How are things going in the office?

I look at your text again.  I’ve written and erased a reply probably a dozen times.  I’m so touched that you remembered my birthday and reached out.  I’m a little giddy that you remembered my birthday even after leaving the office.  I keep trying out replies.  

The new guy is such an asshole.  No, too bitchy.

The new guy sucks compared to you.   Too kiss ass

I wish you were still my boss. Too formal 

I want you back here so bad.  Too needy

I wish you were still my boss.  That’s probably good but not what I really want to say…

I wish you were still working next to me.  Still okay but probably getting close to the line.

I wish I still worked under you.  Definitely getting more suggestive. 

I wish I still got to see you every day and daydream about you grabbing me and taking me.  

I wonder what you would do if I just hit send on that… I’m so glad we have different phones, so you can’t see how much I’ve been typing thinking about just how to reply.  I don’t have to explain that I want to tell you that I’ve been thinking about all those times we had to look at the same paperwork or the same screen, that you were so close that I could smell your scent mixed with your cologne.  That I wish I knew what scent it was so I could smell it while I touch myself at night thinking about you.  

The pencil-necked new guy is talking at me, but I can’t even pay attention to what he’s saying.  I’m looking in his direction like I’m paying attention, but I’m just thinking about you.  I’m just imagining if you were in front of me instead. Back like when you worked here and I would flirt with you, apparently too subtly.  Thinking now about the ways I wish I had been more forward, ways I wish I had dressed to make it more obvious, ways I wish I had made it more clear to you how badly I wanted to throw myself at you.  

I knew you were married, just like me, but I could tell that you needed something else.  I could tell just like me that you weren’t getting enough attention at home, and I couldn’t imagine how she could have you at home and not jump all over you.  I imagine telling you how badly I want to take care of that for you, to let you satisfy those unfulfilled needs with me, to let you take me with that toned, athletic body.

I finally settle for a partial truth.  It’s pretty boring without you around. 

I hit send and head for the ladies room so I can close the stall and touch myself.  I’m so fucking wet from reliving all those fantasies of you.  I’m sliding my fingertips back and forth over my swollen clit when my phone buzzes with your reply. 

Ha!  I feel the same way.  I wish we were still together.

Do you have any idea how that sounds without the word “working” between “still” and “together”?  Do you know what that makes me think?  Do you know how bad I want to open my blouse the rest of the way and send you a picture of the lacy bra I’m wearing?

I put that thought to the side for a moment.  First things first… I rub myself again.  I’m so close.  I need this so bad.  I bite my lip as the wave crests and crashes through me.  I point my toes as much as I can in my heels and cum, working hard to muffle my sounds.  

Happy fucking birthday to me.  

Now I think back to how to reply to your last message… In my post-orgasm glow, I come up with the response I like, even if it is farther than I should probably go.