.
I've thought we'd gotten to that point before; and then he would offer some encouragement, and I rose like a phoenix from the ashes- became real again, as if I were the Velveteen Rabbit and he was the little boy whose love gave things new life. That sounds so degrading, so humiliating- to compare a grown woman with a love-worn stuffed animal. That isn't how it feels. My heart swells with so much hope and desire that I can't afford rational or self-protective thought- I'm drowned in my undeniable feelings for this man. There are moments of embarrassment, regret, guilt. Those three o'clock in the morning panics, of which I'm all too familiar these days, but they fade with the sunrise, like dew drying on the grass, and when they're gone, I can hardly tell they were ever there.
We've not spoken all day, and that makes me so sad. Monday I figured he wanted nothing to do with me, and so I left him be. When he came to check on me, he cast my whole day in sunlight. Yesterday it was his turn to be crabby and quiet and avoid me, so I checked on him, and he melted like so much butter. I floated through the afternoon- until things went bad. I can't decide if it's heartbreaking or amusing that we're too busy being accused of things we didn't do to get close to doing the things we're accused of. It scares me- I'm not a bad person, I don't do bad things, and he makes me feel like I never truly understood morality or love or trouble before. He make things gray.
I spend a lot of time wondering if he's stringing me along, using me to feed his ego, laughing behind my back at the remote idea that he would find me attractive. His hungry gazes, his words dripping with subtext- they make me feel like I'm the most beautiful creature that ever graced the earth and I should be spending my days writhing in satin and rose petals. One minute I feel like a silly schoolgirl, ruining my life for some childish crush, and the next moment he's emailing me, or brushing my hip with his hand as he passes by, and before I can talk myself out of it, I'm gone again. Gone to that world where only he and I exist, and my breath becomes ragged and I have trouble seeing clearly.
What I wouldn't do for a little of that hope this afternoon. It's for the better; I know that- I know that using one romance to kill another is ill-advised. I know that I'm risking my reputation and my personal integrity. But when he touches me, when he speaks my name, I cease caring about any of that. I would destroy everything I have for that touch. The draw is so compelling that I can't see anything but his eyes, his face- I can't think of anything but breathing his breath and listening to his heart beat in her chest. The intensity of my desire frightens me, and that only heightens the excitement, until I cannot breathe and I cease to function in any other manner than pursuing what I can't live without.
Hearing him laugh and play with other people is unbearable. It's my fault that I can't get that kind of attention anymore; it only draws scrutiny and rumors we can no longer withstand. It is still unbearable. My heart breaks a little with every laugh, every comment, and those beautiful eyes shining with laughter and happiness directed at someone else. Facing the reality of the mess I've made- it even ruins my fantasies. Those wonderful, all-consuming daydreams that have been the only thing keeping me going- that feeling- I've not felt it in so long- the butterflies, the outright longing- I don't own that anymore. I pulled my dreams into the daylight and they blew about like dust, scattering everywhere, and shining in the light as they landed, spread so thin that even I can't put them back together.
I've thought we'd gotten to that point before; and then he would offer some encouragement, and I rose like a phoenix from the ashes- became real again, as if I were the Velveteen Rabbit and he was the little boy whose love gave things new life. That sounds so degrading, so humiliating- to compare a grown woman with a love-worn stuffed animal. That isn't how it feels. My heart swells with so much hope and desire that I can't afford rational or self-protective thought- I'm drowned in my undeniable feelings for this man. There are moments of embarrassment, regret, guilt. Those three o'clock in the morning panics, of which I'm all too familiar these days, but they fade with the sunrise, like dew drying on the grass, and when they're gone, I can hardly tell they were ever there.
-Written May 2008
The Most Ill-Advised Affair Known To Man
There are a whole host of adultery blogs on the net, and they all at some point publish their "rules". These "rules" are supposed to keep people from getting hurt, keep people from getting caught, keep people from getting the clap, etc. On average, they all advise against every aspect of my situation. Behold:
- I have a huge crush on this guy. I have for a very, very long time. It was, at one point, one of those sweet daydream, giggly, think about but never truly consider cause I'm married type of crushes. I harbor no illusions of running off into the sunset together, but I have much more than a sexual interest.
- We work together.
- His wife is crazy. (She's about as crazy as I would be if I thought my husband were cheating on me, back when I still gave a shit what he did.)
- My husband has the potential to kill him in a psychotic rage if he ever figures it out.
- My friends at work know about this crush of mine and have warned me countless times to be careful to avoid the exact situation I'm in today....... if they find out, I will lose them too.
- Nearly all of our shenanigans take place during the business day.
- He's made it absolutely crystal clear that he wants no emotional relationship, and I've agreed. (they like it when you agree with the stupid shit they say)
- Our entanglement came about *after* people started gossiping about us. Think "Let's Give Them Something To Talk About", except that really isn't our goal.
How Did This Happen?
I was a normal girl, with a normal life, a normal husband, a normal job, a normal house. Normal, normal, normal. I've never been the "sexy" type. I am occasionally sexy, but have been told that I have this "innocence" about me. Maybe it's the bun I wear almost every day. Who knows. My point here? I've never been "that girl"........
My life went to hell, oh, about a year ago. Not going to get into it here, because this blog and the content I'll be posting here are my escape from unpaid bills, foreclosure notices, and my unhealthy marriage. Judge if you want. I would have, oh, about a year ago. If you still grasp tightly to black and white morality because it makes you feel more secure, more invincible, better than- then more power to you. It's just that I've lost that luxury.
So when I got an offer I couldn't resist, I jumped on him, I mean, it.
And, I maybe, might have met someone who was in town visiting that I may or may not ever seen again, and we might have made out, and if we do ever see each other again, it might go biblical.
Yes, I've turned into a tart, a whore, a harlot. A cocotte. Sometimes I feel a little bit guilty, but mostly? I just want more.
coco
My life went to hell, oh, about a year ago. Not going to get into it here, because this blog and the content I'll be posting here are my escape from unpaid bills, foreclosure notices, and my unhealthy marriage. Judge if you want. I would have, oh, about a year ago. If you still grasp tightly to black and white morality because it makes you feel more secure, more invincible, better than- then more power to you. It's just that I've lost that luxury.
So when I got an offer I couldn't resist, I jumped on him, I mean, it.
And, I maybe, might have met someone who was in town visiting that I may or may not ever seen again, and we might have made out, and if we do ever see each other again, it might go biblical.
Yes, I've turned into a tart, a whore, a harlot. A cocotte. Sometimes I feel a little bit guilty, but mostly? I just want more.
coco
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