The secretary at my last job was a most strikingly beautiful woman: tall, with pale skin and dark hair, and deliciously painted red lips. She was quiet and graceful, and for the two years we worked together I could only imagine that a sensuous, erotic woman lay beneath that mysterious face.
Although we had hardly talked at all, the day after my resignation I received an email wishing me all the best for the future, signed off with a casual invitation to call her for coffee if ever I was in the neighbourhood. I thought very little of it until later that evening when I went to bed and became immediately aroused by the thought of her lithe body and pert breasts, just visible under the blouse she had been wearing earlier in the day.
The following week I dropped into the office to pick up some letters, and decided to drop into her room. She was seated at her computer when I walked in, dressed in a white one-piece dress buttoned to barely cover her ample cleavage. I couldn't help but imagine myself unbuttoning further, slowly revealing the areoles and erect nipples I had fantasised about one week ago. I made some small talk, thanking her for the farewell email and offering to buy her that coffee next time I came by. She told me she had almost finished for the day, and that if I was free I was welcome to come to her place for a glass of wine. I couldn't have accepted faster, and by five-thirty we were sitting on her couch watching the sun set and finishing our second glass of white.