Workplace Wanton

After coming to terms with my brobdingnagian fuck up (in regards to being 100% faithful to my stupefying boyfriend), I quickly forgot about the thirty-four-year-old man with the frosty eyes.

Or at least tried to.

The month that followed that green kiss in the cellars of my employer's fly-by-night operation was consistently dampered by a questioning, blue gaze from across the room. I tried to keep my distance, fully accepting the unbareable pressure of my moronic mistake and slutty flirtatiousness.

There were times where he would slide his hand over my ass as I walked past him. My expression would growl and he would back off, completely confused and utterly annoyed.
There would be other times where he would look dejected and my womanly sympathy would arise. When I tried to explain, he would hiss and I would recline, hoping he wouldn't be angry enough to make our two-minute-affair public.

Eventually one night, after excessive amounts of animosity I cornered him, fully motivated to make my peace.

He said he understood.
I said I was sorry.
He smiled.
I smiled.
I walked away.

Later that night, while working in my designated area he approached me and asked if I would help him in the other room. I hesitated for a moment, worried about fidelity issues, but slowly convinced myself that the war was over and nothing would come of five minute busy work in another room.
I told him I'd be there as soon as I finished what I was doing.

I've put myself in lots of stupid positions. Life has taught me that while men need to think before they speak, women need to think before they act. This is just another one of my golden moments that will silently etch itself onto the budding lists of my notorious stupidity.

I walked into the room, confused and baffled by the image that stood before me. There was the thirty-four-year-old, with his wang hanging out of his pants, an outward expression of desperation plastered against his cleanly shaved face.

I froze.
He grabbed the back of my head and pulled my face close to his.

"You want this. You teased me for so long."
"W.w.w.what?"

He pressed my head down. I tried not to take in the ghastly sight of his enormous, erect cock that was inches away from my nose. My body was still stiff from complete disbelief and unabbreviated shock. My brain finally kicked in.

"What the fuck is he doing?!"

And than the mouth.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

He let go of my hair, I jolted away, holding my sweater close to my body, gazing at him with a new found sense of horrific wonder. I started to cry.

"What the fuck was that?"
"You told me you liked it rough?!"
"What about our talk, did that not get through to you?"
"I thought that you would have enjoyed it..."

I was confused and shaking.
I left.
I walked right out of work.
I went to bed.

I had to explain myself to my employer the next day. I told him that I had, "terrible female issues" and he waved his hands in the air not wanting to hear anything else, but firmly saying, "never let it happen again," in an all-too-boss-like-way.

The thirty-four-year-old hasn't spoken to me since and for that I am thankful. He's leaving for a new job by the end of the week. I doubt I'll ever see him again.
I know that I should file a complaint, but I can't be arsed. I do want to forget and the less I have to remember, the more likely I am to let it go. That seems far too logical, I'm sure it won't work.

Now, looking back at the moment in that little room, I laugh at the recollection of a half-naked-man in an awkward stage of desire. Something so stupid shouldn't haunt me surely...?

But I'm sure I'll never feel the same after looking into a pair of dazzling blue eyes.