One of the results of having a job based on middle management's opinion of your tits is there's not always work to do. Especially when it's in a massive corporation. Even more especially when said massive corp is teetering on the point of folding up shop, being bought, and being assimilated into the United States Congress. (I hyperbolize, but we are waiting for the congressional vote to determine our future, but then, aren't we all?)

Yesterday afternoon while Boyfriend had my face pressed into the mattress, I imagined it was B there, working me earnestly, mercilessly from behind. And instead of the bed, I imagined myself bent over his generic blond pine desk. Boyfriend is 100 times more fit and beautiful than B, at least. I think it's precisely that. There's something dirty and provocative about letting the dweeby salary man have his way with me. More so if he is very meek in life, but harsh in bed(desk.)

It's not any weirder than any other kind of taboo I guess.

I think I'm getting old. Or feeling old. Something.

As I arrived at work today the security guard said, "Aren't you back in school yet?" I must have looked confused because he clarified by asking if I really work here, as he had thought I was an intern. 

This kind of thing happens every so often. I've been carded many a time while purchasing a lotto ticket.

But this is the first time I was flattered. Old.

Also:

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Well, am back at the Large Financial Institution. One of the ones that's failing America. Turns out, B has kept his promise and found some paperwork to keep me employed, for a little while at least.

Incidentally, this is not the job offer I wrote about last night. That's something entirely, sporadically, different. I'm feeling kind of precarious in my work situation (as if you can't tell from the endless whining of the last few days.) Made sure I gave B an especially breasty hug this morning. Just a little gift to ingratiate myself.

Job offer! Nothing to whistle about, but it's nice to feel wanted.

OK! Have secured yet another will probably turn out to be fruitless meeting. This one at Columbia. Not the country. Honestly, am kind of excited. I've never been so far uptown.

Well, that meeting didn't turn out to be anything. Oh well, onward and upward! Can barely remember what we talked about, am so sleepy I want to cry.

I was in bed by midnight, which took unbelievable amounts of discipline actually, but still couldn't sleep. It was past two when I decided to try masturbating.

Boyfriend must have felt me squirming or smelled the sex because suddenly a sleepy arm wrapped around me and a big head buried itself in my neck. He's been having a hard few weeks at work, and I really try not to disturb his sleep. But some things can not be helped. I rolled him onto his back, stripped him, and sucked him off. His cum was sweet. So sweet I wondered for a moment how many calories would be saved if instead of reaching for a Skinny Cow I just sucked Boyfriend every time a sugar craving hit.

We both went to sleep immediately after.

GUH! Someone six years younger than me has something close to a dream job of mine! Something I am sooooo far away from. AND when I emailed to see if he could hook me up, he didn't respond. This AFTER I know he responded to my nemesis the same day she hit him up. Hate everything.

GUH!

Why do I even HAVE a nemesis?

Oh well, at least I have meeting with new agency tomorrow. We'll see.

Things I need to do:

- Find new job

- Clean apartment

- Work out daily

- Stop eating junk food

- Get to sleep before 2 am

- Cook dinner

Things I have done:

- Bought mascara

- Finished all junk food in house

- Bought floss

- 15 push ups 2 days ago

- Complain about lack of job

- Sleep in until 11 am

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I'm feeling a bit down. Not really sure why. Might be something as pedestrian as hormones. But I just want to lay here and nap and do nothing. Not. One. Thing.

Well, maybe eat some cake.

It's Monday afternoon and I'm not at work. They told me on Friday that I should stay home, and they'd "call me when they need me." Sounds awesome. I love time off. Except when I spend it all feeling like a looser for not working. God I have never ever understood it when people said that before. I have always worked so hard that having time off just sounded like a creamy soft serve dream. Only, not so much. It's all a head game of course. The only thing keeping me from enjoying my time off is me. Financially we are fine. Boyfriend makes a good living and is not putting any guilt or pressure on me. It is just me.

Also, am fat.

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Seven hundred billion with a B to keep capitalism alive in the US of A. Fuck all.

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I was looking for some semi fresh, toner free air, trying to think of someone to text, when I crossed paths with B.

Boy am I glad I wore my best black tee today. It's appropriately office tight from the front. But if one is taller than me and standing close, one could get a rather nice complete view from the top. I noticed him enjoying said view as I explained my possibly impending departure.

Said he would make sure it doesn't happen. 

Didn't notice my panties were filled like a cream puff until I was walking away.

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I need a vibrator. Any suggestions?

Also, how do I talk to Boyfriend about it? I don't want him to take it as some sign of his inadequacy, because he's not. I just think it would be fun. There was a time when I used the shower head, but now I want the real deal. So, any suggestions for something that can approximate that shower head clitoral throb and I could fuck myself blind with would be greatly appreciated.

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Come Get Me

I've left the door open.

Sprawled out on our crisp white sheets, my hands knead the tender flesh of my breasts. They're more firm and full than usual. The skin soft, sensitive to touch. I massage them slowly, but not gently. Increasing the pressure of my touch, I feel the tension in them easy a little, but not much. My body is ripe. My breast full and heavy, aching for the release of your touch. My pussy in a constant low hum of readiness. I am so full, so achingly ripe, like fruit at it's peak blush, filled with sugar ready ooze down your tongue, begging for the prick of your knife. It's just one of those days.

My hands squeeze and knead harder, pinching and pulling, trace circles around the raised nipples, like strawberry gumdrops. One hand slides down my stomach, between my legs. My clit is already big, engorged. With one finger I dip into my creamy wet pussy and draw tiny invisible vibrating circles over the buzzing in my clit. I can feel it getting bigger, fuller. I increase the pressure.

"What're you doing?" you call from the other room.

I say nothing. Please come find me. Please. I hear footsteps. You're at the door.

"Oh."

I say nothing, don't look at you. I keep rubbing, spread my knees wider, giving you a full view. My pussy is so wet. I can feel the ticklish wet trickle of juices running onto my asshole. I hope you're watching.

You're standing over me now. I hear unzipping. I want to open my eyes, and take in the sight of your cock, but don't. This is better. Not knowing what will happen next. Suddenly you're sitting astride me. You're legs on either side of my shoulders, making my arms useless. You're softly stroking my face, hair, cheeks. Then I feel your cock slap my face. Just as I open my eyes, you slam it in my mouth. Deep. Mmm... a cock filling my mouth is one of my favorite things. Yours especially so.

My finger keeps working at my clit, faster now. There's a burning tension spreading in me, wanting to burst. You're cock slamming into my mouth again and again only makes it worse.

"Come," you tell me, "Come for me."

Those circles over my clit get drawn faster, more furiously, harder. And suddenly it happens. That burning tension bursts, spreading a kind of relief. A pleasure so simple and true it can be called peace. I feel the warmth spread over my stomach, breasts, up my neck and over my face, down my legs and out through my toes. My clit throbs under my finger while my cunt convulses, opening and closing. But your cock isn't there to be pulled deeper.

Not yet.

They are talking about sending me back already. W.T.F. This was supposed to go until December. Shit. Shit. Shit! Seems there's not as much work as K. thought. Seems she only told them she might need someone until December and they took it as a full booking. Seems like I might be out of work again. In this shit blizzard economy. Maybe, they can just find some stuff for me to do here until Christmas. I don't even cost that much. What's a few more grand when you've already lost a few billion?

This has been around forever, but just kept thinking about it today for some reason. Some makes my fingers twitch reason.

Just finished watching the Rachel Zoe show. I know a lot of people hate her, but it's great escapism and she doesn't seem like a total bitch. Self centered, ambitious, but not evil.

It was 5:15 when K. asked me to go to Conference A and help with some big presentation. Was irritated. I am supposed to leave at 5:30. Still not sure if I am getting overtime at this gig, and don't feel like staying late if not, as I am only a temp and any brownie points earned won't matter.

Room was full of not so young professionals (read mid-late 30's.) I have to say I am both impressed and a little sad for the women, of which I was happy to find quite a few. With their Ivy-lite educations and brown purses, all of them were obviously accomplished. At the very least they were lawyers. But at the same time, the way they looked at harmless little me, it was like they hated and dismissed me in one swoop. One of the most insidious things about sexism is it trains so many women to hate women. Every pair of tits is either competition for attention or a threat to your intelligence. I was surprised to see B (lawyer who signed me in yesterday) Shook his hand along with everyone else's. They were frantically putting some binders together. Of course the women were saddled with most of the organizing and stapling. I was to wait until they were done and make copies of each. Post-haste. It was deadly. I pretended to doodle while eavesdropping.

Someone asked B about his vacation in Martha's Vineyard. Wife and kid already went up he says. He had to stay for this. Will drive up this weekend if he can, but most likely not. I don't know why I care. He must have felt uncomfortable because suddenly he was pointing at my doodle, going on and on about how "creative" it was. How he "could never do something like that." It was ridiculous, actually. Felt like transparent awkward geek flirting. And not in an adorable way. Just in an almost middled aged, married young, works too much way. 

Got out of there. Post-haste.

I might be depressed. I want to kill.

Everything seems boring and I don't want to do anything. Except maybe make some love to Boyfriend tonight. This place is boring! Can't wait to go home!

Went to my new job today. It's in the legal department of a large financial institution. In case the sirens haven't reached you yet, large financial institutions are currently up shit creek. Seems to be some kind of inverse math. The more trouble the economy is in, the bigger the legal department gets at these places. This one occupies an entire building in the financial district.

I have a chronic problem with tardiness, except for the first day. On first days I over compensate. Today was no exception. With almost an hour to kill I got a bagel, coffee, and dirty look from some pointy shoes latte swiller when I accidentally cut in line before her, and still had to wait in the lobby exchanging anxious smiles with security until someone consented to sign me in.

Could have been worse. I am assigned to K. who is v nice, v tubby, and doesn't get in until 10. Which means 10:18. Luckily one of the attorneys vouched for me on his way in. Was very excited to meet me, he was. (Don't know why I am suddenly Yoda.) Eyes lit up like mine when a Pinkberry comes into view. He's that kind of overworked upper middle class married guy I'd never talk to in a bar, but sometimes have the dirtiest fantasies about. Don't even want to start with why that might be the case. Possibilities are oo disturbing.

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David Foster Wallace is dead. WTF.

I'm waiting around for someone to tell me what to do. Not used to getting up so early. This morning I was half way into the living room, naked, before I noticed a man on the fire escape, eating a sandwich. Luckily he was too involved with the sandwich to notice. Better invest in some blinds.

Least you fear for my safety, I live in a perfectly nice neighborhood. So nice in fact, they have workmen cleaning and refreshing the facade of the building. One of them was simply taking his break.

Just when you're mourning it's passage, the worst kind of summer rears it's clammy head again. Unbearable to be outside or in the subways today. Spent all day going from sofa to bed, bed to sofa, finding ways to amuse ourselves. None of it involved the TV. 

Start my new assignment from the temp agency tomorrow. Hope it goes well.

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Must loose weight, after I finish this pint of chocolate chip.

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Not Sick Enough

There's a balloon inside my head trying to pop. I'd really like to write some more erotica, but for now am too busy self medicating with cookie dough, orange juice, and 30 Rock.

Scroll down for the more sexy, less whiny stuff.

Kisses

To give a little background. My job is of a nature which takes me into different offices for sometimes days, sometimes months. I met T in one of those awkward instances where I introduce myself and he says, "We've met before." Normally when people do this I mentally call them a douche. What is the point of calling someone out on not remembering you? It only highlights that you are a narcissist. But he did it with such a throwaway charm I wasn't offended. In point of fact I felt flattered and empowered. He is very handsome and fit in an hours-at-the-gym-keep-me-from-being-too-skinny way. I am clearly in the power position, being the one to forget him. He is clearly letting me be there by reminding me.

Except he could not possibly be interested.

Even beyond the Big Apple Center Of The Universe Models Stalk The Streets Here cliches.- And I'm not talking about the girl at your high school who wanted to be 5' 7' so she could model and "not be too tall for guys." I'm talking about women who are so genetically superior it is their job... full time. (n.b. This is extra on my mind this week, as we are in the throws of fashion week and models are freaking everywhere.) T is handsome, smart, charming, confident, and has a good enough job to easily pull one of these off.  -Like all big cities with large and thriving fashion/media industries everyone tends to step up their game here. This is awesome because it means you can be brave, experiment, wear your most ridiculous fashion forward outfit on a Wednesday afternoon and no one will blink. It also means that unless you're at the extreme of either end, most of us hit lower on the curve here than we would almost anywhere else. (Or is it further back on the curve? You know what I mean.) And because it is a sexist world in which we live, this affects women far more than men. To put it simply, anywhere else we'd be in the same league, but here I doubt it.

And yet there are the stops into my office, apropos of nothing. The insistence on getting my personal email, and iChat. The basic office flirting routine.

Here's my theory. He's a flirt. For some people it's an ego stroke, seeing their attractiveness reflected back in your eyes. For others, it's simply fun.

But now we're going for drinks?

Just got back from a work lunch. T was there. Am I paranoid or did I see his best work friend give him a "not a good idea" look as he slid into the booth next to me? The whole thing was v awkward. A woman had set her purse next to me, holding her spot, but when she went to wash up he moved it and sat with me. She was irritated.

Why did he call and make plans if he was coming to this lunch?

Made special effort not to talk to him too much. In fact, mostly ignored him. Did, however, enjoy brushing my arm against his all through the meal. He must moisturize, v nice skin. 

Incidentally, only one other table was occupied and it was some once major TV celebrity. I didn't notice until half way through lunch, then could not stop looking at her hair.

T called. Wants to get drinks. Makes me nervous.

At least it's not dinner.

Relax Pt.3

I like being your play thing.

But not as much as I like sucking your cock.

You're finger still pressing in and out of my asshole- albeit much more gently now -I move to kiss your ear, your neck.

"I want to suck you off," I dream of whispering.

Oh the things we are still shy about.

Instead, I simply drop to my knees. You pick up your drink and take a sip, holding my gaze. We're both pulling at your boxers now, maneuvering them past your erection. It's massive. Intimidating. I love it... I ignore it. Instead I lean my face in. You're smell is pungent, almost acrid. Gently now, I'm licking your balls. First one, and then the other. Slow, soft laps with my whole tongue. Now I feel you relaxing a bit, sinking back into the chair to give me better access, widening your legs.

"Whore," I wish you would call me.

I'm looking into your face, watching you watch me. One long firm lick takes me from the base to the head. When I get there my lips wrap around the crown of your cock and my tongue flutters over that most sensitive spot.

All this teasing is ridiculous. You've had a long day. Your big hand covers the back of my head and pushes my hot mouth down over the shaft. All of it. Thank god I can suppress that gag reflex. Soft sighs come out of you now, as  your hand guides my helpless head up and down your ever stiffening cock. The head is smooth and tight. I imagine it's a deep eggplant purple by now. I do my best to keep up with my tongue. You start grinding your hips, fucking me in the face. This is making me impossibly wet. The slightest touch on my clit right now would send me over the edge. Just thinking about it makes me moan around your cock. The vibrations must feel good because your thrusts grow even deeper.

"Bitch," I imagine you letting yourself say.

I start stroking your balls, giving them an ever so slight squeeze at the base each time your cock slams down my throat. I feel you slowing down, holding yourself back as your balls tighten, "I'm going to cum if you keep that up." Oh my darling, ever the considerate lover.

I raise my eyes to meet  yours, but keep on with what I'm doing. In my mind's eye, I see what you see. I'm letting you fully out now, with each thrust  your cock parts my lips, forces itself between them, and down my throat. I love the rhythm of this, like a good cock sucker should. You're speeding up, thrusting even harder, faster, more violently than before. You're no longer my considerate lover, but my selfish master, using me for your pleasure, fucking my face the way you really want to.

Suddenly silence. Your breathing stops. You're body perfectly still in a tense arc. Only your cock throbs, pumping one spurt after another of hot cum onto my lips and into my waiting mouth. My tongue eagerly laps at the pulsing crown of your cock.

Not a drop escapes.

Relax Pt.2

Your lips are warm, but your tongue icy. Instinctively, I pull back when your teeth clamp down on my nipple, but can't get away. It takes no effort at all for your big paws to hold me in place. You run them down my sides, grabbing and kneading my ass, letting just the tips of your fingers explore my folds, spreading my wetness. It's down the soft inside of my thighs, and up the taunt skin of my cheeks.

One finger wanders up to my asshole. I tense up. This is not where I thought things were going. But submission is about... well, submitting. And it actually feels quite nice, your rubbing that unexpected little pucker. Your chin tilts up for a kiss and our mouths meet. Hot, wet, sweet. I love you.

Suddenly I'm crying out in pleasure and pain as your finger slips in. Slips is the wrong word. Thrusts. And again. You're finger fucks my asshole again and again. My moans and screams are muffled by your mouth on mine. The more I try to push away the harder you thrust. It's going to be tough sitting still tomorrow.

Submission. Submission. Only when I relax-  lapping away at your kisses, moaning softly with every thrust, arching my back to give you deeper access -are you satisfied.

Surprisingly so am I.

Relax Pt.1

I've been planning this all day. But I can tell you're hungry and cranky. Having been too lazy/distracted to cook I've ordered in.

Thai. A bit too spicy. We eat, chat; I'm not very interested.

Afterwards you take a quick shower as I clean up. Still waiting. You come out of the bathroom in boxers and fix us drinks. Yours on the rocks, mine with soda.

As you settle into your big armchair I change into a top that in sluttier years past I'd been known to wear as a dress. It's barely long enough to cover anything, but I don't use it as seduction wear anymore so much as 98%-humidity-in-the-city lounge wear. You lookup from your drink, but barely notice. I'm not disappointed. The point is to surprise.

I stand in front of your chair and sip my drink, absently stroking the exposed top of my breasts with one hand. They are the size and shape of ripe grapefruits and even I like the feel of them. I can feel my nipples get hard against my palm. I draw fingernails over them through the thin fabric, but do not pinch. It's fun to tease, even myself. My pussy has been slick for hours. It begs to be touched, but that wouldn't do at all. This is an exercise in submission after all. My pleasure denied. For your pleasure.

"Come here," you say.

I don't. It is fun to tease.

You have another slow sip of bourbon, this time taking a half melted cube of ice in your mouth. Now I lean forward placing my hands on the back of the chair. Tits dangling in your face, nipples tingling to be sucked, bitten, mistreated. My back arched, cunt glistening in the last afternoon light.

Who in the adjacent high-rises is watching this I wonder?