The Valentines Day Fiasco

Snowfall in February isn't unusual in the Washington D.C. area, but this monster had already dumped six inches of pristine white powder on top of the ten inches of existing snow left in the wake of a little surprise storm two days ago. Today's storm had held off just long enough for everyone to make the slow arduous commute to work. Before lunchtime, with the storm intensifying by the minute, it had become obvious the weatherman had been right for a change. The last thing I heard on the Weather Channel before I walked out my front door was that today would be a great day to stay home and snuggle up in front of the TV with a good movie. If you must go out he recommended that you leave your car in the garage and drive your dogsled instead. This wasn't going to be one of those Alberta Clippers like we normally get, it was the dreaded Nor-Easter. He was calling for somewhere around two feet of the white stuff from hell. The news media had already dubbed the storm The Saint Valentines Day Fiasco. Snowplows in the District of Columbia, Maryland, Virginia, and West Virginia were fighting a losing battle with little hope of ever catching up to the intense snowfall. We're not use to a lot of snow around here; three inches is usually enough to paralyze the city and its surrounding communities. There are times when living close to work can have its drawbacks, but on a day like today it is heaven sent. It's only a two-block walk to my apartment.

The office falls silent the moment the CEO, Marsha O'Connor, glides in the door like a Roman goddess. Every male in the place sits mesmerized by her beauty, their eyes glued to her exquisite figure, their mouths agape, drooling down trembling chins. Even the women stare at her in awe. I'm no exception. There is simply no way to pry ones eyes from this gorgeous creature.

She pauses momentarily in front of my desk, scanning the room to see who has not shown up for work in the face of the onslaught occurring outside. I'm glad to see so many smiling faces this morning." Her sultry voice drifts across the room like a Siren's song, causing pains of desire to run through me.

The soft whisper of her silk-veiled thighs rubbing against one another steals my breath as she strolls up in front of my desk. The faint scent of her elegant perfume makes my heart pound when she leans over the front of my desk and softly speaks. "Let's get these people out of here ASAP." My panties quickly become moist when the top of her satin blouse falls away from her body, revealing two golden-tan globes seductively cradled in fragile red lace.

I nod in agreement with her suggestion. Trying to speak at the moment is useless; my mouth is far too dry to even attempt it. I try to avert my gaze, but it just isn't happening. I pray she won't notice me staring down her blouse, but she can't help but to notice. Hell, I'm staring so hard she can probably feel the pressure of my eyeballs against her breasts. She seems to linger a bit longer then necessary, like she's enjoying my predicament. She knows I'm gay, I mean, I haven't tried to keep the fact a secret since I came to work as her office manager six months ago. My mind whirls watching the sensual undulations of her curvaceous behind and shapely hips as she slinks across the room to enter her office around the corner from my desk.

I hate the hurt you experience inside when you love someone so desperately, and for whatever reason, can never let that person know how you feel. I've been in love with Marsha since day one. The first moment I laid eyes on her, my heart sank to the soles of my feet. She's a woman way above my standards and well beyond my reach. I can't figure out why she isn't a movie star or a super model instead of the CEO of a small computer software company. She's the most sensuous-looking woman I have ever seen. Don't get me wrong, sure, Marsha's the type of woman most men dream about as far as her looks go, straight out of the pages of Playboy Magazine. But her mind is just as bright as her glowing, waist-length flaming-red hair. Her ability to run the company is not overshadowed by the alluring deep-red smile always so impeccably painted across her goddess-like face. To say she stands head and shoulders above the average small-company CEO would be an understatement and it has nothing to do with the fact that she's a little over six-feet tall in her stocking feet. There is no doubt in anyone's mind that Marsha O'Connor is a force to be reckoned with in the business world.

I don't know much about her personal life, she doesn't talk too much about it. But I do know she's not married. I found that out through the personnel records which, because of my position, I have access to. Hell, she seems to be married to the company. As far as a significant other, I have no idea. I doubt seriously that she's even interested in other women. How can a woman go so far in the business world when she's only thirty-one, only two years older than me. Her age I found in the personnel records too.

Why did I let myself get into this kind of mess? Why couldn't I fall for someone more my own speed, within my reach? I'm so crazy about Marsha I'd crawl through a mile of broken glass on my hands and knees just to kiss one of her feet. If I could figure out a way to make her feel half this much love toward me, I'd be one happy little lesbo.

Within minutes of announcing the closing of the office, the place is vacant. Go figure. I step into Marsha's office. "Everybody's gone except us."

"And why are you still here?" she asks.

"I had a few last-minute loose ends to tie up. I told them all to stay home tomorrow, but I better be able to find everyone at home, on their computers, and on line, taking care of business by 9:00 AM," I report.

"Good girl," she replies. "They'll enjoy being able to work in their pajamas tomorrow."

"Kinda looking forward to that myself." I smile.

"I know what you mean," she agrees. "By the way, you live in this area, what's the closest hotel?"

I thought for a moment. "I guess the closest one would be the Holiday Inn. It's about a half-mile from here."

"Great. If I can get a taxi to take me there I won't have to drive home in this mess. I hate driving in snow," she says.

"You'll be lucky if the hotel isn't already booked solid. A lot of people stay in town when we have snowstorms," I say.

"Damn, I should have reserved a room early this morning," Marsha mumbles with the cutest little I-just-screwed-up look on her pretty face.

"You're certainly welcome to stay at my place. I live only two blocks from here," I offer.

"Thank you, but I wouldn't want to put you out like that," she says. "If the hotels are all full I'll try to make it home."

"It won't be putting me out at all. In fact, I'd enjoy the company. This will be the third Valentines Day in a row I'll be spending alone. I could really use someone to talk to for a change," I reply. "I even have a spare bedroom."

She thinks for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," I answer, my hopes running high.

"I really hate driving in this much snow," she says. "If you're sure you don't mind."

"I'd be delighted," I reply, my hopes now soaring.

"Okay, let's get out of here," she says with a grin as she grabs her briefcase and coat. "It'll give us a chance to get to know each other a little better."

"Cool, let's go," I reply, rushing out of her office to get my coat. My hopes have just shot straight into orbit. I am going to get to spend the entire evening with the woman of my dreams, perhaps even the entire night. Slow down girl, I think to myself, don't go getting yourself all worked up, that's probably the furthest thing from her mind.

It's fun watching Marsha attempt to walk in the snow wearing three-inch heels. I usually wear flat-walking shoes to work and change into more fashionable shoes after arriving. I was smart enough this morning to remember to wear my hiking boots to work. The real fun though is getting to hold on to Marsha's arm as we walk, in case she slips. And she does plenty of that. Even though she's seven or eight inches taller than I am, I somehow manage to keep the towering woman from falling on several occasions during the short walk. She slips, ending up with both arms around me, her luscious mouth only inches from my mouth, and her body presses tight against mine. I love it!

We manage to make the two-block trip with neither of us actually falling in the snow. We're giggling like a couple of schoolgirls by the time we get to my apartment building.

Standing on the large, two-step high stoop in front of my building, I turn away from Marsha to open the entrance door to the lobby. Something hits me with a soggy thud. I can't believe it; it's so out of character for her! While my back was turned, she had grabbed up a big hand full of snow and clobbered me right in the middle of my back with a snowball!

I spin toward her. She looks so fantastic standing there with her hands over her mouth, with the cutest I'm-so-damn-innocent expression on her gorgeous face.

"If my hands weren't so damn cold, you'd pay for that!" I try to say without laughing. Actually, I'm trying not to moan out loud at the pure beauty of her I-don't-know-what you're-talking-about pose. I had never seen her in a playful mood before. I like what I'm seeing. It adds a touch of little girl to the classy woman.

She suddenly scoops up another handful of loose snow that's resting atop a potted fake bush at the edge of the stoop, and flings it at me.

"You're gonna pay for that, lady! You're gonna be making snow angels!" I bark rushing toward her as if I'm going to tackle her. I plan on stopping just as I get to her, but my foot slips on the snow, I run right into her, knocking her backward off the stoop. She lands on her back in the snow, with me on top of her.

We lay there in the snow, our noses nearly touching. "Oh my God, Marsha, I'm so sorry!" I beg her forgiveness. "I didn't mean to actually run into you."

She lay there a second, looking up into my eyes. Suddenly she breaks out in laughter. "It's okay, it was fun, but this snow is getting terribly cold against my behind!" Her warm breath smells so delicious.

My mind whirls as I get up. Was I imagining things? Or had I actually felt her soft lips quickly brush ever so lightly against mine? Had I actually felt the tip of her tongue dart across my lips?

I catch my breath; quickly glance around in hopes that nobody has witnessed my stupid maneuver. I'm lucky, no witnesses to my crime against the stately style of this regal beauty. But she'd started it! I was just defending myself! Any court in the land could see that, I am sure. I help Marsha from her rather embarrassing position as best as I can. She's so much larger than I am it is difficult. I'm so embarrassed. I can't believe I have just made a flying tackle on my boss and knocked her down in the snow. Nor can I believe that I'm thinking she has just kissed me.

After helping brush the snow from her back, which was an exciting event in itself, we rush into the lobby, onto the elevator, and up to my little apartment.

Upon entering my apartment, I unlace my boots and kick them into the corner. Marsha's high-dollar heels get kicked into the corner atop my boots. Maybe I'll be as lucky as my boots, I think to myself, maybe I'll end up snuggled up with Marsha for the night just like my boots are with her shoes. Why am I thinking like this? Why do I do this? I yell in my mind.

"My feet are freezing," Marsha says, rushing to the sofa, she plops down and begins rubbing her feet.

I hurry over to her, kneel on the floor before her, place her lovely feet in my lap, and begin massaging them vigorously.

"Oh, that feels so wonderful," she moans, dropping back against the back of the sofa. "I'll give you just three days to stop that."

Little does she realize, I would be absolutely delighted to sit here like this, rubbing her feet for the next three days, or three years for that matter. Her feet squirm a little, snuggling tighter into my lap. I let my thighs part a little, allowing her feet to slip between them.

"Oh, that's so warm," she groans.

"Your stockings are soaking wet," I say. "You should take 'em off. Your feet will never get warm as wet as they are."

"Fine, if you want 'em off, you take 'em off, as long as you don't have to move my feet too much. I like them right where they are. I'm not moving from this spot," she mumbles, slipping her skirt up enough to expose the catches of her garters and a bit of her slender thighs.

My breath freezes in my lungs. My eyes lock on her gorgeous thighs. "You want me to take them off for you?" I ask with a trembling voice, thinking that perhaps I'd misunderstood what she'd said. It might well have been just my imagination again. I don't want to take a chance on ruining the wonderful position I'm in at the moment.

"If you wouldn't mind. I really don't want to move right now, I'm so comfortable. But my feet are still really cold," she says with a coy grin I've never seen her use before.

My heart races. She really had granted me permission to undress her, I mean, remove her stockings. With trembling fingers, I carefully unhook the catches on the tops of her thighs and gently wiggle the same trembling fingers under her luscious thighs to unhook the ones in back. She raises her legs slightly to accommodate my hands. My desires rise with her skirt as it climbs higher up her thighs. Easing the fragile silk stockings down her long satiny-smooth legs, my fingers are on fire, but not half as much as my heart is.

Marsha bolts up from the sofa. "Oh damn, I'm sorry! I've gotten your couch all wet! I didn't realize how wet I am. I'm soaked all the way up to my back."

"Don't worry about the sofa, it's been wet before," I assure her. "Let me find something dry for you to put on."

"God, even my butt is soaked," she mumbles.

"Marsha, I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to push you down in the snow like that," I apologize.

"Don't worry about it, I enjoyed it," she says. "I haven't played in the snow in years. Besides, I started it."

"Yeah, but I didn't have to tackle you."

"Maybe next time I'll tackle you instead," she purrs.

My mind takes off on another of its fantastic-fantasy voyages. Could she possibly be suggesting that there might actually be a next time? I'm trying hard to keep control of my desires, to keep my sweltering passion in check, but she isn't making it very easy for me.

"Come on, let's see what I have that you can wear," I suggest, heading for my bedroom, Marsha close on my heels.

I open my closet and begin digging around for something she might be able to fit into. "What's that?" she asks pointing to a large white-lace shirt hanging on a hook in the corner.

"Oh, that's a shirt a friend of my dad's brought him from the Philippines. It's what the locals wear instead of a coat and tie to dress up. It's much cooler. Dad was only too glad to give it to me; you'd never catch him dressed in anything like that. I steal a lot of his shirts to wear as nighties. He's a big man; most of his shirts hang like bathrobes on me."

"Doesn't he get mad when you take his shirts?" she asks.

"Nawh, he loves me. I'm a daddy's-girl. He'll give me anything I want," I reply.

"Would you mind if I wear that shirt? I think it's gorgeous," she says. "It might even fit me."

"Please do," I answer, handing her the shirt. I can picture her in it. I can't wait to see if the picture in my mind is anywhere close to what the real thing will look like.

I start from the room. "You can dig through the drawers over there," I say, pointing toward my dresser. "You might find some under things in there you can get into."

"Thanks," she says walking toward the dresser. "Hey, what's this?" She picks something up from the top of my dresser. She holds up a pair men's white boxer shorts covered with great big red-kissy lips.

I laugh. "That's a present from my dad. He said it was a prescription I needed to get filled before Valentines Day. He's always trying to get me to find a man."

She stands there smiling at the large boxer shorts as I walk from the bedroom. "I'll make a pot of coffee while you get changed. Spare hangers are in the closet. You can hang your clothes in the bathroom to dry. There's towels in there too," I say, pulling the door shut behind me.

After setting up and turning on the coffeemaker, I turn to get two cups from the cabinet over the breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the dining room. Marsha is standing on the opposite side of the bar wearing the see-through white-lace shirt, with no bra.

"Does this look okay?" she asks, looking almost shy.

"I… um… I… ah… Damn! You look fantastic! I mean, that looks great on you," I finally manage to get from the voice that had deserted me so suddenly. I can't take my eyes off the perfect breasts shining through the thin lacy fabric.

"I'm glad you like it on me," she says softly, gradually backing away from the counter. "I hope you don't mind, but I filled your father's prescription too."

I nearly collapse laughing at her. "That's so adorable. I can't believe you put them on." She was wearing the men's white, kissy-lip boxers.

"Do they look that funny on me?" She giggles.

"No, no, I just wasn't expecting to see them on you."

"Well, there's no way I can get into any of your panties," she replies, still laughing.

"You can get… never mind. They look wonderful on you."

Marsha walks around the counter and slips her arms around my neck. "You father didn't say what you had to fill the prescription with did he?"

"Ah, no, he never mentioned that," I reply.

"Then are you pleased with how I filled it for you?" she asks, stepping closer. Her breasts are an inch from my face.

I slide my arms around her slim waist. "I'm delighted. It's much better than what my dad would've had it filled with."

Her arms tighten around my neck, pulling my face between her wonderful breasts. "I was hoping you'd say something like that," she whispers.

I snuggle in a bit deeper. "I honestly can't say what I was hoping for, but I think you figured it out pretty damn well," I mumble from between those two large soft mounds.

One of her hands slip from around my neck and slides under my chin, gently forcing my head upward from its wonderful cozy position. I look up to find her face descending toward mine. Our lips meet; gently at first, but rapidly the passion grows between us. Lips part, tongues dance, and hearts race.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that?" she whispers against my lips.

"I had no idea at all," I reply, pressing my lips back to hers. This kiss possesses much more fire and passion than the first one. I'm nearly gasping for breath by the time our lips finally part. I'm trembling all over. My legs are weak. "God, I wish I'd known. I've been in love with you since the first time I met you, but was scared to death to let you know about it. I didn't know you were gay."

"Let's just say I've had my moments with women in the past, but nothing serious. And none since I took over the company four years ago," she whispers. "It's been tough working in that office with you sitting there for the last six months."

"I had no idea," I repeat. "But it was everything I could do to maintain my composure whenever you were around me."

"You were having trouble?" she replies. "I've had a thing for cute little freckle-faced blondes all my life, and you're the cutest little thing I've ever met. The second you walked into my office to apply for the job you turned my world upside down. I didn't want to hire you because I knew you being there would make it difficult for me to keep my mind on what I was supposed to be doing. But your job qualifications were so damn high I had no choice. I figured I could work my way through my personal feelings and get on with the job at hand. But it hasn't been easy. Well, now that I've spilled my guts all over you, how about that cup of coffee you promised?"