I liked walking by D’s office because he would watch me. It made me feel hot to have his eyes on my ass. Sometimes he would come over to my desk to discuss serious magazine business, such as which porn videos I needed to collect for the “Taster’s Choice” page, or various photos for “Droppin’ Dime.” Inevitably our innocent work conversations became salacious. It all felt safe and fun, mainly because I knew that he lived with his girlfriend.
Our affair graduated organically. I went from just sauntering by his cubicle to actually dipping in and letting him molest me at his will. He would instruct me to show him my thong, and I would pull my jeans down a bit over my hip and show it to him. He loved telling me what to do, and I loved doing what he told me. After a few months D began placing my hand on his hard cock to show me how much my attention, and ass, were getting to him. I enjoyed this power.
Then, one night he invited me to get a drink. One drink lead to many dirty martinis and then back to my apartment. He was insatiably rough with me. His feminist girlfriend wasn’t obliging this domination fantasy, or maybe he didn’t want her to oblige the fantasy, I’ll never know. Whatever the case was, this man was bent on some serious nipple pinching/slapping, ass spanking, inner thigh biting. He left his marks all over me until we were both writhing and spent. He then showered and bailed out of my apartment and back home to his girlfriend.
Over the next few weeks, we began ducking into the notorious 36th chamber, a fire escape to nowhere in an airshaft on the 10th floor. Vibe staffers used the aptly named 36th chamber to smoke weed, have fights, or do whatever it is people do in covert spaces. Sometimes during the work day, I would get on my knees and suck D’s cock until he exploded all over my mouth and the brick wall. I would sneak back to my cube all flushed with the taste of him fresh on my lips. The mailroom guys were on to us.
D also introduced me to the underbelly of midtown manhattan (when there was still an underbelly). One night we went to a live peep show. He paid a wiry, homely, girl with glasses $40.00 to masturbate behind the glass wall. I was turned off by the whole display. She seemed disinterested and sad to me. D tried to illicit some kind of sexual reaction from me, but I just felt like going into the glass cube, hugging her, and giving her a robe.
Eventually it became evident that D was struggling with his desire to be faithful, and the guilt he expressed made me feel bad. I didn’t want to be the tart that drove a wedge in his unhappy home. At that age I was new to the role of “other woman” and I didn’t want to sway his resolve, if he really had one.
Weeks later he asked me to drinks again. I went, prepared to put up a battle when it came to him coming home with me. But, he did, one last time, and instructed me to strip down slowly while he jerked off and shot his load all over my ass.