Perhaps I should explain. This is a real life, up to the minute account involving real people who, through many reasons, would be vulnerable in both their professional and personal lives if too many details were to be made public. I am sure you, the reader, will forgive the lack of names or accurate location details. Those that know me well will probably recognise certain aspects and possibly add two and two together. I will have to deal with that, if and when the time comes. My reputation, although important to me, is somewhat less of a consideration than ‘A’s’ is to both of us.
“A” is a very beautiful woman who is not from this country. She is employed by the same organisation as I am. Her role is as my superior’s Personal Assistant and as such, means we interact almost on a daily basis. “A” is forty and is seven years into her second marriage, I have a feeling that all is not well in that department, but it is something we have not discussed too deeply. She has lived in England as long as her marriage. ‘A’ only talks about parts of her life outside of work and work related topics. She keeps the rest private and under lock and key. I can understand that and, to a point, empathise with it as well. Coming from Poland and with the upbringing she has had in a strict family, sharing some information is not a natural condition and I wouldn’t pry.
She is beautiful with a quirky, lopsided smile that lights up her face and crinkles the corners of her eyes. She is always dressed smartly and has a tendency to wear clothing that hints at the delights beneath, showing just enough cleavage to attract the eye, but not be less than tasteful. Some of her dresses are quite short and can show flashes of inner thigh that tantalises these senses that I suffer with. If I were being unkind, I would say that her hairstyle is not flattering. If I were really being unkind, I would say that it looks as if a myopic gardener, being many different lengths, had cut it. Who am I to discuss or comment on the fashion of hair? I cling on to my ultra-thin mop and have it cut as short as possible.
“A” has hazel coloured eyes that are large and expressive. They convey her moods by changing colour, deepening into a darker hazel when she is aroused or troubled. Her mouth has this lilt to it and is slightly asymmetrical. I find it endearing. Her regular visits to the fitness suite and Zumba dance exercises keep her body in great shape. She already had the right building blocks from which to work, the regime has just polished off the edges to a delightfully visual treat.
“A” is very much my junior in the organisation and years. My role as a senior manager often involves calling on her services as minute taker in meetings so, we see each other often and have always shared a laugh. Joking can be a little difficult where her language, although extremely good, does not necessarily translate the nuances of humour. I should add, I have my own sense of humour and repartee that many don’t get, so she can be forgiven.
It was over a cup of coffee that we found some common ground. I told her that I now had several stories published, but would not tell her where to find them. I wouldn’t want her to think I am some kind of pervert, writing erotica in my dotage. I am sixty-one, writing came late to me and I have tried to make up for lost time since. I eventually agreed to let her read one of my stories, putting it on a memory stick so she could read it at her leisure. “The Office” is a piece I wrote about a year ago, is humorous, but also tells the tale of a young man in an office environment, full of women who are street smart. A graphical description of his sexual encounter is part of the story, but is not the whole piece, so is less than pornographic and I am rather more comfortable in having people read that than some of my other pieces.
I have been married for more than forty years. I admit to not having been entirely faithful ... well actually, I have grasped almost every opportunity that has come my way. For whatever reason, and not from openly seeking alternatives to my marriage, I have had rather more than my fair share of alternative partners. Some of them have been one off affairs, but also some very much more intense liaisons that involved rather too much emotion for comfort. I love women. I love the feel, touch and smell of them. A good body excites me as does intelligence, wit and sensitivity. If freckles and green eyes are also in the mix, then I am completely blown away.
From this humble beginning of sharing my story with her and a few conversations that inevitably ended up about sex in one form or another, began the basis of what follows. “A” enjoyed the story and discovered a side to me that very few people know about.’ Intriguing’ was her description and from there on, a fantasy was crafted that involved us, in our current situation. ‘A’ has to take some credit in the content of the fantasy, her input helped to make it what it is.
I have to say in closing this introduction, that “A” is a very sexual person. Just below the surface of a well-maintained carapace beats the heart of a lioness, which would easily rip your heart out and feed it back to you in small amounts, just enough to keep your hopes and dreams alive. The trick is getting under that protective shield and then discovering just how deep you have been drawn in. It is frightening how quickly and totally you can be pulled into a funnel web with few options for escape.
The insidious thing is, the deeper you become embroiled, the less you care. Just do not stop the ride to get off.
It is early evening, perhaps six thirty, when the building is much quieter. Only a few people are left. Evening classes had started. It was a time that I knew we would not be disturbed.
The lock on my office door was engaged. The lights were turned down by the dimmer switch on the wall and the blinds are pulled down to the, floor at the floor to ceiling windows. As far as possible, we were isolated in my office, a small space in this huge building. Alone at last and this was the moment that we have both desired and thought about. At last, we are about to consummate our collaboration and what we have been heading towards over these few short weeks.
You stood in the centre of the room with your hands clasped behind your back, as you had been instructed. I had told you to remove your tights, but to leave your shoes on. Other than these items, you are fully dressed. But, even with the layers of clothing, you probably felt rather more vulnerable than you might have before. You are not used to being instructed when it comes to sex. Neither of us really knew what to expect of each other and perhaps it was the not knowing that added to the thrill. We could only hope that this union would be mutually pleasing.
I study you while I sit in my chair. Quietly appraising your body and thinking you would look amazing naked. Not for the first time, I was looking at you, admiring your feminine shape. My steady gaze was unnerving you. Perhaps it was the lack of activity, perhaps a slight impatience that was keeping you marginally off balance. Although we both knew what the immediate future held, the deliberate slowness I was adopting, was making you feel more and more nervous, giving you time to think, to worry that this might not be such a good idea. Was this the right thing to be doing? Was it too dangerous? It was a delicious dilemma that was transparently etched across your features and I was enjoying your discomfort.
At last, when I thought you had been standing long enough, I rose from my chair and crossed the room, stepping behind you. I remind you, whispering in your ear, to keep your hands behind your back and that they are to stay there unless I tell you otherwise. I am pleased by your compliance because, although we have spoken as colleagues and then friends, before becoming embroiled in this crazy prelude to this current situation, I was not sure that you would be compliant and, in fact, you have already stated you were not normally submissive.
You tremble. I do not know if it is nerves or fear or excitement or a combination of all of those emotions, rolled into a knot of tension. I do know that you will respond all the more while your senses are running at this feverish pitch. That too, pleases me and I am able to relax and take my time and delight in the effect every continuation has on you.
Deliberately provocative, I run the back of my index finger along your jaw line, caressing your skin, passing below your ear and then down the side of your neck, tracing your jugular until it reaches the hollow of your collar bone. It is the first time I have touched you and I delight in the shiver the touch evinces. Your eyes are half closed, partially hiding your hazel eyes, as if there is too much light. I notice for the first time, that they change colour slightly, becoming slightly darker as your temperature rises.
Standing behind you once more, I pull down the zipper of your skirt and, when it has fallen to the floor, instruct you to step out of it so that I can pick it up and place it on a chair. Your blouse, crinkled at the bottom where it was tucked into the waistband of your skirt, covers enough of your lower half that your modesty is retained. I intend for that to change quickly and to keep you off balance. I want you nervous, unsure and filled with trepidation. It adds to my sense of excitement and the feeling of expectation. The fact that we are in my office and vulnerable to a point is not lost on me and adds to the sheer danger of what we are about to do. And then I tell you to lift your arms. You raise them above your head and shimmy a little to help the sleeves of the blouse slip over your shoulders. The blouse is placed with the skirt and your hands return to behind your back without me telling you. That pleases me.
I have long thought you would have a fabulous body and I am not in the slightest disappointed as you stand, trembling, in nothing more than your bra, briefs and shoes. You have a figure that seems to me to be made for love, neither too skinny nor over weight. Your workouts in the gymnasium are obviously doing you good, evident by the condition of your muscle tone. Your curves are proportional to your height and I feel privileged to have you at this moment, in my office and about to become my lover. You look fabulous, fit and glowingly healthy.
The need to touch your nakedness is almost overwhelming, a feeling I have grown accustomed to over the last few weeks. It has been very difficult not to reach out and touch you, to keep my hands off of you where you have inflamed my desire and intrigued me. Perhaps I am enthralled and enmeshed in your allure.
But, somehow, I manage to resist the urge to strip you of your underwear. Instead, I run my hands from behind you, around your waist, lightly running above your hips until my hands meet at your stomach. You shiver and goose bumps form on your skin. I have had to take a half step forward to be close enough to encircle your waist. It brings me into contact with your hands, still clasped behind your back. You can feel my hardness through the layers of trousers. Slowly and as lightly as I possibly can, my hands, in unison, travel upwards until I have your breasts, one in each hand, weighing them and relishing the feel, even through the fabric of your bra, they feel fantastic. They are as perfect as I knew they would be and yield to my gentle massage. I kiss your neck, just below your ear and have my first taste of you and as the taste runs over my tongue, the smell of your perfume inflames my nose. The scent you are wearing is one I do not recognise, subtle, but it has the desired effect and increases my need for you.
My thumbs hook the shoulder straps of your bra and ease them off of your shoulders. I step back to allow me the space between us to unclasp the garment. It means the contact of your hands is broken and for a moment, I mourn the loss. I tell you to move your hands forward so that the bra can be removed completely. I put this with your skirt and blouse. You have put your hands back behind you. Once more, I step behind, renewing the contact of your hands on my hardness. My hands cup your naked breasts and your already semi-hard nipples are rubbed and pulled gently between thumb and forefinger. They harden and the areoles pucker. A moan escapes from between your lips and I can feel your knees are trembling. I hope they are not going to give out before I am ready to take you. I do not want to rush things, needing to take it at a pace that allows for the savouring of each touch, each caress, to delight in each and commit it all to memory, to be enjoyed again and again in my private thoughts.
My thumbs hook into the elasticated band of your briefs and ease them down, sliding the garment over your hips and down your legs. I tell you to step out of them and place them on top of your bra.
In a voice vibrating with mounting passion, I ask you to turn around and, for the first time, I see you in your nakedness. The sight is amazing, more than I could have envisaged and I physically have to resist the urge to lick my lips in anticipation. You are far more beautiful than my imagination could have conjured. You are perfection and I wonder how I could be so privileged to have you here in this moment of time.
I move to begin to undo the buttons of my shirt. You tell me that you will do that. For a second I hesitate and then realise, I have been dominant in undressing you. Now it is your turn to take the initiative and I should allow that. You step close while I lean back with my arse sitting on the edge of my desk, my feet on the floor, legs spread so you can step closely to me.
Slowly, one by one, you undo each button and pull the shirttails from the waistband of my trousers. The front flaps open, revealing my almost hairless chest. You undo the cuffs, holding my hand, palm up and kissing each as the buttons are released. Your hands rest against my chest for a moment, as if testing I am real. Then, with care and a soft touch, you ease the shirt over my shoulders and down my arms. It needs me to stand, rising from the desk, so that you can remove and put the shirt to one side. You kneel at my feet and undo the laces of my shoes. You tell me to lift each foot so that you can ease each shoe off. As you are putting them to one side, I slip off my socks, using a trick I learned several years ago when I was unable to bend where I had injured myself. You notice what I have done and a crease crosses your brow. I grin guiltily, but pleased you have not had to deal with my socks. Of all my apparel, my socks are something I feel less than happy about.
You step close and kiss my chest, nibbling at my nipples, which respond immediately, hardening and suddenly tender. While you are kissing and gently biting me, your fingers manipulate and release my belt and unbutton the waistband of my trousers. Deliberately slowly, you pull the zipper down, brushing against my hardness. You release my nipple and kneel to pull my trousers completely down and then, tell me to step out of them. They join my shirt.
You kneel again and kiss my stomach. The touch of your lips is electric on my skin and I hardly notice that you are pulling my briefs down until my cock, in its arousal, springs free to point at you, hard and ready. I notice the moue of surprise when you realise I am hairless, my preferred condition.
One foot at a time, I step out of my briefs so that, they to, can join the pile of my clothes.
You reach toward me and take my hardness in your hand while your hazel eyes look at me steadily. We are now equals. Neither one of us has dominance and both as vulnerable as each other with the divesting of clothes.
Grasping your waist, I turn you around so that you are leaning against the edge of my desk. I kick the chair out of the way and tell you to part your legs. I had not forgotten you telling me that receiving oral sex was not something you particularly enjoyed, but I also had in mind that you said you might want to try with me. My intention is really nothing more than to imprint you totally, into my memory. I kneel on the floor and take in your musk. Your natural scent excites my nose, a deep breath is all that is really needed, but the longing to go just that little further takes me. I savour your natural perfume and anticipate your taste. It is as enticing as I thought it would be. You are pure manna from heaven, the elixir of life and a heady mix. My tongue registers your aroma as it slides over your sex, my nose pressed hard against your clit. Your taste is as nectar, I knew it would be and I recognise your readiness, tasting your wetness.
It is not yet the right time to explore my gift to you of satisfaction through the actions of my tongue. It is perhaps, something to explore when our situation is different, when we have time and the luxury of being able to really get to know each other’s bodies. It would need to be a hotel or something that would allow for complete freedom.
You decide that the roles should be reversed. You instruct me to stand and, while in the act of becoming upright, you kneel and grasp my turgid member in your right hand. Then, you lower your head until your tongue caresses the end, dampening it. Deliciously slowly, your lips part and encircle my cock. The feeling, for me, is beyond sublime. For so long, I had imagined and dreamt of a moment like this with you. I could never have conjured up such a divine feeling. I don’t know how long you keep this up for, time slips by unmarked, I just know I want it to never end.
Eventually though, natural progression resumes. I have to touch you, to hold you, to feel your body close to mine and to feel your heart beating against me. Gently, I grasp your head and guide you to stand. I have to kiss you. I need to kiss you, suddenly and desperately. It is an overwhelming need the brooks no refusal. Our lips touch and then meld together, sharing breath. Our tongues explore, tasting each other. Bodies pressed tightly, joined at hip and clasped in arms. It is a moment, within a period of time that is filled with delights and discoveries that is entirely singular, an oasis that stands out alone and is all the more special. A moment when, if it were possible, we would become just one body and it is the moment when I know that I am sublimely happy; joyous even and lust becomes something else entirely.
Kisses are delivered to your neck, to your shoulders and throat and are received from you in return. Each brush of lips and teeth fans the flames of mounting passion. I do not want to hold back any longer, the torment of not being within you is driving me insane. I need you. I want you and know that you feel the same.
You lean against my desk, bending at the hip. It is an invitation for me to join with you in a union of bodies, linked by the umbilical cord of my member. Your lower back is caressed by my fingertips, swirling in untraced patterns. My other hand reaches around and finds your sex. It helps me to guide myself into you.
You say something, but I do not hear it. All of my concentration is centred on entering your body and then to make love to you as I have wanted to for so long. At last, I am buried inside and can feel, at the same time, your heat and wetness as you accept me. For a moment, neither of us moves. I am savouring the wondrous feeling of you and want to prolong that feeling for a time. But, then, the instinctive rhythm of sex begins to register and our bodies respond to the call of the tune. Slowly at first, as if testing the limits, but gradually, our thrusts become faster, stronger and more insistent.
My feet are splayed to maintain balance. The stability frees my hands to explore, to grasp, massage and hold. I manage to reach your breasts, which nestle in the palms of my hands, massaging and kneading while our bodies crash against each other, furiously building up to the point of release.
You cry for me to stop. You stand, forcing me out of your body and turn around. You tell me you want to hold me, you want to see me and witness the moment I surrender my fluids into you.
I kiss your mouth and guide you so that you are half sitting on the edge of the desk, your feet on the floor with your legs apart, ready to receive me once more. Your arms encircle my neck as I find my way into you and, in so pulling me towards you, our lips touch, mouths open, breath mingling and sending our temperatures up even further. The dance of copulation begins again at a pace, mutually decided upon, each guided by the pelvic thrusts and rocking. It drives me deeply into you. I can see your eyes have turned quite dark, darker than the hazel they normally are. You smile at me and then clasp me closely in an embrace that helps to anchor you and allow your hips to move more freely and match my rhythm exactly. Your legs encircle me and draw me even further into you.
I moan, low and guttural as my release approaches. My mouth is at your throat, kissing and tasting you. Your breath, hot, brushes against my skin, over my shoulder and into the nape of my neck. We each are making noises in the back of our throats with the efforts we are expending. As the moment of mutual climax closes on us, our moans become shorter, turning almost, into grunts.
And then, suddenly, the moment of ultimatum arrives. I can hold on no longer. The pulses of orgasm flood you and, as you feel my seed, your own orgasm blasts through you. Your head is thrown back, eyes tightly shut and your teeth clench as the ripples traverse through you. I clasp you to me, fighting to regain my breathing. I am lost in you and, for that moment do not care or even think of the consequences of this illicit liaison. All consuming is the shared passion we have had. It is a moment that is ageless, timeless and seems to last for an eternity but is only a fleeting few seconds.
At last, I slip from your body, but do not want to let you go, even though we need to clean up. I feel frightened that, if I let you out of my arms, I might never have the joy of you again. I whisper in your ear, telling you, thank you. You smile and it is a most delightful smile that radiates in my heart.
Reality returns to us and reluctantly, we have to clean up, have to dress and then go out into the world beyond my office door. Only now, the world has a new slant on it. Our secret is unknown past the walls of this office and to those we work with, who know us well, are mystified by our constant smile as we go through our days.
So, now you have read the story of what might, could be. I hope that it explains how I feel about you, how you have moved into a space in my mind that I am sure has always been reserved just for you. I wait for your reaction, feeling like a condemned man, waiting for the scaffold to be finished so that he can climb it to his doom. Is the fantasy too much? Have I taken it too far? I do not know and waiting for your reaction is crippling me.
We meet for lunch, choosing a place a few hundred metres away from the College in the new Marks and Spencer café in their new building. It is noisy and you struggle to eat the pasta in its clear plastic cocoon. You struggle because of the nervous tension between us. Outwardly, I seem calm, composed and at ease, but behind the façade is a turmoil of mixed emotions, of conflictions and confusion. I sip my tea and observe you, unsettled. Smiling one second while we hold eye contact and then, in the next, you look away as if embarrassed and the smile fades or intensifies, depending on what goes through your mind. I do get to hear about your history, or at least, as much as you are willing to freely impart. I cannot help thinking that something traumatic has happened in your life and doubt I will ever get to know about it.
You floor me when you say that stepping outside of your marriage for sex is not beyond the realms of possibility. It is implied, but overtly stated, that sex with me is not something you would be averse to. The attraction between us is obvious, but this is the first time I have heard you admit it.
Trying to be objective, we talk and discuss the fantasy. Our feelings and emotions are scrambled, confusion and excitement runs through our veins, replacing corpuscles and platelets, thinning the blood so that the hit of adrenalin is that much harder.
You wondered if this was a prediction of events to come, or a fantasy that is pleasant, but only ever just that, a fantasy that we can never embark on. The construct of our fertile minds carries all the hallmarks of a fledgling office affair that could possibly be the ruin of both of us. The danger of discovery has far reaching consequences that could ruin both of our careers and could mess up our respective marriages. But, there remains this physical attraction and it is up to us to decide whether to take this to what I am sure, would be a mutually satisfying conclusion.
And then again, would this exploration of each other be enough? Could it be something casual? Would we want to maintain or propagate an affair that we can only hope to keep secret? Somehow I doubt it would ever be a simple affair or a one off. The dynamics of our relationship must change. I may be able to keep separate my professional life and private, but can you? Emotions have a habit of getting in the way, of being transparent to those we work with.
There is one other question that demands to be asked. Is it better to plan in a calculated manner or, should it happen spontaneously with all the resultant risks of discovery? Could we be objective enough to keep a lid on it? Or, would we be swept along in the tide of lust, like so much flotsam, and then find ourselves cast adrift when it all eventually falls out to the dissemination of our colleagues and then spouses.
I cannot know the answers, but I do I really want to know? Should I analyse it to that extent? What I am certain of is that I want to know you in the most intimate way and to a point; could not give a hang for what may be the outcome. I just would not want for you to be disadvantaged, just because I desire your body. I would not want, for a second, to know that I have been instrumental in ruining your position. And, yes, I want to know you, in all of the carnal senses. Seeing you and being so close to you, now that we have shared this story and talked about the possibilities. About the danger of such a liaison and in slightly oblique forays of each other’s sexual appetites and preferences, is torture.
The lunchtime clandestine meeting is cut short when two colleagues sit at an adjacent table. The freedom of speech is curtailed and we leave shortly after. I love the way you dress. Revealing tops, short dresses or tight jeans, seem designed to intoxicate, to inflame my senses and, although I maintain a detached demeanour as we interact during our working day, but it is difficult for me to stay my hands from reaching out and touching you.
I manage it though and would have let this stay as a shared fantasy, pleasant, erotic and exciting, but a fantasy none the less. And that is how I leave it with you, my words being carried away on the breeze, coming from the canal we walked alongside, but not before they have been lodged and registered in your mind.
Last night was so close to the fantasy of the story; it is a good thing, perhaps, that you had to be somewhere else at a quarter past six. When I invited you into my office, it was not with the intention of adding fuel to the fire or of being quite so close to you. I just wanted to talk. Well, that is not strictly true. The possibility of holding you, of exploring you is always at the back of my mind. But, I was not going to drive it, but rather allow you the space with no pressure.
Sitting opposite you would have been fine, but I noticed you pulling your dress down, sub-consciously, I noticed that you were on edge, nervous even. We managed to talk about inconsequence’s, of this and that. We talked about your home and family, of marriages and the like. But, at the same time that our words bounce off of the walls and rattle around in our heads, making little lasting impression, the sexual chemistry is working, breaking down barriers and defences. You asked me why I was sitting so far away from you. I told you that I was respecting your statement from a few days ago, that you were not ready or prepared for an office affair. I would have been content with just spending some time with you, but all the while, I was watching your body, reading the language that is silent and needs no words. I hear you, unable to settle on a subject, struggle to put together coherent sentences or finish a train of articulated thought.
But, physical attraction overcomes common sense, over comes rationality. Like paper over rock, the attraction is all too smothering.
Being the contradiction that you are, in one breath you are telling me that you are not ready, being sensible, practical. And then, in the next, you tell me to come closer. My resolve, I’m afraid, was not strong enough to maintain the space between us. You asked me what would happen if I moved closer. I think you know the answer and hope for it, even though everything in your mind is saying no. I told you, in answer, that I would find it very difficult to keep my hands off of you. The temptation of holding you, of kissing you is too strong for me to resist and I am not sure we would have the ability to stop.
Like a moth to flame, I am drawn into your personal space, our respective chairs careering into each other like bumper cars on castors. As if of their own volition, my hands are holding your face, angling it up so that our mouths touch, lip to lip and then, touch again and again. I kiss your neck as you clasp me to you and I want you. I want you in the worse way. At last we manage to pull apart, take a breath and look into each other’s eyes. It is a brief respite. It gives us both a moment to catch our breath and for my heart to recede from breaking out of my chest.
Our hands rest on each other’s thighs, stroking in small circular movements, skin barely touching. I want to touch you in the most intimate places. The access is there, your short dress has ridden up, but not enough for me to be able to see the treasures below and that is a good thing, because one touch would ignite the flames like napalm and be just as unquenchable. Your sex is hidden from view, but only just and my hands are so close, so close. I can feel your heat. I absorb it through my skin. It would take just the merest of movements to be brushing against your labia. I want to go further, to explore your inner thighs. The temptation is almost irresistible. It is only force of will that prevents me. I want to hold you in my hands, to caress you, to excite your senses. And I want to consume you. Contradictory as it is, I do not want to frighten you with the strength of passion you evince in me.
To my astonishment, I find I am trembling. My heart bangs against my ribs as carnal thoughts race across my thinking like stampeding horses. I am surprised by the power of these feelings that I thought had long passed. I am unused to being so attracted, so close to entering into something as all-consuming as this. I sat back, breaking the contact, in an effort to regain some control of the situation and my turmoil of senses. Perhaps it works for a moment, I cannot remember now as I write this.
The next moment shatters any equilibrium I have regained.
You say that you are tempted to see if that what I wrote was true and begin to sit forward purposefully. I instantly know exactly what you mean and watch as you manage to stop yourself from reaching my zipper to see if I am shaven or not. Although proving it to you would be nice, I know that we would have crossed a line from which it would have been extremely difficult to undo. Quite likely, you would have gone to your knees and taken me in your mouth. I know I would not have stopped you. I doubt I could have stopped you and I wouldn’t want to.
But you managed to override your inquisitiveness. We kiss instead. I find your mouth and then your neck, kissing below your ear, taking in your aroma and loving the effect it has on me. “A”, you inflame me and I want to take you, at that moment, to possess you, your body and your soul. I want and need you, right there and right at that second. It is an all-consuming feeling and I know that resisting is almost too hard for me. Somehow though, resist we do.
You rise, it is time for you to leave and while we stand, we kiss again and clasp each other together. You are a heady intoxication, making my head spin and my heart race. And then, you turn with your back to me, similar to the story. My hands meet at your stomach while I kiss your neck. For a moment, I cannot detect how this affects you, but then you grasp my hands. I thought it was to pull them free, but no; you guide them to your breasts and I pull you close, our bodies blending into one shape.
It has to end. We both have places to be and you ask me to let you go. We kiss once more. Your back is against the door to my office. Gently I lift your chin to kiss your throat and then your lips once more. I don’t want you to leave, I don’t want it to end, but know that it must and so, I open the door for you and wish you goodnight and regret that it had to be so.
I do not know where this is going to go. I have absolutely no inkling of what will happen. One minute, I doubt that we will ever find a time or space to be together.
And then, I am trying to work out the how and when. I am distracted and grateful that I will be away playing golf for a few days so that there is breathing space between us and a chance to think. You are constantly on my mind and the three days golf is played without my full attention. It shows in the scores I have.
One thing that does occur to me is that I might invite you to travel out with me to Surrey. Perhaps visit a vineyard, the steppingstones and summerhouse on top of the Leith Hill, where I grew up. I plan it while driving back from Lincolnshire, but then, think I am being stupid. Why would you want to go there with me? Why would you want to go anywhere with me? I am acting and thinking like a schoolboy and at my age that does not fit very well. It is confusing to me. My usual calm, placid outlook has been turned upside down and I am unused to being so out of kilter.
I begin to think that, perhaps I can call this in. Put a lid on the whole affair and behave as a mature adult. I resolve to only speak to you in a professional manner and ignore the emotions that have been stirred up by the attraction we seem to share. On Wednesday morning, I am filled with the strength to carry out my resolve. I do not want to put you in a position that will make your working life difficult. I know how the office drums can spread rumour and gossip faster than anything and, I know just how damaging that can be. But, then I see you and share a brief moment and my resolve dissipates into so much dust.
We only speak briefly on Thursday, just long enough for you to tell me that there is a problem in the area you work in. Your face displays your discomfort and frustration. You, tactfully, do not tell me what the problem is, but it is obvious that you are angry, upset and I hope I have not been the cause. Friday is no better. You are cool towards me, aloof and withdrawn. The dazzling smile is not there and I fear that the impact on the evening a few days before, might have frightened you or made you sit back and take stock. Perhaps it has allowed you to consider whether you are prepared or ready to become involved in something as mad as this is.
The lack of contact between us does not allow me to ask you what the problem is or if you have decided to end it between us. It is perhaps, a good thing that I do not get the chance, because your answer would be given while still angry.
I am interviewing at the only time you are available. An offer for drinks after work is denied and I think then, that the decision to cool it is out of my hands. I think that you have already decided that it is finished before it started. I mourn the missed chance, but completely understand. You are very much stronger than I am and you are completely right. Knowing you are right though, does not diminish my feelings towards you. The desire is just as strong. I find myself looking for you, hoping to bump into you, but feeling that somehow, in this large, but limiting building, you are avoiding me.
Tuesday sees a change in attitude. You smile at me and I am filled with pleasure. It is a beautific smile that lights up your eyes and fills my heart with warmth. We have a few moments, sitting on the chairs in your shared office. You give me back the memory stick with the fantasy on it. It is, you tell me, unread since the alterations were made. I am okay with that, but would have liked it if you had read it, if only for your input. I understand your reasoning and cannot blame you for not opening the file.
Without saying too much, you reaffirm that an office affair is something you do not wish to get into. It would be too difficult and complicated and I agree, but wish otherwise. You ask that I do not think of you badly and I ask how I could. I found it flattering, exciting and I found it to be a surprise at this stage of my life. It is almost as much a thrill, knowing that it had been a real possibility, than if we had actually managed to get together.
We agree to get a coffee during the week and to get an uninterrupted conversation. It will have to be in the canteen to avoid any chance of becoming too close or to touch. You are having a few days in Poland and are looking forward to it very much.
It is in fact, more than a week until we have a chance to talk. You tell me a little of your stay with your family in Poland, but as usual, you keep details limited and private. The photos you put on Face Book show some of the places you visited, but none of your family. I don’t leave a comment on them, knowing that your husband has access to your face book page. We may not be having an affair, but I would not want to add fuel to any differences you are having.
I notice while we speak, that your body language is open, inviting even, and, while your mind and words are holding me off, your body has other intentions. Your hands are expressive and you sit back, legs uncrossed, showing me the length of your body, unhindered and unprotected. I notice these things, but listen instead to what you are telling me. It was a nice fantasy and that brief time in my office when we almost acted it out was very exciting, but practicalities and commitments overtake circumstances. You are telling me, not in so many words, that it will not happen.