Starved for a man

I stared at the computer screen in front of me, suddenly
realizing I’d read the same paragraph a dozen times and still didn’t
know what it said. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I couldn’t
concentrate, and my body felt alien to me.
I could feel every thread in my underwear. I could feel my
hair brushing against the back of my neck. I could feel my hard
nipples being caressed by my thin cotton shirt. I could hear the blood
whispering through my veins. All the tiny hairs on my body were
standing on end, as though I were under a high tension wire, or
holding onto a Van de Graaff generator. Electricity filled me, making
my head spin and my genitals flood with heat. Hot moisture oozed from
my body, dampening my underwear. My anus tensed and untensed over and
over, aching for something, or someone.

I wandered down the hall, smiling and exchanging greetings
with co-workers, wondering how the thin social veneer could still
function when my body and mind were so out of synch with the rest of
the world.

I walked into the coffee room and he was standing there. I
stopped for a moment, knowing how starved I was for him, but unsure if
he felt the same. I’ve never dated anyone I work with, and don’t want
to risk doing or saying anything to spoil my career advancement. But
every time I saw him, it did something to me.

He was tall and well made, with blond hair, blue eyes, and
that Nordic complexion which flushes so easily. He was handsome, so
incredibly handsome. An Adonis. I’d been fantasizing about him for

I walked over beside him, head lowered, eyes peeking over at
the hardening bulge in his slacks. It was as perfect as he was. Long
and thick. I wanted to taste it so bad saliva squirted into my mouth.
I could smell him. No cologne or aftershave, just the clean musk of
his body.

“Hello,” he said softly.

I swallowed hard, afraid my voice would come out hoarse.
Instead it came out husky, sexy, as I replied to his greeting.

I could feel the current which surrounded me reaching out to
include him. Waves of heat streamed from his body, crashing against
me, and my lungs labored to breath under the onslaught.

My hand shook as I filled my cup and added cream. Glancing up,
I saw him looking at me. I dropped my eyes swiftly, feeling the heat
rise in my face and chest, knowing I was blushing, and helpless to do
anything about it.

He said something to me, and the current was so loud in my
ears I didn’t hear.

“What?” I almost whispered.

“I said, are you free for lunch today?” he repeated.

Wild joy flooded me.

“Yes,” I said, shivering.

“Would you have lunch with me? At Jordan’s? One o’clock?”

I nodded, swallowing. He moved away, and very lightly brushed
against my bare arm as he did so. The tiny hairs there stood on end,
and he smiled as he walked away.

I leaned against the counter, shivering with anticipation.

When I was reasonably under control again, I walked back to my
office and sat down before the computer screen. I read the same
paragraph again, and still didn’t know what it said.