Cool Guy at the Office

He pushes his chair back from the table, extending out his legs before crossing an ankle over his knee. He curls forward to pick his beer from the table and relaxes back into the seat.

He doesn't seem to notice my white knuckles wrapped firmly around my beer. I am nervous but determined not to let him know.

We talk for an hour. Our work. The mean girls at the office. Being uncool, although I doubt that it is something he understands personally. By the end, my head spins a little from the beer and fatigue of the day.

I look at David. I've had a schoolgirl crush on him for two years, even though he's really not my type. I usually like to run a finger along the vein of a bicep or feel closely clipped hair on a man's neck against my palm. David is a thin hipster with ironic t-shirts and a ponytail. He's best friends with the lead guitarist of every band I've never heard of. He knows what craft beer to order and its alcohol content by heart.

His voice, though, has worked its way firmly into my brain. It's deep with a masculine Southern drawl. It's become even deeper now, hushed by the alcohol and enduring heat of the evening as we sit in the garden. I realize that I'm not paying attention to the conversation anymore, just the vibrations of his voice through the air and the movement of his lips. I want to close my eyes and listen. Things start to tingle inside me.

He interacts with me differently than he does with other people. It's little things like letting me wear his hat or untying my shoes for no reason. I don't know how to respond to these gestures most of the time. He is married, and I have never been careless with my flirtations. When I flirt, it's because I have a definite plan in mind. With David, I don't know what the plan is. I'm not calling the shots. I am not in control.

My God, do I want to fuck him, though.

I am suddenly awakened from my reverie as David stands up and says he's got to go. His wife expects him home, no doubt.

I feel a pulse go through my system. I'm fully back to reality now. As I stand, I use every muscle I have to stay stable. I don't want to look weak or tired or disappointed or drunk. Please, Lord, just let me keep it together for the next two minutes.

We start walking back to our cars. We're saying words to each other, but I'm aware that they aren't making sense. I might be buzzed, but he is wasted.

I feel around in my purse for my keys. They are there, I can hear them, but finding keys and standing and acting cool and pretending I am not disappointed by the conclusion of our evening is too much for me at the moment. I lean against my car, close my eyes and breathe.

I feel him next to me.

"What is it?" he asks.

"My keys are somewhere in the bottomless cavern that is my purse. I'm just going to stand here for a bit and let them float to the top. Go on ahead home. I am fine," I said, not opening my eyes.

'Yeah," he says, then slips a hand around my waist.

I relax into him, and we stand there for a full minute. I am not sure what is going on, but my fingers itch with the desire to touch him. I work up my courage.

"You once told me that you used to do naughty things when you were a kid. Do you still do naughty things?" I say, still not opening my eyes.

I can hear him turn to look at me. I am sure he is confused by the question. I refuse to look back.

"Uhhh, sure. I'm no prince."

I open my eyes and begin to turn toward him, pressing his body against my car. I interlace the fingers of one of my hands with his. The other goes behind his neck. I gently guide his head closer towards mine.

It's just lips and fingers at first, and I am the lead. I kiss his bottom lip first, then the top, then back to the bottom with a little more suction.

I feel his hand move under my shirt and up my back. His lips open and his tongue fills my mouth. My head pulses.

We're locked in place for ten minutes as we push harder into each other. He's unhooked my bra and is massaging my breasts. The tips of his fingers trace my nipples.

My hand moves down from his neck, across his chest and onto his groin. As I cup it, he tenses. He is hard, and I moan a little.

"Let's get into my car," I say softly. My keys are suddenly in reach.

He closes the door behind us as I am unbuttoning his pants. I slide down his jeans and underwear and begin to settle on top of him.

I'm in a skirt, which is now wadded in a tangle around my waist. My underwear is still on, but I can feel every inch of him through the fabric that is becoming increasingly wet and thin.

It's been two years, and I am desperate for him. I feel a building warmth as I think about having him inside me. I am concerned, though, that I am pushing him too hard. Does he really want to do this?

As these thoughts enter my head, I hesitate for a moment and begin to lift off of him.

"Let me help you," he says, misinterpreting my actions. He flips me on my side and slides down my underwear. He then wiggles back beneath me.

"Better?" he asks, smiling playfully as I start to melt fully on top of him. He's answered my question.

The tip of his dick is pressing hard against my clit, and he pinches my nipple between his fingers. I start to slide back and forth against him and my skin begins to burn.

"You need to get inside me or I am going to orgasm," I say against the skin of his neck.

And he does. A sharp, glorious pain followed by a warm ocean of ooze. I rock slowly. He presses hard and deep into me. My fingers dig into his shoulders and I feel him grow even harder, bigger. I clench reflexively, my body hoping to control my orgasm which feels as if it will be out of control, but I fail.

I explode and disintegrate at once. I loose the feeling in my legs as my palms leave imprints on the fogged window glass.

He trembles one last time, and we both breathe deeply.

Work is going to be uncomfortable tomorrow.