I didn't mean to get a boy toy. Honestly. I didn't want to be one of those cougars who entraps young men with the mystique of "experience" and then uses them. I just acted on my needs. And his abs -- I was definitely influenced by his abs.
It's a long story. Let me start with spilled coffee.
Blake showed up his first day of work wearing a brand new suit that appeared to be off the rack at Dillard's. He was handsome in a naive sort-of way, like a clueless boy who needs mothering, but trapped in the body of a grown man -- a large, strong, broad, meaty man.
Actually, it wasn't exactly his first day of work. It was the first day of his internship. As in college internship. That's the part that's hard to admit. Blake is 23. I am ... well ... older than that.
Anyway, in our very first meeting on his very first day, I spilled coffee on my white blouse. Dropped on my desk, actually and I splashed all over papers, laptop, my chest, my face and my glasses. I take my coffee with lots of cream and sugar so it was cream colored fluid splattered across my face and boobs. And just then Blake walked in. He froze. He looked scared and mesmerized, staring at the mess, especially the mess on my blouse.
I shouldn't have done it but, to tease him, I stuck out my tongue and licked some of it off my plump lips.
Blake literally fainted, at least temporarily. He caught himself on the doorframe about halfway down and got back to his feet, shaky, and said, "I uhhhhh...."
"Morning Blake. I've just spilled coffee." This was met by a deep breath of recognition. "Can you run and get some paper towels?"
He did -- literally ran, the cute thing -- and was back at my side in a jiffy, dabbing up coffee from the papers on my desk and then handing me more paper towels to dab my blouse, though he looked interested in cleaning that up too.
"I'll get this part," I said pointing to my chest. "You can help with the desk." He nodded vigorously. "And my glasses. These paper towels aren't getting my glasses--"
"Oh, I can help with that, ma'am."
"You don't have to call me ma--"
I stopped because he was untucking his shirt, eagerly.
He took the glasses out of my hand and pulled the tail of his undershirt out from under his blue dress shirt. "T-shirt material is the best for cleaning glasses, ma'am. I learned that in high school, before I got lasik."
While he was avidly rubbing the glasses, I saw -- what with his shirt pulled up and all -- an abdomen that looked like granite chiseled into lovely, undulating muscle shapes. Michelangelo's David in a cheap suit.
I took the glasses from him. "Thanks."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And you don't have to call me ma'am. Call me Rachel. I'm not that old"
"Yes, m-- Rachel-- I didn't mean to say-- You look very young. Er-- good. Fine. Er--"
"Thank you, Blake. Was there a reason you were coming in to see me?"
"Oh! Yes. Rachel. Just wanted to bring you this."
It was a thank you card for hiring him. And it included a gift card to a perfume shop I had mentioned in passing during his interview.
"Oh! Oh wow. Thank you Blake. That was very ... thoughtful." Honestly, I didn't know if it was thoughtful or inappropriate or savvy or naive or clingy or sexy as hell. But I was going to use the gift card. And I wasn't going to forget those abs.
A week later, we happened to be the last two in a meeting and Blake said, matter-of-factly. "That's a new fragrance. Did you use the gift card?"
"Y-yes. I did. Thank you."
"You smell great. I'm glad I got to sit by you in the meeting." And he left the room.
Again, I wasn't sure if he was young and dumb enough not to know he shouldn't tell his boss she smells good, or if he was young and brash enough to do it to curry my favor. Hard to read, that one.
Just then, he popped his head back into the conference room. "Oh hey, Rachel. A bunch of us are going to Paddy's pub after work. Want to join?"
"A bunch of..."
"Mostly interns," he said. "But also Shiela and Dave and Chris."
I didn't often go out with interns, but I figured it would be good for morale this once. It was a good decision. Turns out, several of the interns know my old professor from college. We had fun talking about college pranks and all-nighters.
About three drinks in, I noticed a waitress noticing Blake. She was a skinny little thing about his age and dumb as a box of rocks. Her come-ons were so obvious, I almost groaned. But she was showing plenty of midriff and bringing Blake plenty of booze, not all of which he ordered. At one point, she sat in his lap, making some excuse about needing to reach the other side of the table. She wiggled and giggled and when she got up, the bulge in Blake's slacks was so big I dropped my beer, splattering it on another white blouse.
"Shit!"
"Oh, Rachel!" It was Blake bringing napkins. Again. He dabbed my arm and said, "You've got some on your shoulder. Here..."
Standing next to me, his bulge was eye level and I studied it closely but discreetly. Could he really be that big?
Mostly cleaned up, I looked up at him and realized he had been looking down my blouse. I smiled at him and handed him my glasses -- our routine now. Again he lifted his shirt and cleaned them for me. Again, he exposed a lower torso that looked like Michael Phelps. Coupled with the still-bulging schlong laying across his abdomen, I could easily imagine the rest.
I left after that. The underlings were probably laughing at me. Based on the high-fives Blake got from a few of the other interns the next day, I guessed he went home with the waitress.
Weeks went by and Blake performed well as his job. He would always peek into my office door on his way out at the end of the day and tell me goodnight. A few times, he also threw out some suggestions for new strategies or processes. One of two of those turned out to be great ideas that put us in better market position. He was smart. And helpful. And young.
I'm 47 which, I realize, is more than twice as old as Blake, but I feel young. And I take care of myself. I eat right. I go to the gym. I'm still shaped like a curvy woman is supposed to be shaped. And I still turn heads, especially when I wear something low cut. My biggest assets have always been up top.
At the same time, I wondered whether someone as young as Blake could even notice my feminine features. Was everyone over 40 -- or even 30 -- just invisible to him? Or gross? Blake made me wonder if I was still as captivating as I felt 20 years ago.
Those thoughts came mostly late at night, alone in my apartment. Most of the time I was too busy for contemplation. I had a company to run and the work was nonstop.
One night toward the end of Blake's internship, I had a particularly contentious board meeting. The board president and I didn't see eye to eye. Luckily most of the board was with me. But it was a long and stressful slog and I was worried about holding the business together.
I drug back into my office at 10:30 and collapsed on the couch. Kicked off my shoes and laid out with my head on the arm rest. "I might just sleep here," I thought.
Just then I heard a knock.
"No basura. No limpia," I said, without opening my eyes.
