The Cubicle Ch. 02

After my late Friday evening solo exhibition at the office, I arrived at my apartment broiling in conflicting emotions. I barely remembered the ride home on the subway and bus. My legs carried me from the bus stop to my door mechanically, as if on auto-pilot, my mind racing. I was barely aware of the frigidly cold air on my bare legs underneath my wool skirt.

I was aghast at myself. I had paraded around the office in my underwear! It was immoral, indecent, unladylike. I felt dirty. I was afraid I'd be discovered, even though I'd been careful - and being assistant HR director, I knew there were no cameras in the office. But still, Cal had been caught. I was just like Cal! Oh, god, a pervert! Who'd ever heard of a grown woman doing something so perverted?

The thing that disgusted me most, though, was the fact that I'd enjoyed it so much. I wanted to hate it, to hate myself for having done it. But I couldn't. I loved it. It had been so freeing. It was erotic and sensual, things I wasn't accustomed to feeling or even aware that I missed. I relished the riskiness of it, the feeling of vulnerability. It felt good to feel dirty. It felt good to break my own rules of decent behavior. It felt good to do something that people would be disgusted with if they knew.

I thought about my life up to that moment. I'd always behaved myself, been a people-pleaser, a rule follower, one of those girls that everyone just knew didn't have a bad bone in her body. I'd never smoked, and never drank alcohol. I never cursed. The guys I'd dated were decent. We'd become intimate only when we began to have real feelings for each other. Even my break-ups with them had been amicable, friendly, mutual, with no drama. I dressed very feminine, classic and pretty, but never provocatively, whether I wore a dress, skirt, pants, or business attire. I realized that I'd always been a goodie-two-shoes, a good girl.

As soon as I got home, I made sure all my blinds were tightly closed, and practically ran to the shower, hoping to wash away these new feelings and return to my old self. But I showered quickly, because I was enjoying being naked, which scared me. I dug out my frumpiest, old-lady flannel nightgown, along some granny panties, wool socks, and my big, fuzzy, warm bedroom slippers. That was my outfit for the next three days, as I watched old G-rated movies on TV and struggled to forget Friday night, struggled to revert to the conservative woman I was. I didn't even shower, knowing that I would enjoy it too much.

It was all to no avail. I knew that I'd crossed some sort of line Friday night, passing an invisible gate through which there was no return.

At the end of one movie, I realized that I'd didn't even know the plot because my mind had been replaying instead the image of my reflection in the computer monitors, the feeling of the air on my bare legs as I walked through the office, and of my hands tracing the outline of my butt in the boy shorts I was wearing.

When I tried to sleep, I dreamed about it, and I would wake with a start whenever the dream would take me to the next step - of removing my camisole to reveal my bra, or of sliding my fingers, palm inward, into my panties at either hip to begin working them down as I stood out in the open near Miguel's desk. I would wake up with my nightgown askew, pulled up and half off. I covered myself immediately.

Whenever I got up from the couch to go to the bathroom or get something to eat or drink, I felt my nightgown gently caressing my thighs and breasts. I considered putting in a bra to lessen the impact this was having on me, but I was afraid that even in those few moments of nakedness, I would lose control. I wasn't sure what that meant, since I was disciplined enough not to consider it in great detail, but I knew it would involve my balcony.

I got a call from a couple of friends, one of them asking me what I wanted to do on Monday, that being a holiday. I declined, saying I wasn't feeling well; she offered to come over and keep me company, but I quickly told her that I was afraid I might be contagious. Sunday night was my weekly call to my parents, for which I mustered enough charisma to sound fine.

So that's how I spent my three-day weekend, in terrible conflict with myself, alternately feeling guilty and sexually free for the first time in my life. Tuesday morning began to loom in my mind as I ate a bowl of vegetable soup Monday evening. I was exhausted by the conflict I was feeling within.

As I thought about my situation, I began to giggle. What was I so worked up about, anyway? It had been a lot of fun! And it felt so good! I hadn't hurt anyone. There was no good reason in the world to constrict myself sexually. The more I thought about it, the more I felt a burden falling away from me. Laughing joyfully now, I said out loud, "Let your hair down, girl! There's nothing to be ashamed of!"

With that, I stood up, pulled my nightgown over my head and flung it onto the floor. "Yes!" I cried. "Yes!" I felt the air tease my nipples, and I raised my arms over my head and jumped in exultation, feeling my breasts bounce happily. I trotted over to the kitchen and turned on the radio, and began to dance seductively.

It dawned on me that I really liked my breasts. I'm a 36B, and they looked so perky in the mirror in my living room as I kept the beat with them. My granny panties looked silly, though, so I pulled them off, too. Looking at my reflection, I could see my face was beaming. I'd never been happier. I felt alive, attractive, sexual, free.

I sat down on a stool at the counter to finish my soup, even though it was a little cold. I sang along to the music, occasionally hopping up to enjoy a particularly good refrain. I laughed and giggled and jiggled, pinching my nipples, rubbing myself.

Suddenly I heard a loud knock on my door. I froze. Then it occurred to me that maybe I was being too loud. In my reverie, I hadn't noticed. I started for the door, and was reaching for the knob when it dawned on me that I was naked.

"Crap!" I jumped back from the door. "Uh, sorry, be with you in a moment!" I shouted over the music. In a panic, I scurried around my living room looking for my nightgown. I finally found it under the coffee table. I fought with the folds of material as I found the opening and pulled it on - but I had it on backwards. I pulled my arms out of the sleeves and spun it around and shoved my arms back through the sleeves. I ran to the kitchen and turned off the radio, which only emphasized how loud it had been. "Coming!" I called out as I hurried to the door. I jerked it open.

It was the man from the apartment below mine. I had met him once or twice, and found him to be without personality. He was older, in his late sixties, and lived with his wife below me. He wore a severe scowl, and angry puffs of breath condensed with the cold outside air as he scolded me.

"Young lady," he said scoldingly, "we cannot even think because of all of this racket going on." Each word was staccato, sharp, harsh. "If you do not quiet down this instant, I will report you to the owners' association and to the police." He certainly wasn't one to waste time with a pleasant approach. He wasn't finished, either: "And you know that parties are not allowed except during weekends, and only then during approved times."

I wanted to slam the door in his face, to be honest, since he was interrupting my little personal party, but I knew that he had pull with the owners' association. So I said, as apologetically as I could, "I am so, so sorry, Sir. I'm not having a party, I just got a little, uh, carried away. How unthoughtful of me!"

His eyes squinted as they darted down across my nightgown, and then he spat, "That's the trouble these days, no one cares about anything but themselves - no consideration at all!" He stared at me.

"I beg your - er - right, I am considerate - I mean - I'm so sorry you feel that way, Sir. It won't happen again," I said, ending with a reassuring smile.

"Please see that it doesn't. Good evening," he snapped, glancing once again at my nightgown. He turned on his heel toward the stairs that led to his door below.

I watched him go, shaking my head in amazement. I closed the door and walked into the living room, pausing to gather my thoughts. I glanced in the mirror, and saw that I'd managed to put my nightgown on inside out; no wonder he kept looking at it. Then I noticed that my nipples were quite apparent. They become quite erect under the right conditions, and my reverie, as I began to think of it, certainly produced the correct circumstances, to say the least.

I shook my head again and laughed. I walked over to the radio and turned it on again, this time at a much lower volume. I stripped naked again. I wasn't going to let Mr. Grump Face spoil my fun!

Wiggling to the music, I did the dishes that had accumulated over the weekend. Then I drew a nice, warm bath. I didn't put bubbles in the water, because i wanted to see my body as I caressed it and thought about how wonderful it felt. When the water cooled, I let the water out and finished with a hot shower, shaving my legs and armpits. I've never been one to shave "other" places, but I did neaten things up a bit around the edges and gave myself a light trim.

By now it was close to bedtime, so I needed to get back into my routine. I always pick out the next day's outfit the night before, so there's less to think about in the morning. It was going to be even colder than it had been tomorrow, so I chose a pair of black wool mid rise pants, with a black fitted wool blazer, and a white long sleeve blouse. I laid out a pair of white boy shorts and a matching lace bra.

I returned to the living room. I needed to go to bed, but there was something else I needed to do first. It had been a long time since I'd pleasured myself, longer, in fact, than since I'd been with a man. I needed it now, desperately. But I wanted to be in an unusual place. So I changed the radio station to a classical station. I love to make love to that kind of music.

So as it played softly, I laid down on the living room floor and began to savor the feeling. It was a place many of my friends had been, and even some strangers, like repair men and friends' friends. Closing my eyes, I lightly brushed my nipples with my fingers. I felt the yearning grow inside of me. Spreading my legs toward the door to my apartment, I pinched my nipples. God, it was wonderful! Involuntarily, my back arched off the floor as I slid one hand down past my belly button, teasing my pubic hair.

I lost track of time as I writhed on my living room floor. I do know that I was smiling a lot though, until finally I felt those glorious spasms pulse through my body. As they subsided, I knew there were more to be coaxed out of me, and for the first time I yearned to smell and taste myself. I almost climaxed again as I covered my face with my hand, feeling its wetness and drinking in the fragrance. I licked my fingers and rubbed myself between my legs with the other hand.

Now I had to cover my mouth to keep from crying out in ecstasy as I climaxed, again attracting the attention of Mr. Grump Face. As the pulsing died down, and I giggled and thought of how funny that would be! Perhaps another time, though, because I needed one more orgasm before going to sleep. Quickly it came, and my hips thrust violently ceiling-ward.

I lay there for a while, finally mustering the energy to stumble off to bed. I pulled back the sheets and fell in, naked, content, and forever changed. I drifted off to sleep thinking of how much fun work was going to be from now on ...

To be continued...