Alan in the Office 01

"I have a meeting in just a few minutes. We don't have time for facials or fucking today," Sylvie said, "so get your damn fingers over here and inside me."

I quickly had my mouth on one tit, one hand on the other, and three fingers manipulating her pussy, while she expertly jerked my cock and strummed my nipples. We both came satisfactorily.

"Cyndi gave me a ration this morning, told me that we're drawing attention of the mucky-mucks," I said as we put ourselves back together. "Maybe her boss needs some distractions."

"So Tomanski needs to be distracted, hmm? I have some ideas – maybe including his wife. Stay tuned."

I could hardly wait.

******************** 4: Adventures in software engineering

The programmer training class was exhausting, demanding a full workday every day, followed by just as much time for classwork and homework. We trained in top-down structured analysis and design, COBOL program coding and debugging, JCL and batch processing procedures, and just whose buttons to push in Operations to get jobs to run smoothly.

Moira and I built a Heathkit home computer system, soldering and screwing parts together. She built the printer. Our cats watched from nearby safe ledges; close encounters with soldering irons persuaded them to keep their distance from our enticing work. Now I could submit test compiles from home.

Moira did not keep extended office hours unless forced to by production or debugging crises. Such crises inflamed her Irish temper. So instead of driving home with her after class, I usually caught rides with fellow students Judy, or Brenda or Katarina, who lived in our direction.

I rode with Judy many Friday nights – she would stay over for the weekend – and we usually stopped for an en-route roadside fuck during the thirty-mile drive.

Brenda was my age, not too tall, with beige hair that hung past her oval face to sweep past her full breasts. She was married, perpetually horny, and drove a sunroof SAAB. We drank cold wine as we rolled and shared rude gossip about our classmates. We often stopped for oral fun, taking turns lying atop the car, legs hanging through the sunroof, while being eaten by the other from the driver's seat.

Brenda was afraid of her husband Andre, and of Moira, and never accepted invitations into our bed.

"Alan, if Andre ever finds out about us, he'll divorce me, or worse."

"What, you think he isn't screwing your babysitter already? If not, he's gay."

"My grandmother babysits for us. Oh shit, I hope he's not screwing her!"

Katarina was nearly as tall as I, a long dark beauty with cropped black hair and perfect curves. She was married to Georges, a locomotive driver, what most in the US would call a railroad engineer. Katarina sometimes slept over with Moira and me when Georges was away on long runs. And not just for hot sex – she used our computer for her own COBOL compiles.

Katarina drove some friends to San Francisco for a huge memorial vigil in Golden Gate Park after John Lennon's assassination. I stood with Katarina and fucked her from behind as the crowd around us sang ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE.

Class eventually ended, the day before my 26th birthday. The company threw a graduation party for the survivors.

We gathered at the ritzy hotel, drank the celebratory champagne, listened to the usual speeches, sucked up more free champagne, and stepped outside to smoke and snort and neck. I deep-tongued lovely classmates I had not touched before, was groped by some who had not touched me before, and watched with amusement as our lead teacher kissed his boyfriends.

Many of us went upstairs to a large suite for the Survivor's Orgy. It went about as you might expect. The company paid for our visits to an STD screening clinic the next day.

___

I moved to my new job on Merrill's team. I maintained relations with Rachel, our programming assistant, but did not really have time anymore to engage with the other PA's. This was another type of graduation for me – from clericals to engineers as fuckmates, and not so much in supply closets.

Xenia joined the team a couple months after me. She was a lean Greek girl with curly jet-black hair and nervous feet. Whenever she sat for more than a minute, she slid her sandals off and rubbed her almost prehensile appendages together, her toes caressing each other. Have you ever seen big toes twiddle?

I found Xenia's thin bare feet enticingly sexy. She noticed my staring, and smiled. She often found excuses to come to my cubicle, sit in my extra chair, and set her bare feet into my lap. I knew to massage, not tickle. She blocked the outside view while toe-grasping my cock through my trouser fabric.

"Ummm Xenia, what's your most engrossing sexual fantasy?"

"Oh, I just wish I were double-jointed, so I could pinch my tits with my toes while I frig myself with my fingers – with my butt in the air, and a hot cock or two sticking down into me."

"Be sure to give me a video," I gasped as her toes finished me off.

Sheila was older, maybe forty, a senior analyst on a neighboring team, an English gal with shimmering silver hair in a long swirling bob, and a penchant for tight grey skirt suits that showcased her fabulous butt and thighs and generous bosom. She also noticed my staring. When we rode an elevator together, she usually contrived to grind that smooth ass into my hot crotch.

I snared Sheila one afternoon and persuaded her to accompany me to her minivan.

"But Alan, what do you want with me? I'm old enough to be your, umm, your youngest aunt."

"Yeah, well, I shagged her too," I crooned into her earlobe as the elevator descended.

Sheila slapped me gently but led me on to the parking lot.

Dina, also on a neighboring team, was without a doubt one of the absolute hottest women I have ever been near, almost a Hungarian Barbarella clone. Her husband Lazlo ran a limousine service. She lived near Moira and me and regularly carpooled with us.

Moira's rebuilt 1969 Chevy longbed stepside pickup had a front bench seat and a stick shift on the floor. With no room for a center passenger, Dina sat in my lap. She favored short skirts and crotchless panties. We often rode home with Dina impaled on my cock while Moira reached over to rub her thigh and clit.

"Hey guys, Lazlo has a party job tonight and won't be home till late. Do you mind if I spend the evening with you?"

No, of course we did not mind, especially after she drizzled honey on us both and licked it all off.

___

Many team leaders and Group managers followed the Green Hell tradition of weekly team lunches and potluck picnics. The lunches were at nearby restaurants, the picnics in local parks. Much wine was always consumed. Most teams were very international, so the potluck offerings were quite varied and delicious.

If two or three of staff somehow disappeared together for some few minutes, well, that was expected. Yes, these weekly team-building activities were fun.

Sheila raised Newfoundlands; she was always given doggie bags of leftovers to feed the huge Newfies. Talk about lucky dogs! I was a pretty lucky dog too, because I had an open invitation to join in Moira's team's feeds, with all the attendant shop talk and gossip and flirtation. My social circle kept expanding.

We had another food-oriented tradition: testing new hires for flexibility. When someone from outside the Bay Area was hired, the first team lunch was at a local Moroccan restaurant. Customers sat on the floor, shoeless, on thin pillows, around a low round table covered in communal food dishes and no tableware, and ate with their fingers. Some folks quit and flew back to Iowa or Georgia the next day. Good riddance.

The test for sexual flexibility was simpler. If they did not respond to signals, they were left alone.

The above stories seem to imply that all the Green Hell staff did was feed and/or fuck each other, in and/or out of the office. Not true. Not quite, anyway. We actually did manage to work productively. The proof? The bank did not go bankrupt. Successful software was produced. Bonuses were awarded. And yes, fucks happened.

Sylvie did manage to distract Tomanski, the Division exec. I did not catch all the details, but the distraction somehow involved a camcorder, Tomanski's lovely Eurasian wife, several large cocks of various colors, and significant quantities of leather and latex. Tomanski stopped fretting about clerical sex.

Programming assistants remained highly desirable because they held the keycards to the supply rooms, the closest we had to boudoirs in Green Hell. Get on a PA's bad side, and they might charge rent.

Alas, all good things come to an end. A small financial group in Seattle with only a couple dozen manic programmers hired Moira and I as a package deal at triple our previous salaries. The money sure was nice, but we lost all our friends and fucktoys. And the new workplace did not have the same loose vibe. Those guys just could *not* be seduced.

Headhunters from Silicon Valley eventually lured us back to the Bay Area. I'll tell those tales later.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:: I have yet to finish Ron's notes about Alan's adventures, and stories told by others of his friends. Your feedback is more than welcome.