The Apple of My Eye

My Michelle

Things were really starting to pick up for me at work. Business was great, everybody was happy, compliments and handshakes coming from every which direction, you name it. I was dealing with a workload six times as great as the one I'd left behind, and, with the exception of a minor screw-up here and there, I came through with flying colors. I had even gotten my first promotion already, and this was only my second quarter on the job. And the surroundings were great. Dozens of young, attractive females parading in and out of those glass doors every day and every night. Lots of them stopped by my office whenever they had a question, a problem that needed solving, or when a quick meet-and-greet was in order. I felt popular, I felt needed, I felt useful. It was heaven. And I was loving it.

Michelle had quit her intern position at the old place and had now come to join my team of two dozen creatives. We were closer than ever, she and I, and I continued to take her home most nights after work. Her mom had turned into this huge fan of mine, acting as if I had rescued her drug-addicted daughter from the blood-stained streets and straightened her out. That was not the case, obviously, but I let her go ahead and think I was the family hero, sure. Why not? No harm, no foul, right?

Wrong.

It was so obvious to everyone—but me—that my little friend Michelle was smitten with her boss-slash-friend-slash-father-figure. She made a point to show everybody who worked with us that she and I were somewhat close, that we went a long way, that she was more than just an acquaintance, maybe even more than a friend, who knew? A few people came to see me about it, you know, meaning to alert me. Guys just teased me about it. And it's not like I was in denial or anything, I simply couldn't see what they saw.

And because I just couldn't see it, Michelle decided it was time to take action. And take action she did. One night, just as I pulled over in front of her place as I did every time I drove her home from work, she invited me in for a glass of something or other. That had never happened before, but I thought nothing of it and accepted her offer. Only to find out there was nobody else in the house with us. I found it weird, but, all the same, I found it very interesting, too, so I just sat there and didn't ask any questions. I was eager to find out what she was leading me to. We started some small talk about this and that, and, yada-yada-yada, next thing I knew, we were both rolling on the floor, making out like we were both possessed. I was nervous somebody would walk in on us, but she assured me it was okay, so I went for it. I was hungry for it. And I let myself go.

Michelle was a very attractive girl, even if I must say I had always perceived her charms in the same manner one appreciates fine art. You acknowledge the undeniable splendor of a painting, yes, yet you don't want to fuck the painting, right? But of course I noticed Michelle. Come on, who in their right mind wouldn't? Her long brown hair cascading in waves down the small of her back, an ass that seemed sculpted, and breasts that, while not huge, were just as young as she was, and thus obviously demanded attention. None of that went unnoticed, I can guarantee you.

And now here I was, swimming in a sea of irrationality, feeling one step closer to hell as my hands were roaming all over her body, undressing her like she's some kind of present under the Christmas tree and I'm six years old and can't wait to take it to my room and play with it for hours.

I knew there was something fundamentally wrong with the whole scenario, of course. I'm 37 years old. I'm engaged in mind-blowing sex with a 19-year-old. Okay, great. Now, we're doing it in the living room, just steps away from the front door, and this is her house, not mine. She does not live alone, but with her parents. Not so great, right? And to add insult to injury, this is someone who not only works with me, but who has a hierarchical relationship with me. I'm her direct superior. Fuck.

I knew all that, okay? I was well aware. Nevertheless, resisting the opportunity to have sex with a snow-blindingly beautiful girl who smells fantastic, is half my age, and is making herself available to me in no uncertain terms, well, that kind of thing doesn't exactly play to my strengths.