I’d been working as a freelance consultant for a long while, and I had gotten into a really messy financial situation, thanks to the downturn in the software sector. Being around forty didn’t help me in finding a stable job, and I was almost desperate when I received an offer through an old friend. A medium-sized firm was recently bought out by a giant, and they were having trouble finding a software project manager to upgrade all systems they had at this company, and would I be interested in a long-term, full-time project?
Does wild bear shit in the forest? I practically ran over for an interview, and was hired as a contracted employee. For a few months, I managed to get the desired results, working most of my waking hours. Well, I’m not married, don’t have kids, and nobody waiting for me at home. Getting some order into my life was never my strong point, and I was never very interested in a domestic life. Being self-employed gave me enough opportunities with different women, time for workouts and the flexibility to work whenever I like. This was probably going to change, but I could afford to spend a few years in a full-time assignment, saving whatever I could for an early retirement.
After about a year, I was almost done with the project, and the parent company was quite happy with my performance. Some person from the head office called me and asked if I would be willing to relocate for about a year, undertaking a similar project in the Midwest. Being a west coast man, I wasn’t too happy with the idea of a relocation, albeit for a limited time, but the financial benefits were too good to refuse, a raise and full expenses paid.
I flew over to the town on a Sunday and managed to get settled in the hotel suite, my home for the next 12 months. The hotel was about a five-minute walk from the office, to my surprise. In the previous assignment, I had to commute 90 minutes every day, as I live outside the city and the office was on the other side of the town. Monday morning, I reported to the company manager at 8:00 am sharp, and that was when I met my new boss. I stood up and turned to face the person I was supposed to report to throughout the new project. What I saw was dark blonde hair, blue eyes, a crooked smile, and a pleasant voice saying, ‘Hi, I’m Kate, I guess we’ll be working together for a while.’
I smiled and said, ‘Hi, I’m George. Pleased to meet you.’ Kate was about the same age that I was, around forty, but kept her body in good shape, as much as I could tell from the dark gray two-piece business suit. She had black stockings, and black pumps with high enough heels to attract attention but low enough to be considered professional. She had minimal make-up, and a faint trace of a perfume. I was really pleased that I’d be working with her, as I was tired of skinny people in their twenties with their jeans and trainers in the development teams, or corporate-type hot shots with navy suits and striped ties. She didn’t seem to have the obnoxious trait that most people have when they happen to fill a slot in the head office of a Fortune 500 company.
We got down to work immediately, and as with most projects, worked our asses off through the first two weeks, no weekends and 16-hour days. Our conversations were mostly limited to business, but I managed to learn that we had quite a few things in common. She was also originally from the west coast, not married, 42, having joined the company after working for a few years as a contracted consultant. Once I jokingly asked why an attractive woman wouldn’t be snatched away by a guy, getting the answer, ‘For the same reason an attractive guy isn’t snatched by a fat-ass woman who was pretty in her twenties.’
Don’t get me wrong, I had no naughty ideas about Kate, she was way too nice for a quick lay, and more importantly, I have this thing about never having an affair with a woman from the office, let alone my boss. I don’t know how it happened, but I managed to break this rule with Kate. Maybe it was the forced celibacy due to the effort we were both putting in, maybe it was chemistry, or maybe it was the right time, the right place and the right person... I’m still not sure...
It was a Friday night after a long presentation to some manager who was responsible for an insignificant area, which was more than made up for by his attitude towards people who do actual work. He gave us a hard time about how his requirements weren’t being met by the system we were implementing, and we had to get together an action plan, addressing the issues he mentioned. He left around 6:00 pm, and we went back to the meeting room we were using for the project. I turned to Kate and said, ‘Why don’t we stay a while and prepare something for this guy? I know that most of his issues are addressed, but a bit indirectly. We can just get them together and send an e-mail this evening, with a copy to Andrew (our boss). He’ll be working tomorrow, and that dickhead will get his ass chewed off Monday morning.’
Kate chuckled and said, ‘Yeah, let’s do that. I’d love to see his face when he realizes that he was wrong with his conclusions after all. I’m sure Andrew will talk to him in a way similar to he did here.’
This resulted in another five hours of hard work, but we did produce a detailed report. As I was e-mailing the report, I noticed that Kate had tossed here shows off and was walking on the carpeted floor with stockinged feet towards my desk. That was bad enough, as I just love women’s feet in stockings. What came next was even worse, she leaned over to get a peek of the message, and I got a glance of a black lacy bra. She put a hand on my shoulder in a friendly way, and said, ‘C’mon George, it’s gone. Maybe we can still get a drink at the hotel. I think we earned that much for ourselves.’
I was still trying to get the images away from my head, and mumbled, ‘Yeah, yeah, let’s leave.’ It took us five minutes to get packed and another five minutes to walk over to the hotel. We agreed to meet in 10 minutes at the bar, and climbed the two flights of stairs to our rooms. Hers was on the same floor that mine was, on the other end of the long corridor. I entered my room, and undressed. I took a very short shower, basically getting my body wet and rushing out. I put slacks and a polo neck on, and rushed down to the bar.
Kate was already at the bar, wearing the same black shirt and gray skirt that she had on during the day. The skirt was above her knees, but as she crossed her legs, a fair amount of thigh was visible through the sheer material of heer black stockings. She was sipping a glass of white wine. She had put on some make-up, and had that subtle perfume. I hopped onto the stool next to hers, and ordered a large glass of beer. She looked at me and said, ‘I’ll never understand how men can change clothes in such a short time.’
We chatted for an hour, mainly on th progress of the project. By the time the bartender told us it was closing time, I had three large glasses of beer, and she was into her fourth glass of wine. I guess we both wanted to drink more, so I offered Kate to come up to my room, and continue there. She looked at me questioningly, but nodded as she stood up.
We walked up to my room, and stepped in. As I turned on the light, she had her shoes off. She said, ‘I hope you don’t mind, walking all day on these heels is such a pain. I love the look of high heels, but hate to have them on for long.’
