I was 36, a year past my divorce, and aching with a need to breed; he was 27 and had the lines of a thoroughbred in a three-piece suit. Our eyes met across the room from time to time during meetings; his were golden brown with gold flecks in them that matched the golden curls that stopped just above his shirt collar; mine were emerald green and smoldering with lust. I was no fool—I knew an office dalliance was not a good idea. Of course, the fact that neither of us was the other’s superior was in our favor, but a female in a mostly male profession could be putting her career at risk, just the same. The man always comes out on top on those situations
(no pun intended!)
We hardly ever spoke. The furtive glances spoke more than words ever could. The game continued for a couple of months. Then one day, we found ourselves seated side by side at a luncheon meeting. I felt like I’d been struck by a surge of electric current when our fingers touched briefly when he handed me the basket of rolls. My eyes avoided his as I hoped he hadn’t heard my slight, sudden intake of breath. When the meal was ended, and everyone leaned back in their chairs to listen to the guest speaker, his thigh grazed mine. At first it was a tentative touch, but when I didn’t move mine away, his Yves St. Laurent clad leg settled against mine. Even though I feigned obliviousness, the heat I felt was unmistakable: a warm feeling began at the point of contact, increasing in intensity as it spread up my thigh to the satin clad spot where my inner thigh ended.
My brain was telling me to move away! To shift my position in my chair--it wouldn’t be obvious if I was just reaching for my water glass. Just that little gesture could end this now. But the heat was getting to me, and he knew it. As though he could read my mind, he nonchalantly reached for his water glass, moving more of his leg against mine in the process. I have no idea what the speaker’s topic was. All I could hear was my own quickening heartbeat, and the heat that seemed to be assaulting my nether regions.
Mercifully the meeting came to an end, and people were leaving. I turned away from him without a word, and left the restaurant. When I reached the parking lot and opened the back door of my Mazda, I placed my briefcase in the space behind the driver’s seat. As I turned to open the front door, his shiny black Jetta pulled up beside me.
“Got any appointments this afternoon?” he asked through the open window. I glanced around me before answering; no one else from our office was in sight.
“No, my day planner is clear. I was headed home.”
“I’ll follow you,” he stated, matter-of-factly.
Getting behind the wheel of my car, I glanced at myself in the mirror. My face was flushed; he knew the effect he’d had on me and hadn’t doubted for a second that I would lead him to my apartment. So much of me knew this was a bad idea, but reason was replaced by need. I covered the 15-minute drive to my apartment in less than 10. I sprang from my car and had the front door unlocked by the time I heard his footsteps on the walk behind me. He followed me in, and when I closed the door, he placed a hand on the door on each side of me, and leaned his whole body against me while his lips found mine. I gasped when his hot tongue licked my lips until they parted to grant him entry.
We continued kissing as we made our way up the stairs, shedding our clothes on the way. By the time we fell on my bed, there were no longer any clothing barriers between us. To say he had his way with me would be an understatement; we had our way with each other! It was hot, fast, and hard; then it was slow, gentle, and sweet. He was gorgeous as only a 27-year-old man who works out can be. I delighted in every inch of him. For his part, he seemed undaunted by the after effects of childbirth on a 36-year-old woman’s body. How could I not find that delicious?
As we cuddled in the afterglow, he rested his head on his hand and looked into my eyes.
“When can I see you again?” he asked.
“You can’t.” I answered.
“Why the hell not?”
“Because there’s too much difference in our ages; we’re at different places in our lives. And because if they ever found out about this at the office we could be canned,” was my regretful reply.
Passion sated, I was not to be swayed. We dressed again, and shared a lingering kiss goodbye. I walked him to the door, thankful that it was Friday and I wouldn’t be encountering him again until the middle of the next week at the office.
When our next office meeting came, I noticed his desk was empty and bare. I had mixed feelings. Part of me was dreading seeing him again; would I be as strong as I had been the other day, right after I had been so thoroughly seduced by him? Or would the memory of his lips burning against my throat, against that space in back of my ear, weaken my resolve? I lowered my eyes to my sales book and avoided watching the door; the door which seemed to refuse to admit him, regardless of my willing it to open.
The eleven o’clock meeting time arrived, and our manager began with the announcement:
“You’ve probably noticed that John is not here today. Unfortunately, he is no longer an employee of Fidelity Trust.” Knowing looks were exchanged among a few of the older sales people. I didn’t know what to think, so I tried not to, and concentrated on the remainder of the meeting. I did notice a few surprised faces in the room and hoped that my expression gave no evidence of the turmoil going on in my head.
The buzz at the water cooler after the meeting was that John had been embezzling from his accounts for some time and had been under the watchful eye of management for several weeks.
“Under watch for several weeks.” The phrase echoed in my brain. Was he being watched after the luncheon meeting last week? I hadn’t seen anyone from Fidelity when he approached my car, but had I missed something?
Shock settled in. It wasn’t that I felt betrayed; after alI, we weren’t dating. My concern was for my own reputation. Having entered this macho field with the disadvantage of being female, proving my worth had been a battle. How could I have put all that hard work at risk for a couple of orgasms—granted, they were pretty incredible, but hardly worth ending up unemployed, and having my integrity and honesty under scrutiny.
For the next few days and weeks, I held my breath and walked on eggshells. Since no one from management approached me immediately, the likelihood that anyone had seen us leave the restaurant parking lot that day was put to rest. My other concern was whether John had mentioned our tryst to anyone. I knew that the temptation probably would have been great to brag that he’d “nailed” the only female staffer, but hoped that the knowledge that such behavior would reflect badly on both of us would overcome that temptation.
More than once, I read things into looks I received from co-workers. After an agonizing six weeks of worry, I finally put it to rest. Nothing happened, and apparently John never divulged what happened the afternoon of that luncheon. My secret was safe, and I vowed I would never mix work and sex again!
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Eva Gallant is a 67-year-old retired teacher who likes to write fiction, in addition to blogging at Wrestling with Retirement. The mother of 3 sons and grandmother of 7, she and Mr. Eva live in Maine and have been married 27 years. She currently is working on a romantic novel, as well as a book of poetry, and a book of restaurant reviews, all of which she hopes to publish on Kindle. Check out more of Eva's fictional work at the Yahoo Contributor Network. Don't forget to follow Eva on Twitter @queen_o_the_mat
Lisa is a working mom who labors outside of the home in a dirty business (trashy really). She’s a Diet Cola-loving Latter-day Saint (Mormon) who hates cooking, cleaning and anything else domestic. She does enjoy reality TV, pretending to scrapbook, and stalking people on Facebook. In fact, you can stalk her on Facebook, Her Five Cents, OR she thinks you can find her on Twitter @lisafivecents.
