The time I took a [m]uch older coworker [f]rom 0 to 100 on another coworker’s couch [older man, younger woman] [coworkers]

This story happened several years ago, but each time the anniversary passes I fall prey to a new flood of daydreams. Since I’ve been so turned on by all of your contributions, I though it was time I share mine. Throwaway account for obvious reasons.

I was 22; a young, female, wide-eyed copywriter. I was new at it, but a really hard worker—and I began to rise in the ranks of our mid-size company about six months in. At first, I felt like I had to make up for my youth by being more buttoned-up, formal, and perhaps overly respectful to my senior colleagues…but time made me comfortable. As I grew as a writer there, I got closer to my coworkers, letting my guard down and letting my “outside of work” personality shine through.

Even so, I worked with a variety of people across my portfolio of clients, and some were more interesting than others. The last person I expected to have a personal bond with was Oscar, a creative director on the most boring of all accounts. (Seriously, I wrote copy for infomercials selling knockoffs of the NutriBullet blender.) We worked together on a couple of random projects, and although he had kind of a reputation in our company, I never even saw a glimpse.

When I say reputation, I mean for getting around a little. He was 38 and married, but apparently turns into quite the flirt when he’s had a few drinks. Someone told me they saw him leave in a cab with a younger colleague from a happy hour once, but office gossip gets so inflated and I just ignored it.

That December, a colleague of ours went back to her hometown in the midwest somewhere because her father went into hospice care. At the time of her emergency, she happened to be working on a really fun, time-intensive project with Oscar, and they needed an immediate replacement. Somehow I got chosen to work with him, and that’s the very beginning of the worst, BEST thing I’ve ever done.

At first, Oscar’s demeanor was the same as the blender work. I almost felt brushed off by him, like there was no way he trusted a 22-year-old to be a true collaborative partner. We clashed a few times on creative vision, but my attitude was totally average. Boring, normal. I mean, he’s a married guy. A dad who likes to keep his truck sparkling clean and cares too much about nice watches. That was his vibe on the outside, anyway. There’s no way in hell it even crossed my mind that eventually find myself sitting on his face.

One day we were sitting in a big studio looking at the video edit for a portion of our project, and I cracked some dirty joke. I can’t even remember what it was that I said, but he just whipped around and looked at me in disbelief. “What?” I asked, “we’re both perverts and you know it.” At that point, I remember something changing in his eyes. A mischievous smile spread across his face, and he leaned forward and balanced his elbows on his thighs. He folded his hands, looked down, and let out this slow, sexy laugh. “Didn’t see that one coming, Anna.”

It was like we became friends instantly. For the next two weeks, I’d stop by his desk to drop something off, and we’d talk for a couple of minutes on random tangents. I’m pretty quick-witted, so I always found a way to sneak a double entendre or two into our conversations so he’d do that laugh again. There was always this knowing gleam in his eye… and I don’t know what my face did when I looked at him… but I’d be willing to bet I had the same.

Fast forward another week, and it’s our company Christmas party. Classic, right? It was a really great vibe that year with a lot to celebrate, so everyone was in great spirits. I remember starting the night with one of my closer teams playing a drinking game, but things got hazy as the senior leadership thought it would be hilarious to pour sour apple shots (never again) for a group of us. I’m not a big drinker, so it didn’t take much to put me over the edge. I held my composure all night, but things definitely got blurry; there was some dancing, some raucous stories—all that bonding that only happens once a year. Even so, Oscar and I never really crossed paths for the first couple of hours.

As the party wound down, most of us migrated over to a bar near the office. I remember being baffled when all of a sudden it was bar close — I had started drinking at FIVE PM. How the hell was it already two in the morning? I needed to get back to my coworker’s apartment. Remember the one who had to travel because her dad was in hospice? Well, I was staying at her house to watch her dog for a couple of nights—doing her a favor. I walked out the back door of the bar to find a cab, and ran into Oscar in the parking lot as he was getting into his truck. “Hey Anna, want a ride?” I didn’t think twice.

I told him I was staying at Christina’s to watch her dog, so he’d have to drop me off there. I know I was being drunk and laughing a lot, and got so distracted that I forgot to tell him where to turn and we used Google maps to find her apartment building. I went up to let the dog out while he looked for a parking space, and then he came inside to “meet the cute dog.” At 2:30 AM.

He says it was my eyes that brought things from 0 to 100, but like I said – I have no idea what my face looks like when I look at him. He’d say they are deep, inviting, suggestive—and they don’t break eye contact. (That part is true.) So with my eyes betraying the fantasies playing out in my head, Oscar takes his cue and cups my face, kissing me fiercely. Coats and scarves are flying off, my cardigan (ha) is on the floor, and we’re horizontal on this paisley couch. He’s broad shouldered and muscular; I’m 5’5” and relatively slender, so my hip bones are nestled between his as I grind him into the couch, bucking in that way that comes so naturally when alcohol takes over your body and you just let it ride. He’s matching my rhythm and muttering “oh my god” over and over again. His thick arms are wrapped around me, and I can taste the whiskey in his mouth. I’m mesmerized. I’m writhing on top of his body so I can feel friction on my nipples, through my jeans – and his hands are wandering and cupping and grasping. It’s we expected our bodies to melt into each other. I’m no stranger to sex, but I’ve never even made out like this. I can tell I’m in an entirely different universe.

One short break to tell you about my sexuality: it’s powerful. It’s exclusive. It takes a special person to really inspire the seductress in me, but when that spark happens it is the most dynamic thing I’ve ever experienced. It’s led by my body, but I’m fucking with my mind. It’s consuming and meditative—and I know my partners can tell immediately when that switch is flipped. Lucky for Oscar, the combination of alcohol and a good, taboo fantasy staring me in the face rendered me incapable of thinking about any implications.

I thought I was having heart palpitations as he pulled his mouth away from mine and ran his thick hands up my legs from my knees to my inner thighs. He knelt on the floor in front of the couch (my coworker’s goddamn couch!) and started kissing my hips, unbuttoning my jeans. Suddenly, they were off—revealing my burgundy lace ‘cheeky’ style underwear. He pulled them aside and inhaled sharply, looking up at me with genuine hunger in his eyes. He started to slide his tongue up and down my clit (oh my god how did I get here?!) and the seductress takes over again. (If I’m going to be pants-less, so is he.) I push him onto the couch, slide off his pants, and kneel in front of him, taking his cock in my mouth and clenching his thighs with both hands. He’s been drinking too, so it takes me a minute to get him ready—but I lock eyes with him and smile (as much as it is possible) when he hardens between my lips.

I love giving head because I get to see the cause-and-effect of pleasure on someone’s face, by the sounds they make, and how their muscles tense. I don’t think I broke eye contact with Oscar at all as I took him deep in my throat, one hand on his balls. I swirled my tongue around the tip, applying extra pressure underneath, and then sucked, hard, down to the hilt. I curled my fingers around the shaft, gently twisting in the opposite direction of my tongue, and then the same. It lasted probably five minutes, but I now I know he’s one of those rare unicorns who truly gets off on pleasuring a woman—so it wasn’t long before he had me in the splits on the edge of the couch, devouring my pussy like men do when they’re in love. Reckless, wet, desperately matching the pace of my undulations and my moans.

At one point he commented on how smooth I was, and I murmured, “I just had a feeling…”

This is another part where the details get fuzzy, because all of a sudden he’s positioning the head of his cock between my legs, and I can see the glaze of precum on the tip. I’m very serious about my condom use, but something within me threw in the towel in that moment. I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled him into me, so you couldn’t even see where his skin ended and mine started. I felt the weight of his body collapse on top of me as we both groaned in pleasure and disbelief. Oscar fucked me like that for a few minutes, holding the backs of my knees apart so we both could watch as he slid in and out.

There’s something about this sex. Sex with him. It’s making me fall in love with sex. Something in my mind unlocks and I am accessing parts of my brain and my body I never have before. Waves of pleasure are rippling up through the core of my body and into my brain and my ears and I can’t look away from him. It’s mind-blowing; the positions weren’t novel, there was no warm-up, and we’d never even talked about sex. But somehow this connection was driving us together with brute force that I have yet to experience again.

Despite my shock, I’m not just an audience member, so before he could ask, I flipped myself around – burgundy lace still on – and slid back onto him while looking over my shoulder. I was bent over the couch for leverage, and I told him to stay still. I rhythmically pushed against the arm rests, working my hips in circles and effectively fucking myself doggy-style on his hard and willing body. I remember that he kept whispering my name as we picked up the pace, and when we came together it was like every nerve ending in my body exploded. His hands were gripping my biceps from behind, which flexed and quaked from holding the weight of both of our bodies stable. My skin stung where his nails dug into my shoulders, and it tingled where his lips, teeth and tongue had meandered, moaning vibrations into the side of my neck. As he slowly stood up, I collapsed on the floor, my legs unable to carry me for a moment. We looked at each other and burst into laughter; this was carnal insanity.

Until then, he had no idea that I could go from cardigans and skinny jeans to lace underwear and blowjobs, and I had no idea that a man 16 years my senior could take what he knew of women’s bodies and match my sexual energy so well. Holy fuck. When I was finally able to stand up, I sauntered into the kitchen for water. He still tells me that he died a little upon seeing “that walk.” He says I have the most perfect ass he’s ever seen. He sends me peach emojis about it.

We sipped water in silence, eyes bright and staring at each other. I collapsed into his arms again and had to balance on the counter. It was 4:30 AM, and we had to work the next day. With my face in his shoulder, the guilt started to set in almost immediately for me. When that switch is flipped and I can’t think of anything else it’s great for the sex—but apparently bad for the morality. It was so fast— a couple of blinks at the most. Like I was looking through one of those old viewfinder toys where you click through each frame on a disc. A few blinks of insanely hot positions and sensations, and now here we were. “Please tell me I’m not the first.” “First what?” “First time you’ve strayed.” A chuckle. “No.”

Oscar headed home and I passed out, with an alarm set for four hours later. The morning was a rough one, and I was freaking out a little. If anyone ever found out about this, it could have serious implications for both of our careers. I was pretty sure we were both good for our word —that this one stays in the vault — but it’s hard not to feel paranoid the morning after when all of the reality sets in.

I had goosebumps when I saw him. Our eyes met for just a moment, and we carried on, smiling with downcast eyes. Creative partners indeed.

The next few months were kind of a rollercoaster of guilt and seduction, but I’m happy to say we’re still close friends. I’d slowly walk by his desk in a new pair of tight jeans, he’d do that low, sexy laugh and drop some reference that only I would understand into a meeting or a presentation. He’s the first person I’ve ever connected with on such a deep physical level and THEN had the benefit of emotional and intellectual compatibility. It’s morphed into our own weird, illicit friendship with a couple more sexy escapades, but we’ve got our own lives to lead. Even so, I’ll cherish the sweet discovery forever.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/5lji82/the_time_i_took_a_much_older_coworker_from_0_to