I enjoy working late.
I am a transcriptionist, and can get more done when the hub-bub of a packed law office has quieted.
One thing though, this old office building is about as tightly insulated as a bridge, and creaks as badly as my forty-mumble year old knees.
I find myself getting up from my desk at least once an hour to see if somehow an earthquake hasn't hit, as my geology professor called it, the Laurentian Plateau.
Wow, talk about good distant memory, now what was it I had for lunch exactly?
Most of the time, I guess when a wind gust seems to shake the building and I go to the hallway to look around, there is this young, well about 30ish, brunette who seems to have the same worries I do about being buried under ancient cement and gargoyles.
We smile, nod, and never really say much except, "Oh, you too?" and laugh nervously.
That was until last week.
We both decided at the same time to head for the break area in the basement for coffee.
There is always fresh coffee, and the automatic machines are at cost, so it is really economical to spend breaks there.
She entered the elevator after calling out for me to hold it.
Breathless, she smiled meekly and finally turned to face the front of the car just as though it were full instead of just the two of us.
She wore a decent work day dress, low heels, and her perfume was Charly, probably the only scent she had ever tried.
I knew she wasn't a young aspiring law clerk, they never even look at anyone but the assistants to the partners, junior or senior.
She turned rather shyly, and introduced herself as Beth and asked me how long I had been working for and rattled off the endless list of partners to one of the oldest law firms in Christendom.
I smiled broadly at that recitation and replied that I had been with them for over 20 years.
I also finally told her my name, Juanita. Ok my dad had this perverse attraction to the Andy Griffith show on television and Barney Fife's telephone girlfriend, ok?
Now stop snickering.
I definitely don't look like a Juanita. Pale skin, tons of freckles and mousey brown hair.
I do, however, sport a fairly decent pair of marimbas if I do say so myself, and yes, I have what can be described as a Latin "botin".
She got her coffee and something from a machine before I did and moved to a corner table. I looked around, shrugged and juggling my coffee, sweet roll, jelly, napkins, knife, and so forth, looked over and raised my eyebrows to ask if she wanted company.
Her smile brightened and said loud enough, "Yes."
As I piled the tabletop with my plunder I asked how long she had been with the firm, etc.
I also said, "Except for those few words when the building shakes I was afraid you were too quiet."
Her reply was, "I better not be too quiet my last job was receptionist at...", and she rattled off another string of crusty old white men's names, half of whom have been dead since the turn of the last century.
I liked her wit.
She told me she was working as a temporary hire for a statistical research relative to a major business case for the firm. Sort of a hired brain to sort through the results of the computer generated data.
My head was swimming after the first mention of ratios and instances of occurrence.
Beth noticed and just said, "Yeah. I'm a nerd."
She disarmed me with that so I changed the topic to what usually gets most women talking non-stop. Men.
I started by saying I am divorced, no children and not interested in dating.
That last was a lie, of course.
And I did not explain the exact cause of my divorce after ten years, she did not ask, and that was a surprise in itself.
She explained her own attitude about dating, but did not specifically mention any men in her past. She just did not have time, but that was said with a downcast of her brilliant blue eyes.
Time for break was up, and being the ever efficient employee I am just said so, gathered the trash from the table and headed for the elevator.
Beth followed and once again faced the front of the car without another word until she said, "Maybe see you later, Juanita. Or most likely the next rafter rattling wind gust."
Almost droll, but with only a slight up-curl of her lip.
Of course the rest of the evening was like a scene from Moby Dick with the city becalmed though no one had any interest in taking to boats and rowing.
The next two nights were repeats of the first without the wind.
Almost on cue we both took break and lunch at the same time and just the two of us enjoyed getting to know each other more.
Even with the age gap I liked her, but was surprised on Friday night when she placed her hand on my wrist over the table and asked, "Do you have any plans for dinner tomorrow night?"
It nearly felt as though Beth were asking me on a date. I quickly put that thought out of my mind. She did not display the slightest hint of any gay tendencies, but still, a tiny knot formed in the pit of my stomach as I answered that I was free.
Free? Heck, I was emancipated, unfettered, entirely empty dance card.
We gathered our trash again and rode the elevator back to our floor.
She finalized the "date" by opening her Blackberry to add my address and phone number.
"Fine. Give me your address and I will pick you up at 7:30. I have a friend with a small bistro who can always find a table for me even on Saturday night.
"Actually more than a friend. We attended the Math and Science Academy and both had scholarships to the same college for undergraduate studies. I stayed the nerd, and she broke free, went to culinary school and the rest is history in a small way."
Beth's face was animated when she talked about the first information about her past.
"Nothing fancy. Wear something like your usual business dress, but something to show those foxy legs,"
With that she darted into her office and closed the door which locked behind her.
The rest of the night passed quickly. I really didn't give the exchange much thought. It is not all that uncommon for girlfriends to have a nice dinner out, even on Saturday night, right?
And I did feel Beth was becoming someone I could like even if she was temporary and I most likely would not keep in touch once she moved on.
Only the next day did I reflect on what the potential might be.
Why hadn't I taken her numbers, why didn't I at least know how to contact her, to be able to beg off?
I could always greet her at the door in a bathrobe and chugging Nyquil. No, that happened to me once before, and I am so glad he did that to me.
No, I was going through with this. What harm? Dinner... couldn't hurt.
I took care with my clothes.
She said show my legs. I do have a forest green sheath which shows off my attributes fore and aft, so to speak.
I looked at my usual underwear and hunted down under the WalMart specials for satin rose colored matching panty and bra. I normally wear pantyhose, but found a new pair of nude thigh highs.
I do have a nice pair of ankle booties, but realize that I am not that fashionable, darn it.
Settled for black pumps, though a paprika sling back pair just called out for me to be daring.
I finished my makeup and found accessories just as the doorbell rang
Beth stood at the door wearing a cap sleeve silk dress.
She had draped what seemed to be a Spanish mantilla around her shoulders and wore large hoop earrings.
I looked at her and asked, "This is just dinner, isn't it? I mean..." and stammered to a halt.
Beth grinned warmly and remained quiet.
Her first words were, "Don't you look simply wonderful." and told me to grab my clutch and close the door behind me.
As we walked she was animated, much more so than on our breaks.
"You will love this bistro, intimate, great food, and a short walk to my apartment for after dinner drinks."
I hadn't felt this excited to be in the company of another woman in ages.
Appearing attentive, I rode the "Way-back Machine" to the last woman who had stirred me as Beth was now.
In college just everyone seemed to experiment with all sorts of things, drugs, light weed use for me, drinking, and sex.
The guys were all just blurred ghosts, even when I lost my virginity to that Teaching Assistant in the office of the chemistry lab. Forever after that I wondered if maybe I should have taken biology that semester, at least the staff might have known more about anatomy...and stamina.
The GLBT group was scary to say the least.
Burly what I came to know as "butch", mousy somewhat submissive girls, militants, you name it and they were very vocal and persistent.
As I was overly developed from eighth grade it was not uncommon for boys to stare at my chest, but when an especially gross and nasty "butch" leered and said, "Hey momma, I want to get lost in those tits." did I come to the realization that sex was involved in their agenda.
Naïve? Me?
Just then another student intervened and told the butch to back off or she would be picking up her teeth from the concrete.
The first, and only, time I had been fought over, and it was two women, in public to boot.
The other student, her name was Jennifer, spoke in a diluted British accent and just grabbed my arm and lead me away.
When we turned a corner I thanked her and tried to explain that grateful as I was, I am not gay.
Jennifer laughed and said, "I never thought you were. I would kick that girl's teeth out just to see her crawl on the ground. She, and her type give lesbians a bad face."
That accent, wow, sent chills places I didn't know I had!
To make a long story short, she seduced me. Big time seduced.
Inside an hour of protesting that I was not gay she had her face buried between my naked legs and ran her tongue for the first time up and down my soaked furrow.
Her lips glistened with my juices as she kissed me like I had never been kissed.
Her hands kneaded, and unlike boys, appreciated my breasts. Yes, didn't maul them. Though she may have felt she was. But she kissed the big mounds with fiery lips, licked the moist undersides and buried her face in the deep valley all the while her fingers twisting my nipples.
When she suckled my areola, she sighed, she moaned almost as much as I was doing.
She kept at my breasts for what may have been a full hour before kissing down my belly and once more lapping my flood of creamy honey.
I had been masturbating for more years than I could count, and had found that a combination of fingers in my pussy and rolling my clit gave me the greatest orgasms.
Jennifer knew this. It was as though she had read my mind and instead of rolling my clitoris between thumb and finger, rolled the tip of her tongue round and round, spilling her spit over the pink nubbin.
