Men say that we women put a guy into one of three categories when we first meet him: yes, no or maybe. I know that, for me at least, there is another category: guys I'm going to have sex with. It's not the same as a "Yes." "Yes" just means you would if the opportunity presented itself and the situation were right. But sometimes you just look into a guy's eyes for the first time, and you know you WILL fuck him.
That's how I felt when Bob joined the company. There were only two problems. First, I was one of a very small number of female executives at my job. I didn't want to jeopardize all that I had achieved, or mess things up for future women, by getting labeled the "office slut." Second, after I looked into his fuck-me eyes, I instinctively glanced down at his left hand: wedding ring. Damnit!
I should have given up on him at that point, but I couldn't get him out of my head. Maybe the fact that I couldn't have him was making me obsess a little. I kept a professional demeanor around him, but I found myself doing certain things. Like I'd open my blouse an extra button, place the extra chair in my office somewhere out of the way, then invite Bob in to "look over some sales figures." I'd sit behind my desk and turn the paper toward him, so he'd have no choice but to stand and look down at my desk -- and my tits. A couple other times I locked my office door, then called his extension. "No, don't bother to come to my office, Bob. I just wanted to go over a few details of this account with you." Then I'd ask him some questions that would require long explanations, and while I listened to his sonorous, sexy voice, I'd hold the phone with one hand and slip my other hand under the skirt of my conservative business dress, rubbing the folds of my wet pussy. The fact that I had to fight to keep my voice normal, and that this was dangerous and insane behavior, made it incredibly sexy.
I was very curious about his marriage. He didn't talk about his wife often, but he did have her picture on his desk. She was pretty. I guess. If you like that type. I bet she has a fat ass, though. Bitch.
Finally, at one of our endless division meetings, our supervisor announced that he needed someone to go on an "all-expenses paid business trip" to meet with some clients. "It's in the middle of the week," he added, "so it won't cost you any weekend time, and you'll fly first class." Everyone perked up at that.
But then someone asked, "Where is the trip to?"
"Uhm...Topeka."
We all slumped back into our seats and avoided making eye contact with our boss. He chuckled and said, "Sorry. But we really need a couple people to go. And one of them has to be you, Bob, since you've worked on this account before."
I managed to avoid making a fool out of myself by jumping out of my seat, but just barely.
"So who else wants to go?" our boss continued.
My hard pounded in my chest. I prayed there wouldn't be someone in the meeting who had relatives in Topeka, or just some lunatic with a weird fascination with corn -- or whatever it is they grow (or raise?) in Topeka. When I could feel that the boss was about to just assign someone at random, I spoke up, feigning resignation. "Okay I'll do it. But I have dibs on the next all-expenses-paid trip to Paris." Everyone laughed, and then the boss went to the next item on the agenda. I didn't look at Bob, but I felt like he was looking at me. I hoped he was, and I hoped that he was thinking some completely unprofessional thoughts.
I started rationalizing things to myself. "I can't afford for people to know that I slept with a coworker, but he can't afford to let anyone know he slept with another woman either. We'll be out of town, so no one will see us. He's married but--uh, I don't care."
The meetings in Topeka went very well. Bob was really a very accomplished and savvy businessman. That, of course, made him even hotter. And, not to be outdone, I made sure I was in top form myself. I could tell that Bob was noticing how good I was at my job too.
When we went back to the hotel, Bob suggested that we have a drink to celebrate our successful trip. I'd already rehearsed my response a hundred times: "Great idea! But, hey, you know what? People don't think anything of businessmen drinking in a bar after work, but it often reflects badly on a woman's professional reputation if she's seen out drinking. Would you mind if we just had a drink in my room?"
I kept my expression calm as I scanned his face for a reaction. In my nightmares, he replied with, "Go to your room? What's wrong with you?! I'm a married man!" In my fantasies, he said, "Great. But first, why don't you slip into some lingerie while I give my frigid wife a quick phone call?" In reality, he went into this earnest speech about how unfair it is that men and women are held to different standards in the business world. I smiled and nodded my head and thought, "So are you coming to my room to pour a few back and do me or not?" But then I realized that he was leading us toward the elevators, and soon we were up in my room, breaking open the mini bar. I took my jacket off and, when he was momentarily turned away from me, opened a couple of extra buttons on my blouse.
We were already in a good mood and the alcohol made us chatty and laugh easily. I was feeling really turned on now, but also as frustrated as Tantalus. Here I was, in a hotel room with the guy I was horny for, both of us a little tipsy, but I wasn't sure how to make that last step from sitting in a chair across from him to sitting across his face. He was obviously enjoying my company: I caught his eyes wandering over my legs and boobs every now and then. But whenever I tried to let the conversation sink into an "awkward" pause that would encourage him to try something, he started to talk some more. I had a feeling that he wanted me, but didn't want it to seem like his idea. When he mentioned that his best friend from college had just gotten married, I saw my opening.
"Hey, can I ask you something personal?" I said.
"Sure."
"Well, obviously I've never been to a bachelor party, but I've always been curious about whether they're as wild as you see on TV and movies."
He blushed. "Oh, it depends on the party."
I gave him a conspiratorial smile. "You don't have to be evasive with me. I promise I won't tell."
"I dunno. It's kind of a guy-code thing not to talk about it." His diffidence was as boyishly sexy as it was maddening.
"I bet you've never even been to a hot bachelor party," I teased. "You probably just go to the ones where you have a couple of lite beers and watch football highlights."
His face suddenly went from boyish to just slightly predatory. "You obviously don't really know me," he said slowly. "I've done a lot of things that would shock you."
Bingo! I'd finally found "the button" on him: he's the kind who can't resist being taunted. My pussy twinged with excitement at his simmering sexual anger.
I leaned back in my chair, which made my skirt hike up just a bit more. "Don't worry about it. You don't have to prove anything to me. Women like 'good boys' too. They're the ones we settle down with, after all."
His eyes were narrowing, staring at me like a wolf regarding a deer. "You sure talk a good game. You seem pretty prim and reserved from what I've seen around the office."
Prim?! He thinks I'm prim?! This time I was the one with the hint of anger in my voice: "I know how to recognize men, and I know how to recognize boys. And I treat each the way he deserves." Then I sipped my drink and looked out the window, like I was casually dismissing him.
He was leaning forward in his seat now. "You couldn't handle the kind of stuff I give to a woman."
With a patronizing tone, I said, "I'm sure. But, you see, you're the kind of guy who always follows the rules, always does what he's supposed to. Don't get me wrong. That's a good thing. Really. Everyone likes a guy who's safe and--"
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