Remember how I said there was that woman I hate? Well, she is down. She may have lost her job. It may just be temporary. I don't really know. There's only so much you can pick up from spying on someone's blog. The point is: I'm kind of enjoying it, but now I feel terrible for that.

Why do I have such a tiny black heart?

So much ink has been spilt over this it's almost an environmental hazard. I'm certainly not going to say it better than any of those people, but I was just reading an article and it suddenly hit me: a black man has a realistic chance of becoming president of the United States. Holy fucking shit. It's something I was sure would happen eventually, even in my lifetime, but now, so soon. I am kind of proud. I'm not a huge Obama fan. I do take issue with the experience thing, but it is amazing. It's still hard to believe. Some part of me wonders if he will really win, if we can overcome this enough as a country for him to win. Will people really vote for a black man? Amazing. America. Yes.

The Times endorsed Obama. Who's surprised?

Not too much is happening. I'm really really sleepy today, and pretty much bored on a general level. Have been looking at engagement rings online. Not because I want Boyfriend to propose so badly, as I want a fancy ring! They have some really beautiful and affordable lab created diamond rings now. They're real diamonds, chemically the same, looks the same, but created in a lab instead of by nature. I like that idea because of all the diamond wars. This way I'd get the sparkle without the guilt. Couldn't help myself and mentioned to Boyfriend the other night that I'd been looking, but I explained why. He laughed. I don't think he felt any pressure. I might just buy myself some nice earrings instead. Diamond studs never go out of style.

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Am fat.

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There is a woman I hate. I hate her so much I spy on her blog, and her flickr. I hate her so much that while I never have to see her I still think about her regularly. Probably everyday. I don't even really hate her. I don't know what this emotion is. I don't wish her harm. I'm not jealous of her, well, I'm jealous of her skinniness, but she starves herself so I don't exactly feel like she's got some genetic advantage. It's just... I don't know what it is. She's no innocent, so don't worry there. This person spent the better part of 2 years trying to be my best friend with one hand and stabbing my back with the other. General woman hater female in the workplace bullshit. But it's not that either. It's more like I hate her the way so many women hate Sarah Palin. I hate her because she represents everything I hoped wasn't true about gender anymore. Everything I hoped we had moved beyond. And she loves it. She perpetuates and revels in it. She makes it all that much worse by making her tits, her subservience, her fucking adoration the most used tool in her career advancement. She is always the babe, the smart capable pair of lashes batting at  you across a fresh cup of coffee. She might be brilliant, for a girl, but she's really only there to recognize how awesome  the nearest penis is. This is why I hate her. But not because I am so pure and free and not like that. Part of the reason I'm still looking at her blog and scoping out her pictures is I think she might be right. It's working for her. She is pretty, in this day when pretty equals not a pleasing arrangement of features, but a low BMI. She is smart, even if it's couched in terms of a smart woman. And worst of all she is getting somewhere.

And even worse than that? I wish I could do it. Even if the reason is my security and self worth and lack of fucked up gender issues, I still could not play that game even if I wanted to. And it scares the shit out of me that maybe she's going to get farther in life for playing up the debutant and the home coming queen. For allowing herself to bask in the light of some not actually great man. And it also scares the shit out of me that I care, that actually, maybe, she really is prettier than me. That measured by her terms I would loose. And I do not want to lose to someone like that, on those terms.

Lose. Hear that? I'm competing with her. Why? Just because she wants to compete does that mean I have to? Shit.

Horny.

Obvious lesson of the day: Always always always back up all your work, no matter how small.

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So. It's been a while since I've talked about work. It is fine, except I am seriously contemplating seducing my temporary boss.

Oh what the fuck. This is anonymous for a reason. I've already done it.

His wife was out of town. Again. So I knew he would have time. Wouldn't want to inconvenience. In the interest of full disclosure: yes this is part fantasy fulfillment, part job security. Not that I plan on staying forever.

I wore what can only be described as a sexy secretary uniform. Black pencil skirt, tight enough that, were it not for the slit up the back, walking would be impossible. White shirt (made it a little less cheesy with an oversized man's style one.) 4 inch pumps. I even put my hair up. Every 3rd girl on the subway is wearing some more tasteful variation of this lately so it was no big woop, really.

People tend to find some excuse or just sneak out early on Fridays, but it was still dinner time before everyone was gone. He asked me if I minded staying late. I said no. He asked where we should order from. I suggested Gobo. Then I went to my desk, poured a drink, and took off my bra.

He's sitting in the big leather chair opposite the desk when I come back in. With his back to the door he doesn't notice me at first. I come around and bend over, low. I hold out the tray with his drink. I'm sure he can see fully down my shirt. I'm wondering if this will work. Has it been seconds? Or even one second? I watch him. Is he looking at my tits? Is he thinking about how good they'd feel in his mouth? Around his cock? God I hope so.

He reaches out, dips a finger in the whisky, and brings it up to my lips. It worked. I gently lick the pad of his fingertip as he slides it between my lips. I suck it for a few seconds. Close my eyes. Let him enjoy the view of my cherry painted lips pursed around his finger. Then he reaches down and cups one tit in his hand. He makes a soft noise that makes me happy. Makes me think he's been wanting to touch them for a long time.

With his other hand he takes the drink and I put the tray down. I lean in closer and we kiss. His hands running greedily over me. Tits. Ass. Legs. He's getting into the nipple pinching now. The skirt is too tight for me to easily straddle him, so I start working my way down. Snuggled between his thighs I undo the leather belt. (Wouldn't I like to feel that wap against my backside sometime?) There's already a straining bulge. Unzip. Briefs! (Didn't know anyone still wore those. What about all that over-heating sperm?) Help him get the whole bundle off. He's just there in his shirt and tie now. Bare ass against the warm leather.

I run my nails along his inner thighs and spread them a little, then start by licking his balls. He doesn't shave, but isn't too hairy. I suck at them gently while pumping my hand over the shaft of his cock in long slow strokes, running the pad of my thumb over that soft underside. Then I lick along the shaft on all sides, before wrapping my lips around his throbbing cock and taking him all in. They're always impressed when you can take the whole monster in, and I want to impress. His cock is hot in my mouth, almost burning on my lips. I love, love, sucking cock and start to moan involuntarily. He's pumping along now. Face fucking me. I can feel how wet my panties are. A hand winds it's way into my hair, gently petting at first, then tugging, controlling. He's taking over the rhythm. I don't mind. With one hand I reach down and stroke from his asshole, over his taint, up the balls and down again, putting a little more pressure on the asshole with each pass. He's so close to cuming. I can feel his balls getting tighter, and the thrusts faster, more insistent. So I slow it down, being a good boy he lets me. I stop at the top, and holding only the smooth warm head in my mouth I lap at the crown and the cleave, keeping him at that threshold, but not pushing him over. He reaches for my hair again.

"Fuck. I'm going to cum. I'm going to cum on your face."

Oh not yet my good boy, that might work with your wife, but I still have work for you to do.

Promotion! Might not be forever, but after the recent slump- and the condition of the economy -am so so excited!! Bought myself giant ring and Toblerone to celebrate.*

*Normally am totally against shopping/eating as reward/entertainment/celebration as that attitude has made the American economy/collective waistline what it is today, but had already been celebrating with pints and was thus drunk and illogical. Whatevs, promotion!

What Happened With T Pt. 2

He lives in a nice building. But thankfully not with a doorman. I don't think I could have gone in if there was a doorman. He nearly put it in in the elevator, but I'm not that crazy. (Safety first kids!) Weirdly enough I didn't have the urge to suck him. That must mean something.

His place is nice, v nice. Exactly what I expected, even down to the artwork. Photographs on the walls. Mostly black and white. I noticed one in the hall. It was of a room, not American, probably French, either a hotel room or a well appointed apartment. A sofa, white of course, floor length curtains fluttering behind. A pair of legs, nice ones, spindly but nice. Expensive shoes. I knew instantly it was his girlfriend, and she lived there.

He had never mentioned a girlfriend, but it wasn't that. OK, it was a bit that. Why hide her when he knew about my boyfriend? But mostly it was the picture. That's a picture for a 19 year old anorexic to have in her dorm room, upon which she can project her dreams of Pariiiiii. Not a grown man. The photo didn't show the rest of the woman, but I could see her. Shoulder length blond hair (has to be blond,) big sunglasses, weird geometric cut clothes in expensive fabrics.

It was awkward to say the least, but I hightailed it out of there. I mean, listen, he was hot hot hot. But that photograph shed a weird light that made him look, well, silly. And everything- the tension, the nervousness -simply evaporated. I'm sure it's not that simple, but it was enough.

On the ride home I thought about how I never knew T, never gave him the chance to show himself. I took his easy grin and quick charm and fashioned a T doll. Everything is perception and all that, but this was all perception. Otherwise how could everything be shattered by one bad piece of home decor? Those things I thought he would say. Never would have happened. Ever. I was so stupid to think otherwise. But I suddenly realized why. Another man did say something in a seemingly pointlessness situation. A man who told me how he felt not to get in my pants, or even to pursue a relationship, but because it was the truth. In my hurry to cast T as the other half of some workplace RomCom I hadn't noticed that I'd imbued him with all the qualities of Boyfriend. I never knew the real T, but I don't need to. I leaned back against the cool vinyl and let the cab take me back where I belonged.

What Happened With T Pt. 1

I had to cancel drinks with him, and never bothered to reschedule. Seemed safer. It's been years since a man's made me nervous from the effort of not straddling him mid sentence. He's all kinds of dirty blond, honey tanned goodness, which is normally excellent eye candy, but in this case I felt it was too much. Well he called again to meet. So we went. And it was crazy.

I forbade certain neighborhoods- the ones in which I live and frequent, of course -and let him choose the rest. He picked a bistro (I kid you not) in a hip expensive neighborhood. The kind of place where everyone, even the help, is impeccably turned out in their most pricey casuals. Just being in the neighborhood makes me feel like Ugly Betty. Uhg 1. Then he knew people at the restaurant. Uhg 2. Then they seemed to have heard of me. Uhg 3.

He was so insistent we meet I kind of assumed he had something to say. Something along the lines of "I know you have a boyfriend, and it's an asshole thing to do, but I felt there was something between us. Some kind of attraction or connection. I don't think it was one sided, and I wanted to at least have one conversation about it. Or even to just say it, because we might never work together again, and therefore might never have an excuse to talk again."

Did not happen.

In fact, as the meal went on and I got a little drunk I started to wonder if this was all an elaborate hipster* joke. That maybe his friend at the bar was secretly filming us for a post modern film student take on life as never ending high school. Or maybe he is just networking because that's what people fucking do. Which is what I decided once we'd paid, and walked out, and he still said nothing. He offered to walk me to the subway, but I declined. It was getting embarrassing to be around him. So I went one way and he the other, and I breathed a melancholic sigh of relief.

I was rounding a corner thinking about it and there he was, in front of a building, keys in hand. Why hadn't he told me he lived on the way to the station? Why hadn't he gone the same way I did? Did he know I was going to come this way? What? Before I could figure it out he was walking. Fast. Towards me. When he kissed me I felt my stomach clinch and flutter. He tasted like wine and smelled like clean laundry.

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*Though he's not that type. I don't like hipsters. Gag.