11. SEDUCE YOUR BOSS

WHY: A boss is meant to be seduced.

There’s a thin line between love and hate. There’s also a thin line between curiosity and disgust. My boss disgusted me, but I was curious about what it would be like to have him exposed, aroused. I wanted to wipe the goofy grin off his face and see him panting.

I loathed him for never being around and never giving me guidance, and for basically impeding my mission of saving the world. Gradually my idealism wore off and my whore wore on. After I’d been at our company in the Bronx a year or so I adopted his work style, moseying in around 10am, leaving at 5pm on the dot, and taking a two-hour lunch with wine in between. I knew he knew at this point that I was the only person at our organization with any idea of what was going on so I banked on job security. I was far from his first affair and given his reputation I was rather insulted he had not tried to seduce me. I chalked it up to intimidation of my great beauty and brilliant intellect, of course.

The seduction opportunity first presented itself at a bar after a conference. At this point we had been working together for years. The responsible people had all gone home and I was left chatting with him and his buddy. Alcohol and my affinity for sexually charged situations led me to suggest we all go to the Hustler titty bar on the West Side Highway.

It was here, in a back booth that a gorgeous Eastern European waif model child pulled down my top and kissed my tits, and boss man followed suit. His little red beak nose leaned in for a kiss while his drug hyped eyes looked into me with aroused fear.

The next day at work we behaved as if nothing had happened. It drove me crazy! For the months that followed I spent hours preparing myself for work every morning, seducing myself in the mirror as I danced around to sexy songs. I would listen to Paula Cole’s Feel Love in an orgiastic state as she sang of feeling the Amazon running between her thighs. I pranced around like a proud pony. I’d never shaved so much or so often! I drenched my completely clean-shaven body in baby oil and perfume and then oozed into tight tops, short skirts, boots.

And in return I got…nothing!

The caddy gals at work inquired for whom I was dressing, but I wouldn’t let on. When no one was around I would strut into his office and sit across from him at his desk and ask him very proper questions. He would follow with questions for me and I was occasionally caught off guard. How could he be thinking about work at a time like this?!

We had our company fundraiser a couple weeks later and I fantasized about us dancing together, trying to hide our sexual tension. Instead I drank too much and passed out early in the super’s apartment. I found out later that he had inquired about where I was and I was thrilled to have had the chance to play hard to get, to be mysterious, all while passed out in my own drool.

The Christmas season rolled around and I was certain that he would have to invite me to at least one party. Indeed, one of our company’s contributors was having a party in the city and he asked me to accompany him. He was notorious for saying he was going to attend an event and then never showing up, so I tried not to get my hopes up. Fortunately, there was also a seminar downtown that we both needed to attend and he offered to give me a lift.

Damn my lack of faith! I had given up the short skirts, as it was in the thirties and raining, and I was wearing a dreadful turtleneck and plaid pants. It was one of those outfits that always looks good when you first put it on in the morning, but looks more like prison garb as the day wears on.

Oh well, I was going to be charming and witty and clever. On the ride downtown his mouth went a mile a minute, as he tends to, about baseball, his kids, the staff, his favorite bands. I sat mostly silent lost in the buzz coming from his little brain. Two completely objective individuals had compared his attention span to that of a fly upon meeting him…bzzzzz. I hated talking to him, I didn’t want to talk to him, I wanted to…

He parked in a lot several blocks from our seminar and half-heartedly shared his umbrella with me, ah the romance! We sat next to each other and he looked keenly interested in the lecture while I monitored the distance between our legs. Afterward he asked me a few questions about how we would implement the strategies laid forth in the presentation and I glared at him with a you’ve got to be joking with this fake job dedication crap and when are we going to screw look.

Finally we left. The Christmas party was to take place in a Midtown hotel, so we went to a Times Square bar to kill time. I sucked down some Coronas while he explained horse racing to me. I had beginner’s luck and my horse picks were responsible for him winning some dough. I drank it back from him. We proceeded to the party and were joined by a friend of his, urgh. We ate, we danced; I got a kick out of his white boy boogie. We snuck into the coat room and kissed. I went to the restroom. When I returned and saw that he was still joined at the hip with his buddy, I decided to leave. This is my m.o.; I prefer ducking out to long goodbyes. Anyway, I was due at another party. When I reached the other party I called him, repeatedly, and asked if he wanted to meet somewhere. He did, I did, but, once again, nothing happened.

Thanks to a dead Vietnamese man I finally got to screw my boss. Months passed, spring arrived, and I had pretty much given up, until he asked me to accompany him to the funeral for the father of one of our co-workers. I was not very close to this girl, but suddenly I felt compelled to show sympathy and support.

We met at the funeral parlor. About ten Buddhist Monks were arranged in a circle in the front chanting. Apparently it is customary for such monks to chant for days following a person’s death. I was in awe of this devotion, I was moved by the family’s commitment, I was brushing my leg gently against my boss.

As we walked out of the funeral parlor he asked me if I wanted to get a drink. He was not getting away this time! I followed him to Montezuma, the Bronx’s version of a Mexican restaurant, suitable only for people who’ve never had Mexican food. In hopes that we would not be there long, I suggested we just sit at the bar. We each ordered Coronas and I ordered nachos, which was a whopping order of four whole chips!

Just when we were starting to warm up to each other, a co-worker walked in with her family! 1.35 million people live in the Bronx and of all those people this woman was pretty much the last one I wanted to see at this moment. We exchanged niceties, the boss man bought the family a round, and we continued drinking until they finally left.

Too many beers later we were alone again, unmonitored. He put his hand on my knee and the whole world opened into beauty. I'd been waiting for this for months and I would make sure it happened, I would get what I craved. We kissed and we kissed and we kissed. "Is this for me?" he asked, touching the lace of my thigh-high peeking from under my skirt as I sat next to him on a barstool. Yes! We talked at the bar and I told him I'd wanted it since we first kissed.

I was already quite toasted, the four nachos had done little to defend my stomach, but he wanted to keep drinking. We ordered mixed drinks, bad idea, and shots, worse idea. We kept kissing. We had three and a half years of pent-up sexual tension to work through and I was ready to get started.

He asked me if I wanted to go somewhere; yes, and how! He asked me to pick a place, I’m not sure why really, guess he wanted to seem innocent. He could’ve written a field guide to Bronx hot sheet motels (places designed to rent rooms for a couple hours for, umm, “napping”). He’d just told me that he’d never been with anyone from the office and that we would have to keep this our little secret; yes dear, whatever.

I was clueless about where to go. I decided upon a place that was in Westchester County a couple miles from where I lived because I passed it all the time and it looked lovely with hanging crystal chandeliers in the lobby. It was definitely not a hot sheets place and was certainly out of our league as we arrived very drunk and obviously not interested in staying for the whole night. For some silly reason, they gave us a room anyway.

Sadly, I don’t remember much from the first night, I wanted more. I wanted to have a sober session with him. The next day he called me a million times as I sat at my desk hungover and I wanted so badly for him to ask. He even came to my office as I sat typing and getting tingles thinking of his kisses, tongue never going deep enough but blocking my tongue from exploring him and making me never want to stop trying to get deeper, deeper. He came to me around 5pm to ask if I had plans for the evening. Sadly I did already.

The next day, though, the skirt and thigh-highs were back and I was prepared. He came to my office and asked if I was doing anything for lunch. We both had happy grins. He told me to meet him in front of the Bronx Zoo (appropriately). I pulled up behind him then followed him onto the Bronx River Parkway with some difficulty as he was on the phone, driving like a maniac, and clearly not focusing on whether or not I was behind him. We exited on Gun Hill Road and went down to the intersection with Boston Road to the illustrious Crown Motor Inn.

Apparently I had passed the test; he no longer needed to seem innocent. Clearly some thought had been put into finding this place. It was the perfect distance from our place of employment; not too close, not too far. I imagined he probably had some kind of membership. He sent me for beer while he got the room. He motioned to a store across the street.

Picture this, if you will, I was the only white girl in sight, I was wearing a tight black sweater and skirt, thigh-highs with a back seam, high heals, and a perky scarf around my neck as I pranced across the street from a hooker motel to get a 6-pack. I would not take this abuse from anyone else. I went into the bodega, the boys were quite friendly, and I fumbled with the beer in the fridge to assemble a 6-pack. My boss radioed me to say we’re in room 24. I frantically struggled to turn off the volume on my phone as the guy behind the counter smirked.

I walked in a tight skirt back across hooker road while getting cat calls from every angle. I spotted a cop and thought there was a very good chance of me getting arrested. My thigh high slipped down just as I reached the motel parking lot and I bent over to fix it, laughing at the image of myself at this shady institution of quick, messy sex.

Once I had negotiated with the thigh high and was nearing the room, I saw a man who looked very much like the painter who worked for our company, was screwing a girl in the office, and wanted to screw me. I imagined that perhaps this was a trick and my boss had sold me off to a gang bang, or maybe they got a group rate on the rooms. He didn’t recognize me at first, but instead of averting my gaze, I kept staring at him as if he were on fire. He suddenly got a jolt of recognition and a look that explained he grasped the delicacy of the situation. I did a silly little panic dance in which I turned back toward my car thinking I should just escape, then I figured that would solve little, so I just knocked on the door to room 24 and was let in. I told my boss who I saw and he said oh shit, but then shoved his tongue in my mouth, which was where I wanted it.

I delighted in undoing his tie that was always done perfectly as the crowning touch to his suburban dad/GQ look. It unleashed his office persona and let loose this sexual person I wanted to know, wanted to see exposed. The persistent kissing continued, making it difficult for clothes to be removed, but we managed. He gently pushed me down to suck his now-exposed cock, which I did gladly. He pushed me back and crawled on top and fucked me and kissed me. Then he turned me around so he could fuck me from behind. I delighted in the image of my hair hanging down, my back arched, and my plump ass working his cock all reflected in the mirrored wall next to the bed. He talked dirty to me. He came all over the sheet, a great round splatter right in the middle of the bed. He leaned back and said he was sorry he didn't show more concern about my run-in with the co-worker, but he was just so horny he had to release. I liked this raw honesty; it is why I wanted this.

We watched porn and drank Corona. We fucked again and he left. I turned on Sesame Street and bounced around on the bed like a little kid. I took the paper bathmat with me as a kitschy souvenir. I went to a deli and got the most delicious sandwich I’d ever tasted: pastrami and American on white bread with mayo. I ate it in my car by the park with a fantastic grin on my face.