I enjoyed my time as a researcher for the Post Office, partly because of the work and party because it was a big office with a lot of women. That means statistically it is more likely there will be one or two that you will find attractive and, equally, some who will fancy you. If your tastes are as broad as mine, “one or two” is more like ten or twenty, and so it was in that place. Women of all shapes and sizes, aged from eighteen to sixty-something.
The one who made the biggest impression on me was one of the managers, Jennifer. She was medium height, medium build, with long straight brown hair parted on the side and good-size breasts. She was quite pretty in an unspectacular way and had a personality to match. She was serious, businesslike and not much fun. I grew fond of her because she was the person I worked with the most, so I spent time in her office, and we went on the same business trips occasionally. I didn’t kid myself that I was ever going to get physical with Jennifer because I didn’t think she was interested in that sort of thing. She was married and had two small children, but all that meant, as I found myself joking to friends around the office, was that she had had sex twice and got pregnant both times. But I fantasised about her.
One day during the centenary celebrations, which kept her very busy both day and night, I had to call round to her place, which was near where I lived, to collect something, and she had taken a long time coming to the door. When she eventually appeared, she had the look of someone who had been woken and had just got out of bed, and I got the distinct impression she was naked under the turquoise, uniform-like dress she had flung on. There is a theory – not my creation but I do believe it – that there is a certain look in the eyes of a woman with no underwear on. “A certain look”. I like that, and I saw it in Jennifer’s eyes that morning. It doesn’t mean you’re any closer to enjoying her naked body, but you can see she’s getting a little thrill out of it.
Then Jennifer got promoted and her replacement was a younger woman called Jo. She was about 25, straight from university and was in many ways Jennifer mark II. Average looking, quiet, serious but without even her mentor’s faint charisma. Jo had pale and rather grainy skin- not pockmarked, but she was never going to do adverts for skin cream. She was quite full around the hips and thighs, which I don’t mind at all. No personality at all, though, or at least none she was prepared to exhibit at work. When she answered the phone, she mumbled her name as if even that was an imposition on her privacy.
The next business trip was by train to a town whose recent archaeological discovery was being considered for a stamp, and there was no real reason why both women should have to go, but maybe Jennifer was concerned that Jo wasn’t up to it, I don’t know. Anyway, the three of us checked into a seaside hotel in the early evening and had a pleasant dinner together before a sensible early night. I didn’t try anything, didn’t even turn the charm on. The following day was all about museums and site visits. I made notes, took pictures and generally made myself useful, because free trips were a perk of the job and I wanted to keep them coming.
All day, Jennifer devoted her attention to the various experts and authorities, while trying to ease Jo in as her successor. I watched the two of them, looking and behaving differently because they were out of the office and away from home. Both wore nicely fitting jeans and chunky sweaters under practical outdoor jackets. I watched them walking, leaning, bending and stretching and I thanked God for Levi Strauss and the designers that followed him and made his functional legwear an enhancer of the female form. By contrast, I was wearing my habitual leather jacket – not biker style but cut like a jean jacket and suitable for most occasions. It probably made me seem a bit nonconformist to my female companions, but that was fine by me. And anyway, I had a business-style jacket for evenings.
That second evening we were joined by Grant, a man from the museum, to whom Jennifer devoted all her attention. We went to a Greek restaurant and the two of them spent literally fifteen minutes agonizing over a wine list that contained nothing they had ever heard of. After ten minutes, I gave up the courteous role of allowing my working superiors to choose and ordered a bottle of red Demestika, a kind of national house wine that is nothing special but always okay. I poured Jo a glass and one for myself while the senior two continued their deliberations. After the meal, we went back to the hotel bar, where Jo decided she was going to get the drinks in. I sat at a table with Jennifer and Grant, who were absorbed in a discussion about museum computer programs, while Jo sat at the bar, waiting to be served. She looked over at the table and, ignored by the others, gave me what I can only describe as a ferocious look. Perhaps it’s what it lacked as much as what it contained that struck me. There was no pretence, no pleasant veneer; it was a look of lust, pure and simple. Not theatrical, not flirty, her eyes just bored into mine with a simple, animal look.
When she brought the drinks over the look had gone and I got her talking about some youth group she helped to run. The fun they had had planting an orchard, the chasing of girls by boys, the laughter and the puffing and panting and the removing of sweaters because of all the excitement and exercise.
Grant left at about 10 o’clock and Jennifer tried in vain to enter the conversation but soon gave in to the need to phone her husband and check how the kids were. Jo and I ploughed on gamely through a variety of subjects until the barmaid came over and said that, as we were the only customers, she was, unfortunately, going to have to close up, although we were welcome to take some drinks up to our room. That’s room, singular. I was quite tickled, and Jo a little embarrassed, that she should think we were a couple. We ordered large Bacardi and cokes and headed up the stairs.
“Your place or mine?” I said, attempting to deflate the atmosphere.
“Mine,” Jo replied firmly and without looking at me.
Her room was immaculate, as no one had ever been in there. We sat in the two wooden-armed chairs and it went quiet. Then she gave me that ferocious look again and I knew it was my move. I stood up and asked her to stand too. Without a word I pulled her to me, put my arms around her and kissed her. She kissed me back and caressed me through my shirt.
“Well,” she said. “This is… cosy.” I pulled her back into my arms and kissed her hard. We fell onto the bed.
“Bathroom?’ I enquired. She pointed and I went in to strain the potatoes.
When I got back the room was dark, and I could just make out a mound on the bed. On closer inspection I saw it was her, naked, In a kneeling position, head on the mattress and rump up in the air. I didn’t know quite what she was expecting, but she seemed comfortable and confident, so maybe this was how sex started with someone from her past, one of her few and, I thought uncharitably, clueless lovers.
Not knowing what she wanted me to do, I decided to take two of the apparent options; I would spank her and lick her. What happened after that would depend on her. I kissed her lower back and moved down to her buttocks. Then I slapped her there, moderately hard, half-expecting her to freak out, but she didn’t. She gave a suppressed but appreciative grunt and then a mumbled “Yes”. So I gave her some more, increasing the force until I was whacking her quite hard. She continued the indistinct vocal response until I felt she’d had enough of what could be seen as physical abuse. Then, by way of apology which she might not have needed but I needed to give, I kissed her buttocks again and moved closer to her crack. The aroma that drifted up from it was intoxicating to me. This repressed, shy, undemonstrative young woman seemed perfectly happy to be in this position, naked, exposed and vulnerable. I felt honoured, flattered to be trusted in this way. I moved into her crack and licked it slowly and deliberately. She groaned with ecstasy.
“Vic,” she whispered, “You’re licking my bum. It’s so lovely. It’s the most beautiful feeling I’ve…” Then she stopped herself, perhaps wary of becoming romantic when the man doing this to her might merely have been satisfying his depraved urges. In fact, I was doing both: I was engrossed in this base, animalistic action and deriving incredible erotic pleasure from being where I was, with my face between her buttocks and my tongue giving pleasure and taking her secretions, her unspoken gratitude manifested by the relaxed complicity of her body. I was overwhelmed by the need to kiss her, so I clambered up and pulled her onto her back.
“Jo, you’re a beautiful girl,” I said after a blissful coming together and writhing of our lips and tongues.
“Are you going to shag me?” she implored, even as I slipped across and my legs took their rightful place between her thighs. I kissed her again as I slid inside her hot, wet cunt and with what little light there was, I could see her face assuming the determined look of a woman on a mission. That mission was to make her man cum by being the best version of herself in these circumstances. She gyrated and she squeezed my cock with her cunt muscles. She put her fingers in my mouth, then ran that hand down my back into my arse and then her own, then back up my side and into our conjoined mouths again.
She wanted me to bang her to orgasm, I could tell that from her urgently thrusting hips, so I gave it to her with both barrels, slamming into her pale, fleshy body until she arched her back and gave a strangled yell before slumping back onto the bed, exhausted, fucked and satisfied.
When the sex had dissipated, Jo became distant and I knew I should leave and return to my room. I kissed her lightly on the lips and then the forehead, trying to ease our relationship back down from the heady heights, but not to the sterile place where it had lived before. The next morning, and during our trip home, she was once again the bookish, hesitant civil servant and there seemed to be nothing between us, no bond or softness. But as the three of us parted in the railway station car park, as Jennifer headed for her car, Jo gave my hand a little squeeze that seemed to say this wasn’t over, but needed to be treated with the utmost discretion.
