Another affair with another guy in my company. Longer and more intense.
This is the second chapter of Ms. Screwloose's affairs in New York while living apart from her then-fiance-later-husband.
This story is largely about a committed couple who lived for several years in separate cities, required by their jobs. Both partners gave the other room to have sexual experiences, short-term affairs so that they did not have to be completely celibate for their years apart. Their affairs were not "cheating" or "unfaithful" in any sense. They encouraged each other to enjoy themselves sexually, just so long as they did not become entangled emotionally. They talked a lot about their adventures, used them as fuel for their mutual lust when they were together. Sport fucking, yes; romance, no. This story is about the woman's adventures in her workplace.
If you are upset by the idea of spouses having sexual experiments outside their primary relationship, please stop reading right now. Don't just leave nasty comments because you don't like this type of story. Skip it entirely. You have been asked politely.
There is a lot of truth here, plus fictional details added for spice. The overall arc of the story is completely true. Some incidents, some actions, some dialog have been elaborated, increased in intensity and detail. Ms. Screwloose isn't a slut just because she went to bed with a number of men. She was just somewhat hypersexual. She was still single, and her fiance encouraged her to play. If anything, he was her coach cheering from the sidelines. She was basically serially monogamous in her affairs. Sex-driven, not sex-crazed. A helluva woman.
For some years between grad school and marriage, my guy - hubby now, fiance then - and I carried on a long distance relationship, me in New York, him in DC. We got together on weekends as often as we could afford, bless Amtrak. Train was cheaper than the shuttle (plane) but still too expensive to do all the time. Otherwise we just had long phone calls and the occasional letter. We were young and in love and highly sexual, so there was hot stuff in the phone calls and the letters.
I was assistant to the president of a medium size marketing firm. I had an MBA and several years' experience, so I was not just a glorified secretary. I was his top staff guy - well, girl of course, but that's what he told people: "See my staff guy." At that time, I had been working there about a year.
This was a very proper, buttoned down office: suits on the men, dresses or suits on the women. Skirts were well above the knee as was the fashion then. But no pantsuits. Verboten.
It wasn't like the orgy-prone ad agencies of that era. It's not that there was no hanky panky in the office; it wasn't *that* buttoned down. I saw hints of it in some of the working relationships, everyone saw a little of it, but it wasn't blatant. So, a normal office, somewhere in the middle between a convent and an orgy.
A couple months after my affair with boss ended, I started seeing a new man, the new VP of the Western Region, Marc. He was really smart, sharp, really handsome, a great dresser, 40ish. He was on the short side, only a little taller than I am. Thin, wavy red hair. He had grown up a rough city kid, but all the rough edges were sanded off by education and years in business. He was married of course, out there in the burbs somewhere. All the men I met in New York were married.
I got involved in a couple special projects for him - you know, service above and beyond, not my job but I volunteered - where I prepared fancy graphics for his presentations. He was very grateful, said he owed me dinner or at least a couple drinks for my effort. Sure, some day after work.
We went to quiet cocktail lounge in another neighborhood, just chairs and a small table. We had to lean in to talk quietly. He told me how much he appreciated my work and how clever I was to do such a thorough job on his projects. And he told me that he liked me, wished I were *his* staff guy. Well, I liked him, too, but I already had more than enough to do for my boss, the pres.
Into the third drink, pretty tipsy, we flirted a little. In the city, no one had to drive home, so tipsy was okay. He put his hand on top of mine on the table, told me again he really enjoyed my company. I was a little shocked but didn't pull my hand away. He stroked the back of my hand with his fingertips gently. It was very nice, but that day we went no further. At least I didn't think we were going to.
We finished our drinks and left. As he was walking me toward the avenue, he took my arm and guided me with him into a doorway, where he kissed me. He took my face in his hands and really kissed me. Gently first then harder. Our mouths opened, our tongues touched and caressed. This was really a serious kiss. Not a friendly peck that one might have expected from an office mate. I was a little breathless, surprised. He apologized. Sorry if that was unwelcome. No it was okay. I liked it. I pulled his face to mine and kissed him back.
"You know I'm engaged."
"The whole office knows you're engaged. But I also know you had a fling with Van. So you're not exactly immune to extra-pre-marital affairs."
We just looked at each other, then took hands and walked on. He hailed a cab, took me to my apartment building. We sat quietly in the cab, holding hands, not really knowing what to say about what had just happened. When the cab pulled up to let me out, he said, "I'd like to see you again."
"Yes, I'd like that too.
"Can we have dinner tomorrow?"
"Yes, I think so. Let's talk about it at work."
"We should be careful at work," he noted, "like leave separately and meet at the restaurant." He was right. Caution was good, even if nothing happened.
It turned out he had a small pied a terre in the city, just a one-bedroom apartment, because his home was so far out in the wilds of New Jersey that daily commuting was not feasible. He typically came in Monday morning, stayed in the city during the week, and went home Thursday or Friday night.
I sort of knew that he didn't catch a train home most nights because he was never rushed when we worked late. So that's the deal. How very convenient for a philanderer. And I sensed very strongly that he wanted me to be his philander-ee.
We met for dinner at little out of the way French place, tres intime. We talked about the office, news, and eventually about us. He looked into my eyes, took my hand, both hands, and told me he really wanted to continue to see me. I didn't even hesitate much. "I think that's okay. I think so, too."
As he helped me put my coat on, he put his arms around me and held me tight. I felt very warm and wanted.
In the cab we kissed. We kissed a lot, and long and hard. We made out like teenagers. The cabbie looked back in the mirror at every light. This was probably not an unusual sight for him, a May-December couple. Well, let's call it May-October, because he wasn't that old. His arm went down from my shoulder to my breast, inside my coat then inside my suit jacket, just my blouse and bra in the way between his skin and mine. I gasped sharply. I was not expecting that, but I should have been. I did not pull away. We arrived. He walked me to the door, kissed me, and got back in the cab.
