March 20, 2011

A Guest Post by KEN

About 8 years ago, I broke the rule. I dipped my pen in the company inkwell. Went fishing off the corporate pier. Yes, I started fucking a woman at the office.

Jane's ass was as perfect as this one...even more so.

Jane was pretty. Make that stunning. Dyed blonde hair and roughly 5’3” and curvy in all the right places. With every twist of her hips she sent my saliva glands into overdrive and from the minute I laid eyes on her—and that ass—I knew I had to have her. I was just a nerdly copywriter. But something between us clicked. Not sure what it was. But it felt damn good. Conversation came easy. Flirtation hung on every word. I made her laugh, and I liked making her laugh.

The rub: She was married.

Guy code dictates you don’t rub another man’s rhubarb. You don’t go trespassing in another man’s henhouse. And you sure as hell don’t fuck another man’s wife.

But I was weak. And she was lonely. With a husband who, amazingly, didn’t pay her enough attention. Witty banter at the copy machine became salacious boasting over drinks. Soon we were steaming up the windows in my lame-ass Camry, making out for hours. When we got a bit more daring, she’d sit on my face in the office once the department cleared out. Later on, let’s just say that business trips to shady hotels became far more interesting.

This went on for a while. Through her first kid. Then her second. And while she was building a happy family at home, we were fucking madly every chance we got. My head was spinning every time I laid eyes on her. And the fact that we were carrying on literally under those noses of our fellow workers – who hadn’t a bloody clue – added a bit of adrenaline to the proceedings. I didn’t want to fall in love with her but I fell madly, horribly, and dangerously in love. Every night I’d be up, pacing my apartment, trying to figure a way to convince her to run off with me. I worked out the finances. Tried to hone my “fatherly” image. And kept myself sharp to maintain her interest.

But, inevitably, it had to end. And it did. I won’t get into the details but let’s just say she was confronted with her misdeeds and told to make a choice. And she chose her family.

Makes sense, of course. What was she gonna do? Pry a couple kids away from their dad and stick them in a house with my goofy ass? She cried and apologized and said it was over and I just nodded and made an awkward grab for her ass and she recoiled and something inside me died. Because it really was over. No matter how much I wanted to throw her in the back of my car and drive to that Chinese restaurant parking lot where we used to kiss and talk and she’d lean her head out the car window so I could eat her ass. She wasn’t having it.

I should have seen it coming. I should have been cool with it. I should have been jazzed that this pretty woman risked everything she had to be with me. But I was selfish. I wanted it all. And when I couldn’t have her as a lover, I dropped her as a friend.

Sure, there were times I wanted to stop her in the hall and tell her I was sorry for the hell she’d gone through over our affair. Reassure her how much she meant to me. That I loved her perhaps more than I wanted to admit. That I’d never forget her.

But I figured it was fruitless. So I dissed her. Gave her radio silence. And a few months later, when she told us all she was leaving for a new job in a new city, I conveniently missed her going away dinner.

It was a dick move. And one I still wish I could have back.

I’d be lying if I said I could forget Jane. But the way I acted at the end, when I let pride and selfishness crush a friendship, will most certainly haunt me for the rest of my days.

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