"Join me for tea!" said Garima, a 24-year-old new hire. It had been a week since she joined our team, and she appeared extroverted and a tad outspoken. Her zeal for work stood in striking contrast to mine. I wasn't someone who would waste time drinking tea, especially with someone I shared nothing with.
I was a week into my new job and already loving it. I had a hunch that this would lead to great things for my career, given the elite coworkers I was surrounded by. Manas was one of them; he seemed to know his way around. He was the team's go-to person for every problem. With his slender frame, salt-and-pepper hair, and serious demeanor, he looked to be in his early 40s. I figured it would just be a matter of time before my friendliness wore him down.
As we walked to the cafeteria, I couldn't help but notice how young the new hires looked. It's not that I was getting old--maybe I was--but these young people had an outlook on life that was far different from mine. Their mindset was something I never had, even in my early days at work. For instance, Garima wore a pencil skirt that ended just above her knee and a bright, borderline sheer top that looked tasteful. I don't think any woman who joined alongside me in the early 2000s would have worn such clothes to work.
Manas was very uptight and hardly smiled on our way to the cafeteria. We both picked up our cups, and the tea vendor gave Manas a nod before handing him his usual sugarless strong tea. It was like a well-oiled routine, and I looked forward to establishing such a comfortable routine in my own career one day. We had a normal table and chairs in the middle of the cafeteria and comfortable booths toward the sides. Without thinking, I sat in a secluded booth. Manas looked uncomfortable sitting across from me there; it seemed he had never used that seating. To be honest, seeing him uncomfortable gave me a naughty thrill.
"They're 32C, in case you were wondering," said Garima, breaking the ice.
Manas was shocked; he had never received such a bold remark in his life. Not that he was used to staring at a coworker's cleavage, but Garima's deep-neck sheer top had caught his eye as he sat across from her.
"I'm really sorry; I shouldn't have done that," Manas said. "I would understand if you wanted to report me to HR. In fact, I will voluntarily report this to the sexual harassment committee." He had been serious when he said the last line.
Garima smiled across from him. "Oh, come on! I was just trying to break the ice. No male has been honest enough to admit he noticed my boobs. Just relax; there's no need for HR here."
Manas didn't strike me as the type to let things go easily; he sat uneasily throughout the rest of our tea together. His eyes never strayed after that; he looked directly into my eyes while speaking. We didn't have much of a conversation later. I suspect he had never heard a girl speak about her breasts at work before.
A month or two passed since the tea incident, and Garima and Manas had settled into a slightly more comfortable working relationship. Garima had found and added Manas on Facebook and Instagram, and they followed each other's personal lives. She discovered that Manas had a fun side as well, just not so much at work.
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"Can you please come to conference room Hope?" read a text message from Garima. It was a cultural event day at work, and Manas was the first guest to arrive as usual. As he sat in the company auditorium, he was surprised to see this message on his phone.
When Manas walked to the Hope conference room, he saw Amala looking confused. She dumped a set of pins into his hand and ran to catch the lift, asking him to step into Hope. Before Manas could ask Amala what was going on, she was already in the lift, yelling for him to help Garima.
The floor was completely empty; it was a Saturday, and people had not yet arrived for the event. The lights were off in the work area, with only the walking bays lit. As he entered Hope, he saw Garima standing in front of a small makeshift clearing in front of the whiteboard which was created by pushing the desks aside. What shocked him was her attire--or rather, the lack of it.
Garima wore an extremely deep, bright red blouse that revealed a lot of cleavage. The blouse cupped her breasts so tightly that it almost acted like a push-up bra, and her cleavage seemed ready to burst out. She was just in a matching red petticoat, which was so low that one could actually see her pelvic bone.
Manas instinctively ran out of the room, apologizing profusely.
"Calm down, Manas!" shouted Garima. "I really need your help; please step in and let me explain."
Manas was torn. He didn't want to act like a jerk and walk away, but he also didn't want to step in and see Garima in that state of undress.
Manas had been married for almost 15 years and had always been faithful to his wife. It's not like he was a monk; he enjoyed innocent adult content online and looked at attractive people from time to time. This situation was a little too close to reality for comfort. He had really enjoyed what he had seen; Garima looked sexy in her semi-undressed state. Many Indian men would probably agree with his perspective that despite there being forms of clothing that reveal more skin, a woman in her blouse and petticoat, without the saree, was much more sexier than a topless model.
After deliberating for a few seconds, Manas stepped in.
"I really need your help putting on this saree. My palms are painted with artificial henna for the dance, and I assumed Amala knew how to drape a saree. Unfortunately, she has no idea, and I can't do it myself without ruining the henna. I saw some pictures on your Facebook where you dressed a mannequin in a saree for a competition, and I knew you'd be in the office early. Can you please help?"
Manas could have said no and dragged out the conversation and eventually help her, or quit the fuss and just help her. True to his nature, he chose the latter. He took the saree from her bag, mentally planning the proportions before starting to wrap it around her. However, he hadn't closely sized her before, so he had no choice but to ask her to spin slowly so he could see.
Garima was tense; she had to get ready and hadn't fully considered the implications of her actions. Although she wasn't shy, having Manas around while showing a little skin was something she hadn't imagined. This was turning her on a bit; her nipples were hardening and trying to poke through her padded blouse. Just the thought excited her even more, and she could feel herself getting a little wet.
As Garima slowly turned, Manas got a good glimpse of her behind in the tight petticoat. The petticoat was worn very low, revealing the beginnings of her butt cleavage. This instantly turned him on, and for a moment, he forgot that Garima would see the bulge in his jeans, which he had tucked in. The red petticoat highlighted the shape of her behind, and as she turned around, he could see her nipples pushing against her blouse. He made sure to keep his eyes down and not get caught staring.
Manas started wrapping the saree around her, leaving some length for the pleats. As he finished a perfectly folded pallu, he draped it over her shoulders and pinned it in place before moving on to the pleats. He carefully folded them to ensure they were perfectly aligned. Now that the pleats were ready, he had to tuck them into her waist. He held them toward Garima and asked her to tuck them in.
"Come on, Manas! If my hands were free, I wouldn't be standing in front of you like this. Just tuck it in; it's not like you haven't touched a girl before," Garima rolled her eyes.
"No way! I'm not going to do that. You realize I need to tuck it into your waist, and just look at how low you're wearing it," Manas said.
"It's fashionable now, Manas. Just tuck it in. There's nothing on my body you haven't seen on your wife before," Garima chuckled.
Manas felt embarrassed. This wasn't the kind of conversation he was used to having with coworkers. Garima was indeed bold; even though there was nothing wrong with what she said, it wasn't something he expected to hear. Reluctantly, he moved forward and tucked it in. His hand sprung back as if he had received a shock; he had clearly felt her pubic hair. Was she not wearing panties? How could he end up touching her hair if she was? Manas wondered.
"It's just hair, you know," Garima tried to ease the situation. Her cheeks were turning red, too. Even though she was bold, this was a little beyond her imagination. She hadn't realized this would happen, but she attempted to keep it casual to ease the discomfort. He was so visually embarrassed that he excused himself and left the room.
Garima quickly forgot about it and moved on with the event, trying to spot Manas from the stage. She couldn't find him anywhere in the auditorium.