Archive-name: Affairs/leavslow.txt
Archive-author: Laurie Lea
Archive-title: 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. 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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