by Tara Alton
(07/09/03)

I was so paranoid about bringing brownies to the potluck that I forgot to wear underwear. Not that big a deal ordinarily, but since I'd decided today to wear my black rayon skirt and no hose, it was. A definite breeze was blowing upward, titillating my naughty bits in a fashion entirely inappropriate for the corporate world.

I had another problem. The moment I put down my pan of brownies in the lunchroom, I became convinced I'd accidentally baked a hair into them. A co-worker was going to find it and denounce me. An irrational fear, sure, but I couldn't shake it. I kept retracing my brownie-making steps late last night, from cracking the eggs to adding the chocolate chips, and I couldn't recall if I'd tied back my hair, the hair that the women in the office resented because not only was it a beautiful natural auburn, but it was thick and wavy, too.

I wish I had normal concerns, like normal people. People worry about leaving the iron on or not closing the garage door, but it's not that simple for me. I agonize over disgusting things, like trailing toilet paper on my shoe or having a piece of corn stuck in my teeth during a meeting, things that could plague me for the rest of my career.

My last major freak-out happened during my last period. I was convinced I hadn't worn my cotton surfboard, so I sat at my desk, rubbing the crotch of my khakis, trying to feel if there was a telltale line of security in my underwear or not. That's when Leo came up behind me.

Leo's in his late thirties, but he hasn't let himself go to shit. He's fit, like he'd been a swimmer; he's kept his broad shoulders, narrow hips and strong legs. He has short-cropped dark hair, and a five o'clock shadow at three o'clock. His eyes are those of a tragic old soul. His mouth is amazing. He can convey more emotion with a sneer than most people can with a barrage of verbal abuse. Some days, I find him fascinatingly repulsive; on others he seems like the most boring person on earth.

I'd have been mortified if anyone else caught me rubbing my crotch, but he actually understood my quirkiness. Let him believe what he would. As my finger came into contact with what could only be the crimson shield of power, I gave him a sly smile -- like I was doing it on purpose -- and turned back to my computer.

He didn't say a word.

After that I'd caught him looking at me differently: a little more intensely, more directly -- and sometimes at my ass, which was a good thing. I'd pretty much done the cute stud-boy thing to death. I was ready to move on to someone more interesting. You can only have sex with so many self-absorbed hard bodies before you get bored.

Leo's accent was so thick that no one could guess what part of Europe he came from. They were afraid to ask because he was so gruff and abrupt. Someone said once that he had body odor, so they assumed he was French. I'd never noticed it.

I loved inventing histories for him. Maybe he left a tragic sobbing wife in Paris because he was really a spy who was in love with a prostitute/karate expert in Amsterdam. Stuff like that.

I knew he was game for flirting because after the crotch incident he asked me once in a while if I needed anything scratched. A lot of women might consider this harassment, but not me. Instead, I'd breeze by his office and tell him my underwear was riding up my crack.

Telling him I wasn't wearing underwear today would have been great, but I was too depressed to move. If it weren't for what I imagined to be everybody's resentment that I never made anything for office shindigs, I wouldn't have made these freaking brownies.

The other women brought creations like wedding potatoes with corn flakes baked on top, or meatballs in crock-pots with grape jelly as the secret ingredient. Not me. So far, I'd stuck with pop, chips and pretzels. I'd figured it didn't it matter because I never ate much. At the last potluck, though, I got evil stares from the other women as I arranged my plate of olives, carrot sticks and ambrosia.

That's why I decided to make brownies: to get these office freaks off my back. This morning I overslept. I barely had time to shower and finish the frosting. Then, of course, I didn't let the frosting set long enough before I cut the brownies, so now the insides had pulled up with the knife, and I had milk chocolate frosting on my black crepe skirt and my ivory sweater.

So not only was my snatch bare -- which I'd discovered when I stopped for gas and got a breeze up my skirt -- but my fears were looming larger about the hair. I tried to convince myself it wasn't in the batter when I poured it, and it wasn't there when I cut the finished product. It couldn't be there. Still, the nagging feeling wouldn't leave. Instead of going to my desk, I lingered in the lunchroom doorway.

Leo came and stood beside me. I sighed. It was so nice having someone from my planet at work. He looked nice today, too. Dark slacks. White shirt. Suspenders. Muted tie. His antique watch showed just below his cuff, and his cuff had a tiny fleck of mustard. Every day he ate a cheese sandwich for breakfast. You'd have thought he'd have brioche with country butter and marmalade. No: Wonder Bread, American cheese, and mustard. I'd left a can of Spam on his desk one day to contribute.

"Bring anything?" I asked him.

"I stopped at a bakery and got cookies," he said.

"Are they any good?" I asked.

He shrugged. "They're cookies," he said.

"Are you passing them off as your own?"

He looked confused at me.

"Why would I do that?"

I shrugged and sighed again, a tragic sound that only the truly neurotic can produce.

"I may have accidentally baked a hair in my brownies," I said.

Leo raised an eyebrow.

"I'd eat your hair anytime," he said.

I slightly smiled and decided to call him on it. "If that's the case, then go eat one of my brownies."

The chickenshit didn't budge.

"Go eat one now," I ordered.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"The potluck doesn't start until 11:30. It's 10:00."

"You have a special dispensation from me. I can't take one of my own brownies. They'll think something's wrong with them, or that I'm greedy. I'm in enough trouble with the potluck dictators. If you do it, they'll just think you're an inconsiderate male."

Leo shook his head. So much for chivalry. I decided to pay him back for his cowardice.

I whispered in his ear. "I'm not wearing any panties today."

I saw a visible trail of gooseflesh raise the hairs on his neck, whether from close contact or what I said, I wasn't sure, but I was glad. Let that percolate in his brain all day.

"Are you serious?" he asked. Looking down at my skirt, he swallowed.

"I was in such a rush this morning I forgot to put them on."

"What's it like not wearing them?"

"Titillating," I said.

"It's driving me crazy thinking about it," he said.

"Then don't."

"Your headlights are on," he said.

I looked at my breasts. My nipples were barely perceptible under my ivory sweater, but he'd noticed. I crossed my arms over my chest and went to my desk.

A half hour later, I'd gotten no work done whatsoever. I kept looking over my shoulder at the lunchroom. Unable to take it any longer, I kidnapped the brownies into the supply closet. I closed the door. I'd brought a small plastic knife from my desk drawer to do the deed. I figured if I cut the brownies small enough and dragged the knife through the slits, I'd find any hair.

I sat on a box and balanced the pan on my lap. It was messy. The frosting still wasn't dry and the pan kept tipping.

Suddenly, the door opened. I yelped. Leo was standing there staring in shock between my legs. Holy crap! My legs were open, balancing the pan, and my skirt had ridden up above my knees. He could see my bare snatch.

"Shut the door," I cried.

He pulled it shut behind him. Clamping my legs shut, I stood and shoved the brownie pan aside.

"When you said you weren't wearing any panties, I didn't believe you," he said.

He had me at a disadvantage. I had to get the upper hand, quick.

"If you lock the door, I'll let you lick the frosting off my fingers," I said, coyly, hoping it would shock him into retreating.

To my surprise, he locked the door behind him and came right over, picked up my hand, pressed my fingers open, and slid my index finger into his mouth.

It was the most intense thing I'd ever felt. My knees almost buckled. It was like someone had electrified part of my brain. I fell into a place where nothing existed but his mouth and my finger.

"I'm inside you," I said.

The frosting was gone. He removed my finger. The air hit it. It felt cold.

"You're a very dirty girl," he said.

"I am."

He let go of my hand.

"What are you doing in here anyway?" he asked.

"Making sure there's no hair in my brownies."

"You were serious?"

"Would I lie? I was truthful about the panties, wasn't I?" I asked.

Crooking my other frosted fingers in the air, I held my breath hoping we could repeat the cleaning process, but Leo had other ideas. He laced my arms around his neck and kissed me.

I liked it immediately. His tongue wasn't so huge that it choked me. His bottom teeth were crooked, and I felt a tiny scar on his lip I'd never noticed. He reminded me of a warm baguette: crusty on the outside, warm and yeasty in the middle.

I opened my eyes mid-kiss. I saw him looking back at me, which made the kiss so much more intimate. Passionately, he moved on to kissing my cheeks, my eyelids, my forehead, ears and neck. His hands began move all over my body. I let them.

"All this flirting has been driving me mad," he said.

I gripped his forearms. They were like rocks. I felt so positively girlie up against him.

"I love checking out your ass when you're getting coffee," he said. "Then I wonder for hours what type of panties you have on."

He traced my ribs, caressing the small of my back. No more Mr. Nice Guy when he reached my ass though: gripping it, he smashed me up against him. Who would have thought such stumpy fingers could be so strong.

I could feel he was really hard. My breasts felt as if they were being strangled in my bra. They wanted out. He nibbled my nipple through my sweater. I was starting to groan, to grind my hips.

Suddenly, he lifted me onto the counter, pushed me back, and flipped my skirt. I gasped. He was seeing the carpet for real this time. I felt really naughty, fully dressed yet with my love-box exposed. He gave my clit a quick little suck, almost a nip. I yelped. It was as if he was licking frosting off my clit. It was so good it was almost torture.

Taking my clit back into his mouth, he sucked it, flicking his tongue over and around it, lightly at first, then aggressively. He slid one finger inside me. Another. He moved in and out; he wiggled them around. Then he slid in a third. I couldn't get enough of him inside me.

I was two breaths away from world-shattering orgasm. Suddenly, he moved his mouth away. My clit was in agony. I heard him unzipping his pants. I was afraid to open my eyes.

He entered me like a perfectly greased machine. He filled me, not just length, but girth as well. I opened my eyes. This was quite the sight, Leo fucking me standing up while I laid back on the counter, my legs open, letting him pound me. This was all very good. This was wonderful, but my clit was hanging out there like an angry little man dying for attention.

"I'm inside you," he said.

"Yes, you are."

"Eat a brownie," he said.

"What?"

I reached into the pan and dug out a brownie. The moment the chocolate hit my lips he started fucking me harder. I liked it. The decadent sweetness filling my mouth, the sensation of his cock inside me. It was sensory overload for both of us. The guy was going to pop his cork any moment. Screw it, I thought. My hand zoomed down to my clit while I ate the brownie. The guilt. The pleasure. Two sins in one.

Little pinpoints of light started to pop in my vision. Great -- I was having a stroke and coming at the same time. Heat charged through my body; an electrifying tingle rushed up my legs, up my torso, exploded in my brain. I could hardly move. I felt like I was falling off a cliff.

I heard Leo's sharp intake of breath. His face turn red, and I was helpless as he came inside me. No one had ever fucked me so thoroughly.

Moments later our clothes were back in place and we'd caught our breath. My legs still felt like jelly.

We surveyed what I'd done to the brownies in the pan. "These brownies are so fucked," I said.

"Leave them here. I'll take them home," he said.

"But what about the pot luck?" I asked.

"Fuck the pot luck," he said. "We'll just say you made the cookies I brought in."

He pinched the end of my nose like I was a little kid. I could smell myself on him.

"Besides, don't you think there are more important things to worry about? Like where I'm going to fuck you next?"

He was right. I had to let go of the immature bullshit that was torturing my brain -- yet hadn't the same bullshit just gotten me fucked by him?

He covered the brownies with a couple of file folders, to retrieve later.

I looked at the brownies. I looked at Leo. "So what are you going to do with that many brownies once you get them home?" I asked.

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