After The Typing Pool Has Left

Mr Thomas stretched his arms and contemplated the journey home, he felt exhausted and slightly stressed, and would feel even more so after the rigours of rush hour travel on the London Underground. It had been his first day in the new job and he felt that, at his age, he had been very fortunate to secure the position. Most employers, nowadays, tended to regard anyone over the age of forty as being a little bit past their best; and over fifty as being a close relation of Methuselah. His previous experience as a construction engineer had not prepared him for a life in an office environment and many times, he found that he had to hold his tongue rather than use the robust language of the construction site. At least now he was warm, dry and no longer up to his ankles in mud.

Five thirty was fast approaching and the Human Resources Department could do without him till tomorrow morning. The two typists, with whom he shared an office, had already beaten the starters gun on the way to their respective evening entertainment’s, the disco’s or the boys they had spent virtually the entire day discussing. He logged out of his computer but before he could start to make his own exit the door to the director’s office door opened and, when she started to make her way over to him, he started to rise out of politeness.

“Do sit down Mr Thomas, I won’t keep you long, I just wanted to find out how you were getting on, during your first day with us.”

“Well, I found it a little tiring and quite a change after my previous work, I’ve still not got used to the idea of being in an office all day. As you already know, I’m more used to working outside.”

He had seen Ms Ellis, when he was interviewed for the position, of course and at the start of the day when she had given him a large pile of job applications for him to sort through. Apart from that this was really the first time he had a chance to talk to her. He had noticed her of course, if noticed is the right word. She was a black woman, in her 30s or early 40s he’d guessed, and rather voluptuous; he never did appreciate those stick insect figures, currently so fashionable.

“How did you get on with sorting all those job applications I gave you?” She asked.

“All done and dusted Ms Ellis,” He replied, “I’ve got them sorted into three piles, the definite noes, the possibles and the ones worth short listing. There are one or two real possibilities among those and this is my draft report.”

“Good I’ll go through them with you tomorrow, and, since it’s now past 5.30 we can drop the Ms Ellis and Mr Thomas, my name is Rebecca but everyone calls me Becky, do you mind if I call you David?” Did he imagine a degree of familiarity in the smile she gave him?

“Yes that’s quite alright, errr Becky, can I get you a chair.”

“No, I’m on my way home in a couple of minutes,” She replied as she perched herself on the edge of his desk. This lady, he thought, was very friendly and definitely approachable. He decided there and then that he would like to get to know her better.

.

He thought of the smile she gave him, he had never before considered a relationship with a black woman and his mind wandered over the myths and stereotypes he had encountered in his previous occupation. There were few women in the construction industry, and even fewer black women but the gossip in the pub after a hard days work had imbued them with a certain sexuality. He considered long and hard. Should he try for a date now? Or would he be risking his job in the process? Well she seemed friendly enough and it had been a long time since he his earlier relationship, he made up his mind “Errrrrr Becky,” He began, very tentatively, but before he could continue the main door burst open,

“Ah Rebecca still in the office, good there are some things we need to talk about before I fly to New York tomorrow.” The newcomer almost exuded M.B.A. and Harvard Business School from his Brookes Brothers suit to his mid-Atlantic accent “Oh Craig, this is my new assistant, David Thomas, David this is Craig Smith, our Chief Executive and yours’ and my boss.” Hardly had she made the introduction when Craig took her elbow and abruptly steered her towards the door.

“OK Thomas we’ll speak again next week,” He said on departing, and then to Becky, “The Beamer’s double parked and there’s a fucking parking warden lurking around.”

As they both left the office David overheard the start of an argument as Craig said heatedly “I don’t like the way that new guy was looking at you, I’ll see to him when I get back,” He could not hear the response but it sounded equally heated. “Uh oh,” David thought “Time to start looking for another job, and another woman perhaps,” Then his resolve hardened somewhat, “Fuck the job, but as for the woman….”

As he arrived at the office the following morning he found office the car park was deserted. His habit of rising early acquired after many years on construction sites had always stood him in good stead for punctuality. He took the report he was working on to leave on Ms Ellis’s desk, as he suspected, her office was unoccupied but on the desk was a bouquet of red roses. He could not resist opening the unsealed envelope that came with them. The hastily scrawled note, signed by Craig read,

“Sorry about our argument last night, this is some slight recompense, can we continue on a more friendly basis when I get back.”

“Hmmmmm,” He thought, “I never thought that guy would apologise for anything, he must want her bad.”

An idea came to him, he looked out of the window and saw that the car park was still deserted so he quickly picked up the bouquet and the note and made his way to the boss’s suite, nothing as basic as an office for that guy. His P.A. was already at her desk, “Ms Ellis asked me to return these,” He told her as he marched into the inner sanctum and deposited the flowers unceremoniously on the desk, the note, already torn into four pieces, joined the flowers.

“She wants them left like that till he returns from New York,” He told the startled PA who was, by now, watching from the doorway. She was secretly delighted, as she had fancied Craig herself and that meant one less rival for his favours.

“Well” He thought to himself, “I’ve really scuppered my chances with this job now, let’s see if I can do any better with the woman.”

On his return to the office he found that Becky had been and gone, leaving him another pile of applications to sort through. He worked steadily through the day, grading the applicants, entering details on the computer; but his mind was nowhere near fully on the job he was doing. The inane chatter of the two women who shared the office with him was continually distracting him. He was being even more distracted by the thoughts of what might be. Never the less he continued to work right through till the evening with only a short break for lunch.

As 5.30 approached, the two typists were even quicker off the mark, but by the time David had tidied his desk and turned off his computer, Becky silently appeared from her office, she must have returned during his lunch break and remained closeted there ever since. Once again, she perched herself on the edge of his desk,

“No don’t bother about a chair, I’ll be off soon, I just wanted to tell you that I was very impressed with your report.” As she continued, David could hardly believe his eyes; this time he had a worm’s eye view right up Becky’s’ skirt. Warm brown thighs, brief, white panties that revealed as much as they concealed. He was enjoying the view and was now in no hurry to join the rush hour crowds on the Underground. Becky continued to talk to him about the how he would fit into the office, seemingly unaware of the direction of his gaze.

The conversation was virtually one sided, David’s contribution being an occasional mumbled, “Yes.” He wasn’t even sure he was saying yes in the right places. As Becky’s’ feet swung, well clear of the carpeted floor one of her Manolo Blahnick shoes slipped off. David, playing the part of a gentleman, bent down to retrieve it. Noticing the designer label inside the shoe, his hopes of a romantic liaison lowered somewhat. This was a classy woman, with style, and perhaps well beyond his reach. As she stretched out her leg for him to help her on with her shoe he found he was getting an even better and closer view of her secret delights. Mmmmmmm and what a view it was, her panties had ridden right up inside her vagina, he could see the deep brown of her outer lips quite clearly. He could see where they started to become the pink of her inner lips. He could see the moistness glistening on her vagina and soaking in to the thin white cotton of her panties. As he started to slip on her shoe he could feel her warmth and he could breath in her aroma, an aroma of tropical fruits, musk, frangipani, a heady tropical mixture far different from the smells of the city outside. A mixture redolent of warmth and moonlit nights, palm trees and ocean spray.

He was so lost in his reverie that he did not notice that Becky had stopped talking and was looking at him in a strange manner. She had realised at last that his attention was not on what she was saying. She followed the direction of his eyes and noticed the way he was licking his lips. She was not sure whether to feel insulted or flattered by his interest. Conflicting emotions raged within her, on one hand she hardly knew him, on the other he was quite presentable and definitely interested. She did not believe in office affairs as she had to make abundantly clear to Craig so very recently, but the idea of going back to her empty apartment, with only her Persian cat and the television for company, no longer thrilled her.

Perhaps right now was the time! She quickly came to a decision and reached out her hand and placing it behind his head, applied such a gentle pressure that it would need his wholehearted complicity to go in the direction she desired. He was compliant, what man wouldn’t be, faced with such delightful prospect, unless, of course, he were a saint. He dropped the shoe, which he still held and reached out both hands to grasp her bottom and pulled his chair forwards till his head was between her knees. He kissed her there and then behind her knees in that delicate crease, he kissed the inside of her thighs, each one and then all the way to the top. Both her legs were over his shoulders now; she had slid forward to the edge of the desk. He kissed the part of her vagina that was not covered by her panties and felt her shudder, that was a shudder of passion, he hoped. With some slight difficulty, he slipped her panties off, past his head and somewhere over his back. He didn’t care and heard the other shoe join the first. Her panties were no longer an obstruction and before him was her unadorned pussy.

David’s feelings were of pure poetry and he thought of D H Lawrence’s poem about figs.

‘The white figs of the North

And the black figs of the South.’

This was a black fig of the South spread out before him, ready to eat. He plunged his tongue into it as one is supposed to do with figs, he felt the juiciness, tasted the sweetness, explored every fold, every crevasse, going in deeper and deeper, then coming out to the shallows and circling her outer lips, and circling deeper and still circling. He found that small hard place, too big to be a seed in a fig, more like the stone in a cherry. As it started to grow he took it between his lips and squeezed it slightly. He felt it grow even harder. His tongue approached and silently requested a dance. First a stately waltz, gentle and soothing, then a lively quickstep, then the intense excitement and rhythms of Latin America, samba, tango and cha cha cha. Each increase in tempo bringing her closer to that summit of all the sweet sensations she had ever felt. She lay back across the desk, her arms flailing, her body writhing, and moaning, moaning, moaning. Her fist pressed in her mouth to stop herself from screaming out loud as with one almighty shudder she came, filling her lovers mouth with her juices, her flailing arms sending all his carefully stacked papers flying across the floor.

After their composure had reached some semblance of normality, she stood up and started to adjust her dress, looking around for her discarded panties and not finding them, she held out her hand, raised her eyebrows and looked enquiringly at David.

“Oh no, I’m keeping these as a souvenir,” He said, feeling the softness of the purloined garment in his pants pockets.

After the pleasure they had both enjoyed, he began to feel a little guilty about his actions of the early morning and decided to make a clean breast of it. After what had transpired between them he felt that he could now be a little more open about his feelings, and, more importantly, a little more honest about what he had done. As he recounted the entire saga, he saw a change in her expression. When he had finished she had a face like thunder, she held out her hand,

“Mr Thomas, my panties, right now, if you please.”

Shamefacedly he handed the garment back to her

“Right,” She continued, “You owe me now,” And she hoisted her skirt as though to slip on her panties but her stern look dissolved into girlish giggles as she once again thrust her pussy into his face.

With laughter in her voice she continued,

“Craig’s’ PA told me everything this lunchtime… now get lickin’ baby and maybe, just maybe I’ll return the compliment!”