Affairs/leavslow
                                     Laurie Lea
                                Leaving the Slow Lane
                                               11/21
                Dear Diary: hah! Haven't kept one in ages. But I have my own directory 
            with a password, so I'll keep you here. Have to talk to someone, and people 
                                      just can't be trusted. 
                  I noticed him the first day he came to work, but it seemed hopeless 
              from the start. For one thing my husband works here; his office is only 
              fifty feet away. A dear man, but a bit obtuse sometimes--let's face it, 
             especially in bed--which is what I get for having been a cheerleader who 
               married the captain of the squad, straight out of our small-town high 
             school. And the rest of us work right out here in the open. One hot look 
             and the whole place would be buzzing with that mean talk. And then Chuck 
              would be right here to walk me out into the corridor and start in. I've 
              never gone out on him, through twenty-two years of marriage and raising 
             four boys; but he doesn't seem to believe that. I start talking to _any_ 
              man, even about work, and he's right there, breathing on us both. It's 
                                           embarrassing. 
                So, when the new guy, I'll call him Tom (we are all real here...got to 
              do some protecting) was hired in our section (five women and him!), the 
             first thought that occurred to me was that Chuck would be all over me in 
               case I tried to get his attention; and then the _second_ thought that 
            occurred to me was, hey, I've been tried and sentenced for two decades, the 
                      kids are grown--why not be guilty as charged for once? 
                 But, as luck would have it, as soon as he moved into the desk across 
               from mine, he put up a picture of a darling family--three kids, and a 
            better looking, younger woman than me. Not that I think I'm especially bad 
            looking, although it's been a _long_ time since I was a cheerleader. Brown 
              hair, kept short, grey-green eyes, a few freckles on either side of my 
            nose, a nice mouth, which I touch up only a little with a light pink, twice 
               a day, but a bit of a weak chin. I've learned that If I keep the hair 
               short & curly and wear big round earrings the chin looks better. Even 
            Chuck has noticed...I'm only five-eight, and I _won't_ tell you my weight--
              I try to lose some every now and then, but it's hopeless, even with the 
             damned cigarettes; and now my face is starting to crinkle a bit round the 
              eyes. But my general shape, excepting the extra on the hips, is pretty 
              good. What I have up front is my best feature; if Chuck and I ever went 
             anywhere, _and_ if he'd allow it, I'd go in a strapless low-cut gown and 
                                          knock 'em dead. 
                   I wear a Walkman when I'm doing data entry and listen to the old 
            dreamy songs--Blue Velvet, If Loving You Is Wrong, Outside Looking In--and 
             lately the guy I see in my head dancing with me to the oldies is Tom. So 
             here's this attractive guy, a little taller than me, gentlemanly, kindest 
                 eyes I've ever seen, holds open doors for you (I still believe in 
            chivalry), thinks of everyone's birthday, & sings quietly to himself while 
              he works--nice voice--sits ten feet away, and I want to touch him, and 
                can't _and_ I'm his immediate supervisor. Gotta think of something. 
                                               12/10
                 I thought of something. Not much: Tom is into goodies, so I lend him 
            money for the snack machines downstairs. He always pays back the very next 
            day, darn him, but I've got him trained to find the change in a little red 
            pill box in my upper right-hand drawer. I can leave him a note! But it has 
            to be something he wouldn't be offended by, or that Chuck can't figure out.
             What could that be? I'm getting the shakes just thinking about it. If he 
              steps over here right now I'll probably spill my coffee! No, no notes. 
                                               Risky.
                                               12/12
                   I lay awake thinking about it all night. Diary, I have it! He's a 
            computer whiz. I'll have him stay late to fix--you! I'll conveniently lose 
             my password and have him get in with a utility or something and print you 
                 out. While he's puzzling you over, I'll try to get his attention.
                                                1/10
                 It worked. Oh, Diary, he's just the way I imagined him. You want the 
             details? But that's sooooo embarrassing. But you were a great help to me, 
                                   so I'll tell you all about it.
                 I explained to Chuck that I had lost important stuff in the computer 
                and would stay late to fix it. Chuck hates the computers. He likes 
            football. So, as it was Monday, I suggested he go down to Ringo's and watch 
             Monday Night Football on the big screen, and I would fix my directory and 
            then join him at eight. He fell for it, dear Chuck, and cleared out of here 
              at five. Tom was getting ready to leave, too, so Chuck never gave him a 
              thought, _but_ Tom always catches the five-ten bus and that gave me the 
             time I needed to work up my courage and call him over to my desk. He was 
            very understanding and obliging, as always, and called home to say he'd be 
            late, and stepped right over, eager to be of service. My knight in shining 
                   armor! I even said so, and would you believe it, he _blushed_.
                  I suggested we work from the terminal in Chuck's office, where the 
               printer is for our workgroup, and we went in. I left the door open at 
               first; Tom is skittery with ladies and I didn't want to scare him off 
            before I had a chance to set the hook. He cracked the directory in no time, 
            printed you out, read over the first couple of paragraphs to make sure you 
            were OK, and became, oh, terribly quiet. At this moment I closed and locked 
                                         the office door. 
                Tom didn't hear my move, but he set the printout down with a shaky hand 
            and turned as if to go. I leaned back on the door, with my hands behind me. 
                I had on my most effective sweater, the v-neck with just a hint of 
             cleavage, a light blue cashmere, and matched it with the most vulnerable 
              expression my face could manage. It's a man-killer; has worked on Chuck 
              every time on, well, _lots_ of occasions, and gotten me out of a lot of 
             speeding tickets too. Tom could hardly throw poor little me aside and run 
              away, so he had to hear me out...and I made a point of not talking too 
             much. I just lowered my eyelashes, and said I needed a hug, and got one, 
                 too, and though he tried to hold himself away and just squeeze my 
             shoulders, I snuggled up my "best features" to his chest, and managed to 
            put an arm around his lower back and pull his hips in a little closer (just 
             like high school days!) and, yep, sure enough, he had a serious bulge in 
                                         his pants already.
                Tom tried to talk his way out of it even then, but I just put my mouth 
              up to his and kissed him, and he simply melted! Didn't grab at me like 
             Chuck does, just stood there all atremble and gently put his tongue in my 
               mouth. I guided his hands onto my breasts, and the bulge in his pants 
                became even more noticeable. I felt so dizzy I could hardly stand, 
               but somehow I managed to find his zipper and get it undone. I put my 
            right hand in and freed a nice manly medium-sized penis, and held it while 
                                       we kissed and kissed.
                Well, diary, I suppose you know the rest--oh, you want more? Insatiable 
             hussy! All right, well, I helped Tom out of his pants and made him sit in 
               Chuck's chair--the only one in the office with arms and that has that 
             rocking motion. I knelt right in front of him--I can't believe I'm saying 
            this, but it's just what I did--and held my arms straight up, and he helped 
            me out of the cashmere.

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 I reached back and unhooked my bra--the blue silky 
            low-cut one that I use with the sweater--and he looked like his eyes would 
            pop out his head when my boobs settled on his lap in all their glory. They 
            aren't _huge_, just _real nice_, and have held up beautifully for all that 
            I'm, I admit it, forty. I gave them to him to play with, and he was _such_ 
            a gentleman, always trying to give the one as much attention as the other. 
             He would lean forward and lift one to his mouth, and I would arch my back 
            and let him suck like a baby until the nipple stood up high and goose bumps 
             raced around on my shoulders--then switch sides until both nipples looked 
             the same. Ah, diary, it was Heaven! Then we kissed some more, and he put 
             his tongue deep in my mouth, which was not as much fun for me, but I know 
                       better than to state my preferences on a first date. 
                Next, I--but do I have to tell this part? Diary, you are so cruel! Next 
              I curled my thumb and forefinger around his thrumming cock, and slowly 
               cruised them up and down the shaft. He leaned back in the rocker and 
             moaned, and thrust out his pelvis, fairly aiming at my face. I knew what 
             guys expect of girls in this position, and I had it in mind to give it to 
            him, too, but one wants one's own share of the action. I could barely bring 
             myself to talk--not wanting to interrupt the flow, so to speak, but said: 
             "Can I have a turn too?" And--oh, diary! He reached down and clasped both 
              of my shoulders, and said, "Anything you want--and you don't have to do 
             anything you don't want!" Well, you see, it was worth the risk of asking. 
             My knight in shining armor. I felt better about going down on him, then, 
                   which I have pretty well managed to avoid doing with Chuck... 
                So, diary, where were we? Oh, yes! Kneeling on the floor in front of a 
            fine knight, with his cock in my hand! So I decided to give him the best I 
            could do. At five-thirty in the afternoon, you know, a man's jockey shorts 
              tend to go a bit sour, and Tom's penis smelled a bit like sweat and old 
             pee. But to my surprise, for once I found this actually exciting. I held 
             his scrotum gently in my left hand, and gently took each testicle into my 
            mouth, then slowly ran my tongue all the way up the underside of eight good 
             inches of visibly throbbing penis. At the tip, I looked up and found him 
             gazing intently down at me with his beautiful eyes. Watching him watch, I 
            parted my lips and let my head slide gently down onto his cock, feeling it 
             fill my mouth and press against my tongue. My mouth got pretty wet right 
            away, like it does whenever it has anything in it, and this made everything 
              slippery and added to the fun. I slid my mouth up and back down, up and 
            back down, slowly at first and then a little faster, trying to get with the 
             rhythm I could feel in his hip movements and the rocking of the chair. He 
            seemed to really like looking into my eyes as I did this, and watching his 
            wet cock disappear part way into my face and back out again, over and over. 
                  Well diary, I had half intended to pull away and let him come on my 
              boobs or whatever, but he was _such_ a gentleman that he hadn't put his 
               hands on my head, so I decided to encourage him to go all the way. I 
             reached up and took both his hands and put them in my hair, and squeezed 
            them so that he got a handful of hair on each side of the back of my head. 
            He looked a question at me and I nodded and hummed, "mmh-hmm" with my mouth 
            full of penis, so he caught on and held my head tight and began--I have to 
             use the word--_fucking_ my mouth. His hips went faster now, and his cock 
             pumped away inside my head for what seemed a long time--my lips got numb, 
             anyhow--and then he stiffened all over and suddenly I felt something hot 
             and _very_ slippery go all over the inside of my mouth. It seemed to come 
             gushing in waves, and the taste was strange--like salt, pepper, and milk 
            all at once. It was new to me, and after all these years, too, but I liked 
             it. I held just the head of his cock inside my mouth until he had calmed 
             down, then slipped it out and stroked it with my left hand, looking right 
                                in his pretty eyes the whole time. 
                "God," he said. "That was GREAT." Yes, but no different, I'll bet, dear 
              diary, than other girls had done for him in times gone by. I needed to 
              think of a way to _really_ get his attention--he's a keeper--and it was 
            then that I had, dear diary, the first really kinky inspiration of my life! 
             I hadn't swallowed at all and was holding his entire load of sweet cum in 
             my mouth. I cupped my right hand and slowly spat the whole mouthful into 
            it, and held up my left hand and divided the whole blue-white mess between 
             the palms of both hands. I then cupped them over my boobs and smeared the 
              cum all over both sides, till they gleamed like they had been polished. 
                 Well, diary, as you can imagine, this unexpected stroke of genius set 
            Tom on fire! He started in rubbing my breasts too, and kissed me for a long 
              time--didn't seem bothered by the taste of his own cum on my mouth--and 
             then swapped places with me. He raised my skirt and helped me off with my 
               panties--light blue silk, of course, with "Monday" embroidered on the 
             bottom--and I spread my knees wide so that he could get in close with his 
            lovely head. As I had suspected, Tom knew exactly where to go. At first he 
             slipped his tongue into my vagina, and gathered up juices for lubricating 
            me--though I was pretty much wet all over by now, anyway--and slowly worked 
            his way up to my aching, hungry "little friend." At first he licked around 
             a bit, spreading labia and locating my clitoris. I felt free to grab his 
               head and point him in the right direction, and give him clues with my 
             hands, about rhythm, and before long he had settled into a light, tongue-
            tip, tripping movement right at the base of my clit that was like nothing I 
            had ever experienced (certainly not with Chuck! And, NO, dear diary, do not 
            ask me about anything before that!). I began humping his face, and held on 
             for dear life, and squeezed him with my thighs, and letting go of little 
               whimpers, and finally just flew to the purple place (don't ask), and  
             thousands of colored lights went in my pussy and in my head. I lay back, 
               gasping, feeling all over the way my breasts once felt when my babies 
            nuzzled for their milk. My clit was pulsing, and I could feel Tom savoring 
              the pulses with his gentle mouth and tongue, holding very still. He was 
              very attentive afterwards, by the way. He offered to wipe off my boobs, 
               but I wouldn't hear of it--said it would be our little secret--so he 
               helped me into my bra and sweater "as is," which we both thought was 
             terribly exciting, and he said kind things, and then looked at his watch 
            and jumped a foot--ran for his bus, and his little family, and I stayed to 
             clean up, and shredded the printout, and drove to Ringo's with an hour to 
                                              spare. 
                    Oh, diary! I can't wait till next week--I've already thought of 
            another way to corner him, and I somehow don't think he'll put up much of a 
            fuss. But I'd better delete you, or someone might find you and post you to 
                                            the Net... 
                                                 --
                                                  
                                                   
                                                  
                                                  
                                                  
                                                  

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