An Idiot in Love (a laugh out loud comedy)

by David Jester

  I looked into her eyes again. She had finished with the lid of the yogurt and was now working the tip of her tongue around the lip.

  ‘Do you want a spoon?’ I asked.

  She quickly cleaned the lip and put the yogurt down on the table. She rested her elbows on the sleek surface and leaned across; close enough for me to smell the strawberry flavours curdling in her mouth.

  ‘I’ve been watching you Kieran,’ she spoke softly; I could feel the words on my face. ‘I’ve been admiring you.’

  I hadn’t seen her until she walked into the kitchen. There were a dozen or so employees in the main room. I had met with a few -- including Melissa -- and exchanged friendly smiles or nods with a few more. The sultry cougar hadn’t been one of them.

  ‘Do you want me to show you a good time?’ she spoke in even softer tones, there was a euphoric, almost orgasmic edge to the words. So much so that I had to check to see what she was doing with her hands.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. I still felt awkward under her promiscuous gaze, but she was attractive and I hadn’t had sex with anyone since the storeroom succubus.

  I liked Melissa, but I was still too awkward when it came to sex and relationships. Melissa was innocent, shy; I would have to make all the moves with her. But the glint in the eyes of the cougar suggested that I would barely need to move, it said I have some things to teach you, and I was desperate to learn.

  The tip of her tongue popped out of her mouth again. She used it to gently lick her lips before leaning forward and flicking it against mine.

  I thought she was going in for a kiss; I opened my mouth, moved forward. She pulled back an inch. I felt like an idiot. I instinctively tried to hide my embarrassment with a cough and fired spittle over her face.

  She didn’t react. ‘In the stationary cupboard,’ she said softly, ignoring a droplet of saliva on her forehead. ‘Ten minutes.’ She sunk forward, teased my lips open with her tongue, kissed my teeth, licked the tip of my nose, and then pulled back. She had left the room before I had time to wonder just how crazy she was.

  The next ten minutes were even more awkward than the previous ten, as I couldn’t find the stationary cupboard and had an erect and increasingly agitated penis to deal with. I swept through the building like James Bond, keen for the bulge in my pants not to be seen as I checked door after door, looking but failing to find any marked Stationary.

  I hoped the erection would die, and indeed I pleaded with it to do just that. But my penis seemed to thrive on anxiety, and the more nervous I grew the more it grew. There was also a little voice inside me screaming ‘I’m gonna have sex, I’m gonna have sex,’ which was hard to ignore.

  The majority of the rooms in the building were empty. The company was a fairly recent start-up and had seemingly inherited a mansion to help it grow.

  Annoyed, frustrated, and finally growing limp, I ducked out of the shadows after twenty minutes of searching. That’s when I heard a noise: a hushed squeak, like the warning call of a dying rodent.

  The door ahead of me was open a touch; I could see a thin strip of blackness where the tanned wood met the magnolia doorframe.

  There was movement in the darkness, illuminated slightly by the fluorescent lights in the corridor. A grey shuffling. Something living, something big.

  I heard the noise again. Louder this time. More urgent.

  I remained standing. Delighted that my erection had dampened back to flaccidity now that I was apparently being watched by a giant fucking rat.

  The door opened without warning, swinging wide and proud on its axis. I made an instinctual jump backwards.

  Tanning in the doorway, illuminated in a jaundiced glow by the fluorescent light from the corridor, was the cougar. She was stark naked.

  My blood rushed south again. I remained still, caught in a trance.

  In the sickly glow her pale flesh looked orange. As with her tight features and outwardly visible figure, the naked body before me professed to be a lot younger than it was. Her breasts -- no doubt fake, but impressive nonetheless -- stood firm above a streamline stomach, from which only a thin slither of extra flesh hung, descending southwards towards a clean shaven pubic area.

  I dove into the room, brushing past her warm body. She smelled of lilies, desire and shame. The scent of a cougar.

  She snapped on the light and told me to get undressed.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ I said, unbuttoning my pants and letting them fall to my ankles. ‘You know how it is.’

  I kicked off my shoes and then my trousers. ‘So, stationary cupboard eh? Good thing it’s not an actual cupboard, we’d never get moved. I’m not even sure you’d fit,” I paused before pulling off my sweatshirt. “Not that you’re fat or anything. I wouldn’t fit either.” She didn’t seem to hear, her eyes were on my boxer shorts, waiting for them to disappear.

  “Lot of cupboards in this place,” I continued. “You’d think they’d all be stationary cupboards wouldn’t you?’ my fingers fumbled nervously on the elastic of my boxers. She was still staring in anticipation, it made me anxious.

  ‘What?’ she said, snapping out of her trance. She lifted her eyes to my face, giving me the perfect opportunity to slide out of my underwear.

  ‘Well, you know. It’s a stationary company isn’t it? I mean--’

  ‘Shut up and fuck me,’ she moved forward and grabbed me.

  ‘What about protection?’ I asked timidly.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she grabbed my penis roughly, I yelped and moved back. ‘I’m on the pill.’ She moved onto me again, grabbing with more ferocity this time. I closed my eyes and let her.

  ‘I was thinking more about me,’ I said.

  I hadn’t bothered about protection with Louisa; it hadn’t even crossed my mind. A few weeks ago I had seen an advert about Sexually Transmitted Infections. After that a day rarely went by when I didn’t imagine that my urine was off-colour; my semen hadn’t always looked like that and that pimple was really a small infectious wart. The paranoia dissipated a few months ago, but it was still fairly fresh in my mind.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ she insisted.

  ‘Really?’ I practically squealed. She had a hold of my balls now, and it felt like she had something against them. ‘But I don’t know where you’ve been.’

  She stopped, released my testicles from her grip and took a step back.

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that. That sounded bad,’ I backtracked, ‘what I meant was--’

  You’re a slut and are probably diseased, I said to myself.

  ‘--You can never be too sure.’

  That was the slogan of the advert. It was the only thing I could think of, it was hard to think with an erection and aching balls.

  ‘I don’t have a condom,’ she leant back against the shelving unit, placed her palm on her stomach and slowly moved it downwards with splayed fingers. ‘Do you want to get dressed and walk away? Or do you want to fuck me?’

  I thought about walking away, but not for long.

  We did it up against the shelves. She was flexible and nimble for her age. I wondered if she wasn’t in her thirties after all, and just had really poor skin.

  I came instantly. I had experience with Louisa, and I hoped it would turn me into a sex machine, it didn’t. I pushed on regardless, wondering just what damage I had subjected my testicles to over the last few minutes and if they would survive the final push.

  She was a screamer and I worried that someone would hear us. I had images of walking back into the call-room to catcalls and jeers. I imagined a look on Melissa’s face, one of disappointment, of shame. It said: I thought you were better than that, I thought you liked me. I had such high hopes for you. I clamped my mouth onto hers at every opportunity, silencing her by sticking my tongue into her mouth. She resisted initially, shaking her head from side to side as she tried to enjoy her own ride without me interrupting it, but eventually she yielded and her screams died in my mouth.

  ‘You have stamina,’ she said
afterwards. She was breathless, her face flushed, her hair all over the place. She looked like someone who had just had sex, but, I reasoned, she was in her forties and, like my dad used to say whenever a woman was ill or acting strange, it’s probably the menopause. I was sure my fellow employees would jump to that conclusion as well.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said proudly.

  ‘And you like to kiss don’t you?’

  I smiled shyly.

  I climbed back into my clothes and watched as she did the same. ‘So, back to work,’ I said, wondering if I should kiss her affectionately or thank her, I didn’t know how this situation worked when the other person didn’t swear or walk away. ‘Which cubicle is yours?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t work here,’ she said placidly.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Do you really think I would work in a hole like this?’ she wondered in tones of disgust.

  ‘I guess not,’ I said, confused slightly. ‘So, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Helping out, killing time,’ she shrugged impassively. ‘Whatever. I’m just here because my husband runs the place.’

  ‘Husband?’

  She didn’t reply, she just smiled and planted a kiss on my bemused cheek. Then she was gone, leaving me in a small room wondering how I had missed the signs and contemplating how long I had before the grumpy manager killed or fired me.

  On the walk back to my desk I felt like I was a criminal being paraded through the streets. I was sure all eyes were on me, judging me, waiting to pelt rotten fruit at my head.

  I made it to the cubicle next to mine before someone spoke.

  ‘Where you been?’

  His name was Jack, or John. It might have been Jason. I had met him earlier in the day, he had introduced himself along with two others and he was an unremarkable man.

  ‘I got lost,’ I said flatly.

  ‘Lost?’ he didn’t seem to believe me. ‘The building’s not that big.’

  ‘Lot of doors,’ I said, as if that cleared me.

  ‘But this is the only main room. It’s the main room, it’s mass--’

  ‘That’s beside the point,’ I said, feeling flushed under his accusing glare.

  He stalled, as if waiting for an explanation, when one didn’t come he shrugged it off and changed topic. ‘You see Mrs Mann come through?’

  I looked at him with raised eyebrows.

  ‘The boss’s wife,’ he explained.

  I shook my head and turned a deeper shade of red.

  ‘She just passed,’ he said in a friendly tone. ‘She looked like she’d been on a roller-coaster, wonder what got into her.’

  ‘Nothing, I don’t think anything got into her,’ I coughed and ducked under the cubicle wall, exposing a face on fire. ‘I’m sure. I mean it was probably the menopause,’ I finished with a laugh, immediately regretting it. Too high, too abrupt, too fake.

  I waited for a prompt reply. It didn’t come. I lifted my head up ever so slightly, peering above the partition wall. I was half expecting him to be taking notes or phoning the manager to tell him I had slept with his wife.

  He wasn’t on the phone, nor was he writing on a notepad. He was looking straight at me, his eyes waiting to meet mine as they popped up.

  I laughed again, and awkwardly pretended to be playing a childish game with him. I cleared my throat and then moved my attention to my call list and my work. Eventually he stopped staring at me.

  ‘Jack is a dick,’ I told Melissa the following day.

  ‘Who?’

  We were in the kitchen again. She was tucking into another packaged sandwich; I had already hungrily munched my way through mine.

  ‘Jack,’ I said. ‘Maybe John.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Jason? The guy who sits next to me.’

  ‘Andrew,’ she said with a nod and a smile.

  ‘Yes, him,’ I shrugged. ‘He’s a dick.’

  She giggled. I liked her giggle, it was soft, endearing. ‘What makes you say that?’

  I shrugged. ‘It’s complicated. Just, I don’t know, watch out for him.’

  She looked at me silently for a moment, deep in thought. She picked at her egg mayonnaise sandwich, grabbing small chunks of it and popping them into her mouth, taking her time to chew them thoroughly.

  ‘Okay,’ she said eventually.

  ‘He hasn’t said anything to you yet has he?’ I asked, trying not to come across as suspicious or crazy but sounding like I was about to murder her and stuff her body into the fridge.

  She shook her head, teasing a small chunk of bread onto her tongue and pulling it into her mouth.

  ‘Good, just be--’

  Movement from the doorway behind Melissa interrupted me. I swallowed my words and my confidence as the manager’s wife walked in.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said, winking at me over Melissa’s shoulder.

  Melissa turned and replied, just missing the wink, I stayed silent.

  She drifted into the kitchen with the grace and confidence of a supermodel. I sat rigid with the awkwardness of a teenager watching a supermodel.

  Melissa flashed me a warning glance, she tried to tell me something with her eyes, probably that the horny middle-aged woman behind her was the manager’s wife and wasn’t picky about where she had sex, or who with. But I already knew that.

  ‘I better get going,’ Melissa said after a cursory glance at her watch.

  I watched her leave, feeling a wave of relief wash over me.

  ‘Hello Kieran.’ The cougar sat down opposite. She didn’t have a yogurt this time, but her tongue was toying with her lips again.

  I glanced around; making sure no one was nearby. ‘Listen,’ I said, leaning in, ‘what happened yesterday was a mistake, I don’t--’

  ‘A mistake?’ she fluttered her eyes like a cartoon character. ‘Oh, you do say some cruel things,’ she said, exaggerating offence.

  ‘It's true; it was a mistake, we--’

  ‘So you don’t want to do it again then?’ she said, perking up.

  ‘What? No, who--’

  ‘Me. You. Now. Storeroom?’

  She leaned back, exposing her breasts which were tightly pressed into a low hanging blouse. A frilly black bra strap had slipped out from under the blouse and ran a tempting line over slender shoulders.

  ‘I don’t--’

  She plucked at the strap, peeling it away. Then she lowered the blouse, exposing the flesh beneath.

  ‘Just this once,’ I warned, pointing my finger at her.

  ‘Just this once,’ she agreed.

  We had sex in that storeroom every day for the next two weeks. I found out her name was Charlotte, but she preferred I called her Mrs Mann. She said it made her feel dirtier. She liked to feel dirty.

  The sex started out simple. We met in the storeroom every dinnertime and had sex up against the shelving unit, keeping an ear out for anyone who might pass by outside. But Mrs Mann grew louder with every session and would avoid any attempts I made to silence her. It was almost like she wanted to be caught.

  On the fifth day she told me the storeroom was off bounds and insisted we have sex in the kitchen. I refused, but she undressed and after that it was all an anxious and sexy blur.

  I vowed never to have sex in such a risky place again -- and told myself never to eat off the kitchen table again -- but that was just beginning. During the second week she came to my cubicle under the guise of handing out instructions pamphlets, when no one was looking she dipped under the desk and gave me a blow-job. I saw Jack looking over at me a few times, wondering why I was smiling and where Mrs Mann had suddenly disappeared to. He looked like an idiot, but he couldn’t be that stupid.

  It all came to a head on the third week. I had secured a weekend cinema date with Melissa and was about to face my fears and blow it off with Mrs Mann. Things were looking up, I was confident I could do it. Then, minutes before the dinner break, the manager burst into the call room.

  I had never seen him anim
ated in the few weeks I had been working there. He was grumpy and generally miserable, but here he was slamming his fists onto the empty cubicle desks, throwing pencils, staples and stacks of paper.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him. A couple of employees had to duck you of the way of flying objects.

  ‘Bitch!’ he was repeating over and over. He was practically growling it; the sound seemed to come from a dark place deep inside of him. ‘Fucking, fucking bitch!’ he screamed, just for variety.

  I felt my heart skip so many beats I was technically dead. I had worried this moment would come, but I had hoped it wouldn’t. I tried to avoid eye contact and told myself that he didn’t know I was sleeping with his wife.

  ‘The fucking slag!’ he spat, his voice filling the office and the street outside.

  Okay, he probably knew.

  Tears were pouring from his eyes. His hands were still working aggressively on a nearby empty desk, but he was now slipping to his knees. Everyone was still watching, unsure what to do.

  ‘Are you okay sir?’ one employee said from a distance.

  That seemed to awaken Mr Mann. He jumped back to his feet and pointed at the sympathetic talker. ‘You! You!’ he screamed. ‘All of you,’ he waved his hand around the room, looking at each of us in turn but failing to make eye contact with me. ‘One of you!’

  Make your mind up.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ this time it was Melissa who spoke. I felt a sting of empathy for her and was ready to launch into an attack should the angry man pick on her. He didn’t.

  ‘Someone has been fucking my wife!’ he spat, throwing his arms around maniacally. ‘In my office! On my fucking desk!’

  I gulped. The office had been her idea. The kitchen didn’t seem appropriate anymore.

  Mr Mann continued his tirade for ten minutes before flopping to the floor, exhausted. There was an awkward pause where everyone exchanged glances and silently asked should we go to dinner now? And when the first person did, they all followed. Leaving Mr Mann in a sobbing heap.