Not really a romance, but something along the lines of a women's magazine.
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The Changing Rooms team have progressed to a pneumatic drill and Sam's dainty, croak of a voice barely registers amid the chaos. I know exactly what she'll be saying though; her and every other woman in here, married or not. They all think I'm mad to give Gerald the knock-back. Any one of them would do a months ironing just to sniff his chair, yet I'm the only one he's interested in.
Well, there are two reasons for that.
The first, as you've no doubt guessed, is that Gerald and I have already shared a bed and -though his efforts seem far less impressive after the thrashing euphoria I experienced last night- I have to admit the office irritant knows what he's doing in the sack.
As usual, however, he's spoken for; a fact he was kind enough to share some two weeks later as he was rolling off me for the umpteenth time.
Oh I got all the usual crap about how he and his wife have an "open" relationship, which basically means he wanted to bonk me until the novelty wore off. The arrogant tosser even used the word "partner" instead of wife.
"No thanks!" I told him, though my delivery wasn't so euphemistic.
Don't get me wrong though, if a guy puts in the effort, looks where he's supposed to (we don't wear short skirts and plunging neck-lines for nothing, do we girls?) I'll entertain him, married, single or in-between.
But I want them to capitulate, to submit to me totally, and Gerald is just too strong a character for that. Its only the sex he misses, I could never get into his head.
Not surprisingly, my "modern attitudes" have ticked both the "slut" and "bitch" boxes among my work colleagues. Which brings me to the second reason for Gerald's lust.
Middle ground doesn't exist among the women here. Those not grizzly bear or hippo-sized are so far the other way they resemble ironing boards, possessed of the same uninspiring curves of that dreaded, domestic millstone.
Given their handicaps though, its little wonder they regard me as they do -jealousy is a powerful emotion after all- and if I looked like Johnny Vegas in a dress, I'd probably consider an attractive, physically fit, 30DD, 25 year old a 'slut' as well. But as grandma always said, "Shy kids get no ice cream" so sod them.
"Get up to anything at the weekend, Sand?"
Sam is one of the hippo ones, a bit of a sado but harmless enough.
"I certainly did, Sam," I reply, the chirp in my voice belying the sensation of the handyman paint stripping the inside of my throat, "I most certainly did."
Sam's eyes dart in the direction in which Gerald just left, no doubt comparing the depot darling to whatever mental image she has of the man I'm surely going to tell her about.
"Oh you should see him, Sam" I say, positively gushing with faux eagerness, knowing that even just a sketchy outline of my rampant encounter will fluster the poor office virgin for most of the day.
"W-What was he like?"
"Well" I begin, leaning in conspiratorially, "He's six two, tanned and Brad Pitt-gorgeous." Already blushing, Sam forces a shy nod, "He's got arms like Garth, a killer smile and a stomach you could wash your smalls on." She chuckles, oblivious of what a "wash board" actually is and that her smalls would be too large to wash on it anyway.
"Orgasms? Don't ask", I continue, "I lost count after number six."
Those wide, virginal hips twitch involuntarily and I just know she's anticipating a cascade of filthy, mental images. Well, no-one ever saw young Sandra without an ice cream.
"Fast, slow, gentle.....hard? You name it! We were at it all night, and I mean all night. I wasn't even sure I'd be able to walk today."
I can almost hear Sam's limited sexual imagination panting to keep pace, "W-What....what was his name?"
Oh yea....."Erm, Carl."
"Are you going to see him again?" she asks, unconsciously sliding her hands into her lap.
"Well, gee Sam, lets think? He's an entire flight of steps up from Gerald."
For a second Sam's expression sours and I just know what's coming next. "Why are you so hard on Gerald?" she asks, "He's such a nice bloke. Complementary, cheerful, polite, handsome. Ever since you......."
"Bonked him?" I finish for her.
After ignoring her keyboard for the last twenty minutes, Sam suddenly finds a world of intrigue in its yellowing keys.
"But that's the point!" I say, "Ever since we slept together he won't leave me alone. He pesters me all the time. Its like he's stalking me"
Sam's fingers stop hesitantly over the keys, but she says nothing else.
She's flustered (mission accomplished).