Would It Matter If I Asked?

In the new office there is a hunky chunk of I just don’t know what. Per my usual routine I have navigated the choppy waters of workplace flirtation with the aplomb of a drunk overweight ballet dancer. I accidentally walked into a conference room instead of the adjoining kitchen on Monday and took in the image of lumberjack lawyer with a purpose, said ‘Fuck!’ to an entire conference room of people and excused myself.

While in the kitchen this hot muffin cloud of stud atoms just comes walking in like ‘Hey, I like to have sex and I like to have it a lot and you are one of the only not unfortunate looking people around here, care to share the microwave?’

But did I pick up on any of this? No. I just went about microwaving my Sweet Earth Curry Tiger bowl and paced back and forth like a caged horny tiger. Smooth like glass.

He happened to be in the kitchen the same time as me again yesterday. Almost as though he planned it, and again I don’t so much as even introduce myself. He looked really busy looking fucking amazing and all, and it’s rude to interrupt attractive people. 

Now the hot stud fucker is wearing tight fitting tee shirts and he has an arse on him that just makes my head shake. I am not entirely sure, but I think his name is Kyle. He must spend hours in the gym to get his arms that size. He eats chicken breast after chicken breast. Naturally. Got to keep up that protein flood.

We passed each other in the elevator lobby. We each did our best not looking art you looking at you look, and when I was safely past I just decided to take a quick peak at that arse, and I got a load of his gait. Total power bottom.