Back in my rambling 20s, when I had no earthly idea what to do with my life, I decided to move to Pennsylvania to be closer to a family member. It didn’t take long until I landed a do-nothing job over at National Pride Flag Co. Hey, it was a job at least. My wife went to work at a small-town newspaper, and we could afford an apartment. Yeah, the late 80s were crazy when you could afford things.
I began in the basement of the company. My task: Put together flag kits. Flag, bagged eagle, a bracket, and the needed screws. I was told not to hurry because we were way ahead of the kits. I shrugged, did as they said. They were the ones paying me after all.
After a month, the boss moved me upstairs. I was to grommet flags that dropped down a chute upstairs where they kept the seamstress slave gang. No problem. They didn’t say take it slow, so I was able to work through my load and have spare time.
“Hey,” a redhead said, ambling over to me. “Slow it down. Ok?”
“Oh, sorry,” I said, looking her over. Yeah, I was married. I get it. But this was a bodacious red, a curvy MILF, spirited to boot.
“No problem,” she said, “name is Laura. I’m supposed to oversee your work. Got questions, just see me,” she said, unconsciously pulling her jean jacket over her boobs cloaked behind a tshirt. My, oh my. She was stacked. When she walked away, I got a good look. I was hooked. However, I admonished myself. “You’re married,” I whispered to myself, “so act like it.”
I ignored Laura as coolly as possible, coming close to being a hermit on that grommet machine. However, this seemed to only make her interact with me even more. I ate it up. I loved talking to her directly, my eyes giving off those signs of interest. She loved tossing paperclips at me to get my attention. I’d turn around, give her a face, and she’d toss another one.
The day came when she pulled me off the machine to help her out in one of the warehouses. Don, her partner in crime who worked at the shipping station with her, was our only chaperon.
The pickup had a single bench, so we crowded in. Don drove, Laura sat in the middle, and I took shotgun. When we drifted away from the main building, Laura cleared her throat.
“I had a dream about you,” Laura said, thumping me in the leg playfully with her fist.
“Me?” I said innocently. “What was it about?” I think you can guess that I knew where this was going. And yes, I was being a very bad husband. It was clear that I couldn’t stop myself. Laura was too tempting for me. Her perfume conquered me as I listened.
“Yeah,” she said, “I probably shouldn’t say more.”
I glanced at Don. His face was impassive, staring at the street, being a good driver.
“Don’t you wonder what the dream was about,” she asked moments later, walking side by side with me in the warehouse, Don taking point to give us privacy.
“I can guess,” I said. Stupid. Right? I was being flirted with in the most direct way possible, but I was young and dumb. I believed in my wife, but later, I would find out that she was sleeping with a couple of people at her work place. What a stupid young fool I was back then.
Laura decided to give me some space after her failure in the warehouse. I spent time at the grommet machine getting high off her perfume as she passed by my chair on business. I was highly frustrated, highly confused by my senses.
Christmas rolled around, and I would come to find that Laura played a vital role in the afternoon party. She dressed as a very sexy version of Mrs. Claus. I’m talking high heels, sheer black hose, a short red skirt rimmed in cottony fleece, and a top with a revealing neckline. Hot. Scalding hot. And as I stacked my finished flags on the counter behind me, I got a good look at her backside. Don grinned at me.
I took stock flags that day back to the shelves for safe keeping, and out of nowhere, Laura came upon me with a handful of bubble wrap. “What if I were your present,” she said, “and to unwrap me, you had to pop the bubbles.” She held the bubble wrap up in front of her sweater just where her boobs were hiding. “Would you pop me,” she asked. “I mean, do you cheat?”
“Sometimes,” I lied. I hadn’t yet cheated on my wife (but as you remember, she was cheating on me).
Laura gave that look. You know the look. Barely suppressed lust. Shrugging, she walked passed me, giving me a full view of that wonderful backside, her heels nailing into the wooden floor as she walked.
I blew it.
The Christmas party came and went, and Laura spent time with a group of women from upstairs, creating an impenetrable fortress. No mere male dared to challenge that group with a “hello how do you do” and keep any shred of dignity.
When the holidays passed us by, I was sent back down to do kits again downstairs. I didn’t see Laura too much except on rare occasions when she came down to grab something from a barrel towards the rear of the basement.
By spring I was college bound. I’d be moving back home to sign up for classes. I put in my two week’s notice, and without pausing, I left out on my last day, clocking out forever. I would often think of Laura when times got tough. And ever so often, even today, I think back on how beautiful she was. What a young fool I was not to bend down and taste her nectar. Life is an opportunity, but only so for the bold.
I began in the basement of the company. My task: Put together flag kits. Flag, bagged eagle, a bracket, and the needed screws. I was told not to hurry because we were way ahead of the kits. I shrugged, did as they said. They were the ones paying me after all.
After a month, the boss moved me upstairs. I was to grommet flags that dropped down a chute upstairs where they kept the seamstress slave gang. No problem. They didn’t say take it slow, so I was able to work through my load and have spare time.
“Hey,” a redhead said, ambling over to me. “Slow it down. Ok?”
“Oh, sorry,” I said, looking her over. Yeah, I was married. I get it. But this was a bodacious red, a curvy MILF, spirited to boot.
“No problem,” she said, “name is Laura. I’m supposed to oversee your work. Got questions, just see me,” she said, unconsciously pulling her jean jacket over her boobs cloaked behind a tshirt. My, oh my. She was stacked. When she walked away, I got a good look. I was hooked. However, I admonished myself. “You’re married,” I whispered to myself, “so act like it.”
I ignored Laura as coolly as possible, coming close to being a hermit on that grommet machine. However, this seemed to only make her interact with me even more. I ate it up. I loved talking to her directly, my eyes giving off those signs of interest. She loved tossing paperclips at me to get my attention. I’d turn around, give her a face, and she’d toss another one.
The day came when she pulled me off the machine to help her out in one of the warehouses. Don, her partner in crime who worked at the shipping station with her, was our only chaperon.
The pickup had a single bench, so we crowded in. Don drove, Laura sat in the middle, and I took shotgun. When we drifted away from the main building, Laura cleared her throat.
“I had a dream about you,” Laura said, thumping me in the leg playfully with her fist.
“Me?” I said innocently. “What was it about?” I think you can guess that I knew where this was going. And yes, I was being a very bad husband. It was clear that I couldn’t stop myself. Laura was too tempting for me. Her perfume conquered me as I listened.
“Yeah,” she said, “I probably shouldn’t say more.”
I glanced at Don. His face was impassive, staring at the street, being a good driver.
“Don’t you wonder what the dream was about,” she asked moments later, walking side by side with me in the warehouse, Don taking point to give us privacy.
“I can guess,” I said. Stupid. Right? I was being flirted with in the most direct way possible, but I was young and dumb. I believed in my wife, but later, I would find out that she was sleeping with a couple of people at her work place. What a stupid young fool I was back then.
Laura decided to give me some space after her failure in the warehouse. I spent time at the grommet machine getting high off her perfume as she passed by my chair on business. I was highly frustrated, highly confused by my senses.
Christmas rolled around, and I would come to find that Laura played a vital role in the afternoon party. She dressed as a very sexy version of Mrs. Claus. I’m talking high heels, sheer black hose, a short red skirt rimmed in cottony fleece, and a top with a revealing neckline. Hot. Scalding hot. And as I stacked my finished flags on the counter behind me, I got a good look at her backside. Don grinned at me.
I took stock flags that day back to the shelves for safe keeping, and out of nowhere, Laura came upon me with a handful of bubble wrap. “What if I were your present,” she said, “and to unwrap me, you had to pop the bubbles.” She held the bubble wrap up in front of her sweater just where her boobs were hiding. “Would you pop me,” she asked. “I mean, do you cheat?”
“Sometimes,” I lied. I hadn’t yet cheated on my wife (but as you remember, she was cheating on me).
Laura gave that look. You know the look. Barely suppressed lust. Shrugging, she walked passed me, giving me a full view of that wonderful backside, her heels nailing into the wooden floor as she walked.
I blew it.
The Christmas party came and went, and Laura spent time with a group of women from upstairs, creating an impenetrable fortress. No mere male dared to challenge that group with a “hello how do you do” and keep any shred of dignity.
When the holidays passed us by, I was sent back down to do kits again downstairs. I didn’t see Laura too much except on rare occasions when she came down to grab something from a barrel towards the rear of the basement.
By spring I was college bound. I’d be moving back home to sign up for classes. I put in my two week’s notice, and without pausing, I left out on my last day, clocking out forever. I would often think of Laura when times got tough. And ever so often, even today, I think back on how beautiful she was. What a young fool I was not to bend down and taste her nectar. Life is an opportunity, but only so for the bold.
