The thing about Rachel is that she always seemed like she had hard limits. She’d only ever had one boyfriend and she’d married him. A kid at home. A nice life. Would occasionally indulge in a risque bit of banter but pull a face or withdraw when she sensed it was going too far. Nothing too bold. Nothing too blue.
Suffice to say, she wasn’t the type of girl you’d ever imagine sucking your dick in a toilet cubicle after she’s let you watch her pee but then you shouldn’t be surprised by people’s capacity to surprise.
We’d known each other for years by this point. I was close friends with her sister and it all came from that. We’d socialised together, a group of us including her husband, and we’d had plenty of good times doing so. Eventually, we ended up working together in the same place. That’s what made the fallout all the more difficult.
Our relationship had always been flirty. I’d drunkenly outright hit on her one time, despite her having a boyfriend as he was at the time. There was a glint in her eye, no question, but she was tactful in her rejection and graceful afterwards. She was good with people: it came naturally.