Have you ever stumbled into the office late, coffee already spilled all over your white shirt, the messy bun you slept in hastily repositioned on the top of your head only to turn the corner into your cubicle and he is there? That one guy in the office who is sexy as fuck, but has no idea? (Which makes him even more appealing, of course). In my office, that guy is Andrew. He’s friendly, but a bit reserved, carrying an air of mystery behind inquisitive eyes. Eyes that go from icy blue to stormy gray depending on his mood or what he’s wearing. On the first day his eyes met mine, they were slate, a color I would later learn meant that he was aroused.
Andrew and I had never locked eyes like this before. Of course, I’d see him around the office almost daily. I would discretely check him out, trying not draw any attention to myself, but now he was looking directly at me. Feeling flustered, I tried to break eye contact as I slid past him to get to my desk, but as I moved toward him, a crackling energy filled the air that instead had me yearning to memorize every detail of those smoky eyes. Then there was the was the way he smelled, woodsy and masculine. The kind of smell every woman wants clinging to her sheets after a night of passionate love making, a subtle reminder of a lover’s touch. I slid into my chair, kicking myself internally for hitting the snooze button so many times that morning forfeiting my time for hair and makeup. I told myself it didn’t matter, that he was married, that I was married for Chrissake, but thoughts of him lingered long after he left my cubical.
In fact, that entire day I thought about Andrew. About what it would be like if I had chosen someone like him. I wondered what he was like outside of the office, what kind of details were hiding behind that carefully curated exterior. Did he go home every night and make love to his wife while I laid in bed next to my completely disinterested husband? Was he the kind of man that would take care of his lover, never in a hurry, never too selfish to meet her needs? Or was he just like what I already had at home, detached, unavailable and not into it? I’m not sure what, but something told me it was the former.
Over time, I got to know Andrew a little more, but only a tiny bit. He’d come around occasionally, and we would chat about the types of things you’d share with your coworkers. Once in a while, he would share just a bit more, and I’d become intrigued with him all over again. I’d race to my computer after these particular interactions to message a mutual friend of ours. A friend who spent a lot of time with Andrew outside of work. I would tell him about the interaction and then express my desire to be with someone like Andrew. I’d gush about how his height, dark features, and sexy hands had me crushing. My friend would hear me out then gently remind me that Andrew was married, and that though I was unhappy, so was I.
But the reminder of previous commitments wasn’t enough to erase Andrew from my fantasies. Occasionally, I’d get to eat lunch with him, and I wouldn’t be able to resist flirting, just a little. I respected Andrew, I didn’t want to push too far, but he had this type of magnetism that had my body responding to his without my mind’s permission. The feelings he stirred within me were only amplified by the attention drawn to his mouth while eating. Sometimes, I would get lost in my surroundings completely drawn in by his full lips and bright smile. Before I could stop myself, my mind would be erasing everyone else at the lunch table, leaving only Andrew and me. I would envision getting up from my spot at the table across from him, rounding it, and sitting down next to him instead.
No words would be spoken, just a silent understanding that I was there to claim the next kiss that came from his seductive mouth. I’d lean in slowly, letting him see the hunger in my eyes, and then I’d close the gap and press my lips to his. Slowly, softly at first, but with a building intensity that can only come from wanting someone for so long. He would kiss me back fiercely, as if his appetite for me was just as voracious. I’d run my hands through his hair, as he wrapped his arms around my waste, pulling me closer. Unable to stop ourselves, we’d begin to undress each other, right there on the picnic table outside of our office. I’d sit up on the tabletop before him and he would push my legs apart, working kisses down the length of my inner thighs. When he finally reached my core, I’d open myself to him, begging him to taste the honey sweet nectar brought forth by his touch. . .
It was always about at this point in my fantasy that someone would snap me back to reality and I’d be scrambling to catch up on whatever it was I had missed, acutely aware of the now wet heat between my legs. I would feel tortured sitting across from him for the rest of lunch, unable to do anything about my pent-up need. And so, the cycle continued.
After literal years of this cycle, sitting in my cubicle wanting for more, wanting the touch and attention of Andrew and fantasizing about him regularly, I was finally ready to take the necessary steps to end my marriage. I was living in a fairy tale world, both at work and at home. I was so miserable living in reality that I was constantly checked out. I was tired of walking past Andrew, breathing in his intoxicating scent and pretending to go about my day unaffected. He may be unavailable, but I owed it to myself to at least create the opportunity to have a relationship with a man like him. I realized then that was what set Andrew apart from all the others. He was a man amongst boys. Everything about Andrew screamed the opposite of your typical “dude.” He was thoughtful, empathic, caring, helpful, genuine, smart, successful, funny and he seemed to possess a high EQ.
I upended my life and left my marriage. I changed everything. It was hard, really fucking hard, and scary and confusing, but I’d taken the leap. I was free to find my authentic self. To take care of me. To set new standards for myself, to raise the bar. And I did. In turn, I found love. I attracted a partner who blew me away. Someone to give my love to and to love me in return, a guy who I thought was as much a man as Andrew. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I was happy. I felt as though I was exactly where I was supposed to be. My previously hazy future was starting to look clearer. Then everything changed. Again.
In a horrifying accident, I lost my partner. I lost my love, my hope, my newly forming future. And I was broken. I was a wreck. I had to start all over on my personal journey, no longer on the same path I was before. Through the support of family and friends, I picked myself up and forced myself to keep going. For a long time, time was irrelevant, and life was a blur, but eventually, I emerged from my chrysalis of self-growth, this time with the knowledge that I was happy on my own. That I was worthy. A queen to settle for no less than worship. And so, I went about my life.
But, as it always does, the path I was on took a sharp left turn, catapulting me toward something completely unexpected. The catalyst was a message. A simple message that popped up on my computer screen from my home office. It was Andrew! Always excited to hear from him, I answered right away, thinking this must be work related. But it was just a casual conversation with seemingly no motive other than to ask how I was doing. Again, I reached out to our mutual friend to tell him about the interaction throwing in comical hypotheticals about Andrew getting divorced and me finally getting the chance to make my move. And in doing so, I manifested my very own miracle! Later that night, while I was lying in bed, my phone lit up with a message. Lo and behold, it was Andrew, telling me that he was thinking about ending his marriage, asking to talk about my personal experience in doing so. My mind was racing.
My very first thought was to wonder how soon was too soon to ask him out. Immediately after, I felt guilty for thinking so selfishly about a friend going through a hard time, so I tried to let it go. I told myself I would be there to support him, to be a friend through a difficult time. Even though I had found resolve in my decision, I figured a little bedtime fantasy that night couldn’t hurt.
As soon as I finished texting him, I rolled to my back, my knees bent, legs spread apart, and began stroking my folds, imagining my fingers were his. I circled my clit, thinking about the way his rough, masculine hands would feel in place of mine. When I was wet with arousal, I dipped two fingers into my core and moaned with pleasure at the thought of Andrew’s fingers inside me. I fantasized about the way his beard would feel tickling my neck as he peppered me with kisses, moving from behind my ear, down the curve of my shoulder and to my collar bone. I used my free hand to begin working my nipples, envisioning his teeth and tongue instead. As I pumped my fingers in and out, using my palm to work my swollen bud, I imagined Andrew deep inside me, filling me with his manhood, his pelvic bone grinding my clit, bringing me to climax while worshipping my every curve. I came to orgasm gasping for breath and calling out his name.
I rolled over to sleep, completely satiated. I recall thinking as I drifted off that after that, it was probably going to be difficult to look Andrew in the eye without blushing at the upcoming lunch we had planned. Turns out, that lunch went better than I could have ever expected. . .