Out of Hours
A little while ago, I talked to you about a chap I work with. [Dipping Your Pen in the Office Ink.]
Well … things are starting to heat up there. Or they’ve all of a sudden started to heat up. I’m not sure if it’s been a gradual thing or an overnight thing, but there has definitely been a temperature change. We’re usually bubbling away at a moderate flirtation level, but over the past few days, the temperature has been off the charts. Hot, hot, hot. Too hot. The kind of hot where you can’t do anything useful unless you have a fan directing cool air at you at all times.
He’s been a little down recently, so I’ve been trying my best to cheer him up in a mostly platonic way. We’d been playing stupid work games with each other, and one of them spilled out into out-of-hours. I text-sang an obscure song lyric to him, not thinking he’d know the song at all, and then he sent the next lyric back. The next thing I knew, we were marvelling at our joint love of the band and making plans to see them at their next local gig.
And then a conversation happened …
Him: When we go to this gig, promise me something?
Me: What’s that?
Him: When we get hammered and end up having sex, you won’t feel sad that all of the other guys you sleep with aren’t as good as I am.
Me: Oh, so you think it’s going to be *that* easy to get into my underwear?
Him: Well … the gig, me, you, plenty of beer and my personality … yeah, I’ll give it a shot.
The conversation flowed a little more, discussing how we would deal with things at work if we did accidentally-but-on-purpose fuck, and then he called me a bunny boiler. A BUNNY BOILER?! I protested my innocence, obviously, and told him that I was quite offended at his words, but then he said one thing that I couldn’t really argue with all that much:
“You’re the worst kind of woman. When a woman like you wants something she always gets it, no matter what she has to do to fucking get him there!”
Okay, well he’s not completely wrong about that, but I hardly think that makes me a ‘bunny boiler’, do you?? I’m a bit of a spoilt brat, but mostly self-spoilt. I don’t need other people to spoil me. My family has a tendency to spoil me in general, but only on a relatively small scale. We’re spoilers. We’re not buying each other new houses or cars or anything like that, but we like to spoil each other from time to time with gifts and loveliness.
But I digress.
Now I’m thinking that maybe there’s something more in this little work flirtation than I first thought. Our sexual chemistry isn’t fizzling out like I first thought it might, and it’s proving to be more than just an at-work flirtation. It’s happening out of work, too. And we had a little … moment, a little while back, at another work colleague’s birthday party. He asked me if I wanted to fuck him, drunk, but I turned him down because he was the wrong side of drunk. He wasn’t let’s-fuck drunk; he was blind drunk. Hammered drunk. Obliterated. Who wants to take that to bed? Not me.
I think it’s pretty inevitable that me and this work colleague are going to fuck at some point though. Do you agree? But is it just a fuck, or is it more than that? Because I’m fairly certain it’s not okay for work colleagues to get together. Like, it’s in the handbook and everything. And I’m not sure I want a relationship with him, nor him with me. It’s a purely sex thing … I think.
I should really try and keep things to one man at a time.
I’m just over complicating my life with all of this man-juggling!
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
If you’re in the market for something a lil’ spicier, why not check out one of my smutty favourites:
