It's frustrating working with a co-worker that you're just dying to fuck, especially when your own girlfriend works for the same company, too. Fortunately, Steph Jenkins came up with a creative way of circumventing some sticky issues, and my cock and I remain forever grateful. This true story, from many years ago, is a way of expressing such gratitude. Better late than never. Thanks, Steph!
I did my best to keep my thoughts and comments to myself when it came to beautiful co-workers, especially since I was the manager of this particular department store in North Jersey. Another ancillary reason was that my girlfriend was in the buying offices in New York City, and had at least some kind of relationship with most of the department managers who worked for me. Hence, it was not wise, on several levels, to extend any gestures or words of appreciation.
However, on this particular morning, the children's department manager, Stephanie Jenkins, had outdone herself. The best way to describe Stephanie would be to imagine a younger Jennifer Love Hewitt. Light, curly brown hair that fell over her shoulders and more-than-ample tits, BIG brown eyes, and a mischievous smile that always made you wonder if she were terminally horny and sizing you up as a potential sex partner, or just mockingly giving you that 'You WISH you could have me' dick-teasing Cheshire cat grin.
Yep, on this early Friday morning, she had on what I call 'The Uniform', the sexiest business attire I believe a woman can wear: a silk, white blouse displaying just the appropriately inappropriate amount of cleavage in the workplace, and a tight, black miniskirt, not quite short enough to violate the company's dress code, but damn near. Add on to that an accessory package that included a pair of back seamed stockings, inch stilettos heels, and a string of pearls around that gorgeous, tanned, freckled neck and chest, and well, she was the proverbial walking hard-on-inducer.
Yet, she was so unpretentious about her beauty, she was a naturally nice person. Maybe it is my North Jersey cynicism, but sparkling, kind personalities don't always go and-in-hand with Jersey girls. Steph was a rare catch, indeed.
Stephanie smiled at me as she saw me smiling at her as she approached, my eyes wandering all over her remarkable body, and making no pretense about it. She looked sensational, she knew it, and I wanted her to know, at least for today, that I knew it, too. Eventually, hormones between the sexes will ultimately win out over stuffy business decorum, when a woman looked like Steph. It's no contest.
"Stephanie," I gushed, breaking my guise of dispassionate professional boss man for just a moment, "You know I try my best to keep my thoughts to myself, but, My God, you must have stopped traffic on 287 this morning, you look incredible!"
Steph pirouetted, providing me with a rear-end view, and I couldn't decide which angle looked more alluring, but I was prepared to spend the next few weeks or so reviewing, if need be. She rolled her eyes as she described her itinerary for tonight. "Bradley has one of those boring client dinners tonight in Upper Saddle River, so he wanted me to look nice. Think I pulled it off?"
'You can pull ME off', I thought to myself. I had met Steph's Wall Street Ivy-league boyfriend once, Bradley (don't you just HATE that fucking name, doesn't it just scream 'GEEK'?) and if it wasn't for his wallet, he would have been playing more over his head than Seal with Heidi Klum.
"Bergen County won't know what hit it, Steph, I'll alert the authorities." I turned to continue my morning rounds, more in an attempt to hide my burgeoning erection. Fuck, she looked smokin' hot! I then heard her coquettish voice over my shoulder. "Did you ever wonder, John?"
Boy, have I ever. I turned, again letting my gaze wonder over her, it was like trying to avoid looking directly at the sun. "Wonder? About what, Steph?"
She shifted her weight on her heels, causing her left hip to jut out. She hesitated just for a second, and I thought I detected a slight blush. 'Um, about......us?"
My dick could have lifted the steel loading dock door. I treaded as cautiously as she, looking around to see if anyone else was near in the otherwise-deserted store, an hour and a half before opening time. I answered truthfully, my eyes seering into her own smoldering bedroom eyes.
"Often, Steph." A flicker of delight danced in her pupils. "But..." What was it about my prudent personality that I always had to include a 'but'...?
I continued, haltingly. "Well, I have Linda, and you have......" I tried to hide my disdain as I spat out the name, unsuccessfully, "Bradley."
Steph lowered her head just a bit, soaking in the realization that our worlds may not be fated to collide. Typical of me, I went on for another sentence too many. "And besides, we work together, it would be too complicated. I am kinda your boss, after all."
Stephanie frowned at me, and her next sentence gave me a lesson in self-evaluation that I would not soon forget. "You know what your problem is, 'Boss'?" She cupped her two fingers when she uttered the 'boss' word. I held out my palms and waggled my fingers at her in the universal 'tell me' gesture.
She put her manicured hands on her slender hips, leering at me somewhat disgustedly. "You're always looking for a problem. Always an excuse NOT to do something rather than a reason TO do something."
My head shot back at the rebuke from my subordinate, but I had to admit she was absolutely right. I was a bit of a tight-as when it came to adventure and risk taking, and besides, my relationship with Linda wasn't exactly going in the right direction for my tastes, lately. Linda was spending a lot more time in the city with her own boss, Ron Ward, a handsome older man who was VP of Merchandising, and had quite the reputation for bedding preferred members of his buying staff.
My eyes focused again on Stephanie. Her nostrils were flaring like a thoroughbred filly at the starting gate. A woman with a temper is a turn-on. "Guilty," I confessed, throwing myself on the mercy of her court. My eyes again found hers. My intent was unambiguous this time. "So provide me with a solution to our little dilemma." Stephanie immediately understood, and her resolution was precise and succinct.
"Meet me at Braddock's Tavern tomorrow night at seven. Be at the bar, and pretend you don't know me when I arrive."
Steph and I both lived in South Jersey and made the horrible commute up the 'Joisey' Turnpike and Interstate 287 daily to work at this store. Braddock's Tavern was a quaint restaurant in Medford, about five minutes from where we both lived.
Her brown eyes hypnotized me, I was her servant. She smiled once more. "I'll take it from there."
The rest of Friday was like working with a pogo stick in my suit pants. On Saturday, I took about a fifty-mile bike ride through the Pinelands of Camden and Burlington counties, anything to keep my mind diverted from the potential of a thirty-four-hour perpetual erection. After all, if you believe the Viagra ads, you should consult your doctor after four hours.
At seven-fifteen Saturday evening, I was nursing my second amaretto on the rocks when I heard the bartender let out a low, barely audible wolf whistle. I didn't even have to turn around, I knew who it was for. I could also spot her reflection in the large mirror that ran the length of the bar.
It was the first time I had seen Stephanie in a situation that was not a business setting, although I didn't realize that until the second I saw her. If possible, and it was indeed hard to believe, she looked even hotter than the day before. The thought entered my head whether Bradley really knew what he had on his hands here, and if Stephanie had fucked the wealthy young bastard silly last night. But that was in the past, and this was now. I was just along for the ride tonight, so to speak, and Stephanie was in the drivers' seat.
Her silky chestnut hair hung over her chest in a twirling mass of curls, cascading down over the spaghetti straps of her white and pink sundress on her lovely shoulders. It was apparent that no bra could have been hidden beneath behind this dress, since Stephanie's huge copper-hued areolas were clearly visible beneath the light cotton fabric, her erect nipples straining against the dress like sepia-colored thimbles.
Her smooth, sun-kissed, lean and perfectly toned calves were accentuated by a tasteful pair of tan high-heeled sandals, and as I absorbed her sensuality, I conjectured that was all she was wearing, being the simplistic sort that she was, hoping that I would soon find out.
I rose to meet her, my butt lifting off of the barstool, but just as I did so, she gently pushed me back onto the seat, as the envious males scattered around the bar and tavern looked on covetously to find out who was this beauty's lucky companion for the evening. Me.
She flicked her hair back with an exaggerated twist of her long neck, and smiled, pearly teeth glimmering in the fluorescent lighting of the tavern, and uttered her opening line, stealing it from one of our favorite movies that Steph and I had discussed in past small-talk with great amusement.
"I'm Winston Wolf," Steph said, as my face broke out in glee. "I solve problems." The reference was to Harvey Keitel's famous character 'The Cleaner' from Pulp Fiction.