Another installment of the The Man I’ll Never Have. [m+f]

I never used to care what I wore to the office. I wasn’t the dress or skirt type of woman, no matter how many compliments or lingering looks I received when wearing one. Dressing up for work meant a sharp pair of black slacks and “Come fuck me” pumps that were at least half hidden beneath them and matching bra and panties. Sophisticated, yet sexy. I started wearing skirts and dresses as a matter of practicality. It gets hot down here and I needed to be up and walking around, impressing potential employees and business partners.

My former boss would openly compliment me on the more sexy numbers. I knew his wife and that his marriage was bliss, so I laughed and blushed and accepted the compliments. He was a wonderful man, and I felt safe around him, even if he was being a bit lecherous. Another boss within this branch of the company told me I needed to use my assets. She took me shopping and bought anything I showed an interest in. I could not believe my luck, as I was used to hunting through clearance racks and turning down a $10 pair of jeans as “too expensive.” Here she was, buying me hundreds of dollars in nice clothing. I felt powerful in these clothes. I knew that wearing them made men, and some women, turn their head.

I wore these clothes into the office more and more. I thrived on the wayward glances of new employees, laughing to myself. I never felt exposed until I met you. Every time I get up from my seat to update you on a task I’m working on, or a call I’ve made, I feel the blush in my skin struggling fiercely against my willpower. You don’t look at me any differently than anyone else here, but when I turn around, I feel like your eyes are on me. I will never look back. I can’t. But I do wonder if your burning glances see when I’m not wearing panties under my skirt, or when I’ve got on the prettiest of my lace.

When we talk about work, share our experiences, your eyes smile down at me. You find reasons to stand in my doorway. Three days ago, it was asking what my weekend plans were. The week before, it was to ask if the dimness of my office bothered me. I looked up to the ceiling as you said “Only one light in here… it’s like a cave. We should fix that for you.” Fix it for me? I smirked to myself. That’s not what I want fixed.I chirped that I guessed I’d never noticed it really. You laughed, “I’m sorry I brought it up, then. I’ll shut up.”

Damn it, how I lust after you is completely unacceptable. You drive me nearly crazy as you walk up and down the hall in front of my door. You never look my way unless you pause to say hi. If you did, I don’t know where you’d find my glance. You’re so tall and lean. And today, you made this all so much worse for me. Today, you changed out of your work clothes and my god,it was all I could do to not stare at your rippling muscles under your shirt, admire your ass, close my eyes and melt with the images of you touching me. I held on, I smiled, I laughed. You thanked me; you’re always thanking me, for all of my help. I walked back to my office to write this all down. It won’t be the last time today that I touch myself and think of you.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/3kxdi8/another_installment_of_the_the_man_ill_never_have