Collection Blonde – The Office Intern

It’s said that the truth will set you free. I hope that’s at least somewhat accurate because I’ve carried this story with me for far too long. My tale is mostly true, with some edits to dates and names to ensure privacy, and with dialog reconstructed from memory. Even after all these decades, some would still remember what happened that year, especially those events which occurred after the conclusion of the story you are about to read.

It was nineteen seventy-three, and I’d just landed my first real job as a computer programmer with a small company on the East Coast. I’d skipped college, much to my parent’s dismay, and headed off to backpack through Europe and Asia. My grandmother’s estate had established a trust fund for me, which I was able to access once I turned eighteen. And a small piece of that nest egg sustained me for my four years of exploring the world. Now, at age twenty-two, I was ready to get serious and chase my piece of the American dream.

These were heady days for anyone with any computer knowledge. Small computers were at the forefront of development, but colleges and universities were not yet up to speed cranking out large numbers of computer science degrees. This provided opportunities for guys like me who lacked education beyond a diploma. My new company was very progressive and happy to let me improve my programming and design skills in-house.

My new position was very straightforward. Convert the owner’s ideas into reality via computer code so that he could get rich selling to other small businesses. It was a decent gig and I enjoyed working in a small company where everyone pretty much knew each other. Though it was nearly a decade before the explosion of Silicon Valley’s employee incentives, this company was ahead of the curve as far as perks. The owner bought us all lunch on Fridays and always kept a fridge stocked with snacks and drinks. We had a room with pinball machines, Foosball, and a pool table, and we were working on convincing him to buy us one of those newfangled Pong video game machines. He even granted his employees stock options based on performance. As I said, a nice place to work.

But from the viewpoint of the twenty-first century, my first job was in an era of stone knives and bear skins. No desktop computers, no Internet, no cell phones, hell not even email. Back then, if you wanted to send a document to someone, the only option besides the post office was the FAX machine! But of course at the time we were ignorant of what we didn’t have, and yet somehow we still managed to make it all work. And oh yeah, it was also the era of disco…

So, why am I relating all this ancient history? Partly to set the atmosphere for when events occurred, but also to show that this was an era when employees were not self-sustaining entities. Today, any employee can send emails, create documents, research everything online, etc. But back in the seventies, offices needed clerical staff to type letters, run the photocopier, fax documents, and generally do a lot of the mundane administrative work necessary to keep a company running. These people were the backbone of the office.

It was for this reason the owner decided to expand his clerical staff to help support his expensive programmers. He managed to hire two secretaries, yes, back then we still called these wonderful women secretaries, and a receptionist to answer the phone. He also put out a request to the local high schools for an office intern. You know, someone to make coffee, keep the fridge stocked, run errands, etc. On the surface, it seemed like a crap job, but he was flooded with applications for the summer gig.

It took him about two weeks to hire what turned out to be the perfect candidate. Her name was Lisa and while she had zero office experience, she more than made up for it in enthusiasm and curiosity. She was eager to learn, openly friendly, and made a point on day one to introduce herself to everyone. Unfortunately, she had one big disadvantage; she was drop-dead beautiful.

Lisa was, that girl. The untouchable one we all knew in high school. She was about five foot five with shoulder-length blonde hair and the most amazing cobalt blue eyes. She was a cheerleader, of course, and had the kind of figure you don’t see as much anymore. She was very curvy, with nicely rounded hips and ass, and her firm breasts looked to easily be C-cups. This was the girl found in every high school that every hormonal teenage boy lusted after. And probably the reason her ultra-religious parents sent her to a private, all-girls school.

So why was being beautiful a disadvantage? I believe it was a combination of jealousy from the other women in the office who were much older, and an idiotic belief that pretty girls couldn’t also be smart. So most of the office treated her like a handmaiden, only useful for the simplest, most mundane tasks. For weeks it was, ‘you made the coffee too strong, Lisa’, or ‘go pick up my lunch order, Lisa’, and ‘the dishes need washing in the kitchen, Lisa’. Hearing this every day just pissed me off.

I imagine a bit of my sympathy was due to our ages. Until she arrived, I’d been the baby of the office, with everyone else at least five years older than me. Now she was the youngest, though only a few years separated us. So in a way, we were contemporaries. I made a point of sitting with her during our lunch breaks where I found her to be funny, intelligent, and even a bit nerdy. She had an intense interest in computers and was very current with the latest technology. And I was perfectly content to talk this cute blonde’s ear off at every opportunity.

She eventually became comfortable enough with me to speak about her oppressive home life. She was an only child living in a strict, conservative household. She had to attend church every Sunday, plus two mid-week services. Normal dating was strictly prohibited, and she shyly admitted she’d never even held a boy’s hand before. She said the only reason she was allowed to apply for the intern job was that her school counselor begged her parents to let her get some exposure to the business world. Lisa’s parents didn’t believe in girls going to college, so the counselor rightly argued that their daughter needed some work experience. And since she’d be starting her senior year in the fall, time was running out to get any office exposure before graduation.

Hearing all this, I made it my mission to assist her whenever I could. We used lunch and after-work hours to review the kind of programming work I was doing. She was an eager learner and had a real aptitude for logic and reasoning. Within weeks we’d reached the point where I could review flow diagrams with her, and she could help me figure out ways to streamline the logic. It was a very exciting time, and probably when I began developing real feelings for her.

But feelings or not, I had to put that nonsense aside. First, she was a bit too young, second, I was in no hurry to tie myself down, and third, shit like this never happened to me. I had no idea if she felt the same way, and there was no way I was going to ruin our friendship by hitting on her. So I put a lid on my feelings and planned just to keep her at arm’s length. But as the old saying predicts, man plans and God laughs. Though in my case I believe it was Satan himself who was laughing.

My first step in fucking up my ‘arm’s length’ plan was the motorcycle. I had a sporty bike that I rode to work when the weather allowed. One day at lunch, Lisa asked me what it was like to ride.

“Isn’t riding a motorcycle scary?” she asked. “I mean, you’re all exposed with nothing to protect you.”

“It can be scary at times,” I agreed, “but mostly it’s just exhilarating. It’s very hard to describe to someone who’s never ridden. I find that people either love it or hate it. There seems to be very little middle ground.”

“Well, if I wanted to try it, how difficult would it be?

“Not difficult at all. I always carry a spare helmet, so we could take a quick spin around the block now if you’d like.”

I could see she looked both curious and frightened at the idea. For someone so cloistered, this had to be a pretty big step.

“Okay, let’s try it!” she said more excitedly than I felt the simple activity deserved.

I grabbed my spare helmet and we headed out to the parking lot. The bike was large, a 1,000cc canyon rocket, and she had a hard time getting on the elevated rear seat. Being gallant, I helped her lift her leg over the bike, being mindful of the skirt she was wearing. Even though it was a modest length, it rode up quite high as she lifted her leg and I got my first glimpse of her underwear. I tried to do the right thing and look away, after all, she deserved her modesty. But my muscles seemed frozen, and my brain just had to take a peek. Not surprisingly, her panties were plain white, but I did see a sweet indentation where the fabric pressed into her pussy. It made me think of the old tagline for a certain motorcycle brand, ‘excitement between your legs.’ Lord, truer words were never written.

I got on and fired up the bike. I checked all the controls and gauges and felt we were good to go.

Over the engine noise, I hollered, “Hold on to my hips for stability. When I lean left or right into a turn, you can lean with me. You weigh so little, it won’t impact handling very much.”

I heard her yell back, “Remind me to kiss you when we get back for telling me I’m not fat. My dad is always nagging me about my weight, even though the doctor says I’m fine.”

Fuck your father for saying that, I thought.

“Okay, hold on, here we go.”

I started very slowly and cruised around the parking lot, letting her get a feel for the ride. I made a few swooping turns, so she could sense how the balance shifted. Then we headed out to the main road for the real ride. Traffic was light, so we were able to ride smoothly without a lot of stopping and starting. On one stretch I managed to hit a speed of sixty miles per hour and I heard her whoop with joy. She must have been a little scared because she was holding on to me with a death grip and I could feel her breasts pressed into my back.

After a ten-minute tour, I returned to the office and helped her off the bike. Again I fought the urge and lost, as another glimpse of her panties caused my cock to twitch. Following our ride, she seemed even more beautiful, with her face flushed with excitement and her blonde hair messy from the helmet. But what really caught my attention were her prominent nipples poking through her blouse. The ride must have pleasantly excited her, and her body responded in kind. Unfortunately for me, my cock was making a bulge in my pants, and I saw her glance at my crotch before looking away. For some reason, I felt embarrassed that she saw my arousal.

Returning to the office, we ate a quick lunch and went back to work. That’s when I realized the ride may have been a mistake. Immediately, gossip began circulating that Lisa and I had gone on a date and that there must be something more going on. It had not gone unnoticed that we spent almost every lunch hour together and that I had been giving her ‘after-hours’ attention. Trying to explain that we were discussing computer stuff was met with skepticism and snickers. Lisa was fine with the gossip because she knew it wasn’t true, but I had to worry about this kind of nonsense getting to the boss.

But I also had to deal with my churning emotions from our ride. The warmth of her arms wrapped around me, the feel of her breasts through the thin fabric of my shirt, and the ungodly sexiness of her panty-clad pubic mound were making me hornier than I’d felt in a long time. Also, her physical attributes combined with the fact that she was smart and so damned eager to please were all messing with my head. I needed some quick relief, which in retrospect, only compounded my mistake that day.

Checking around, I saw that both of the bathrooms were occupied. So I found an empty office at the very back of the building and settled in for a quick jerk off session. By this point, my cock was painfully trapped in my jeans, so I loosened my belt and unzipped my fly. With some effort, I was able to extract my stiff shaft without breaking it and let it stand tall. The cool air felt good against my hot skin, and I was tingling with anticipation.

My cockhead was already wet from pre-cum, so I used my hand to spread the lubricant over my penis. I closed my eyes and pictured Lisa as I began slowly stroking, savoring the feel of my hand on my shaft. I was so worked up that I knew this was going to be a quick orgasm. My mind kept focusing on the feel of her breasts and the groove of her panties pressed into her cleft, and I felt my balls tighten.

I started stroking faster, fully intending to shoot my load into the wad of paper towels I’d brought. Faster and faster, my fist moved as my orgasm danced ahead of me, just slightly out of reach. Then my mind recalled that she wanted to kiss me for the comment about her weight, and the thought of her soft lips put me over the edge. The orgasm hit so hard I never had time to grab the towels.

I felt the first spurt shoot with so much force that it hurt. I squeezed my cock tighter, and the second spurt of semen was just as strong as the first. I opened my eyes to see that both shots had hit the wall and were sliding down in thick trails. I continued to stroke, and the next few spurts landed on my jeans and the floor. Soon, as the orgasm passed, I was reduced to just dribbling cum where it oozed down my shaft and over my fingers. I felt tired and extremely satisfied.

I turned to grab the towels to clean up and froze. There at the open doorway stood Lisa looking at my still erect cock and the mess it had made. With eyes wide open, she held her hand to her mouth, staring in disbelief. Her face was beet red and I had no idea how long she’d been standing there. I’d been so wrapped up in my masturbatory fantasy that I’d never even heard the door open.

Before I could utter a word, she jerked herself backward and shut the door. “Oh fuck,” was all I could think to say.

I cleaned myself and the wall and returned to my desk. I looked around but didn’t see Lisa anywhere. I knew I had to speak with her, though I had no idea what to say. By the time I’d finished my work, I heard she had already left, so whatever words I planned to use would have to wait for the next day. Unfortunately, the next day would lead to the culmination of my motorcycle mistake.

I arrived early on Tuesday and when I finally caught up to Lisa she looked like she’d had a rough night. She was making coffee when I sidled up next to her.

“Hi, can we talk? I asked.

She startled at the sound of my voice, jumping, almost sloshing hot coffee on her hand.

“Not right now,” she replied. “I have typing to do and I’m not in the mood. My dad read me the riot act last night and I’m still upset. Maybe we can meet later for lunch?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you at noon.”

The morning dragged on, but soon I was able to grab my lunch sack and head out to the picnic area our office provided. No sign of Lisa yet, so I sat watching as other employees filled the remaining tables. The office buzz about Lisa and me was still humming, but I hoped that soon newer, juicier topics would take its place.

“Hi, Bill,” I heard a soft voice say.

I turned and saw that while I was people-watching, Lisa had come up from behind. She sat down and emptied her lunch sack of its apple and yogurt container.

“Hi Lisa, glad you could get away. I wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday. I should have been more careful and never let you see what I was doing.”

She didn’t answer at first. Instead, she concentrated on stirring her yogurt, making sure the fruit was well mixed. Finally, she looked up and surprised me with a big smile. Then without breaking eye contact, she stuck out her tongue and made a long slow lick of her yogurt spoon. My brain hiccupped and for a moment, I forgot what we were talking about.

“Yes, it was interesting, but we can talk about that in a bit? First, I want to talk about what happened when I told my dad I rode on your motorcycle.”

“Something happened? I mean, riding a bike for a short distance is no big deal, right?”

She frowned and dug out another spoonful of yogurt before holding it in the air and gesturing. “I didn’t think it was a big deal, which is why I told him about it. I thought it was pretty cool. But he was less than amused.”

“Why, what did he say?”

“He went on and on about how motorcycles are the devil’s playthings and that I risk going to hell if I give in to such temptations. He said that because you ride, you are a heathen and that I need to stay away from you. And now I’m grounded for a week.”

“A week, that’s harsh. You’re almost eighteen, how does that even work?”

“Believe me, it could have been a lot worse. He only gave me one week because we’d never spoken about motorcycles before. So he went easy on me. Grounding means that other than coming to work, I can’t leave the house or have friends visit. And I have to confess my sin to our priest.”

“Wow, I’m a heathen. I don’t know how to feel about that. But regardless, I’m sorry I asked you to ride and got you in trouble.”

“No big deal. The list of heathens is long, and you’re just one of many. The good news is that while I’m at work, I can just ignore him.”

She had finished her yogurt and started in on her apple. My sandwich was history and I was enjoying a banana. We only had a few minutes of our lunch period left.

“So,” I began, “about what you saw yesterday…”

She grinned and said, “What I saw yesterday, was my first real penis. Other than the pictures from health class and magazines, I don’t have anything to compare it against, but it appeared to be a very nice penis. I imagine your girlfriends are all happy with it?”

I cringed. The last thing I wanted to add to this conversation was my past love life. I’d just blown my load in front of this high school prom queen, and all she could say was I had a nice cock? Though in retrospect, what’s wrong with hearing I had a nice cock?

“Thanks, I think, for saying my penis is nice. That, coming from someone as beautiful as you, means a lot. But what about the other thing? The part where I ejaculated?”

Lisa smiled and then giggled. “That part was crazy! I mean, in school they tell you about the boy ejaculating, but they never tell you that it shoots out like a firehose. It was impressive. Is it always like that?”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Did I really want to engage in a detailed dialog with a teenager about the different ways my cock shoots semen? Plus, my cock was stirring again, being so close to her as she munched her apple and talked about spurting penises.

Finally, I decided that telling her the truth was best. “The amount of ejaculation and the intensity varies based on a bunch of different things. But what you saw yesterday was at the high end of my range. I was overexcited, and my orgasm was much more intense than usual.

“So, why were you overexcited, especially at the office?”

I could see that she was not going to let me off the hook. It almost appeared as if she were toying with me. As I stared at her formulating a response, she stuck out her tongue and caught a juice drip hanging from her apple. Again my cock lurched.

“I’m not entirely sure,” I lied. “Maybe it was the motorcycle ride with you. I don’t often have passengers.”

“Or maybe it was because you looked up my dress twice and saw my panties?” she asked, smiling.

“Uh, er, well, maybe that had something to do with it,” I admitted. “You’re achingly beautiful, and I apologize for violating your trust.”

“What makes you think I didn’t want you to see?” she asked coyly. “I mean, I’m a cheerleader, I certainly didn’t need help stepping over something high.” With that, she giggled again and stood up. “Ready to go back inside?”

She wanted me to look up her skirt? She wanted me to see her underwear? My cock expanded again.

“Uh, I think I’ll sit for another minute or two and then go inside,” I replied.

As she walked past me, she glanced down at the lump in my pants and smirked.

“Well, be careful out here, you don’t want to shoot any birds off their perches!”

She disappeared inside the building and I was left with the few remaining stragglers. What the fuck just happened, I wondered. Why was she coming on to me and so laid back about seeing me jerk off? Whatever was going on, I needed to step carefully in the future.

Thankfully, the rest of the day was uneventful. I was focused on finishing a new piece of code, and the boss had Lisa reorganizing a storage closet. Around five o’clock, she stopped by my desk on her way home.

“Hey there,” she said. “Working late tonight?”

“Hi Lisa, yep, I’m determined to finish this task before I leave. Wish me luck.”

“Well, good luck. And if you get bored and start thinking about me, use these to protect the walls”

I saw her toss a package on my desk. The label read ‘Super-Absorbent Towels – Guaranteed to soak up the messiest spills!’

“Very funny,” I replied. “Everyone thinks they’re a comic.”

She leaned close to me and whispered, “Well, let’s just say, I don’t mind if you think about me.” And with that, she walked away.

___________________________________________

I managed to get through the next few weeks without getting Lisa in any further trouble or spilling any more of my bodily fluids. The whole office was busy on various projects, trying to wrap things up before the upcoming long holiday break. Since July 4th fell on a Wednesday that year, the owner gave everyone Monday and Tuesday off to reward us for our labors.

We had made it to Friday and by midafternoon, most of the office was empty as folks left to get a start on their extended break. I was still hanging around, using the large conference room to diagram some new ideas on the large chalkboards. By five o’clock I appeared to be the only one left and figured it was time to head out. I took a few minutes to copy everything from the boards to a legal pad for safekeeping. It was never a good idea to leave stuff on a chalkboard expecting it to still be there the next day.

I was halfway through erasing the largest board when I heard a voice.

“You almost finished with your eraser?”

I turned and saw Lisa in the doorway holding a large bucket overflowing with dirty chalk erasers. The office was filled with chalkboards, and once a week, Lisa had the mundane duty to take the erasers outside and bang them against the wall to knock the chalk dust loose. I guess the eraser I was using was the last for her to gather.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were still here,” I said. “I figured you were halfway to the beach by now.”

“No beach or bikinis for me. Going to the shore is another one of those activities my parents forbid. All those half-naked heathens walking around in public. No, I had a bunch of filing to do and some typing, and I’m just now getting to the erasers. Once these are clean, I can head out.”

“Okay, give me a minute to clean the rest of the boards.”

She sat in one of the chairs and watched me erase. I was moving fast and chalk dust was flying everywhere. My eraser was in dire need of cleaning for sure.

“Not sure if you noticed, but you have chalk dust all over your jeans,” she said, laughing.

I looked down and saw white, dusty smears on my pant legs and shoes.

“Crap, now I need something to clean my pants. I hate chalk. Maybe a wet towel ?”

She laughed again and said, “Probably not. Only a washing machine will help, I think. Your jeans are already a lost cause.”

I turned back to the board to finish erasing and felt something hard hit me on the ass. I twisted and looked down and saw a large white smudge on my ass cheek and a dirty eraser laying on the floor.

“What the heck, Lisa,” I grumped. “Wasn’t I dirty enough already?

She looked at me with wide-eyed innocence and said, “I have no idea what you mean. I’m just sitting here.”

Grumbling, I turned back to the board and just as I raised my eraser I felt another impact, this time right between the shoulder blades. I whirled around and saw another eraser on the floor. Looking up at Lisa, she had her eyes closed like she was napping, but she had the tiniest of smirks still on her lips.