A Summer Lover

We flirted shamelessly that summer. She was earning some cash before she headed off to college that fall and her uncle, who worked as a supervisor in the shipping department, had arranged this job for her. I was on the road most of each day, just another salesman for the company – but I would get excited every time I headed back to the office. We ran into each other constantly, and never missed a chance at a mutual smile, a friendly gesture, or the easy flow of innuendo-laced small talk. Stuff like that makes a job worth having sometimes.

She was petite, maybe 5’2” when she stood up really straight. She had one of those insanely pretty faces – big brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a wide smile with perfect teeth. If she were six inches taller or so, she’d surely have the opportunity to be a model. Her straight brown hair was always immaculately styled, she took time to make sure she looked good – and without being obnoxious, she knew she looked good.

“What’s keeping you busy this weekend?” I asked as I passed her desk.

“Not you, sweetie.” She would pout, then give me that sparkling ‘you-know-I’m-joking’ smile.

“If only you’d change your mind about eloping with me to the Caribbean, your weekend might not be so dull.” My comment was accompanied by feigned non-chalance

“If I let you smuggle me out of the country, you’d never bring me back.” She objected as she twirled a pen in her hand.

“You got that right.” I smiled , looking her square in the eye.

“Get outta here!” she giggled as she tossed her pen at me and turned back to her work.

I caught the pen and set in on the edge of her desk and pointed at her “Whatever you do – behave yourself.”

She flipped her head lightly to get the hair off her face and looked up sideways at me as I walked backwards away from her workstation. She winked.

Our banter was playful, light-hearted, but still had a little ribbon of sexual tension running through it. For a fresh, 18-year-old high school graduate, she demonstrated the kind of self-confidence that doesn’t usually come to women until they are 10 years older – and that might have been the sexiest thing about her. I’m sure she scared the shit out of the boys at her high school, and it was probably why she didn’t have a boyfriend.

I finished my routine rounds earlier than usual one day, and decided to kill some time back at the office before heading out for some afternoon cold calls. My flirty little buddy was nowhere to be found, so I figured I would get some file sorting done in case my boss wondered through. As I rounded the corner of the hallway towards the supply office, I spotted her in the lunchroom. She was sitting on the couch, slightly reclined against one arm, her eyes closed. Wow, what a sight. I stopped and stared – my brain couldn’t process anything else. The vertical piping on her snug sweater hugged her form perfectly. Her dress had slid over to one side, the bottom edge laying lust a few inches above her knees.

“Looks like sleepyhead stayed out late last night,” I whispered as I stepped to the coffee machine just a couple of steps from her, adding sarcastically, “and everyone thinks you’re so pure.”

Without lifting her face, or even opening her eyes she replied, “They have no idea – but you know better.”

She smiled up at me and began to stretch. Lifting her lithe arms up over her head she tilted her head back and slowly bent her upper body. The “Nnnnnnnnnnnn” sound she was making was audible only to me, and goddamn erotic as hell. Her stiff nipples were clearly outlined under the fabric of her top and a rush of warmth covered my groin. She shook her head from side to side gently and stood up.

“Well, back to the grind.” She said as she faced me. She caught me in mid-stare. Like a kid with his arm elbow-deep in the cookie jar. I had let my eyes drift over her entire body once or twice as she sat there and forgot to be a little more discreet with my lustful gaze. Then she ensured my embarrassment was complete.

“They do that when I stretch.” She smiled and headed back to the office, knowing that I was watching.

I watched. I watched her sleek little body sway from side to side. I watched her hips bounce under the pleats of her dress. I watched her hair swish along her neck and shoulders. This vixen had my full attention, there was no doubt, but something between us was changing. My dreams that night included her. Imaginations of that pert, smooth young woman dominated my sleep. During my morning shower, I relieved some of that pressure while visualizing her swallowing me. I realized it was the first time I had used her as inspiration for masturbation. I believe I had become infatuated. Enough was enough – time to find out if all this flirting was just games, or the basis for something else.

“Know anyone who’d like to see the game on Friday?” I asked her in an offhand manner the next Monday morning “One of my clients had 4 extra tickets.”

“Are you asking me to find 3 people, or are you asking me to go?” she pretended to grimace at me.

“Well, you’re always so busy on the weekends, I assumed you wouldn’t…”

She lifted the tickets I was fanning myself with out of my hand and examined one, “These aren’t exactly front row, but…” she slipped one ticket out of the group and tucked it inside her blouse, “I’ll meet you there.”

“I don’t want you trying to scalp that,” I said sternly as I reached for the ticket.

She swatted my hand and gave me a silent “no-no-no” sign with a wagging finger and a sly grin. She slid the other tickets across the desk and turned back to her computer screen – barely concealing a giggle. I picked up the tickets and gave myself a private “Yes!” – these other tickets were never going to see the light of day again.

“OK, OK, see if I buy you a hot dog.” I walked away finishing with a command, “Don’t be late.”

It was the slowest week of the year. Every five-minute conversation on the phone seemed like it took a half-day. I kept thinking it was Wednesday all day on Tuesday. I wrote the wrong dates on billing statements and almost missed a critical appointment Friday morning. We hardly saw each other that week. She was in a meeting or I was out on call. She had left early or I was working late. When our paths did cross, we only had time for quick greetings in passing. The anticipation was driving me crazy.

Friday night finally came and there she was – section 12, row 6, seat B. She had a home team jersey on and her hair pulled back into a ponytail – a sporty look I hadn’t seen her in before. She beamed brightly when she spotted me walking up the steps to our row. “Hey, you.” she said as she stood to hug me. I lingered in the hug and took in the sensation of her arms around me. Her perfume was different than what she wore at work – less flowery, more musky.

“First time,” she said to nobody in particular as she glanced around, “but I’ve always wanted to, you know, see these guys play in person.” We made more harmless small talk through the start of the game, and I bought us both some drinks during the first break.