You're My New Coworker

Transcript

I have to say, we definitely don't have a traditional co-worker relationship. I'm not stupid, I know how these things work. And I want to admit something, I don't know what you're going to think about me after I say this.

I masturbate thinking about you almost exclusively and fairly constantly. Yeah, I know you probably thought that I just liked working late after everybody else went home, but that's not true. So why am I telling you this? I guess I'm telling you this because I feel comfortable enough that I can to recant several months ago, in this fucking toxic work environment that we now both are enslaved to, I was doing my normal thing.

And my manager asked if I could interview a new candidate. There was a position to fill and they wanted my input or my opinion. Or at least that's what they told me.

I don't really believe that they give a shit about my opinion whatsoever, but you know, instead of actually rewarding my hard work and effort with anything monetary, they pat me on the back and let me interview a few candidates. I don't know, what should I think about that? I wasn't even excited, for one, that meant one less day of working from home.

I would have to come into the office, I would have to dress nicely, I'd have to put on a shirt with buttons and slacks and a belt and shoes and dress socks and probably a fucking tie. Fine. I wasn't happy about it, but nonetheless, I need the job.

It sustains me. And so I came in that day. I brought my laptop and sat in this big open space that we all share, this big fucking open space.

It's supposed to be, you know, a whole cooperative effort. We all get to work together, and it's bullshit, it's just a way for us to police each other. In any case, if I sound like I don't love my job, it's, well, probably because it's true.

Anyway, that day I worked diligently in my little office space, and my manager shot me an email and let me know when the candidate was going to be there, and I should meet him or her in the conference room. And I will not forget when you walked in. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, sexy as ever.

I can't say that I was immediately attracted to you because you were you, but you definitely looked your Sunday or Monday, Tuesday best. And I remember asking you to sit down, extending my hand, and shaking yours. I remember you sliding over a copy of your resume as if you had rehearsed this already, pulling it out of your satchel-like messenger bag, sliding it across the table.

It had this slight scent of perfume, really, really, really nice. And as my eyes scanned that piece of paper, I could have cared about nothing more than actually wondering what your kiss was like. I'm a fucking sicko, aren't I? I'm here to interview you, and here I've made it into this whole fucking sexual innuendo.

Jesus. In any case, I ran through the basic questions I was told to ask. I jotted them down, but frankly, I didn't really care what your answers were.

And then, at the end of my interrogation, I asked you if you had any questions. And you were so up front. I was astounded.

You asked me if I liked working here. You asked me why I had decided to work here. You almost turned the whole conversation around.

When the interview was over, I stood up again, shaking your hand. Of course, of course, I watched as you put on your jacket, checking out your ass in that very professional dress of yours. And when you exited, I sat back down, again, my fingers running over that resume of yours, that scent of yours on the paper.

I'm not saying that I was the be-all, end-all of you becoming hired. I probably wasn't, because, to be fair, you're fucking talented. In fact, you're probably more talented than most people that work here.

But even beyond that, your personality really shines through. I think it was great that they hired you. We fucking all needed that.

We needed a little ray of sunshine in this shitty fucking place. Don't get me wrong. My desire was overflowing to tell you, run, run, get the fuck out, take this resume, go find a better place to work.

I wanted to do that, but I couldn't. So you were hired. Unbeknownst to me, of course, they never let me know that.

All they told me was that somebody new is starting next week, on Monday, and you're going to be required to be in the office that full week. Man, I wasn't super stoked about it. But I was excited when I saw your face appear behind that door.

I don't know if it was so much that I was sexually excited, but excited nonetheless. Well, we would spend the next four and a half days working very, very closely together as I quote-unquote trained and mentored you to this new role. And we spent quite a lot of time together.

At first, super-duper professional. We didn't really crack jokes or whys too much. I ran you through all the different platforms that we used.

I helped as the IT guy handed you your new laptop. We had lunch the first two days together. I could see your yearning to really break out of this very stoic, new hire kind of a personality.

And I wanted to let loose. But true to form, I had to be a professional. The last thing I wanted was for you to complain to upper management and say anything that I was doing was either inappropriate or not.

Beyond that, fuck, maybe this is the right place for you. Maybe you will thrive here even though I've struggled to. Do the right thing, Jeremy, I thought.

Do your best to show this woman the right thing. And so I did. I think it was probably the middle of that first week.

You had made some kind of a joke, almost, almost inappropriate. I think you had mentioned how I missed a button on my shirt, something so innocent as that. I snapped something back at you and we started to laugh.

Finally, the ice was broken. It was great. And the next two days were fantastic.

Yes, I found you attractive. You're beautiful. You're so fucking smart and pretty.

And of course, I thought you were sexy, but I was scared. I was scared to leave a fucked up impression on you. I was scared to make you feel like this was some male chauvinistic environment where I could just sexually fucking manipulate you because I'm a man and you're not.

I didn't want to do that. So I was careful. Maybe I was a little too careful.

But we became closer. And then up next couple weeks, although we didn't see each other in person, we worked from home and we worked pretty closely. It was great how you would share with me how your day was going, some of the struggles you were hitting.

And I would agree with you with a lot of those things. We would talk about what we were doing for dinner, how shitty the weather was outside, how nice it was to work from home, but how much our backs hurt sitting in that chair all fucking day. We would talk about some of the stupid fucking meetings that occurred for no reason whatsoever.

One day, some late afternoon, Thursday or Friday, as we both worked from home, you messaged me, what are you wearing? I thought that was cute. What am I wearing? Not so 80s sexting, if you will.

Anyway, as time went on, I would look forward to coming into the office, especially if I knew you were going to be there. In fact, I kind of made sure that if you were actually coming to the office in person, that I would join you on those days as well. I felt a protective sense about you.

I didn't want you to feel that toxicity of the workplace. I didn't want you to feel like you might have wanted to get the fuck out of here now because I was, well, you were growing on me, I guess. I remember one week when we had a particularly stringent deadline.

Something came over me. We had been laughing about something. You had a very low cut top on and cardigan, nice dress pants.

I watched as you turned around, looking for a panty line, wondering if you're wearing a thong or not, wondering what those panties might look like. I could see through that thin top, though, and probably equally thin bra, something. And as we sat together across from each other, I simply couldn't help it.

I looked over the screen of my laptop. I could see your nipples, I told you. I remember you tilting your head, a small smile.

You batted your eyes. I wasn't sure what the response was going to be from you. I swallowed, a small bit of regret running through me.

Why, thank you, you said, and I laughed. Of course, disingenuously. I laughed because it was my nervous response.

And I remember, later on that afternoon, you had a dentist appointment. You were leaving early. And I waited in that office.

I waited until everybody left. And when they did, I sat at my desk, running my right hand up and down my thigh with you on my mind. I could not stop thinking about you.

I could not stop thinking about having seen your nipples poking through that shirt. My mind ran to other things. I thought about those panties.

I felt my cock throbbing in my slacks. I thought about that pencil skirt that you wore the other day with the black stockings. I wondered where those black stockings ended, over your hips, up to your thighs.

My cock twitched. I immediately unbuckled my belt, unsnapped my slacks, pulled the zipper down. I couldn't get you out of my mind.

What does she think about me? What would she think if she knew right now that I had my hand gripped around my cock?