Friday, January 23, 2009

Leaving the Slow Lane

by Linda Chorlton
(April 2001)

Dear Diary: hah! Haven't kept one in ages. But I have my own directory
with a password, so I'll keep you here. Have to talk to someone, and people
just can't be trusted.
I noticed him the first day he came to work, but it seemed hopeless
from the start. For one thing my husband works here; his office is only
fifty feet away. A dear man, but a bit obtuse sometimes--let's face it,
especially in bed--which is what I get for having been a cheerleader who
married the captain of the squad, straight out of our small-town high
school. And the rest of us work right out here in the open plan office.
One hot look in this den of tranquility and stiflingly boring farts,
and the whole place would be buzzing with that mean talk. And then Chuck
would be right here to walk me out into the corridor and start in. I've
never gone out on him, through twenty-two years of marriage and raising
four boys; but he doesn't seem to believe that. I start talking to *any*
man, even about work, and he's right there, breathing on us both. It's so
So, when the new guy, I'll call him Tom (we are all real to
do some protecting) was hired in our section (five women and him!), the
first thought that occurred to me was that Chuck would be all over me in
case I tried to get his attention; and then the second thought that
occurred to me was, hey, I've been tried and sentenced for two decades,
--why not be guilty as charged for once?
But, as luck would have it, as soon as he moved into the desk across
from mine, he put up a picture of a darling family--three kids, and a
better looking, younger woman than me. Not that I think I'm especially bad
looking, although it's been a *long* time since I was a cheerleader. Brown
hair, kept short, grey-green eyes, a few freckles on either side of my
nose, a nice mouth, which I touch up only a little with a light pink, twice
a day, but a bit of a weak chin. I've learned that If I keep the hair
short and curly and wear big round earrings the chin looks better. Even
Chuck has noticed...I'm only five-foot, and I *won't* tell you my weight--
I try to lose some every now and then, but it's hopeless, even with the
damned cigarettes; and now my face is starting to crinkle a bit round the
eyes. But my general shape, excepting the extra on the hips, is pretty
good. What I have up front is my best feature; if Chuck and I ever went
anywhere, and if he'd allow it, I'd go in a strapless low-cut purple gown and
knock 'em dead.
I wear a Walkman when I'm doing data entry and listen to the old
dreamy songs--Blue Velvet, If Loving You Is Wrong, Walk on By -and
lately the guy I see in my head dancing with me to the oldies is Tom. So
here's this attractive guy, a little taller than me, gentlemanly, kindest
eyes I've ever seen, holds open doors for you (I still believe in
chivalry), thinks of everyone's birthday, and sings quietly to himself while
he works--nice voice--sits ten feet away, and I want to touch him, and
can't and I'm his immediate supervisor. Gotta think of something.
I thought of something. Not much: Tom is into goodies, so I lend him
money for the snack machines downstairs. He always pays back the very next
day, darn him, but I've got him trained to find the change in a little red
pill box in my upper right-hand drawer. I can leave him a note! But it has
to be something he wouldn't be offended by, or that Chuck can't figure out.
What could that be? I'm getting the shakes just thinking about it. If he
steps over here right now I'll probably spill my coffee! No, no notes.
I lay awake thinking about it all night. Diary, I have it! He's a
computer whiz. I'll have him stay late to fix--you! I'll conveniently lose
my password and have him get in with a utility or something and print you
out. While he's puzzling you over, I'll try to get his attention.
It worked. Oh, Diary, he's just the way I imagined him. You want the
details? But that's sooooo embarrassing. But you were a great help to me,
so I'll tell you all about it.
I explained to Chuck that I had lost important stuff in the computer
and would stay late to fix it. Chuck hates the computers. He likes
football. So, as it was Monday, I suggested he go down to Ringo's and watch
Monday Night Football on the big screen, and I would fix my directory and
then join him at eight. He fell for it, dear Chuck, and cleared out of here
at five. Tom was getting ready to leave, too, so Chuck never gave him a
thought, but Tom always catches the five-ten bus and that gave me the
time I needed to work up my courage and call him over to my desk. He was
very understanding and obliging, as always, and called home to say he'd be
late, and stepped right over, eager to be of service. My knight in shining
armor! I even said so, and would you believe it, he blushed .
I suggested we work from the terminal in Chuck's office, where the
printer is for our workgroup, and we went in. I left the door open at
first; Tom is skittery with ladies and I didn't want to scare him off
before I had a chance to set the hook. He cracked the directory in no time,
printed you out, read over the first couple of paragraphs to make sure you
were OK, and became, oh, terribly quiet. At this moment I closed and locked
the office door.
Tom didn't hear my move, but he set the printout down with a shaky hand
and turned as if to go. I leaned back on the door, with my hands behind me.
I had on my most effective sweater, the v-neck with just a hint of
cleavage, a light blue cashmere, and matched it with the most vulnerable
expression my face could manage. It's a man-killer; has worked on Chuck
every time on, well, lots of occasions, and gotten me out of a lot of
speeding tickets too. Tom could hardly throw poor little me aside and run
away, so he had to hear me out...and I made a point of not talking too
much. I just lowered my eyelashes, and said I needed a hug, and got one,
too, and though he tried to hold himself away and just squeeze my
shoulders, I snuggled up my "best features" to his chest, and managed to
put an arm around his lower back and pull his hips in a little closer (just
like high school days!) and, yep, sure enough, he had a serious bulge in
his pants already.
Tom tried to talk his way out of it even then, but I just put my mouth
up to his and kissed him, and he simply melted! Didn't grab at me like
Chuck does, just stood there all atremble and gently put his tongue in my
mouth. I guided his hands onto my breasts, and the bulge in his pants
became even more noticeable. I felt so dizzy I could hardly stand,
but somehow I managed to find his zipper and get it undone. I put my
right hand in and freed a nice manly medium-sized cock, and held it while
we kissed and kissed.
Well, diary, I suppose you know the rest--oh, you want more? Insatiable
hussy! All right, well, I helped Tom out of his pants and made him sit in
Chuck's chair--the only one in the office with arms and that has that
rocking motion. I knelt right in front of him--I can't believe I'm saying
this, but it's just what I did--and held my arms straight up, and he helped
me out of the cashmere. I reached back and unhooked my bra----- the blue silky
low-cut one that I use with the sweater--and he looked like his eyes would
pop out his head when my boobs settled on his lap in all their glory. They
aren't huge , just real nice , and have held up beautifully for all that
I'm, I admit it, forty-one. I gave them to him to play with, and he was such
a gentleman, always trying to give the one as much attention as the other.
He would lean forward and lift one to his mouth, and I would arch my back
and let him suck like a baby until the nipple stood up high and goose bumps
raced around on my shoulders--then switch sides until both nipples looked
the same. Ah, diary, it was Heaven! Then we kissed some more, and he put
his tongue deep in my mouth, which was not as much fun for me, but I know
better than to state my preferences on a first date.
Next, I--but do I have to tell this part? Diary, you are so cruel! Next
I curled my thumb and forefinger around his thrumming cock, and slowly
cruised them up and down the shaft. He leaned back in the rocker and
moaned, and thrust out his pelvis, fairly aiming at my face. I knew what
guys expect of girls in this position, and I had it in mind to give it to
him, too, but one wants one's own share of the action. I could barely bring
myself to talk--not wanting to interrupt the flow, so to speak, but said:
"Can I have a turn too?" And--oh, diary! He reached down and clasped both
of my shoulders, and said, "Anything you want--and you don't have to do
anything you don't want!" Well, you see, it was worth the risk of asking.
My knight in shining armor. I felt better about going down on him, then,
which I have pretty well managed to avoid doing with Chuck...
So, diary, where were we? Oh, yes! Kneeling on the floor in front of a
fine knight, with his cock in my hand! So I decided to give him the best I
could do. At five-thirty in the afternoon, you know, a man's jockey shorts
tend to go a bit sour, and Tom's dick smelled a bit like sweat and old
pee. But to my surprise, for once I found this actually exciting. I held
his scrotum gently in my left hand, and gently took each testicle into my
mouth, then slowly ran my tongue all the way up the underside of eight good
inches of visibly throbbing penis. At the tip, I looked up and found him
gazing intently down at me with his beautiful eyes. Watching him watch, I
parted my lips and let my head slide gently down onto his cock, feeling it
fill my mouth and press against my tongue. My mouth got pretty wet right
away, like it does whenever it has anything in it, and this made everything
slippery and added to the fun. I slid my mouth up and back down, up and
back down, slowly at first and then a little faster, trying to get with the
rhythm I could feel in his hip movements and the rocking of the chair. He
seemed to really like looking into my eyes as I did this, and watching his
wet cock disappear part way into my face and back out again, over and over.
Well diary, I had half intended to pull away and let him come on my
boobs or whatever, but he was *such* a gentleman that he hadn't put his
hands on my head, so I decided to encourage him to go all the way. I
reached up and took both his hands and put them in my hair, and squeezed
them so that he got a handful of hair on each side of the back of my head.
He looked a question at me and I nodded and hummed, "mmh-hmm" with my mouth
full of a stiffy, so he caught on and held my head tight and began--I have to
use the word-- fucking my mouth. His hips went faster now, and his cock
pumped away inside my head for what seemed a long time--my lips got numb,
anyhow--and then he stiffened all over and suddenly I felt something hot
and very slippery go all over the inside of my mouth. It seemed to come
gushing in waves, and the taste was strange--like salt, pepper, and milk
all at once. It was new to me, and after all these years, too, but I liked
it. I held just the head of his cock inside my mouth until he had calmed
down, then slipped it out and stroked it with my left hand, looking right
in his pretty eyes the whole time.
"God," he said. "That was GREAT." Yes, but no different, I'll bet, dear
diary, than other girls had done for him in times gone by. I needed to
think of a way to really get his attention--he's a keeper--and it was
then that I had, dear diary, the first really kinky inspiration of my life!
I hadn't swallowed at all and was holding his entire load of sweet cum in
my mouth. I cupped my right hand and slowly spat the whole mouthful into
it, and held up my left hand and divided the whole blue-white mess between
the palms of both hands. I then cupped them over my boobs and smeared the
cum all over both sides, till they gleamed like they had been polished.
Well, diary, as you can imagine, this unexpected stroke of genius set
Tom on fire! He started in rubbing my breasts too, and kissed me for a long
time--didn't seem bothered by the taste of his own cum on my mouth--and
then swapped places with me. He raised my skirt and helped me off with my
panties--light blue silk, of course, with "Monday" embroidered on the
bottom--and I spread my knees wide so that he could get in close with his
lovely head. As I had suspected, Tom knew exactly where to go. At first he
slipped his tongue into my vagina, and gathered up juices for lubricating
me--though I was pretty much wet all over by now, anyway--and slowly worked
his way up to my aching, hungry "little friend." At first he licked around
a bit, spreading labia and locating my clitoris. I felt free to grab his
head and point him in the right direction, and give him clues with my
hands, about rhythm, and before long he had settled into a light, tongue-
tip, tripping movement right at the base of my clit that was like nothing I
had ever experienced (certainly not with Chuck! And, NO, dear diary, do not
ask me about anything before that!). I began humping his face, and held on
for dear life, and squeezed him with my thighs, and letting go of little
whimpers, and finally just flew to the purple place (don't ask), and
thousands of coloured lights went in my pussy and in my head. I lay back,
gasping, feeling all over the way my breasts once felt when my babies
nuzzled for their milk. My clit was pulsing, and I could feel Tom savouring
the pulses with his gentle mouth and tongue, holding very still. He was
very attentive afterwards, by the way. He offered to wipe off my boobs,
but I wouldn't hear of it--said it would be our little secret--so he
helped me into my bra and sweater "as is," which we both thought was
terribly exciting, and he said kind things, and then looked at his watch
and jumped a foot--ran for his bus, and his little family. I stayed to
clean up, and shredded the printout, and drove to Ringo's with an hour to
Oh, diary! I can't wait till next week--I've already thought of
another way to corner him, and I somehow don't think he'll put up much of a
fuss. But I'd better delete you, or someone might find you...

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