The problem with doing your boss, your married boss, your lives in suburbia, two rugrats in the living room and another bun in the oven, perfect as all get out boss, is that the odds are stacked against any real relationship.
Let's face it, he has too much too lose and you are expendable. I know, because I found that out first hand when I had just turned 20.
It was six years ago, but it seemed like yesterday. As a fresh graduate of the Pauline K. Gibson Secretarial School, I made the rounds of the banks in Philadelphia looking for an entry level secretarial job. After several unfruitful interviews, I happened upon the Second National Bank Corporate Headquarters where I met a harried Human Resource Director.
There, in my prim and proper business suit which displayed just a touch of leg, I did my best to make his A List of candidates. As luck would have it, a Friday resignation led to a Monday opening, and I made my way to the Credit Processing Department where I met, and immediately hit it off with, K. Lawrence Little. Mr. Little was a good-looking, wise cracking man who ran the department of 25 processors.
Our guidance counselors continually told us that even with impeccable credentials it might take a while to secure a good position, and that it almost never happened immediately upon graduation. This was my lucky day, because after an hour of questions I had made enough of an impression, possibly helped by his immediate need, and the following week I began my working career.
Ours was a good match. Mr. Little, a 35-year-old who had an infectious smile and the wit to go with it, was a great boss. He guided me through several minefields, as every new kid on the block needs but seldom receives, and was patient with my numerous miscues. Along the way I grew under his tutelage, became a model of efficiency, and we began to work closely as a team. Maybe too close.
In some ways Mr. Little was like a father to me. He would provide advice on everything from finances to boyfriends. He was concerned, not angry, one Friday after my boyfriend and I spent a little too much time dancing and carousing at the Jersey Shore and didn't make it back home until nearly 2 a.m. I was late for work the following morning, but instead of reaming me out and giving me all the grief bosses are supposed to give their subordinates, he at least partially understood and gave me a pass on the pontificating.
A few weeks later though, after being stood up for the third time in less than a month and spending much of the day one short step from breaking into tears, Mr. Little asked me to stay after work. He listened to my story, told me it wasn't the end of the world, and that there were other fish in the sea. Then he told me a few jokes, clearing my mind before gently sending me on my way.
He earned my respect that day, and continued to do so when he helped me with understanding my finances, cautioning me about certain wolves in the building, and being a perfect sounding board for everything from career to personal goals. At the annual holiday party he introduced me to Mary, his pert little wife, while I introduced the Littles to Mac, also known as Malcolm, my then-current beau. The four of us laughed, danced and enjoyed the party.
Several weeks later Mr. Little mentioned that Mary had another child on the way, the product of an alcohol-induced session of hanky panky the night of the holiday party. I laughed and congratulated him, and we joked about how there must have been some viagra in the punch or something.
It was one of those innocent comments that came back into our conversation several weeks later. It's a long story and I won't bore you, but suffice it to say that Mac and I had been having difficulty in the sack in recent weeks. Now I had never been all that sexually active, Mac was only my third lover, and technique was not something that 20-year-olds pay much attention to.
I lost my virginity to Jack the summer he was heading off to college while I was a naive 18-year-old high school senior. Jack got into my pants in the back seat of his Buick while we were parked alongside Tinicum Lake. I had satisfied him with handjobs for several months before finally giving in to his insistent desires after he professed his lifelong love for me. It wasn't pretty, and I lived in mortal feat of pregnancy over the next month after he told me his condom had somehow come off during our initial intercourse.
When I finally got my period I swore off sex forever. Forever lasted about 18 months, as William and I were busy as bees in the bedroom, and his car, and his parents house, and wherever we could find a few minutes and a bit of privacy. William had a constant need for sex, and I swear he was fully ready to go a second round after just finishing his first. William taught me to suck his cock, to wear sexier outfits and to satisfy his guttural urges with a smile. I loved him, he loved me, and we were a perfect combination in and out of the bedroom. Or at least I thought.
When he left me for Jenny Constantino, the rich bitch from uptown, I nearly died. Mr. Little helped me through that down period of my young life, and reminded me "you have to get up and ride after falling from a horse!"
I listened, but didn't believe it. My heart was broken, but time does heal all wounds, and soon Mac came along to divert my attention from hating guys to, well, liking them once again. I was attracted to Mac more than any other man, and soon we ended up sleeping together whenever we could. The sex was exciting but there was always something missing. I couldn't put my finger on it, but Mac just didn't ring my bells. The rest of the relationship was good, but for some reason Mac wasn't very affectionate. He said he loved me, but he didn't really like to hold hands, caress me or all the thing that make a girl seem special.
One Friday night before shutting down the office Mr. Little and I were casually talking about the upcoming weekend when I asked him what he did to make his wife Mary seem special to him. He talked about flowers, candlelit dinners and reminding her of how good she looked, but said every man was different. I lamented that I just didn't feel truly loved my Mac, mentioning that I even felt I didn't turn him on.
"I've caught him looking at other girls, and I don't think he looks at me that way," I dejectedly said
"Ah, your crazy, Constance, you're nuts," said my boss, hesitating a bit.
"What is it Mr. Little, tell me!"
My boss shuffled a bit in his seat. "It's just I don't want to say anything inappropriate, I don't want to get in trouble with HR or something."
:"Geez, Mr. Little, you can say whatever you want. You don't have to worry about me, I'm a big girl. Tell me."
"Ok, ok, Constance. It's just that you are very pretty and I can't imagine any guy not getting turned on my you!"
He went on to tell me how good I looked at work, and that I looked absolutely great in the cocktail dress at the party. He said many men there had stolen glances at me that evening, bringing a crimson blush to my face.
That weekend I thought a lot about how sweet my boss was. I also thought about him in bed…fantasizing about him when Mac was thrusting in and out of me. It was the first time I had ever thought of someone else while screwing, and it was both naughty and nice. I had an orgasm that night, one of the first ever with my boyfriend.
