Emma

an office affair

In the beginning, I found Emma difficult to like. I still find Emma difficult to like, though I can’t deny she does have an undeniable allure; to be precise, Emma has twin allures which she keeps stuffed inside her tight sweaters or t-shirts two sizes too small for her.

Together we work at an advertising agency in London, I am the agency’s senior copywriter and Emma is employed as a junior copywriter, learning her trade under my tutelage.

Now, our line of work can keep you working late into the night, then have you back in the office at sunrise. But despite the exhaustingly long hours we work, Emma spends her free time just as energetically busy; shopping, dates, raves, bottomless brunches and riding horses, Emma finds time for it all. And the following week, she loves nothing more than regaling the office with tales of her weekend escapades.

Add in Emma’s talent for dramatic histrionics, it’s little surprise she has become a popular colleague to meet at the water cooler. And despite my best efforts, maintaining a professional distance is impossible. As Emma’s popularity has grown, so has her confidence and these days she often bypasses the water cooler to occupy the space directly in front of my desk.

I don’t complain, my view turns the boys in the office green because Emma has one of those firm, rounded bottoms with two muscular thighs so common in girls who regularly ride horses.

Indeed, Emma is more country girl than a certified city girl like myself, and if you’re ever lucky enough to be invited horse riding by Emma, she dressed in black jodhpurs, her breasts packed into a red tunic, her black hair tied into a single plait, a leather riding whip in her hand, you would consider yourself very fortunate indeed. I know, after my day riding with Emma, I came home with that ‘I’m a very lucky girl’ feeling.

And when Emma stands in front of my desk, I am hidden away. I am out of our colleagues sight. And here, I sit, I wait, I anticipate Emma’s latest performance and she rarely disappoints. As she twists, turns, stretches and reaches, I watch Emma’s bottom strain the fabric of her skirt, my eyes primed to feast the moment the outline of her underwear becomes visible.

I know it shouldn’t be so, but seeing the outline of Emma’s underwear makes my insides tingle, my knees weaken; the view makes my head spin with confliction and confusion.

I think you should know, I’m not into girls. Not in that way.

I have, of course, masturbated with my mind filled with images and fantasies of women. I have dreamed about sex with female friends, of being seduced by my friend’s mother, and when in bed with a boyfriend, the thought of their sister will take me to climax quicker than the fumbling boyfriend on top of me.

But I had never gone further than kissing my friend Francesca at a party; the bottle spinning, on our hands and knees, edging towards each other, the gentle coming together of our soft lips. Such fun. Such excitement. Francesca and I were good girls being naughty; teasing boys.

But I am most definitely straight. My appreciation for female beauty is purely aesthetic. I could never, forever, abandon the masculine energy I find so intoxicating and, I must say, liberating when the man knows how to assert his masculinity in the right way.

Today is a particularly hot July afternoon, inside the furnace like office we sweat and we tire waiting for the short hand on the office clock to reach the number five and signal the beginning of the weekend. All of us that is, except Emma.

Emma is standing in front of my desk displaying the energy of a child let loose in a candy store. I watch as she sways her hips to her left, sways them to her right, above her head she holds her hands, she is dancing.

Her movements are deliberate and provocative and her skirt is dangerously inappropriate for the office. The fabric is soft, silk was my impression when it brushed against my arm earlier today, it is black with a delicate sheen and it finishes above her knee.

As the music slows, Emma bends her knees, she lowers her body, and her hips continue their hypnotic swinging. As her bottom nears the floor, her skirt glides up her thighs. Emma doesn’t care about office etiquette, she is teasing the boys, she is taunting the girls.

The music quickens and Emma rises up but her skirt clings to the top of her bare legs. She leans forward and I see her skirt’s zip strain. Oh, how I want the zip to fail, just one time, I want her skirt to tear.

Just once. I want to see Emma’s underwear. I can see the outline but I want more. I want to know the material, I want to know the colour, I want to know how it feels it against my face. My throat tightens, my heart rises up my chest, the summer heat mixed with Emma’s provocative movements is driving me crazy.

Enchanted, my chin rests on the closed fist of my left hand whilst my dominant right hand with my deftly skilled fingers is out of sight, hidden below my desk. I lose myself in the moment and I don’t see Emma flicking her head backwards, I don’t see her long black hair rise up into the air, I don’t see Emma’s head is turning. And as Emma looks back over her shoulder, I am caught.

Emma stops dancing, she turns, she looks down at me. I feel like a schoolgirl who has been caught misbehaving in class by the teacher. But that is not our dynamic, I am Emma’s boss. Emma is my subordinate. But Emma has caught me. I am compromised.

Emma’s confidence is her strength and I have ceded to her the control element of our relationship. My head dizzies, my heart beat quickens, my nipples harden.

For our colleagues, the show is over, they have returned to gazing into their monitors, shuffling papers, writing notes, reading and researching, each of them oblivious to the rising tension in one corner of the office. They have no idea, Elena – quiet, unassuming, introverted and unfailingly polite – is receiving a personal show.

Emma still stands in front of my desk, her legs slightly parted, her right hand rests on her hip, slowly a smile emerges on her face, she tilts her head to one side. Emma is feeling her way into power, she is enjoying this. So am I.