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Archive-name: Affairs/leavslow.txt

Archive-author: Laurie Lea

Archive-title: Leaving the Slow Lane


    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 


    So, when the new guy, I'll call him Tom (we are all real 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. 


    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. 



    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.


    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 


    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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