I'd love to see his face when he opens my email, I mused to myself. With a mischievous smile and a quickening pulse, I clicked 'Send' before I could change my mind and launched my message into cyberspace.
It had all been Jo's idea. Emboldened by a shared bottle (or two) of Pinot Grigio and Jo's own explicit tales of her escapades with Jermaine, I had confessed to her the parlous state of my own sex life. In truth there was barely a sex life to confess. These days Andrew seemed more interested in work and golf than in me. And I need sex. God, how I need sex. If I don't make love regularly, I become irritable and restless and my thoughts start to wander. Maybe not every day -- I'm not a nymphomaniac (I don't think) -- but enough to keep my thoughts from straying to all those colleagues at work who had made it abundantly clear what they would happily satisfy any needs that Andrew can't.
'Dump him, Emma,' said Jo firmly, as she refilled her glass for the umpteenth time. 'You're not a nun. You haven't taken a vow of chastity. If you can't get any action at home, you're going to have to get it elsewhere.'
'I couldn't do that to Andy,' I protested, pretending that the idea hadn't entered my head. In fact, I had thought about little else lately. Fantasy upon fantasy filled my mind, and most of them featured Alan, my new boss. He was divorced, only a little older than me and utterly adorable. He was just how I like my men. His hair was dark, almost black, and just a shade too long. He had brown eyes and little laughter lines at the corners. He had a wonderful grin too that always made me want to kiss him. His body too was, I feverishly imagined, taut and tanned. He was simply gorgeous. That wasn't just my opinion. Several of the single girls had confided as much; and I had to merely grin and pretend that I wasn't bothered.
What made matters worse was that I was convinced that he found me attractive too. At the office Christmas Party he had dance with me four times. I could see the others, grouped in little huddles, counting and commenting. Andrew, thank God, was propping up the bar with Jack and Blake, discussing putting techniques or some such. Meanwhile, Alan was holding me just a little too closely, his breath hot on my neck, his hand a little too close to my butt for decency's sake. But did I complain? Oh no, all I wanted to do was grip his muscled torso and enjoy his crotch rubbing against my midriff.
'Emma, are you listening? You look miles away!'
'What? Oh, sorry,' I spluttered and reached for my glass, conscious that my face was flushing at the thought of Alan's embrace.
'Look,' said Jo, 'if you won't dump him, then you'll have to revive his interest. It'll soon be Valentine's Day. Take the afternoon off. Call in sick or something. Make yourself beautiful for him. You know what they like. Stockings, suspenders, the full works. Then call him at work and in your sexiest voice you lure him home.'
'Then what?'
'Jesus, Emma! Do I have to paint a picture for you? You give him the slickest BJ he's ever had and fuck his brains out. If that doesn't get his juices flowing, I think we can safely say that he's clinically dead.'
So that's what I did. More or less.
I told Alan that I would be working from home on Valentine's Day. He's very cool about that sort of thing and didn't raise an eyebrow.
Needless to say, Andy left for work without even an acknowledgement that it was Valentine's Day. Still, I thought to myself, when he gets my message, he'll be rushing home with flowers, a card and the biggest erection this side of the Chrysler Building.
I turned to the message I had composed to Andrew.
'My dear, sweet darling,
How can you know how I feel about you if I don't tell you? Let me tell you now -- I adore you and long for you every moment of every day.
Today I have thought of nothing but you. Lying in bed alone, I hugged the pillow, imagining your body beside me, praying that I was holding you in my embrace. And now, seated on the settee, I yearn to feel your body in my arms, and your cock, hard and heavy, in my mouth and then filling my warm, wet pussy.
Come to me now. The champagne is chilled, the fire is lit and I am waiting for you.
I am dressed in black, just as you like me - black nylon stockings, black silk suspenders, black satin corset and black lacy knickers, that are already drenched with my longing for you.
Don't make me wait. Come to me now and we will cum and cum and cum together ......'
I even took a digital photo of myself on the settee, dressed in all my finery. I had thought, as I balanced the camera on the mantelpiece, that I would feel stupid but, in fact, even as I was slipping into the corset, sliding the stocking up my smooth, tanned legs and clasping them, I felt immensely turned on. I arranged myself on the settee, resting on one knee and draping the other leg over the arm rest, my thighs bare and parted. I leant back provocatively, pushing out my firm, corseted breasts. One hand had slipped inside my knickers, tracing my pink, pulsing nether lips. My head was thrown back in obvious rapture, my teeth biting on my lip.
Finding an old email from Andy, I clicked reply and prepared to upload the photo and message.
Just as I was about to send my email, I received an email from Alan about one of our clients, a Mr Gloster. It did make me feel guilty that I was acting so frivolously when Alan had always treated me so well. In order to ease my conscience (and with a heavy heart, because I would have loved it to be Alan that I was entertaining), I sent him a quick reply: 'I'm working hard on the Gloster account. Will probably take me all day.' Then I clicked back to Andrew's email, uploaded the photo and message and gigglingly launched it on its way.
I figured that it would be at least an hour before Andrew returned, so I poured myself a bath, drew the curtains and lit a half dozen scented candles. In the bath, using the remote, I played Je t'aime, the old Jane Birkin / Serge Gainsbourg song over and over again. The memory of the photo and my love message, the sumptuous luxury of the perfumed bath and musky candles, the sexy, sexy music and the prospect of the wonderful fucking that Andy and I would enjoy made it almost impossible for me to keep my hands away from my pussy. But somehow I resisted.
Having dried myself off, I dressed again in my lingerie, unlocked the front door for Andy and waited for his return on the settee. Each moment seemed to last an hour as I contemplated all the delicious treats I would confer on his body and all the glorious pleasure that he would bestow on mine.
I looked up at the clock. An hour that seemed more like a day had passed and still he wasn't there. Then I noticed the phone light flashing. I must have had a message whilst I was pampering myself in the bathroom. I listened intently: 'Hi, honey. Got your message. I've got to work late. That bastard of a boss is really kicking butt this quarter. Don't know when I'll be home.' There was a pause, then: 'Oh, happy Valentines! Don't start without me.' He laughed and then the phone went dead.
How could he? How could he? The unfeeling, insensitive swine! My head was in my hands. My stomach that only a few moments ago was flip-flopping with erotic anticipation now felt queasily sick. How ridiculous I must have looked too, sat on the settee in the middle of the afternoon and dressed like a high class call girl.
I dragged myself to my feet and slouched over to the hallway, determined with grim reluctance to get sensibly dressed and start to work on the Gloster account. As I opened the sitting room door, I felt a blast of cold air buffet me. Alan was standing before me, closing the front door behind him.
