I can’t remember if it was Wall Street Journal or Forbes but there was an article recently about what people working from home get up to and the statistics read that forty one percent of respondents were having sex on the clock. My initial reaction was “Amateurs” since I know I’ve done it on the clock without having to work from home but then all I could think of was the one time (which is part of a story I’ve told elsewhere and I won’t be retelling here for anonymity’s sake). I racked my brain trying to think of any other time I boned on the clock and I suddenly remembered the time I got down with my assistant manager.
Now, just a heads up, this wasn’t an ongoing thing in the supply closet like you see on TV. Also, I’ll be changing a number of details to protect anonymity and, since I had actually forgotten about this and it happened eight or nine years ago, the dialogue is not accurate; I remember scraps and I’ll use those to get us from point A to point B. So if it reads like it’s made up, it kind of is.
To start, this was when I was working in the travel / hospitality industry at a fifty six bed lodging up by the Great Lakes, just not on the Great Lakes. I had made manager after a year and a half as night desk clerk.
There were four buildings to the facility:
The first building was called The Main House. This was where the office and guest lounge were, the guest lounge comprising a well-stocked kitchen and a modest TV and game room on the first floor just across the hall from the office. The basement was storage for linens and cleaning supplies and just random shit. The second floor was intended for an office that nobody used.
The second and third buildings were the “Guest Houses”; building two had twenty eight single occupancy rooms on the first and second floors, building three had ten double occupancy rooms on the first floor and fourteen singles on the second. Max capacity was sixty two people.
The fourth building was a four-plex for staff and was located a two minute walk from the Main House. It’s not that important to the story in question, maybe a little later it will be.
Twice a year, around the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, we sold out to a religious group (I’m hesitant to say “cult”) who would show up to take hand drums and acoustic guitars out into the woods about three miles down the road. They were very nice people who just wanted to get down with some homegrown ganj and kombucha but without fail, every visit, they’d wind up pissing off the other guests because they got up before sunrise and would “Aowaowaowaowa”. They would sit up and just intone in their rooms and anybody who wasn’t a member could hear these people through their walls. Then they’d come to us and complain and, as this was twenty twelve? thirteen? we could usually defuse the situation by gently reminding these guests that we couldn’t infringe on anybody’s prayer. And by the time anybody’s coming to us to complain, the religious group has already breakfasted and washed their dishes and left for the whole damned day, not to be seen again until well after sundown, when they’d return, sup, and clean up after themselves before going back to their rooms.
So you kind of have the scene set up, right?
Now, the day in question, where I’m going to have to fill in a lot of blanks in my memory.
It was the autumnal equinox congregation and the group was out. It was time for shift change and my assistant manager, Jessie, came in to the office dressed the way she normally dressed: Faded blue jeans and equally faded t-shirt under a thin cardigan. She was a five ten Latina and I had seen her curves more on display during the summer months, not that she wore anything revealing or form-fitting but I could get a better idea then. You know how it is.
We lived across the hall from each other in the staff house and living and working with each other got us close, especially with how isolated the motel was. Bumming each other smokes, drinking on the back porch. We hit it off early, had a lot in common. We talked about sex here and there but it didn’t go anywhere.
She came behind the desk and put her bag on the bench and I ran her through the debriefing for the evening, such as it was. We had a full house, maybe a couple check-outs from that morning, maybe some check-ins that night… Again, almost a decade ago and those details aren’t why anybody’s here. I remember that she wanted to show me some video before I took off for the evening and I stayed behind the desk with her. Probably handled a guest question with her; nearest bar is a half hour in the opposite direction of where the congregation went, best to pick up some off-sale and bring it back. (We had a small number of DUIs among our guests, the state troopers made their bread and butter off them.)
After trading a couple videos, probably just music videos and cats, we realized that the lounge was empty and we caught each other making eyes at each other. I’m pretty sure I was the one who brought up, “Hey, you remember that thing we talked about?”
She gave me a look. “No, what?”
“About… You know… On the clock? Here, in the office?”
She looked out at the empty lounge and tongued her lips before she looked back at me. “You mean me and you?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re down for it.”
She looked out the window at the mostly empty parking lot then back at me. “Has \[the owner\] been by to pick up the deposit?”
“Yesterday, yeah.”
She looked at me like she was sizing me up. That part I remember. That dialogue up there? Fuck knows, guy. There was a lot of booze and weed flowing through that place. She may have pitched the idea to me. In fact, let’s do it that way.
After trading a couple videos, probably just music videos and cats, we realized that the lounge was empty and we caught each other making eyes at each other. She asked me, “Hey, you remember that thing we talked about?”
I said, “What thing?”
She said, “You know, about, uh, fucking on the clock. You want to give that a try?”
I asked, “What? Right now?”
She said, “You think we’ll have a better opportunity? I mean, hey, the risk is the thrill.”
Now, regardless of “who started it”, this was not a slow love-making session. There was no foreplay. This was a mad scramble to make each other cum. There were maybe two minutes of mutual touching to warm each other up and, yeah, the risk was the thrill. Soon enough, my pants were around my ankles, her pants are around only one of hers, and she’s bent over the desk while her hand is jibbering her clit and I’m thrusting away, all the while I can hear these guttural grunts she’s making in lieu of hollering out, she’s really trying to control herself. She actually came very fast and revealed herself to be a gusher. Legs just soaked down to her ankles, I’m soaked from my belly button to my knees. It was a turn on but it was also… There was a distinct lack of friction on my penis, so I had to work a little harder, mentally, to keep myself in the game. After a minute, that familiar urge came over me and I asked her where she wanted me to cum. She looked back at me over her shoulder and said, “I have an IUD. Go for it.”
I did and it was a fucking mindblower.
I leaned forward on my hands on the desk, my belly on her ass, and we caught our breaths for a second before I slid out and we pulled our pants back up and our shirts back down. We stepped out front and had a smoke.
I think I might have tried to kiss her goodbye before I went back to my quarters. I think she might have reciprocated, but I don’t think we did that. We weren’t like that.
In case you’re wondering, no, we never did that on the clock again and, yes, it did make work awkward after that. Our disagreements would result in raised voices two or three times. We did bone a lot after that. Again, this motel was a little on the isolated side and with winter around the corner and us living across the hall from each other, we decided that it wouldn’t be bad if we could warm each other up at night.
We got through two summers after that before the owners sold the company and we were let go. She wound up moving out to the west coast and would text me now and again. Last I saw her, years back, she was stopping over in my city on a trip down to Florida where I guess she resides to this day but we’ve totally lost touch.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/pjfssh/sex_on_the_clock_mf