or
Never Too Late To Start

Copyright © 1995

Jack took the framed photo from the desk. "Who's this?"

"My daughter," I replied. "Mary is ten now."

"Impossible. You can't have a kid that old, Kim," he grinned. "I'd have figured her as your sister."

He was flirting again. That was another of his nicer qualities. When the company hired him on as a consultant for the conversion, I was really pissed off. I was the lead for the project and, for all intents and purposes, I was his boss, and yet he was getting paid at least twice as much as I was. But he charmed me out of my anger, with his expertise and with his personality.

"Well, she just as pretty as her mother."

I felt myself beginning to blush. We'd been working closely together in the past two months, with an awful lot of late nights. It wouldn't have surprised me if he'd tried to make a move on me. In actual fact, I was hoping he would. But not a day went by that he didn't mention his wife. He really was devoted to her. And not a night went by that I didn't wish that I was his wife instead of Carl's. And then I felt guilty about thinking that.

Carl is a wonderful man, but the accident that left him paralyzed also left him impotent. My dreams of a son died with our sex life.

"Y'know, that's really my only regret, ' he said, putting the frame back on my desk, "not having children."

"Well," I said, clearing my throat, "it's never too late to start."

"It is for me. Annie can't have kids."

"That's too bad. I bet you'd have been a good father." Certainly his children would have been incredibly handsome and smart.

"Yeah, well, that's the breaks. Anyway, this code isn't going to do what you want it to, and here's why." He went on about the project and I tried to follow his reasoning, but I was too intent on his breath on my hair as he bent over to point at the listing.

I was sure he found me attractive. Without even being aware of it, I'd started wearing more provocative outfits to work. I didn't even realize it until one night when I caught him glancing down the front of my blouse. Then I saw the bulge in his pants. That's when I noticed how I'd been wearing my sheerest tops and my shortest skirts. It was no wonder I was getting strange looks from the mail room staff.

After I let myself know how I felt, it got worse. I'd purposely bend over when he was behind me, almost wiggling my ass at him, and I could hear his breathing quicken. I'd lean forward when I sat across from him at the conference table, giving him a clear view of the filmy bra I took to wearing, and his face would flush. Once I even pressed my breast against the back of his neck when I looked over his shoulder at the computer screen. The words caught in his throat the rest of the night.

But even after all that, he never gave me the slightest indication that he'd ever act on what he was obviously feeling. Every morning I'd wake up anticipating being with him. Every night, I'd lay awake in bed, imagining him with me. I'd fondle myself, pretending it was his hands, his lips, his manhood, pressing into me. I'd orgasm while fantasizing him above me, his long hair swaying back and forth as he thrust into me again and again, pumping his seed into me, making me pregnant with his son. And when the waves subsided, I fall into a deep depression, knowing that it would never be.

Or so I thought.

"Jack!" I knew he'd hear the cry. It was another late night and we were the only two left in the entire building. Or so we thought.

When he bolted though the conference room door, responding to my terror-filled shriek, he saw the gun immediately.

"Alright, shithead," the hooded man said, "get the fuck over there against the table with the bitch. And don't pull anything heroic unless you want to die."

He stood leaning against the walls in the corner of the room, his gun waving threateningly about. "You two picked the wrong night to work late."

Jack walked slowly over to stand next to me, our shoulders touching, facing the ski-masked man with our backs to the large conference table. "J-Jack," I said, my voice trembling, "I--I just came in to get some papers and there he was. He made me call you in here, I--"

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," the man with the gun growled.

Jack said softly, "Look, fella, nobody wants any trouble. Just tell us what you want and we'll give it to you and then you can go, okay?"

"All the fuck I want is to get the hell out of here," the man snarled.

"Go," Jack said. "We won't stop you."

"The fuck you will," he barked. "The second I go through that door, you're on the phone to security and they pick me off before I'm on the first floor." He shook his head. "What the fuck am I gonna do with you two assholes? I should just kill you both and take my chances that the shots aren't heard."

I began to cry. "P-please--please don't--"

"Shit, bitch, I said shut the fuck up! Fuck, I ain't never killed anybody before and I wasn't planning to start, but I got to get the fuck out of here."

"Listen, fella," Jack said, "you can trust us, we won't--"

"Faggot, I won't tell you again," he shouted, "shut the fuck up!"

The silence in the room seemed to last forever. Then the man with the ski mask said, "Alright, why don't you two get naked while I figure out what to do with you."

My mouth dropped open. "But--but why--"

"The two of you ain't going to get very far running after me without clothes. Now strip!"

I began to unbutton my blouse as Jack took off his shirt. I could feel the heat of his skin next to me. As my thin lacy bra came into his view, the intruder whistled. "Nice set, bitch. I'll bet the two of you were going to end up screwing on one of those desks out there, weren't you?"

"N-no," I whispered as I undid my bra, letting my breasts free, "Jack's never made any kind of advance at me."

"What's the matter with him?" the burglar asked. "Ain't she your type, faggot?"

Jack didn't say anything as he undid his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. I couldn't help but notice how well hung he was. He glanced over to me and I could see his penis rising.

"What's this," the man said, pointing to Jack's growing member with his gun, "is that for the bitch, or for me? You fucking homo, I ought to shoot you now."

"He--he's not homosexual," I yelped.

"Yeah, sure he ain't. Working late with a piece of ass as nice as this, and he ain't made his move? Oh, he's a faggot all right. Look at his faggoty long hair! I fuckin' hate faggots!"

He was getting agitated. "Please," I said, "he's--"

I froze in horror as he pointed the gun at me. "I won't tell you again to shut the fuck up!" He turned the gun at Jack, who was now completely nude, as was I. "Listen, you fuckin' fag, there's only one thing that'll keep me from blowing you away right now, and that if you and that bitch get up on that table and you fuck the living shit out of her."

Jack's eyes flew open. I stammered, "No! I mean--we're both married and I can't--"

"The fuck he's married. Fuckin' window dressing if he is. And you're probably a fuckin' lezbo, ain't you? Well, I can cure you of that after I get rid of the fag." He began to push himself away from the wall.

"No!" I cried. "It's just--I mean, can--can he use a condom?"

"A what? Fuck, no! He screws you bareback--if he can screw you at all."