It's amazing how you trundle along through life, and then something comes along and throws everything out the proverbial window.
That happened to me the other day. It was unplanned and uncalled for. There was no need for life to do it. I mean, there are plenty of other people in the world for it to pick on. Why did it choose to rain on my parade?
I'm thirty, been around a bit, and I know, quite happily where I'm going. At least I did.
I have a long-term boyfriend; he's not perfect, then again, neither am I. I have him trained to do housework, wash dishes, programmed to use the washing machine and he's even toilet trained (In that he lifts the toilet seat before he goes). He remembers my birthday (The threat of death helped there), buys gifts of clothes in the right size (Though his taste in colour leads a LOT to be desired) and he has the good grace to get me drunk before he gets himself sozzled.
As boyfriends go, I consider myself more than lucky, though after seven years something small, circular, metal and glinting wouldn't go amiss. HINT HINT!
It all stemmed from a usual day at work, let me explain.
I'm just a humble office administrator (All right secretary) in a large corporation. I answer the phone when I can be bothered. I type memos for other people to bin before reading. Try and decipher the Russian that people claim is their English handwriting. Poison people with coffee in thermo dynamically dangerous cups that spill more than they hold, whilst dreaming of an operating system that works. Incidentally I already have a slogan for my OS, (It's called 'Doors'): "Why struggle with windows when there is a perfectly good Door." I'm wasted here; I should be upstairs in marketing.
Like every large firm these days, this illustrious company has a drugs policy (i.e. you have to be on them to be in management). Every year, each department has to attend a non-exemption lecture on the evils of drugs and how they make turning up for work on a Monday morning bearable and improve productivity, or something. To be honest, unless they are giving out free samples, I'm not interested.
My desk is a depressing sight. There used to be furry things on springs stuck on the monitor, a calendar of naked men in distracting poses, a large expanse of desk, and a keyboard you could do surgery on. Now? I think the furry things committed life by jumping out of one of the windows; the calendar was removed for being offensive (?) (Though I still have August... ), the desk is still there somewhere and you could do an autopsy on the keyboard, though the lettering on the ctrl alt del keys has long been worn off.
So off we all trooped to the conference room for a sleep. It was everything we had expected, the same as last time. Another firm charging our firm an extortionate amount for a couple of has beens, to ignore our snoring to preach the evils of software piracy, sorry that was last month, drugs, yes that was it, drugs. As usual there were a few corporate climbers at the front, awake and taking notes, probably along the lines (Ha ha) of 'put sharp, pointy metal bit against skin, push in plungy slidy thing'.
Well, I am happy enough with inhaling the fumes off the photocopier cleaner.
Normally I appreciate the sleep, but I had just too great a work back load, to comfortably nod off. I left my seat and to the angry looks of those I awoke, headed to the back of the auditorium, past those that were either texting or making sure their mp3 players still worked.
I reckoned with the rest of the department asleep and the other company departments aware that we were asleep, I might actually get about two weeks work done in the resultant quiet. Getting back at my desk, I ensured some small measure of peace and quiet by unplugging my phone. That is one of the failings of the human race. There could be a raging nuclear war in full swing outside, yet some stupid bugger will still try and phone "on the off chance that someone will be there."
There I was, involved in the eternal search for a paper free desk, when life stepped in and for want of a better phrase, 'Tangoed' me. Tangoed me good and proper (With the fat orange man, slapped ears and everything). In fact so Tangoed was I that I expected the national lottery to jump on the bandwagon with a big hand and pointy finger appearing from the sky with "It's you" reverberating around the office. It would have the best time as otherwise it would have been ignored and the voice lost in the din.
So there I was, involved in the exciting and dangerous world of income tax returns, when I heard a giggle. A giggle so girlish, it could only have come from a gay man. But he was asleep listening to his mp3 player whilst snoring (Gaily). I know this because I past him on my way out of the presentation room.
I tried to ignore it, but another giggle giggled its way to my hearing. It was irritating, so in the great tradition of lonely women in empty buildings, I had to have a look. It could have been screams and the sounds of a revving chainsaw, but I still would have gone for a look, though only to carry out my requisite duties as office manager, (You know, too ensure that psychopath was correctly trained and licensed in the use of a chainsaw, that the fire marshal was warned of the presence of combustible two stroke fuel and that no animals or potted plants would be harmed).
I threaded my way around desks and partitions, following the occasional giggle. Somebody was having fun. Not bloody allowed in this bloody office, or at least not unless I was invited. I walked around a partition and my life went the way of a Windows program. It froze, and then crashed. Somebody pressed the three-fingered salute and whilst my head went through the process of brain disc, I stepped back out of sight in safe mode.
Looking back, had it been an American film, I would probably have joined in. As it was, this was reality and England. What my poor mark 1 eyeballs had just witnessed did not happen in reality or England (With the exception of Christmas office parties. But technically everyone's normally so drunk it doesn't count, the adult equivalent of "My fingers were crossed" or "My feet were off the ground").
We had a school leaver by the name of Anna on a weeks work placement. Not an unusual situation. Like the vast majority of work placements, she was of the bubbly nature. Not yet worn down by the grind of crap boyfriends, shit bosses, and letters from banks about something called a mortgage (Would you kindly PAY it).
I looked around again. They were still at it. They had not noticed me. It was like watching an impending car crash or an execution. You knew what you were about to witness, would stick with you for the rest of your life, but you keep on watching.
Kelly, a woman two years older than me, was sitting on her desk, playing tonsil tennis with a girl almost young enough to be her daughter.
I opened my mouth but nothing came out, I didn't even breathe, I was that stunned. In fact they had gone past the stage of tonsil tennis and were busily trying to suck out each other's brains through the mouth.
Anna had hardly been here a day. She hadn't even fully learnt how to use the photocopier for heavens sake.
In the past, some male colleagues, had to be cautioned towards burgeoning relationships towards the young girls on work placement. These flings never grew till shortly before the end of the placement, never on the second day and certainly not between members of the same sex.
They had been at it for a while. Kelly had both her hands up Anna's skirt and down her pants. Well, it was a thong actually and Kelly was making full use of the unrestricted access too two annoyingly firm, taught and cellulite free buttocks. Anna seemed not the slightest bit bothered about at the two palms kneading that pale flesh. If anything, she was encouraging the fingers to explore more.
For her part, Kelly was sitting on her desk, skirt also around her waist. She wore granny pants and there were definite signs of cellulite on those thighs. So there was a God after all.
Anna did not seem put off by the large quantity of underwear fabric that she was trying to bury under.
The brain is a strange device. There I stood, yet still I tried to work out how many of Anna's thongs I could make out of the fabric of Kelly's pants. I reckon it was good for double figures.
I watched, (fascinated I have too admit) as Anna tugged at the material as Kelly rocked from one side to the other allowing her pants too be slowly inched over her hips. Soon as the obstacle of desk, hips and bodyweight was past, Anna wasted no time in breaking off her extremely passionate kissing to bend down and swiftly pull the material down Kelly's legs and onto the floor.
I have never slept with a girl, been tempted too or desired too. My boyfriend has always been more than enough. Occasionally I have lied to him, on his birthday and the like, telling him stories about myself involving a few girls when younger. He seems to like that sort of thing. Its never failed to amaze me how hard he becomes and how quickly, with only a few words like: "When younger, at school, I allowed one of my girlfriends too slide her hands up my skirt and feel my panties when we were alone in the toilet." Now I wonder if I missed out on something.
I expected Anna to go back to kissing Kelly. Anna however, was working to a different agenda. With a speed that was verging on brutal, she placed her head straight between Kelly's thighs. I may be a virgin relating to some things but I did not need a book with pictures to tell me what Anna was doing. Nor that she was doing it well. There was a lot of experience in that young head. Being put to good use judging by the state of Kelly.
Kelly had her head thrown back, blouse covered chest thrust out. I fully expected a group of mountaineers to appear, roped together and attempt to climb those erect nipples, they stood out that much. Kelly's hands were wrapped in Anna's long hair and seemed to be forcing her head harder against her flesh. I couldn't help but wonder if that was not uncomfortable. For both of them.
I was starting to get cramp, so stepped back, stretched a bit and looked back round. They were still at it, like a pair of Energiser bunnies on fresh batteries.
I wondered who was the instigator. Anna was certainly in charge, was certainly showing a great deal of knowledge and experience. I may never of had an intimate experience with a fellow female pupil in the school toilets. But I have a feeling that Anna may have had, also possibly behind the bike sheds, in the bike sheds, on the bike sheds, and several other places too boot.
At Anna's age I was getting excited at just having kissed for the first time. And that was with a male. Boring old me.
Kelly was a shock. I have known her for years, never thought she batted for the same side. She always seemed so quiet, so reserved. Mind you they always say it's the quiet ones you have too watch out for. A rabbit's head will probably appear in the drinking fountain now. Might improve the taste though.
Anna was still giving it her all. There was no way she was running on batteries, that girl was definitely plugged into the mains. Kelly was wilting though. Head was starting to droop, hands not holding on so tightly, and signs of dribbling from the mouth. God I hope I don't dribble like that when I start too cum.
Anna broke off her licking and sucking. Possibly for air.
Like the experienced pro that she must be, her left hand and fingers took over, sliding further in than I presume her tongue could. She stood up, fingers still working away, her mouth travelled over Kelly's face, licking up the streams of saliva running from Kelly's mouth before enclosing that same mouth with her own in a suction that would have done two docking space shuttles proud.
I was hit by two thoughts at once. One: I wish I owned a camera phone, for I would be a millionaire by lunchtime the next day. Two: That my boyfriend was here watching, learning and taking notes, for then I would be a very HAPPY millionaire.
Kelly was obviously starting to feel the pressure and was whimpering faintly. Anna soon sorted that, by breaking off her space shuttle and heading back to earth. Those fingers that had never stopped were soon joined by Anna's tongue again, and the quiet whimpers soon rose in crescendo and volume.
One of Scotty's phrases from those old tapes of Star Trek my boyfriend insists on keeping, came unbidden to my mind.
"Captain, she canni take any-more. She's gonna blow"
She was going too blow indeed.
When she blew, she blew. I was actually jealous. How she never broke her back I'll never know. Though by the way she walked for the next few days, she certainly pulled some muscles.
Yet still the human suction device that was Anna continued. That girl must have had a Dyson for lungs.
My boyfriend definitely needed to take lessons from her, but only in my presence. There was no way I would let the pair of them be alone.
Anna slowly slowed down, and then moved back slightly, licking her lips. That was one pussycat that had got the cream.
Anna stood again and slowly, with a tenderness that was astonishing, kissed Kelly lightly on the lips. Anna's skirt had long fallen back into place around her legs, her body lightly pressed against and hiding Kelly's. At first glance, a viewer would see a young girl tenderly kissing an older woman. Possibly ready to be shown the pleasures of the flesh by the more experienced and older woman. How an image can deceive.
The intimacy of the kiss was surprisingly embarrassing to watch. After all that I had watched, it was that kiss that made me feel like an unwelcome voyeur. It is that kiss that will always haunt my dreams more than what preceded it.
In a daze I walked back to my desk and stared dumbly, shell shocked even at the paperwork that lay forgotten on my desk.
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