Another morning, another stupid “Team Huddle.” My manager is trying her best to rally a group of uncaring sales employees. We don’t give a fuck, she shouldn’t either. I’m too busy looking out of the corner of my eye, at the messy-haired boy who keeps stealing glances at me. The morning after with a co-worker is always awkward. It will probably get even more awkward come lunch time, when we’ll be in the backseat of my car, touching and fondling each others’ dicks. But whatever, this job sucks and anything that can make it worthwhile, I’ll take. Even sleeping with a clingy twenty-two year old with bad taste in music.

Sure enough, I clock out for lunch, and there he is, tapping me on the shoulder, ready to head out. I hate that. I keep telling him, “don’t tap me on the shoulder,” but it falls on deaf ears. What doesn’t fall on deaf ears, thankfully, is my instructions on where else to touch me, and hard or soft to do so. I feel like shit afterwards, fucking this guy, but not really having a whole lot of respect for him. I try to justify myself: “He’s bad at his job!” “He doesn’t listen! I mean, fuck, he keeps tapping you on the shoulder!” “It’s not a relationship, it’s just a fling!” But it’s all bullshit. I’m just an asshole about this whole thing. This must be how misogynist straight guys feel about women. Damn.

We finish in each others hands. I quietly clean up the mess, feeling a little guilty. I can’t even look at him. I should really try to be a better lover. Or maybe find a real boyfriend.

In the meantime, I clock back in to work. Taking a few minutes to straighten my hair, I smile for what seems like the first time in forever. As I’m getting back to work, The Boy shows up. He leans over and whispers in my ear, “my place, tonight?” Without even thinking, I nod.

I have a problem with trust. I’ve been burned too many times by the people around me. My “Loved Ones.” You’re always there for them in their time of need, putting your entire life on hold to fix theirs. Then, when it comes time for you to fall, suddenly, nobody is around to pick you up. As a result, I tend to be detached from other people. Don’t want to get hurt again, you know?. Luckily, this guy doesn’t seem to notice. Yet. But until then, I need to get back to work.

After work, I did go to his place. Before I can even step foot inside, he’s already got his hand firmly grasped at my groin, and his tongue in my mouth. He’s raring to go right now, and I don’t intend to stop him. Maybe when we’re done, I’ll ask if he wants to go see a movie?

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