The Afterparty

I sat in front of my ancient computer monitor, screen blank, cursor flashing rudely back at me.

I was on deadline. I had two hours to spit out 750 words of drivel summarizing this evening's county council meeting. It had run late, per usual, and the presses would start up early on a Friday night for the Saturday edition.

Shaking the cobwebs from my head, and sipping lukewarm coffee, I focused in on my notes, determined to make the deadline. And thus not end up jobless.

I pressed on. Everyone in the newsroom had left, so I could hone in on my task, furiously typing and flipping through pages of budget documents and proposed ordinances. More writer's block, more cold coffee. I got the short straw this time. County council minutes weren't exactly a journalist's dream. No one ever received a Pulitzer writing about municipal sanitary engineering funding. But not every assignment is sexy. And this one was most definitely anything but sexy.

So I trudged on, the ambient light from my desk lamp illuminating my worn keyboard. I lost myself in the chore. I squeezed 800 words out of my notes, once I found a juicy section on controversy surrounding docking permits at the reservoir marina. Like I said...not sexy. But the bloated word count would satisfy my editor. Never hurts to overachieve, even though I was already well regarded by the publisher for some pretty big scoops in the past.

I ran a hard copy on my trusty dot matrix printer and hit SEND on the screen. Another story down. Wouldn't make the front page -- or even the front section -- but I didn't need every byline to validate my career.

I nearly jumped out of my hard plastic chair when I felt a hand pat my shoulder. My mp3 player's headphones were buried in my ears and I didn't hear the footsteps approaching behind me. I spun around to find my editor standing behind me.

"Goddammit, Serena. You scared the shit out of me."

"I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to say goodbye before I left."

"Don't worry about it," I sighed and put a hand to my chest as my heartbeat returned to normal.

"Thanks for handling that meeting tonight. I know it's not on par with your usual beats."

"Hey, no problem," I offered. "I gotta pull my weight around here somehow." I looked at my watch.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you probably have plans," she apologetically interjected.

"It's midnight, Serena," I scoffed. "I'm 32 years old. My post-midnight party persona tapped out years ago."

She laughed at the self-deprecation. "Anything else going on this weekend?"

I wanted to get out of there and find a cold beer in my fridge and unwind, but I tried my best to maintain some semblance of friendliness. "Yeah, actually. I copied you on the email. I'm having a little get-together tomorrow night at my place. You should come."

The newsroom staff and a few others always threw weekend bashes. I was a rare attendee myself, but as far as I knew, Serena had never come. I couldn't blame her. I spent fifty hours a week with these people. The last thing I wanted was more quality time with this crew. But I wasn't a pariah, and could cut loose with them every once in a while. I had offered my place as the hang-out spot for this weekend's booze fest.

She paused for a moment. "You know, I think I will."

That surprised me. I had always been curious what she was like out of the office. While I didn't necessarily have a thing for Serena, I did find her captivating at times. She was smart and well-spoken and was charming enough to keep the peace on a staff full of eccentric personalities. I respected that and found her charisma attractive.

"I'm glad to hear that," I said, grabbing the sports coat off the back of my chair. "It should be fun."

She smiled and put her hand on my arm. "It's a date."

I found the gesture a bit out of place for her. She wasn't a very touchy-feely person and she must have read it on my face because she quickly removed her hand from my arm and blushed.

"Okay," I said, still a bit flustered. "I'll see you then."

I left her standing at my desk. A warm sensation had crept into my body. Somehow I felt comforted and a bit flattered by her affectionate touch and her referring to the tomorrow's occasion as a 'date'.

Interesting.

By 11:30, the party had gotten out of hand.

Nick was in my unfinished basement passing out weed and bottles of malt liquor to James, Pete and Jenny. Brody got it into his head that he was going to actually finish the basement with some tools he found in the furnace room. Fortunately, he couldn't find the outlet to plug them in.

Ray-Ray was in the guest bedroom with his skank of a girlfriend. I made a mental note to wash the sheets tomorrow. Lisa from accounting had passed out on the loveseat, her makeup smeared and one shoe missing. Marcia was sulking in the corner, knowing that - as the designated driver - she'd have to take most of these drunk losers home soon. She rolled her eyes as she caught my sympathetic glance.

This gang of drunken oddballs were my co-workers. These staff parties almost always devolved into exercises in binge drinking. By day, they were reporters and editors - an amalgam of personalities coming together to form a smoothly efficient, if highly stressful, newsroom. By night, they got smashed and broke shit.

I hoped like hell the police didn't show up. We were the only paper in town;who would write the headline if we were all in the drunk tank?

That left Serena and I, bemusedly watching all this. It was my house, so I couldn't get high to the point that I couldn't make sure everyone left safely. I also wanted to see that no one set fire to anything or stole stuff out of the drawers. I wouldn't put it past any of them. And Serena was our boss, so naturally she wanted to keep up appearances and didn't appear intoxicated.

We sat at the kitchen island on barstools, I nursing a longneck and Serena sipping wine. We smiled and laughed. Conversation was easy between us. She rarely let her guard down. She was managing editor, after all, and she didn't regularly fraternize with the staff reporters. I was still a bit surprised she'd shown up at all.

I was inquisitive, but cautious. She was talking more as the evening wore on and she opened up as she felt more comfortable. I understood that that there's a fine line to walk in even friendships between supervisor and subordinate, so I carefully kept my questions on the up and up. Where are you from originally? What made you want to go into journalism? What was college like for you? And so on.

Serena was pretty, but not to the point of being intimidating. And unlike many pretty girls who knew it, she treated everyone casually and respectfully. Since she joined our paper from a sister outfit only 18 months ago, I didn't really feel like I knew her very well. She didn't micro-manage, and I worked best in a hands-off environment. But during our conversation that evening, I quickly realized that I enjoyed talking with her. She had a quick wit and a pleasant demeanor. At work she wasn't necessarily cold, but distant. And justifiably so. There were workplace rules after all.

Suddenly, an awkward silence fell between us. I picked at my bottle label and watched as she traced water rings with a long pink-painted fingernail.

"So Brett..." she said, looking around."This is a lot of house for one person."

I looked around, the comment not registering as anything but curiosity. "Yeah, well, I'm very materialistic," I chuckled. "Having extra space and filling it with a bunch of worthless junk legitimizes me somehow."

She laughed. "I know you're kidding, but you don't have a roommate or a live-in to share it with?"

"I don't think anyone could stand me long enough to make it a permanent thing." I realized what she was getting at. I saved her from the next inevitable question. "That's probably why I'm still single with no discernable prospects."

She looked down, biting her lip and continuing to run her finger across the countertop, but I thought, ever so briefly, that I saw a hint - just a mere whisper - of a satisfied grin curl at the corners of her mouth.

She continued, "Obviously I know what you make. So I'm curious as to how you could afford a place like this."

My house was a modest ranch; but it was in a nice part of town and it didn't take a real estate broker to compare the value of the home with my meager journalist salary.

"I sell a lot of drugs on the side," I joked and took a deep breath. "But seriously, I'm actually one of those douche bags with rich parents and was born with a silver spoon in my mouth."

"Really," Serena asked, surprised. "I never would have known. What are you doing slumming with group of misfits like us?"

I didn't really know how to answer that. I shrugged. "I like the work, I like to write, and this group of misfits has grown on me." I nodded toward the doorway, where Ray-Ray and his skanky date were now lingering after returning from their tryst.

"I think we're taking off, dude." Raymond announced. He reached out, clasped my hand and me an overly aggressive 'bro-hug'. He whispered in my ear, "Sorry about the bedspread."

"Oh fuck", I muttered underneath my breath. "Okay, man," I returned, separating myself from his bro-tastic show of affection. "You sure you're safe to drive?"

"Hell, yeah. Good to go."

I nodded and held out a hand to his girl. "Mandi, it was nice to meet you." I regretted extending my hand as soon as she limply accepted it; who knows where it had been while she and Ray were in the back room.

"Likewise," she listlessly offered.

I showed them to the door, stepping over Lisa from accounting, who had rolled off the loveseat and into the middle of the living room. Marcia stepped out of the shadows and lifted her up by her shoulders. Lisa groaned and spit up on her blouse. "Gross," Marcia murmured. "I think we're gonna go."

Marcia propped Lisa up on the couch and called down to the basement, "Train's leavin', bitches!!! If you rode with me, get your asses up here." She was met with a round of laughter from the gaggle of inebriated fools at the bottom of the stairs.

Marcia huffed and yelled once more, "All right, assholes. If you get up here right now, I'll take you to the drive-thru to get tacos."

No sooner had the word tacos escaped her lips as five drunken partygoers stumbled over each other up the steps and collapsed in drunken heap at the top of the stairs.

Laughing and thanking me for the good times, I showed them out as they piled into Marcia's SUV. Marcia screamed at Nick to put out his joint, Pete and Brody were fighting over who got to ride shotgun and we laid Lisa from accounting in the cargo area between the spare tire and the jump seat. We got them all settled and I leaned into the driver's side window. "Get 'em home safe," I told Marcia. She rolled her eyes again and threw the truck into reverse. I chuckled as she backed the SUV into the street and drove the screaming horde between the halogen arcs of the streetlamps into the night.

I met Serena in the doorway. "You takin' off too?" I asked, stretching and yawning.

"Well," she replied. "I'm still a little tipsy from the wine. You mind if I stick around for a little while and sober up?"

"Of course," I told her, closing the door behind us. "Stay as long as you like. I don't want you driving drunk."

Truth be told, I really didn't mind having her stay. It would be nice having the company. She was pleasant to talk to and easy on the eyes. Serena had dark blond hair that she wore loosely to just above her shoulders. Bangs hung across her forehead framing her blue eyes. When she smiled, those eyes squinted and playful wrinkles formed. At 35, she could have passed for 15 years younger. If not for the prim and proper way she carried herself, she just might be carded at every bar and R-rated movie she attended. Maybe she was, for all I knew. She was short - barely over five foot, but she was nicely proportioned and her curves could take your breath away when she moved just right. Not that I ever noticed such things.

Tonight she wore a pink buttoned-down blouse over a black tank-top exposing plenty of her supple bust. Low-rise tight jeans complimented her ample hips and plump bottom. She sauntered into my kitchen and I let my eyes linger over her buxom figure.

I plopped down on the sofa and flipped on the television. Saturday Night Live was a re-run, but a good one, so I left it playing with the volume on low. Serena came and sat down with a full glass of wine for herself and a fresh cold beer for me.

"Decided against sobering up?" I asked her as I twisted off the bottle cap.

"I'm probably too far gone anyway," she answered. "You mind if I crash on your couch tonight?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. ..'cause I'll take the couch. You take the bed," I offered, taking a long swig of my beer.

"Such a gentlemen," she smiled back.

Curiously, Serena hadn't been drinking much at all. I'd watched her cradle the same glass of wine all night. I couldn't remember her even topping it off until now. I didn't pay it any mind. She could crash here if she wanted.

"I am pretty tired though. Do you have anything I can change into?"

I nodded. "If gym shorts and a T-shirt are good enough, than my closet is your closet. I'll grab you something."

I went into the back room and grabbed a pair of shorts and an old black Led Zeppelin tee. When I came back into the living room, she was resting on the sofa with her eyes closed as I handed them to her.

"These should do."

She opened her eyes. "Sure, thanks. I'm going to use the little girls' room and change."

I drank the rest of my beer. The late hour and the buzz had me dozing. My eyes fluttered and closed. I comfortably sank down on the cushion and rested my head on the armrest. I snapped out of the snooze when I heard footsteps.

Serena came down the hallway in my red gym shorts and black T-shirt, holding a pile of her clothes in her hands. Mine were ridiculously big on her small frame. I chuckled at the sight.

"You look like a little kid in her daddy's clothes."

She gave me a pouty look and threw her pile in the corner. "You couldn't handle being my daddy."

I blushed at the overtly sexual comment and her hands flew to her mouth, embarrassed.

"Oh shit," she giggled nervously, her face turned red. "I'm so sorry. That's the wine talking."

"It's all right," I said, clearing my throat and regaining a bit of composure. "Don't worry about it."

She gave me an apologetic smile and crossed the room, taking a seat beside me on the right side of the couch and crossed her legs under her.

"You're such a nice guy, Brett. Why hasn't some gorgeous chick come along and snatched you up, yet?"

"I don't know," I stammered. "Just haven't found the right one, I guess."

An awkward silence again fell on the room. I shifted in my seat. She was right. I hadn't found that special someone yet. A lot had come close, and I dated frequently. I just hadn't met anyone to settle down with. But for the time being, I couldn't stop staring at Serena's shapely legs crossed under her. She had let the long gym shorts ride up on her thigh exposing a significant amount of wonderful white flesh.

She must have caught my glance because she grabbed the throw blanket laying on the top of the sofa and covered her lap. She snuggled the blanket up to her shoulders. "I've got goosebumps", she announced.

"Do you need more blankets?" I asked. "I can find you a proper pillow as well."

"That's okay," she answered. "Can you just keep me company until I fall asleep? I don't like falling asleep in strange places."

"Ummm, sure. No problem. But don't think of this place as strange. Make yourself at home."

She seemed to like that as she adjusted her position and rested her head against my shoulder.

My heart leapt a bit at the affectionate gesture. We worked for a large corporate media conglomerate with very strict rules about workplace relationships. Any kind of extracurricular activities between a supervisor and subordinate was particularly frowned upon. I had certainly entertained ideas about asking Serena out, but it was forbidden in the newsroom. That didn't stop me from indulging in the occasional fantasy about her. Especially on the days when she wore a generously plunging neckline.

Now I felt like a high school kid on a date. I was hesitant to interpret her body language as anything but friendliness. But we were two consenting adults, alone, late at night, one of us in our sleepwear. Workplace rules be damned.

I lifted my arm and draped it behind her neck. She didn't seem to mind and nestled her head further into the crook of my shoulder. I put my chin on the top of her head. She smelled incredible - clean and flowery. I was dizzy and my palms were sweaty. I'd been in this position with women before, but this was my boss. I was nervous as a 15-year old boy.

She brought her hand out from under the blanket and placed it on my knee. She rubbed her thumb against the rough denim. I caressed her upper arm with the pads of my fingers. She settled in further. Her body shook lightly as she giggled at the skit on television.

It was decision time. If I fully committed to this, I could lift her chin with my hand and read her eyes for permission. I could softly brush her full lips with my own and gauge her reaction.

If she bolted, I was out of a make-out session and likely a job.

If she accepted, well...

Well, the possibilities were limitless.

But I never got the chance to make a move. She rolled her head back and her blue eyes met mine. Although she was obviously opening the door for me to act, I studied them for any of indication of her intentions. This was uncharted territory, but her look took the guesswork out of the hesitation of kissing my boss.

So throwing caution to the wind, I leaned in. To this day, I remember each moment of that first kiss as if it were in slow motion. I cocked my head to the side and the sides of our noses lightly grazed. I touched my lips to hers and closed my eyes.

First kisses are perhaps the most intimate of all acts between two people. Relationships can be defined by that one delicate moment. Time slows to a crawl. And, if done right, can be more rewarding than any other physical encounter. And this one was done achingly right.

I parted my mouth ever so slightly. She followed my lead. My tongue ventured out and met hers. They lingered for a moment, just tasting and enjoying each other. After tentatively pressing forward, I began to explore the inside of her mouth. Our tongues tangled and wrestled, jockeying for position in the vacuum of a passionate lock.

Serena's warm breath filled my lungs and I could smell the skin on her soft cheek - sweet and compelling. I put my hand on the back of her neck and pulled her even closer. She grabbed the sides of my head and shifted on the sofa cushion until we were face to face with each other.

She broke away and gave me a series of pecks, licking my lips and kissing my cheeks. I was surprised, but not put off, by her aggression. She seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself and who was I to deprive her of that?

I pulled her back closer into a tight embrace and lowered her back down into the sofa, propping her against the armrest and supporting her head in my hand. Her fingers laced at the base of my neck, her nails tickling at the nape. With my free hand, I slid my hand from her shoulder and down her arm. I gambled by laying my hand on her plump breast and waited for her reaction. She approvingly reached down to the hem of her shirt and pulled it up, exposing the white flesh of her stomach. My hand found its way under her clothing and finding the satin fabric of her bra. I could feel her hard nipple under the smooth material and I caressed it with the pad of my thumb. I slipped a finger between the elastic at the top of the cup and her skin. She didn't protest, so I pulled her hot heavy breast out of the undergarment. I petted and stroked it, appreciating its fullness and weight. So smooth and supple in my hand, quivering at my touch.