This work is copyright (c) 1998-2001 with all rights reserved by its author. The author specifically states that this work may be redistributed, without charge, as long as it is published with the same the story name ("Lunch Break"), author ("JimC"), and that the story is distributed in its entirety, including this disclaimer. You may also modify this story by partitioning this into multiple parts, as long as this disclaimer is included on each part. I specifically do NOT permit this story to be published on any site that charges any mandatory membership or "adult check" type fees.
The following is a work of fiction (actually, "FANTASY"). Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and highly unlikely.
If you are reading this and you are under the age of eighteen, then you should be ashamed of yourself. Go to your bathroom and wank off to some Playboys, or Hustlers, or Penthouse or other source of wank-off material that you can get legally. Delete this message. Un-bookmark this web page. Keep your mind pure and your thoughts to yourself. Or your sister. Just leave the Internet to the adults.
Yeah. Like any kid will ever listen to me.
So much for the fuckin' disclaimer.
Kids. Go figure 'em. Ruinin' the entire Internet if you ask me.
I've made it a policy to avoid sexual topics at work. With the current "politically correct" climate of awareness of sexual harassment, I was determined that I would NEVER be the one to discuss the previous night's Seinfeld TV show.
No, siree. Not me.
I'll just sit in my office and work.
And occasionally fantasize.
Hey! You can't blame me just for having an imagination, can you?
My fantasies weren't about the girls at work. There weren't that many; our group being a development group. And none of them were real knockouts.
And, of course, I was happily married. With kids. And I was happy with my situation and I would never want to jeopardize it.
Or so I thought.
Maureen started working at the office a couple of years ago. She was hired a couple of months after I transferred into this office. She was a "college hire" which meant she was younger (mid 20's??), which made her the youngest female of the three in our group of thirty.
Since she wasn't working with me directly on my project, I didn't spend much time with her at first. I guess we knew each other's names (people around the office called her "Mo") and that was all. Oh, and her husband had just gotten out of the military (Army? Navy? I had no clue).
Despite her relative youth, she wasn't a knock-down beauty, although she wasn't a plain-Jane either. She had brown hair and was about 5' 8" tall. Not statuesque.
Since our office was mostly a development group with very little access to customers, our dress policy was strictly casual. She'd wear jeans and shirts, but nothing skin-tight that would reveal any figure. Actually, her dress was almost frumpy. Well, sometimes during the summer, she would wear shorts and I would get to see her legs (again, nothing earth-shaking; but I'm not really a leg-man).
Maureen's project was was documenting our API's, which is a programmer acronym for "Application Program Interface" which, translated into lay men's terms means "things that people need to know in order to write programs to use our stuff."
Each of the programmers in our group had to make sure that the things that Mo wrote about their part of the project was factually correct, so she would post revisions to her documentation every week or so, which we would all read and make commentary on.
Like it's something that programmers like doing. Not!
Occasionally, Mo would be a bit confused about something or other, and she'd get together with whoever was responsible for what she was confused about in an office and discuss things.
All professional, of course.
About six months after she joined our group, I began to notice something odd.
Once or twice a day, I would go to the Men's room (you know... normal healthy human behavior). But I started to notice that I would see Mo walking into the Ladies' room at almost the same time.
At first, I thought it odd, and then humorous. Mo would never look at me directly as if she knew she was going at the same time. After a couple of weeks, though, I noticed that the ONLY time she would go to the Ladies' room was when I would go to the Men's room.
I tried changing my patterns. I'd go twice in the morning; Mo went also. I'd hold it in and not go at all... Mo wouldn't go either.
Once, I was on the opposite side of the building and used the rest room on that side of the building. When I left the Men's room, Mo was leaving the Ladies' room there as well.
This was getting strange.
Despite the weird bathroom behavior, Mo didn't seem to pay any special attention to me at all. There wasn't the slightest bit of teasing, or any sense of interest in me whatsoever.
Which was cool with me. You know... political correctness and such.
Oh, we still conversed professionally, especially when I had a comment or two on her documentation. But aside from that... nothing.
Last summer, one of the projects that I was responsible for required a major change in the API's. This, of course, meant that I had to write down the changes and send them to Mo.
Mo came into my office sometime later to ask some questions about what I had written. I realized that I had left out some of the details, and started explaining them to Mo.
As I was explaining the details, I was looking directly at Mo. Since it was summer, she had on a pair of shorts and a sleeveless stretchy shirt (pale green). I glanced at her breasts, and then noticed what I was doing, so I quickly raised my eyes to her face.
It was at that moment, however, that I noticed a far-away look in Mo's eyes. Somehow, I wasn't registering. I stopped talking, and she still had that distant look in her eyes.
After about a minute of silence, I called her name.
She looked at me, suddenly seeing me for the first time in minutes.
"Oh!" She exclaimed, startled.
"That's all right," I said, and continued where I had left off.
As I was talking, I glanced down at her breasts briefly, and noticed that I could see the outline of her nipples through the stretchy fabric. I quickly looked up to her face, and she had that far-away look in her eyes again.
I called her name again, and she once again woke out of her reverie. I looked at her and her nipples were still erect. Mo was embarrassed at being caught "napping" twice; she didn't seem to notice her state of arousal.
"Jim," she started to explain. "I'm sorry... I seem to be falling asleep! Maybe I'm coming down with a cold!"
"I guess," I replied.
"Jim, I'm gonna look at what you wrote again, and try to put it together with what you've been telling me here. I'll come back if I have any more questions. OK?"
"Sure," I answered. I knew she'd be back, since I hadn't finished explaining things. But I hoped she'd be back feeling better.
Mo came back the very next day.
Lucky for me, I had written up some more information for her, but she had some questions on the stuff I was explaining the day before as she was "blanking out" (I didn't mention it to her; I didn't want to embarrass her).
I got the bright idea of using my office "white board" to draw a diagram about what I was explaining. I turned to her a few times, and she was following me pretty well.
She seemed to understand it well, and soon she was augmenting what I had written and drawing her own diagrams.
"That's it, exactly!" I told her.
She kept on writing.
She had her back to me, and my eyes wandered down to her ass. I noticed that it looked nice and round. I brought my eyes back to the white board and noticed that she had stopped writing, although she still had the marker in her hand.
"Mo?" I called out, quietly.
That seemed to break her out of her reverie. She continued writing, apparently unaware that she had blanked out on me again.
I looked at her ass once again.
Once again, she stopped in mid-letter.
I decided to pretend not to notice that she was frozen at the board. I went up to the board and started writing above her. She didn't move one bit.
Her eyes were open, unblinking.
That blank expression startled me, and I dropped my marker. It hit her head and bounced off the board and dropped to the floor.
"Mo?" I asked again.
She started writing once again. Still apparently unaware that she had just blanked out again. Or that she had just had a marker hit her head.
Those two events in two days started a pattern.
During a meeting with the entire group, I glanced at Mo. I got no particular reaction. I kept looking at her from time to time, getting no reaction. But when I decided to lower my eyes to her breasts, she blanked out again. I was a bit worried, thinking that I might get caught ("Caught at what?" I had no clue!). After about thirty seconds, the guy sitting next to her noticed her and called her name quietly. She woke up, shook her head, and made some excuse about having taken some cold medication. There were a few snickers from other people that noticed her blank look, but there didn't seem to be any kind of suspicion that my looking at her had caused her to blank out. Nonetheless, I avoided looking at her for the rest of the meeting and there wasn't any recurrence of the behavior.
.... There is more of this story ...