The First Day (is the Hardest)

I stepped into the office building with a wide smile on my face, much to the confusion of everyone else there. Perhaps it was just because I was just coursing through the high of getting my first job, while everyone else there had been there for some time, but being inside this large, open building, with nice tile floors and a receptionist up front at a fancy wooden desk, seemed almost heavenly to me. It was definitely better than the alternative, for certain. I stood tall in the air conditioned entrance area, taking the feeling in; it was the last time I would be able to feel it for the first time.

As I passed by the receptionist, I gave him, an older man with a grey comb-over dressed in a sports coat, a wave. He waved back, and off I was on my way towards the elevators.

At the elevators, there were several people, a sea of dully-colored button-up shirts and black slacks waiting for the doors to open. As one arrived, they filled it up completely; even if I tried, I wouldn't be able to fit inside with everyone else. When that elevator went up, I pressed the call button, hoping for one to come my way, and not before long, one came to pick me up.

Stepping inside, I took note of the mirror that faced me, and the twin guard rails that ran parallel to where I was looking. It was such a minimal space, the perfect place for a worker to make sure their outfit was on straight and maybe do some last-minute touches on makeup; like there was anything else for an elevator to be. It was a perfect time to look myself over, check my clothes, make sure that my hair was right, and to see if there was any breakfast still in my teeth. After making sure everything was good, I couldn't help but think about the interview that happened.

It went really well. Granted, I wouldn't have been in here if it hadn't, but the person scheduling the interview, a man very similar to the receptionist, was very fun to talk with and we hit it off personally as well as professionally. There was only one thing that bothered me about it at all, though, and that was he mentioned that Ms. Fletcher, who was supposed to be my boss, wasn't in on account of vacation and that I'd meet her on the first day.

It left me wondering who this Ms. Fletcher could even be, but as the elevator beeped and opened, leaving me to find the open office under her direction, I knew that even my best guesses couldn't help me figure it out. Regardless, whether she was an old woman or a greenhorn like myself with a business degree, I was ready to work for the company; any more time not working would have driven me insane.

I entered the open office, and saw a bunch of desks, almost each of them occupied not only with a computer and stack of papers, but someone already sitting down and working. The sound of clicking keyboards and the occasional discussion about work filled the air. At the very front of the office was an unoccupied desk, ostensibly for the boss that was apparently on a business trip when I was doing my interview.

The other unoccupied desk was near the boss' desk, and as quickly and quietly as I could, I slipped into the seat and started looking at the papers that were on my desk. As I sat down, the person next to me, a man who wore a black button-up and thick glasses and looked to be a few years my senior, pulled his attention away from his computer and looked at me.

"You're the new guy?" He asked.

I looked away from the computer and at him, and nodded. "Just got hired a week ago. It's my first day."

"You know what you're doing?"

"I just have to copy all these spreadsheets, right?"

"More or less. You can probably get away with doing that for now, but eventually, you'll have to use formulas to make sure every aspect of the company's bottom line is accounted for."

I nodded. As long as I got paid for doing this work, I was fine with it.

"You seem to have a pretty heavy workload, too," he added, eyeing the stack of papers next to me. "I definitely didn't have this much work when I started out. Now that I have some seniority, they've given me a bit of slack, but I didn't realize just how much they're giving the new guys."

"Should I talk to the boss about it?"

"I don't know," he remarked. "She said that she'll be back today, but if she was, she'd probably be back by now."

The conversation died down, and immediately, both of us returned to work on our spreadsheets, becoming a part of the noise that filled the room. It was oddly soothing to listen to, and helped me stay productive. However, the words that my coworker had just given me stayed in my head, as if they were etched in my brain. You have a pretty heavy workload. I had expected it--they have busy work to do, after all--but hearing those words made me a bit concerned. Once the boss showed up, I'd have to talk to her about it.

However, as soon as the thought filled my mind, the clicking of keys was undercut by the sound of high heels clacking against the floor. Thinking it was one of my coworkers returning from a break, I paid it no mind, until the sound stopped filling my left ear and started filling my right. A chair rolled and someone sat down, and immediately, the coworker next to me spoke up.

"There's Ms. Fletcher. If you have anything to say to her, you should say it."

I nodded and stood up, walking towards the desk. Immediately, the diatribe that I had in my mind about how much work I had disappeared as I took in the sight of my boss.

At the desk in front of me, there sat an older woman. She had to have been in her mid-thirties at her very youngest, but her long, brown hair didn't have any hint of grey in it. A pair of red glasses adorned her face, framing her dark brown eyes and bringing attention to a mole right underneath her left one. A bright lacquer of red highlighted her lips against her fair skin. And although she was sitting down, I could see her white dress shirt trying its best to hold back her curves, buttons straining against her chest not to break. She looked up from her computer and gave me a wide smile, one that seemed to rattle my very core.

"I'm Ms. Fletcher, your boss. And you are?"

I gave her my name, surprised that I almost ended up choking on the words.

She daintily stuck her hand out. I made sure to grab not too harshly, but with enough firmness. "Nice to meet you," I said.

"Nice to meet you as well," she said, her voice a sonorous alto. "I'm so glad to have someone like you on our team."

I held back the nervous chuckle that wanted to come out, and kept my gaze on hers, her own shining with a mixture of enjoyment and a slightest bit of mischief (although that might have been me overthinking it all). As I let go of her hand, hers lingered, holding it there for an extra second. A rush of what felt like ice shot up my back, and Ms. Fletcher let out a small giggle.

"It's always nice seeing people so young and energetic joining us. Now, if you have any trouble with any of your work, don't hesitate to ask me, okay?"

I nodded. "Understood."

She returned her attention to her computer and brought her hands back to her keyboard, the tapping of her keys almost a constant stream of noise. With her attention back to her stuff, I turned around and returned to my desk, where I was greeted by a spreadsheet that I thought I understood enough to get started on, and thus, I started typing away, trying my best to put all of my attention into typing out my assignment. I needed to do the best I can, at least try to make it look like I was there to work.

However, even as I typed, my mind was in another place altogether. I was barely thinking about the cells I was filling out. All I could think about was Ms. Fletcher. Her warm, comforting voice, her mature body and the clothes that struggled to contain them, the way her hand felt against mine; it was difficult not to keep my attention on her when I could simply look up above my monitor and look at her instead, putting all of my attention into looking at her. It was so ironic, knowing that the one thing that was keeping me from working my best was my boss, but I wasn't the one who decided that she should be so sexy.

I could thank whoever did later. I needed to work on my spreadsheets. Throwing my thoughts aside, I looked at the papers stacked on my desk, and went to work, typing up as much of a storm as I possibly could. I had a long day of this ahead of me, and I wanted to make sure that every sheet was done before I went home. I needed to make a good impression on this company, and more importantly, make a great impression on Ms. Fletcher.

It was impossible not to get my mind off of her, though. Every so often, I would look up and see her, sipping on the cup of coffee on her desk, or typing up a storm at her computer, or talking with a coworker about something I couldn't care less about. The smile on her face was addicting to see, as was the intense stare she gave as she worked on her work. Each glance was fleeting, though, and before she could notice, I returned to my work, trying to be as diligent as I could be.

However, I wasn't diligent enough, Eventually, Ms. Fletcher noticed. Maybe I stared for too long once, but there was a moment where, in my looking up, our gazes met. Immediately, my glance shot back down to my work, where I'd keep my eyes glued onto my screen for as long as I could. Even if I wanted to look elsewhere, I didn't want to look like I was distracted. Thus, I worked, even as the thoughts that lingered in the back of my head kept rampaging, trying their best to be a distraction of the highest caliber.

Eventually, when I decided to look up again, I saw that Ms. Fletcher was staring over her computer and at me. I could barely see the corners of her lips from where I was, but I could see that they were the ends of a bright smile. It felt surreal watching the gaze come from her, and I tried my best to hide the pang that went through my body.

Her smirk grew, and then she returned her attention to her work. As did I, looking down at my computer, my fingers tingling a bit from what had just happened. I shook myself out of the stupor, though, and started typing up more of the spreadsheets.

Then, next to me, I heard some joints popping. I looked over at the coworker sitting next to me, stretching with his arms as high as he could possibly bring them.

"I'm going to go on my break now." His words were matter-of-fact, and he stood up and walked out. I was bereft of company, but now was the perfect time to test something.

I stood up from my desk and walked over to Ms. Fletcher's desk.

"Excuse me," I said, trying my best to sound calm and collected. It felt weird; there was a lump in my throat, and as I spoke, I could feel my heart starting to race. She was my boss, and yet, it felt like I was talking to someone more, well, je ne sois quoi.

Regardless, she turned to face me, that plump smile on her red-lacquered lips. "Yes, honey?"

The lump in my throat grew larger, and I almost gasped on it. Whether it was just a term of affection for her coworker or something more I didn't think about, nor could I care. I had something to do, and now that I was standing in front of her, I couldn't back out.

"I think I might need a bit of help with these spreadsheets. Do you think you can help me out?"

"Of course," she said, standing up from her chair. I led the way, listening to the clacking of her heels behind me. It was so percussive, breaking the quiet buzz of the workplace, but at the same time, so soothing. Perhaps it was because I knew who was behind each of those steps that I felt that way. I sat down, and she stood right next to me, looking down at both myself and the stuff on my desk.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Well," I said, "I'm not necessarily sure what these numbers here mean," I said, pointing to an arbitrary place on the spreadsheet I had yet to fill out on the computer.

Pushing her glasses up with a single finger, she leaned forward slightly, glancing at the numbers that were written down. She stared at them, her gaze brilliant enough to drill a hole through the paper if she could, before standing up, and, strangely enough, bringing a hand to the top button on her shirt. Undoing it, she exposed more of her skin, her collarbones, and the slightest hint of her cleavage. I kept my focus on her face, but my attention was elsewhere, peripherals scanning her curves as she exposed more of them.

"It's quite hot over here, don't you think? We'll need to get a fan for this area." I could tell immediately that her words were bullshit, but I wasn't going to call her out if she was going to expose herself like she did. It was definitely a lot hotter now that she was like that, so she wasn't necessarily wrong.

"Y-yeah," I said. There was really nothing else for me to say, and once more, she leaned in, the cleavage window growing more as her chest fell in her forward bend. I'm glad I didn't say much else. I wondered if she even realized that I was barely paying attention to what she was looking at.

"Okay, I think I know what your problem might be."

"And what would that be?"

As she spoke, I paid no attention to her words. I knew what she was talking about. I just wanted to look at her, and the more I looked, the more I loved what I saw. Outside of the tight shirt, she wore a black pleated pencil skirt that hugged her hips and thighs so tightly I didn't know how she could walk in them, along with sheer leggings that covered every bit of her calves and thighs that her skirt didn't. It was an addicting sight.

"Is there something wrong?"

I pulled my attention away from her body and towards her face. Shit. I just got caught looking at my boss like that, and by my boss herself, at that.

"No, no. Keep going." I wanted her to keep talking so I could continue what I was doing. Perhaps it was a bit lecherous, especially for work, but I couldn't help it. Her mature body had a level of allure I simply couldn't put into words, and with the sonorous alto of her voice accompanying it, I could feel myself getting lost in it.

As if she knew I was staring at her, Ms. Fletcher brought her hand to her shirt and undid the second button, opening up her cleavage window even more and letting me take a peek at her bra. My eyes widened at the sight of lace, and I could see her smiling in the corner of my eye. I had no idea what she was trying to tell me, but I brought my hands to my lap, trying to hide the erection that was starting to form in my pants. She went on without a hitch, though, talking as if everything were normal.

"Does that make sense?"

I'm brought back to my senses by those words, her telling me that she was done with her explanation. "Mhm," I said.

"Good," she replied, standing up. "I'm glad you're starting to get the hang of the company procedures. Keep it up." Her smile was warm and forgiving, even for the crime I had committed of staring at her like I was an animal wanting to tear the buttons off her shirt myself. She had awoken something in me, something I didn't want to have awoken at work, and the smile on her face was so innocent, as if she didn't know what she had done even with her years on this earth as experience.

She turned around and started walking back to her desk. I watched her strut, her hips shaking as if she were performing a sashay down a catwalk and she wanted her skirt to twirl with every step. Once she was at her desk, she sat down, all the buttons on her shirt done properly like she never even made a pit stop to my desk.

She gave me a flirtatious smile and then returned to her work.

I kept up my schedule of typing out cells and looking at her, the curiosity now replaced with more primal urges. I kept quiet, though, my breathing at most a quiet huff as I typed out the numbers, trying my best to keep my mind off her. Looking down at my screen, I re-read a few of the cells that I had just filled out.

"I want to bend her over and fuck her until her legs give out," was filed under something about last month's management.

"Those lips would look fantastic wrapped around my cock," was filed under next month's expenditures.

The more I read, the more I was shocked with myself. I was barely paying attention to the numbers. All that was on my mind was Ms. Fletcher, her curvy and mature body, and how fantastic she would look naked and begging for me to fuck her even more. Quickly, I deleted all that I could, making sure to clean up my spreadsheet as much as I could.

I brought my hands away from the keyboard for a few seconds, and took a deep breath. I needed to actually concentrate on what I was doing. As much as the fantasy of Ms. Fletcher looking at my spreadsheets, rife with the thoughts of bending her over and treating her in ways that no man should treat his boss, filled me with a level of excitement, it was dashed knowing that there was absolutely no way she wouldn't read that and immediately fire me on the spot. It would have impressed her more if I actually did the work, and thus, I started focusing on what I was doing and plugged away, making sure the spreadsheets looked like the papers that were stacked on my desk.

I typed throughout the day, only pausing as more people started to leave the building. There were a few people who would pop into the room every so often to talk to some of my coworkers, and coworkers would walk in and out to have their breaks, but I persevered. There was too much work on my plate for me to justify having any free time like that, and there was no way that I wanted Ms. Fletcher to stand up, look around the computers, and see that I filled a cell with a lurid fantasy instead of the work I was supposed to do.

"Are you sure you don't want to go on your break?"

I turned away from my spreadsheets and towards the familiar voice: it was Ms. Fletcher herself, standing there with her hands at her sides. "You've been working all day and I wouldn't want you to burn out. I think you should relax."

"I think I'm fine for today," I said before turning around and doing more work. However, before I could get too far into my work, I felt something large and soft press up against my shoulder blades.

Ms. Fletcher's fingers wrapped around my shoulders. "That's too bad," she said, her voice but a huff against my ear. "I was thinking of going on my break, too, but if you're so inclined to keep working, I won't stop you." She pressed her body even more against mine, as if trying to turn me into a boiling pot of hormones stirred by the gentle circular motions of her fingers as she massaged my shoulders. After a few seconds, each feeling like an eternity, she pulled away, and walked off as if she had done nothing.

I considered joining her, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It was my first day, and I would have been dead if someone found out what happened during our collective break. Even with how hot she was, she was my boss. Hell, she was a part of the company; I couldn't perform any misconduct towards her lest anyone figured out about it. As much as I wanted to follow those swaying hips towards whatever break room she was going to, and the invitation, I had to stand my ground.

As she disappeared, and I returned to my work, I regretted that decision immensely. Because of those actions, me typing out those lurid fantasies earlier looked like productive busywork compared to how I was working. The more I typed, the more misspellings I made, and the more those lurid fantasies kept trying to slip from my fingers. Even if I was diligent enough to erase them when I was only two letters in, I could see the full text I wanted to type out, raging diatribes about "putting Ms. Fletcher in her place" and "making sure she gargles my cum like it's her life source" filling cells that were meant to be about things that I couldn't even think about.

I clocked out for my break not long after and spent it all in the bathroom.