Anne was the first person to give me a job and take me seriously as an ad writer when I was just a fresh faced college kid. The local office was filled with dusty old women, and let me tell you, Anne was among the dustiest. At about 5 foot 3, with glasses (spectacles seemed more appropriate), Anne was like most aging career PR people - cynical, quiet, pensive.
She sat in her own office, separated by the others by two doors, clippings on every wall, pecking on her computer day after day with her flaccid white hands, the glare of the PC reflected in her glasses.
Each day she wore casual blue jeans and sweaters which did their best to conceal her curvy breasts - although only God [and her deceased husband] knew how far they drooped down after that bungey-cord of a brazier was let loose.
She had flaxen brown hair and oozed seriousness, but there was something beguiling and interesting about her.
Me? I was the opposite. 20 years old, tall, in good shape. To the old bats in that office I was a golden boy.
I could feel them radiate every time I walked into the door. There was Susan, the curly blonde secretary with three kids who was always happy to tell me I had a message waiting for me, and Barbara, the middle aged Italian-American boss who was always a few offices [and a lot of money] away from everybody else. I felt like a rooster in a henhouse some days. I could imagine fucking each and every one of them up against the table in our lobby, my balls slapping against their hot cunts.
But Anne. Somehow managed to distinguish herself from among the rest. I felt so powerful to stand there next to Anne and have her give me my assignments for the next week or fish a paycheck out for me. It just made we want to unzip my pants and drop my warm cock into the palm of her soft hands.
It got even better when I invited her into my personal space to talk over a story or edit something.
She was a bit far away or aloof, especially since her husband died. But I could feel her get a bit softer as she got near.
There were many younger women in the office I fantasized about, but the boss, Anne, she was always the most interesting fantasy because she had 30 years on me. I wondered about how long it had been since she had had sex? And before that, how long it had been since she touched a man my age?
I wondered about what her pussy looked like and what it would be like to kiss her. From a distance it seemed so gross to kiss her. Her breasts were huge, but they were the breasts of a middle aged woman with two children.
But still the idea felt so sexy. I fell in love with the idea of me as a prostitute "giving myself" to her as a treat. I loved going in her office and getting a little too close. She knew what I was doing. She was pretty smart. But she never seemed repulsed - just a little amused.
Finally one night - like in so many erotic stories - our office electricity came to pass.
I was working late and she came over and touched me softly on the shoulder to go over a story. Whenever she got close to me the air suddenly became more gentle. Her voice itself was little more than a whisper. You had to be real close to hear it.
"What does this sentence here mean?" she asked with her typically analytical tone of voice.
"Which one?" I asked. Every sinewy muscle in my lower body began to slowly stir on slow vibration. My body was begging for her to just come a little bit closer.
"Can you show me one more time?" I said.
Anne floated closer, her cottony Irish wool sweater rubbing up against my elbow, and her cheek drawing nearer to mine. Though I usually hated being told what to do, I really liked getting instructed by Anne.
"It's this one right here," she pointed out. "There must be a way to make it seem bigger, better." She said. "Harder, longer" my mind continued. She was very close to me, over my shoulder. She must sense my nervousness, I thought to myself. Anne is smart.
I looked back into her steel gray eyes we both felt that impulse two people feel before they know they are going to have sex. It was very exciting, yet calming at the same time. There was something very numb about it all, with the office lights humming in the background.
Yet, instead of back away I kept my face planted. We felt drawn towards each other like being drawn into a dark narcotic. I began to drink her smell and the air deep. Then I closed my eyes.
The kiss was at first playful. Very soft and extra gentle. She licked her old lips to make them moist and wet, and I followed every trace of her head. Every weight of her gestures. She was a pro teaching an amateur, and I wanted to be schooled. Patiently she open my mouth with her probing tongue and relaxed into my body. I put my hand on her side and drew her closer. I could feel our chemistries mixing, but then she pulled her head away sharply, and the air grew much colder.
"You know," she paused. "I don't think we should be doing this." She said unemotionally. I didn't know what the penalty for fucking my boss was, but I am sure that if Barbara found out it could be something. But the truth is I wanted her so bad and I wasn't going to let this end in this stony awkward silence...Slowly I slipped down onto my knees, and looked up at her. I was going to treat this woman like she needed to be treated. I was going to give her a touch of myself.
I had decided that I wanted to taste her.
