The Co-worker

I noticed him one day at work. He was a little older than me, maybe 30. He had blond hair, kind of long, pushed to one side, and was baby faced. But we didn't work in the same department, so it was only rarely that I did see him. And I had no idea who he was, or even what he did.

Until one afternoon when there was a knock on my cube and he was standing there in khakis and a blue striped button-down shirt. The corporate casual uniform. He said hello and gave me this nervous, shy smile. He had an envelope for me. I smiled back and took it. It was a business matter.

I saw him more after that, or, maybe I noticed him more after that. By an elevator, talking to someone, leaving or going to the break room. At first we didn't acknowledge each other. We'd only met once. Why should we remember? But we both did. He was the one to break the relative stand-off. He saw me, we made eye contact, and he smiled. I smiled back.

Then we started talking. He was very good at small talk. He could see me, see something else, maybe a folder, nothing more than that, and start a conversation with me about it. And he could make me laugh. Every time. A comment about a pen or pencil on my desk would last five minutes, feel like thirty seconds and end with me looking at him through giggle drunk eyes.

But he was married. I saw the ring, I knew. That didn't stop me from looking as he'd walk away. 6'0", slender, but not completely toned. A little doughy. A blue collar butt. A guy that probably enjoyed a few beers, maybe an appetizer, but would run the next morning before his wife got out of bed. He only mentioned her once.

We were at a happy hour. He'd been talking to others, co-workers I didn't know. And it wasn't until around 7 that he finally picked me out, though we'd noticed each other, smiled. It was another short conversation, jokes about co-workers, work functions, and the drudgery of it all. He had this way of getting to something funny, and then every line after that was the punch line in one long joke. But he had to go. His wife was waiting.

We were friends after that. We spoke more often. He'd tell me what he'd done over the weekend, and I'd share as well. We never went to lunch, we were never alone like that. No "dates." And I was glad. I was always noticing the hetero couples that would occasionally go to lunch together at work, maybe get back a little late. It was tacky, I thought. But what do I know about tacky?

That Fall our company had a large gathering. A sort of casual, 6-10 p.m., appetizers and drinks "thank you" event. It was at an event space that was part of a newer hotel, restaurant, entertainment district in a "revitalized" downtown area. The space was essentially the gutted tenth floor of an old corporate headquarters, concrete floors, exposed duct work. He was there.

I was talking to some other co-workers, when I saw him, in jeans and a button down. He saw me too, with drink in hand. In a minute, he managed to slice me away from my group, and we stood talking. He made me laugh. I'd had a couple of drinks, and he was funny. Cute. After a brief chat, I excused myself to the restroom. When I got out of the restroom, he was standing there.

That's not creepy, I told him, smiling, kidding. Have you seen this place? He said, and encouraged me to follow him. I did, of course, and he lead me away from the main space, past some windows, a great view of the city just after dusk, down some halls, around some corners, and I realized that we were all alone. He was quickly pressed against me, my back to the wall.

He kissed me. I didn't kiss him back right away, but eventually relented. His mouth was warm, soft, and tasted faintly of whatever liquor he'd been drinking. He kissed me again, but I stopped him. We're co-workers, you're married. He went to my neck. His soft lips on the side of my neck, kissing, hot, slow, long kisses, inching up towards my ear lobe. Then he went for my mouth again.

It felt good. I kissed him back hard this time. It was only kissing. We kissed long and hard and hot, stopping every once and a while to look around. I smiled at him. He smiled back, and we kissed again. He had his hand on my hip, on my jeans. And it was slid up until he cupped my left breast over my shirt. He squeezed, rubbed. I could feel him, his waist pressed against mine. I let him keep going, rubbing my breasts over my shirt as we kissed.

And then I felt his hand between my legs. Two fingers pressed firmly against the front of my jeans, rubbing. This caused me to lose my breath, and I shifted a little, giving him better access. He pressed a little harder. I could feel the fabric of my blue thong pressing against me until he moved his hand up and went for the button of my jeans. I grabbed his wrist. That's too far, I told him.

He stopped. Until he got his mouth back on my neck and felt my grip loosen. Then my pants were unbuttoned, unzipped, and his hand down them, rubbing the fabric of my underwear directly now. I closed my eyes. It felt good. My breath was deep and steady. I was holding his shoulders, and looking into his hazel eyes when he went under my panties.

It had been a while for me since I'd been touched by another person. I felt his fingers slide up me, then down, and then he pressed slowly inside of me. One finger slid between me, into me, and he started massaging inside of me. I couldn't help but rise and fall with his finger, kissing his neck, breathing heavily in his ear. His finger found my clit.

I was shifting, writhing almost under the pressure he was putting on my clit. I felt his free hand start to tug on my jeans. I fought it at first, but fighting it made it harder for him to touch me, and soon my jeans had fallen to the floor. I was standing in this half dark hall in nothing but a blue thong, my co-workers hand inside of my underwear.

He wanted my panties down too. He was trying. And I was fighting, softly, to keep them on. I wanted to be bottomless for him, to let him see my bare self. I wanted to fully spread my legs for him, let him finger me until I came. But I didn't want him to fuck me. And I had no way to know his intentions.

He took his hand out of my panties, grabbed my hips, and then slowly moved to his knees. I remember looking down at him, and he up at me. I put my hand on his head, my fingers in his soft blond hair as he started to kiss my thighs. Just above my knees at first, but then higher. Hot kissing inching up towards the crotch of my underwear. Taking my eyes off him, I checked both directions down the softly lit hall, and then watched him kiss me.

For me, and maybe I'm the only woman that feels like this, there is nothing more exciting, nor more terrifying than having a man with his face inches from my wet, eager self. I take care of myself, and I know I'm beautiful, but having a man that close to my bare self, and knowing he wants to put his tongue, his mouth on me, has always made me a little anxious. But I didn't push him away.

I hand my hand softly on his head. He pressed his mouth against the front of my thong. I felt his finger slide up and under my panties, push them aside, and suddenly I was bare for his mouth. It was hot, and wet on me. I felt his tongue sliding up me, and then pressing on my clit. I moaned softly, quietly, holding his head, pressing him against mean. I leaned back against the wall a little, allowing me to shift, to open myself more to his mouth.

His mouth was very hot. He was good with his tongue, swirling, pressing on my clit. Not shy about licking up and down me, about fully tasting me. I was breathing deeply, softly moaning, whispering his name, holding his head, pressing it into me. And when he slid a finger inside of me, I nearly buckled. I put my other hand on his head, and I came on his tongue.

He put my panties back in place. Then he stood up, kissed me on the mouth. I was a little dazed, breathless. I smiled, ran my fingers through his hair. I reached down and pulled my jeans up, buttoned them. We kissed a little more. Are you going to let me taste yours? I asked. He told me yes, if I wanted too.

I smiled, kissed him again and then dropped to my knees in front of him. He was already hard. I stroked it in front of my face, once, twice, and then sucked it hard and deep until he ejaculated in my mouth. I swallowed.

We walked back to the bathrooms together, and I excused myself with a smile. We didn't talk the rest of the night. And at work, it wasn't awkward, but we didn't see each other as much. And nothing more ever happened.