15 Minutes

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Musical accompaniment: Gorillaz, Demon Days, Last Living Souls

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We are taking a break, and you are sitting in the guest chair of my cubicle. You’re wearing those streaked blue jeans that I like so much. I am so use to seeing you in shirt and tie and thus the tight black t-shirt is distracting, not only because it is tight but because it is out of the norm. I wonder if you are distracted too. Usually you see me in heels and hose, a skirt and suit jacket. Do my lace edged grey leggings and grey pleated mini skirt distract you too — distract because it is so short, because it is out of the norm.

We are shooting the bull far and wide when you ask me ‘What would you do with 15 minutes without consequences’. I know you think of me as a political animal and expect me to say that I would love to be in the meeting with Mayor and Union right now. Or maybe you expect me to say that I would walk into the Exec offices and tell them how mind-numbingly stupid their timetable on this project is since we are here again on another Saturday night. But that’s not what I’m thinking I’d do with 15 minutes without consequences. I’m thinking about your hair again and those thoughts lead me to other places.

Rather than chasing some political intrigue, I would swivel my chair around to face you. Because you are tall (oh so much taller than I), dark and handsome, I would take your hands and pull you to your knees and situate you between my thighs. bahis firmaları Now, with the image of you between my thighs, I find I am semi roused from this fantasy and for some reason recall a punchline of sorts that make me smile. ‘Oh waiter, could I have some more napkins? A smoking hot engineer just fell in my lap and now I’m all wet.’ But back to the fantasy, where we are, finally, face to face. I can look you straight in the eyes. Those dark eyes that set me a quiver when you narrow them and give me a wry smile (really, actual quivering — freaked me out the first time it happened).

But it’s you hair that starts to break through these imposed office barriers. I WANT to run my hands through your hair. And I would, at last, find out how soft or wiry your hair is, as it passed under my palms (does the styling product keep it up or just in place?). I would close my fingers together, capturing your hair and gently pull up, combing your hair. Again and again.

At this point I know if this wasn’t just a late night fantasy that my finger tips would be twitching to touch more of you. Leaning in a bit, I imagine my left hand would gently palm your shoulder and slide back till it was cupping your shoulder blade. Then starting slowly at the right side of your forehead (on my left) with the fingertips of my right side I would trace out your hairline. Across you forehead, down the left side of your face, behind your ear. Moving so slowly, self absorbedly enjoying the tingling in my kaçak iddaa fingertips. Tracing back and around on to that small strip of skin on the back of your neck, between your hairline and your shirt collar. (Do you know that I pause everyday that I walk up behind you, as you are seated in your cube, and stare at that exposed flesh that just calls out to me to be bitten.)

With my hand firmly holding the back of your neck I’d lean in further, much further — chest to chest – and then inhale deeply at the base of you neck. What do you smell like? What do you smell like? What do you smell like? In such close quarters as we work, I still don’t know what you smell like.

In my fantasy, when I can finally identify your smell and after I have etched it into olfactory memory, I cock my head upward and gently suck in your earlobe. In my mouth I plan to treat this perfect lobe like my favorite candy (the ones you tease me about). Tenderly wetting and warming it (to start the chocolate melting), rhythmically sucking it (to really taste the dark, dark chocolate), swirling my tongue around it, under it, and over it (to enjoy the full mouth pleasure of it all), and with then one hard bite to begin to the finish up chewing and swallowing ( that’s how to get to the intense mint that makes me gasp with that wide mouth “O” — and hopefully you are gasping by now too).

With your candy earlobe lavishly consumed, I would slightly reposition hands, and arms, and face, and then I would use my kaçak bahis cheek to mark your cheek ( just like a cat uses the side of its face to mark its territory). Down stroke, up stroke. Down stroke, up stroke. Your smooth shaved skin and your cut close beard slipping then prickling my soft cheek would set my mouth watering and my eyes rolling up, closed tight, breathing hard and slow. Umami is the only word that comes to mind at this point as I begin to ache for more of you.

At the top of the final up stroke, near your cheekbone, I would begin to trace down your hard jaw line with the tip of my nose. My breath bouncing off your skin back onto my skin hotter than when it left my body. At the center of your chin, my nose would begin to ascend till the tip of my nose met the deep round of your lower bottom lip (no doubt with a light shiver as it passed through your goatee).

There I would slightly widen the part between your lips. Gently, firmly kissing those beaujolais colored lips of yours. Eventually, with my mouth open wide, my tongue would slip out to lightly lap at the under bow of your upper lip as you too opened your mouth wider, wanting more. Thinking of how long you would let be suck your bottom lip …

And then you ask me what I’m thinking about. I notice I am completely lost in thought, breathing slow and deep. So I force myself to breath normally again. And I begin to remember that I’m married and that you have a long term girlfriend. And I think that there would be consequences. You ask again, ‘So what would you do with 15 minutes without consequences?’ I say ‘I don’t have the slightest idea’. But with that lie, I begin to wonder what I could do with an hour without consequences.

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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