Memoir of an Office Affair (eBook)

2

Pamela

Monday morning I spotted Christina in the Break room and, as one would take for granted, looking stunning. She was about to be seated to have coffee with a group of her female colleagues and, as usual, the women were chitchatting and the topic of their cackle was the office gossip of the day. Christina, defining an indefinable look only Christina could characterize so well, was dressed to the nines and looked more spectacular than a sunrise on Bay Gardene.25 Obviously she spent time in the sun on Sunday, probably at the country club pool she and her husband attend,26 because her “fanatabulous” body was considerably more tanned than it was when she left the lakefront on Saturday.

Her make-up was flawlessly applied and her hair was styled as meticulous as a model for a hair color commercial and she was wearing a stylishly chic long sleeve silk or chiffon see through white blouse. Adding to her phenomenal look, her blouse gave a sexy prominence to a mini white bra and her tanned appearance. The blouse had a high neckline and buttoned in the back and a nifty rope belt tied securely around her waist, which made the blouse, worn untucked, flare outward and the blouse was contrasted with a short, tight black mini-skirt. Her outfit was accessorized with elegant jewelry, high high black heels, and dark tan nylons with seam lines. As always, the high water mark of temptation and the palladium of sensuousness and scintillation and the object of my wildest dreams sent my decidedly supercharged disposition soaring to one of our faraway planets. I can’t tell you how damn great a woman looks when she pays such detailed attention to her hair and make-up and is dress so fashionably vogue and sexy. But, when the woman is Christina, the look I depicted has an even more enormous impact on my hormones

After Christina had given me a fantasy more amazing than any myth I could have ever come upon, my passions would forever remain focused on Christina. From hereon, my emotional desires would be besieged by obsessive thoughts of the woman I would never get out of my system because as a law of physics compels us to live in a universe of time and space, there is a law of love and affection which will force me to exist in a world of pain and heartache. Not even a New Orleans jazz funeral, singing and dancing the spirit of the departed to heaven to the sound of the Second Line Theme, could have raised my morale or cured my aimlessness.

And thought how similar our affair was to what a friend told me, “Love, like life, in its final stages, ends in pain without question.” Well, if our all too brief romance had ended, like life, most definitely ended in pain.

I was wrenchingly aware that I was destined to take the same course of what has been said about evolution -– “the recipe for survival changes with life or life dies.” Well, my love for Christina was never going to change and thus my life was on the skids headed to assume room temperature faster than Sonny Liston when down after Muhammad Ali hit Liston with a right in the first round of their second fight.

Later in the day, working at my desk as diligently as I could, with my happiness in atrophy and my love life in a stranglehold, obsessing how desperately I longed to be with Christina, I heard a voice that had been hiding in plain view, “Darrin, Do you have plans for lunch?”

The voice belonged to Pamela, a recently hired temporary worker assigned to the Rate Department, and was a fine looking woman who was a real free spirit. And, if you would believe the rumor mill, somewhat free with her virtue as well. Like Christina, she had a body that would grab your attention and never let go of it. I would also say, based on her revealing outfits and freewheeling speak, timid and shy she was not.

This babe could be described as a hot cutie with a cool bootie. An example, to coin a phrase, of female aristocracy and would not take a member of the Academy of Science to understand Pamela’s body had more to do with her hiring than her grade point average or her SAT scores and a couple of good references. Pamela, like Christina, the minute she walked into the office, knocked me out of my socks like I had been hit by a Mike Tyson uppercut and would raise my energy and excitement level as if she were a walking B-12 shot.

Pamela has beautiful, just past her shoulders, light brown hair with glistening emerald green eyes and a magnificent dark tan complemented with a shimmering iridescent smile which would capture any man’s attention and a body that has more curves than a Louisiana bayou. She is five feet four inches tall, weighs a slim one hundred five pounds, and has a great rack, which she, like Christina, at every opportunity, flaunted.

In the tantalizingly naughty style of dress Christina would wear, and just about to the letter, Pamela loved to dress provocatively risqué and this day was, yes indeed, no exception. However, stepping up the unusually unordinary barely permissible outrageous acceptable attire, stretching the extraordinary permissible dress to the extreme boundaries, Pamela was making an unusual fashion statement.

Pamela, not deviating a single longitudinal degree from her normal, far beyond the out of the ordinary limits of office attire, was dressed in a frilly white see through blouse with a matching low-cut lacy bra visible through her crystalline blouse. She also wore a tight and sententious dark green wool micro-mini with a black belt, tan pantyhose, and black medium high-heels. Undoubtedly, and to no one’s surprise, Pamela and Christina were in a last woman standing competitive free for all competition to vie for the most attention from the men in the office.

On second thought, a more accurate portrayal of how Pamela dressed would be –- “top-notched” -- outrageously indecent. But, don’t misunderstand, no bellyaching from me.

Immediately after she was hired, Pamela, I am happy to say, started to flirt and flirt she did. She would come to my desk, on a pretense to talk work, and in a stare if you dare maneuver -- explicitly and implicitly -- grant a generous view down her open blouse and, as Christina did when we worked together, grin with a look of innocent naughtiness when she caught the direction of my gawk. If her intent was to mess with my mind, her work was more than successful. What she exposed not only wetted my desire, but flooded my body with lust and “fricasseed” my brain.

Not needing a Rosetta Stone to translate her message and finding Pamela to be very attractive, and fertile ground to plow, for apparent reasons, I was particularly interested in scratching an itch which most definitely was in need of being scratched. Not only because Pamela looked so “damn” good and was dressed so “damn” sexy, but as I have inferred, I needed a woman to help vent the flaming desire for Christina or my bereavement was going to send me over the deep end of the love cliff.

Also, I had established with Pamela, as I had done with Christina, a good rapport by going on coffee breaks and sharing a couple of lunches and, as the brilliant astrophysicist, Steven Hawking, said, ”If you don’t dream, if you don’t search, what’s the point of life.”

“If that’s an invitation, the answer is a definite yes and any place and time will be fine.”

With Christina heavy on my mind, I was in need of a connection with a pleasingly appealing female. So, whether she knew it or not, sooner or later, Pamela and I were bound to hook up and she was so soaked in an allure of sexiness the weight of her seductive appeal could have sunk the Bismarck.

Adding weight to my foretoken, in our previous conversations, there was no shortage of sexually amerced twitter and innuendoes and as Ed Norton (Art Carney) of the Honeymooners fame said to Ralph Kramden (Jackie Gleason) at the time Ralph had a traffic accident on their way to a ceremony where Ralph was to be given an award for being the safest bus driver of the year, “May I favor you with this ode? When the tides of life turn against you and the current upsets your boat don’t waste those tears on what might happen just lay on your back and float.”

So, with the tide of life going against me and shipwrecked in the sea of love, heeding the wise advice of Ed Norton, I was seeing Pamela as a lifeboat I could swim to and float before I would be drawn into a whirlpool of heartache drowning in tears of sadness when Christina would no longer be gracing my world with her remarkable beauty and, worst of all, her sensational lovemaking talents and George Bailey wasn’t this bedraggled when the angel came into his life since my heart was as permanently tainted with grief as Macbeth’s guilty hands were stained with blood. But unlike the blood stains of Macbeth, my pain was no illusion and could not have been washed away with all of the water in Lake Pontchartrain and shuttered realizing my life was in the express lane on the highway to hell.

“What about having a pizza and leaving around noon?”

“Pizza will be fine. There is nothing I like better than a hot anchovy with raw onions, extra cheese, and, of course, a cold draft and cutting out at noon will be perfect.”

“And how about going to Luigi’s and taking my car?”

“Luigi’s would be great Darrin and you have a date, see you at twelvish.”

Turned on from the top of my noggen to the tip of my Golden Toes, I watched Pamela sashay...