Infornography

"Could you help me out with something?" she asked. I looked up at her and I noticed that the blues of her eyes didn't exactly match the dark tone of her hair and attire.

"Yeah, not a problem," I said with all the poise I could muster up, trying to avoid letting her know that my eyes were about ready to pop out of their sockets. "What's the problem?" I asked, realizing that I had just used the same word twice within five seconds.

Somehow she had been metaphysically able to penetrate and paralyze my mind, making me think about nothing but the aura of sexuality emitted from her body.

"Could you check to see if the headphones are plugged in? There's no sound coming from this computer and I was trying to listen to some music." Wow. I couldn't have found myself in a more geeky position than this. The most beautiful girl I had

ever

seen in my entire life had approached me, but to ask for help fixing her computer. I thought maybe my khakis and polo shirt would give away the fact that I'm not a complete nerd; hopefully even slightly hint at a sign of sexual appeal, but no. I was here, at work, and no matter how I was dressed or how I talked, I was still just a nerd with technological aptitudes.

"Yeah, it shouldn't be too hard to fix," I said. She sat in the chair in front of her computer as I leaned over to check it for problems. I realized how close I had gotten to her just then, so I looked up at her to make sure she didn't feel uncomfortable, and she just smiled at me. It wasn't a flirtatious smile or anything either, just a confident, honest, grateful kind of smile, something I couldn't respond to with a look of physical interest.

"Is there a volume button on the headphones?" I asked ardently.

"Yeah, I tried it but it didn't work either," she said as I stood up and put a bit more distance between our bodies.

"I'll be right back, I'm gonna go see if we have an extra set of headphones for you."

"Oh no, you don't have to worry about it. It's not a big deal," she said as she looked at me with that honest smile again. Her skin was so pale, perfectly contrasted with her hair and black corduroy outfit. Right in that moment I could've leaned over and given her just one soft, supple kiss and told her in some geekishly fantastic way that everything would be alright.

"No, it's not a problem. I'll be right back."

"Okay, thank you," she said. Thank you,

thank you

,

thank you

, God I had always known that that phrase carried an overt sexiness to it, but when it came from her I felt honored, like I had really done something that mattered. I left instantly to get the headphones.

When I returned I saw her there, still trying to figure out the source of the problem as if doing so would make my job easier. What a darling, not just sitting there like a damsel in distress but actually doing something to help me. I enjoyed her willingness to participate, but what I did not enjoy were my thoughts of what else she might be willing to participate in. I have never hated being so occipital more in my life. Why couldn't God have just taken away any hint of sexuality within me right then and there so I could do my job to the absolute best of my ability and then leave her be? This was insane; I felt like a little kid who had just discovered a world of hedonism beyond my wildest dreams. If I was ever innocent before, it was this that made me guilty.

"I found some headphones, we can see if they work," I said.

"Thank you," she replied. I was beginning to hate this phrase for its effects on me. I did, however, manage to stop acting like she was intimidating me and actually show her that I was interested in doing more than just my job. I leaned over again to get to the computer, but this time she didn't budge a single bit, almost as if she didn't mind me being so close. I did my best not to show her that I was paying attention to this fact, and I continued to reach beneath her legs to get to the computer. I unplugged the old pair of headphones and inserted the new pair delicately, almost as if I was inserting something else into a hole even more delicate. I should be slapped for my thoughts.