Someday she’ll leave the door unlocked.

Someday she’ll leave the door unlocked.

Our afternoon conversational pitter-patter is always about the same. I ask her when she’s leaving for the gym; she asks me when I leave for the train. She asks about “big plans” and I talk about changing diapers, mowing the lawn, and doing dishes. I ask the same and hear tales of dinners out, night clubs, and homework, and we both feel envious of the other.

“Call me as you walk out.” I text

“Gotta change first” she replies

“Wanna use my office? I promise not to peek”

“Dream on”

“That’s just what I do.’

I head down to her desk to get one more glimpse of her long red hair and her faint freckles. Yesterday’s outfit, a soft-shouldered blazer and a tight lycra top made me swoon as we talked about computer parts, expense accounts, and the latest layoffs.

“You heading out?”

“In jus a sec” she says as she closed down her computer, gather’s her bag, and her thoughts.

She stands tall and looks me in the eye. “Ready”

“Always”

Minor chit-chat about her new dog fills the time as we walk down the hall to the handicap restroom where she can lock the door and change for the gym. Why doesn’t she change at the gym? I don’t know. She gives me one more radiant smile and steps through the door and I hear the lock engage.

I step to the men’s room next door and drop my pants, relieving myself, enjoying the rush of fluid through my semi-erect body. The walls are too thick to hear anything but the rush of water upon flushing, but I imagine her, just inches away, stripping of the formal clothes of the work day. She would be standing just in inches away, naked except for her low-rise panties that I bought her for Christmas. Maybe this is when she pauses to pull her hair up into a workout-focused ponytail. Her breasts would lift and separate their young fullness mocking gravity, her nipples hardening in the cool bathroom air.

Her fingers fluff out the straggling strands of hair that tickle down her neck. Staring in the mirror, seeing her nakedness, knowing that I am just inches away, she begins to caress, touch, to imagine.

At first lifting and caressing, then pinching and pulling as the feelings build. Her hands move downward across her tight belly and she stops to fiddle with the belly ring that marked last year’s birthday.

Her feet shift, making room, creating space, allowing access, as her left hand steadies herself on the bathroom sink. Her mirror image is flushed and she smiles in delight as her reflected fingers make their way inside the lacy purple fabric. Her feet move again and the cold tile floor reminds her that she is at work, naked, and about to climax.

The sight of her hand in the mirror, wrist deep beneath the purple lace, arouses her and she allows her fingers full reign as they lead her ever closer. The warmth of her body, the coolness of the ceramic sink, the boldness of her desire, and the danger of the moment pushes her quickly over the edge and she let’s out a high-pitched yelp that penetrates the corporate walls and fulfills my fantasy.

I run the water and wash my hands, cleaning off the warm white drops. I flush and walk down the hall to retrieve my mail to read on the way home. As I pass by the locked door I gently rattle the handle and ask her if she’s alright.

“I’m fine” she stammers, “See you tomorrow…”

“OK” I reply softly. “I hope you’re OK.”

I hear the door lock turn and I step back to give her room. Her pale skin is rosy pink, her breathing rapid, and she tries to suppress a smile and avoids my gaze, “I’m fine, just late for the gym.”

“OK. You just seem a bit flustered.”

We walk together to the elevators in silence.

She hangs her gym bag off her shoulder and looks at me as the elevator descends. Knowing that I have only 5-6 seconds, I reach over and take her right hand and lift it to my lips. I kiss her fingertips as we watch each other closely.

The bell rings, the door opens, and I step back.

Some day she’ll leave the door unlocked for me.