The summer I turned twenty-four, my girlfriend and I took a break.  We’d been together for a year or so, and we were pretty serious.  We weren’t exactly talking about being together forever, but we cared about each other – the word “love” had been spoken – and we enjoyed our relationship.  So why were we on a break?  As with the other breaks we took, this one was because we both wanted to have sex with other people, but the thought of having an open relationship simply didn’t occur to us.  At any rate, even if it had I question whether we would have been able to handle it ethically and respectfully.  We certainly wouldn’t have been able to deal with the judgments of others if the nature of our relationship was found out.

My boss, Christine, was thirty-four.  She was very attractive despite her advanced age – which, I must point out, was younger than I am right now.  She had long brown hair, pretty eyes, full lips, and smooth, unblemished skin.  She usually wore thin white blouses and long, billowy skirts with boots.  Sometimes she wore tight jeans.  I’m pretty sure that she was the subject of every single work wank I carried out at my desk while employed there.  It didn’t hurt that, despite the fact that she was married with two kids, Christine was a die-hard party girl.  At least once a week, she’d take the office staff out for drinks.

While out at a bar one night,  Christine kissed me.  On the lips.  It was sudden and quick, just slightly more randy than a familial peck, and nowhere near the full-blown makeout session that I would have preferred.  For the last couple hours she’d been drinking some concoction that included Galliano and vanilla liqueur; I was under no delusion that the kiss had been motivated by passion for sexy twenty-four-year-old Jack, or that that Christine had somehow forgotten about her husband watching the kids at home.  I knew it was the alcohol.

Christine apologized.  “I shouldn’t have done that.”  I could tell she meant it sincerely; while she didn’t blush, she couldn’t look me in the eyes.  Despite her tendency to cut loose and party after work, Christine was the ultimate professional.  Other than putting on her headphones and rocking out at her desk, she was very big on protocol during business hours.  I knew that the guilt she was feeling came from the perceived lack of professionalism in what she’d just done, moreso than it did in the violation of her marital vows, or in the thought that she’d crossed a boundary with regard to my own relationship, which she knew was on a break anyway.

“No harm done,” I said.  It was true.  She and I were the only ones there.  The other person who was drinking with us had gone to the restroom.  It hadn’t even occurred to me that Christine had deliberately waited until we were alone, which I suppose would have made the alcohol less responsible than I previously thought.  After a few seconds’ silence, I added, “I liked it.  I’ve wanted to kiss you for awhile.”  I omitted the part about her mouth not wanting to be my first choice of places to kiss.

It was a two-block walk back to the office.  We cut through the parking lot, and our drinking companion got into her car and left.  I was about to do the same when Christine asked if I could help her with something in the storage room.  Oh fuck, I thought.  Here it is.  I’d read enough Penthouse Forum to know where this was going.  In fact, I vaguely recalled a porn film I’d seen in which a young office boy was seduced by an older woman in a position of authority.  In fact, if I recall correctly they were doing something in a storage room when the sex began.

As she unlocked the building, I anticipated ripping the blouse off of her fine form, letting it fall forgotten to the floor.  As we walked down the hall to our office door, I anticipated peeling off her nearly-skintight jeans, revealing long, slender legs that would spring open instantly.  Once inside the office I anticipated the taste of her pussy on my tongue, and wondered if she trimmed, shaved, waxed, or did none of those.  I imagined that I could already smell her arousal.  I remembered the condom in my wallet; it had only been there a week or so.  I wondered if Christine carried condoms.

She led me to the storage room.  “Can you get a new toner cartridge down?” she asked.  Interesting lead-in; I was surprised that she didn’t begin by removing my jeans and giving me head.  The night was young; obviously that would come later.  I brought out the ladder and set it up in front of a large cabinet that almost reached the ceiling.  I climbed up four rungs and took a new toner cartridge from atop the cabinet, then brought it down and handed it to her.

As I put the ladder back in its place, I asked her if she needed me to install it for her.

“No”, she said, heading into the copy room.  “I can manage.  Thanks for getting it down.”

She wasn’t carrying herself with the air of a woman who wanted to get laid by a guy ten years her junior.  I hated mixed signals.  I still do.  I followed Christine into the copy room, where I found her installing the toner.  I wasn’t exactly sure where to go from here.

“You sure you’ve got that?”  Dumbest question I could have asked.

“I got it,” she said, closing the front panel on the copier.  “All done.”  I stood there for a moment, awaiting her next move.

“So are you sticking around, or – “

“Yeah, I’m going to finish up printing these reports before I go.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  Sorry again about earlier.”  Christine took playing hard to get to an entirely new level.

Christine and I eventually did have sex, though not for a few years.  I’d left the job, she and her husband were estranged, and it just sort of happened.  If it didn’t, I might have titled this post “The Second-Hottest Girl I Never Fucked.“