Office Space

Don’t date coworkers. Isn’t that what they tell you? It’s bad for office morale when the guy in the cubicle next to you is getting some on the clock while the one to your right isn’t getting any at all. I suppose that’s just too damn bad then.

I first noticed him during a meeting that was going way too long. Some hot winded bigwigs were talking about efficiency and productivity, meanwhile taking us away from being productive and decreasing our efficiency. The irony seemed lost on them but what does one expect from corporate bs?

Anyway, he was sitting across and a few chairs down and looked as bored as I was until he caught my eye. He was cute in a normal person way. His features didn’t jump out except in the way he used them to start making funny faces at me. He rolled his eyes a little and winked. He mimed the speaker a little, just enough to make me chuckle inside and think he might be good company for lunch.

After the interminable meeting was over, I approached him to ask if he wanted to take an early lunch to make up for that waste of our time and he agreed. I kind of thought he might, but it still feels good to know I can walk up to a stranger and twenty minutes later have a friend. Because that’s what I was thinking at the time. He seemed funny and was fine enough to look at, but HR would have a fit if anything developed.

Over the next few weeks we started instant messaging each other at work and then texting when we weren’t at work. We had different schedules most of the time so little of our communication was face to face. Before long, though, we were fast friends and I was thrilled when we got the chance to work on a project together.

It was a little over a week into the job and suddenly work had become far more enjoyable. We shared the same schedule now and we both had stayed late almost every day. When we finally called it a day, we went out to drink and eat and talk. It was one of those nights over a couple of beers and a burger that a switch flipped. We were talking about relationships. He had a way of bragging without bragging that interested me. He was telling me about this girl he had been with recently who had a second orgasm while they were together. I had always had a rough time getting even one and the thought occurred to me: if he can give this little tart two (and good for her!) then I wonder if I can get one? With that thought I decided I was going to give him a try.

That night was good but the next day was great. I went home with him, drunk and interested. That first time is always a little awkward and the alcohol got in the way. The next day, hungover but extremely pleased with myself, I could barely contain the sexual energy that bridged the office space between us. Though we were both painfully aware that we were breaking the rules and tried to keep our contact to a minimum, just knowing that he was in the same room had me distracted all day. Our computer messaging was dirty, so dirty, and once just before lunch I had to retreat to the bathroom to do a little de-stressing. My panties were damp and strong with the scent of desire. I hoped the next occupant wouldn’t recognize me or the smell of sex but I couldn’t focus on my work without taking some of the sex drive out of me so I had to take the risk.

Every time he came to my desk to answer a question or look over my shoulder at the project we were trying to work on I could feel the warmth of his body radiating through the air between us. I could hardly think of anything except the two thin layers of clothing separating my skin from his. Very little work got done that day and by the time our coworkers were saying goodbye the heat generated by our friction made me weak. We stayed late to work, as we often did, but as soon as the last person left the office it was all I could do to unbutton his shirt instead of tearing it off.

I remember every detail. He slakes his thirst for my kisses with passion and care. Lips teasing each other, pulling, feeling; hands tasting the curves and planes of our bodies. I can feel the edge of my desk pressing into the back of my ass as he presses his hips against me. We grind together. The feel of his cock, hard and insistent sends a surge of warmth from my chest to my groin. My arousal is so strong and fast it almost hurts. I fumble with his belt until my hands find a break in the defenses and reach their prize. I would kiss it, lick it, pull it into my mouth until I can’t even breathe but my tongue is already busy with his and so I settle for stroking his cock, teasing the tip, using the precum slipping out to make my hands as wet as my pussy.

His hands slide up my skirt, one on either side of my hips to raise it above my ass. I may as well not even be wearing panties for all the good they’ve done to contain the flood. Later I will have to reprint those papers but the tips of his fingers drive the thought from my mind. Our breath and our voices mingle in uncontrollable gutterals. Our hearts pound as adrenalin races through us and between us forming the string between the cans; our bodies communicating through the sliver of space between us. I desire you. I need you. Please.

The moment of first penetration is always the greatest. His head is spongy but firm. It gives just enough to prolong the moment but remains rigid as I feel him slowly, almost painfully slide inside me. I lean back to lie on my desk, hug my knees to my chest, and close my eyes to savor the sensation. Every slow thrust builds a wave of ever increasing pleasure starting with him and flowing to the tips of my fingers and toes. Here, now…. this feels so right. Mind and body synch and flow. I can hear him closing in on his climax. I can feel him leaning over me, hands on me, everything all over me. My body finds its center without me. I’m reaching the cliff. I can see it. I can feel the vertigo as I look over the edge. I fall, no, I leap off the edge. A primal cry tears itself from my throat to mingle with his as we tumble through the air, two eagles in a courtship dance cartwheeling towards certain death.

The aftermath is funny and messy; a combination of shame left over from old social indoctrination and fatalism that something so wonderful and so necessary for the continuation of life is so slippery and goopy and full of endorphins and funny noises. The afterglow is a bond that every time reinforces our friendship.

I know I’m not supposed to date coworkers, but I don’t give a shit. This one is different.