For what seemed like minutes, she stood there staring blindly out of the window, watching students spill out of the building across the street. Some stoop shouldered, disappointed and grim, others half skipping with the bounce of springtime in their airy steps. For a brief she imagined where she would be, what she would be doing, and whether she would be happy had she not married Dr. Carl Dexter. A stewardess flying to Australia, maybe? A model on the cover of Vogue?
"Uh, Mrs. Dexter, could you come in the office for a minute," Dr. Everett's voice interrupted her wildly, dizzily spinning thoughts.
"Yes, of course, right away," Ann answered, reaching down to pick up the file folder.
"No, you won't need that, Mrs. Dexter," he said coldly, and then she knew she'd blown it! Without so much as a smile, he turned his back and disappeared into the wood-walled interior of her husband's office. Was this a joke?
Ann followed the tall doctor, her knees quaking, her hands still trembling, her full, fleshy thighs tremulously shaking, her full breasts quivering beneath her short knit dress as her chest heaved with heavy breathing. Once inside the office, Ann seated herself on the chair by the desk, directly opposite Dr. Everett who sat frowning over a series of ten pages that Ann had finished typing about half an hour earlier. The full breasted young blonde crossed her legs demurely and folded her hands across her lap to stop from trembling, then waited patiently for Dr. Everett to say whatever he had to say, hoping for dear life it had nothing to do with what had happened that morning.
"Uh, Mrs. Dexter," he began awkwardly obviously finding it difficult to get to the point, "this is… uh, the pages you typed this morning…?"
"Yes, Dr. Everett." There was no trace of intimacy, let alone familiarity between them now; all business, the way it should have been those fateful hours earlier.
"I'm afraid there are a lot of mistakes you're going to have to correct before we can have these pages copied… some glaring errors that are very unlike you, Mrs. Dexter. Look here," he concluded, pushing the papers across the desk toward her.
Ann looked at the typewritten page on the top. Five or six extraordinary obvious mistakes seemed to jump off of the white paper at her, almost as if they were pointing accusing fingers at the helplessly quaking wife. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Dr. Everett. I really am. I… I'm… I'll fix it right away, of course. I'm… so sorry."
"I know this isn't like you, Mrs. Dexter," George's voice softened. "But we are in a terrible rush, as you know… so if you could take care of them, it would be greatly appreciated."
"Oh yes," the distraught young woman cried. "I don't know what's wrong with me, I've been all thumbs today."
"Well, why don't you take what you have done and make three copies down the street at the Instant Press." Finished he returned to his work, as if nothing had happened between them that morning.
In minutes, Ann had corrected the mistakes and a half hour later she was headed out the door, file folder in hand.
Even as she walked the short distance to the Instant Press, she could concentrate on little else but her handsome co-worker and the way she had stupidly bungled the whole thing – not only this morning by telling him she couldn't meet him, but by making all those typos! Of course, she could have gotten finished in time for a friendly after-dinner drink! Carl had never questioned her in that respect, whatever story she came up with, and most times it was just to get a break away from him and take in a movie, or a quiet relieving walk. Damn… was it too late? She could go back later and set it up for tonight. God knows, she was still that sensually excited… but no! No, she wasn't about to do that for any man! If… if only she could cool down a little bit! She was actually wet, wet between her legs, and no one but Dr. George Everett had done that! But dammit, she wasn't about to go back and beg… never!
Oh, what was the address of that damned place?
At one point, while crossing the street, the sexually frustrated young wife almost tripped over a rut in the sidewalk street, and her papers went flying all over the intersection! Great! All she needed was to go back and say, "Sorry, guys, but I just lost your report!" Oh, that would go over really well. If it hadn't been for the older man next to her who managed to catch all but two pages, she'd have been an ex-secretary. As it was, she had half glanced behind her to see him observing the spectacle she was thoughtlessly offering him in her bent-over position. Though she had immediately straightened and turned to glare at him, despite his life-saving catch, his elderly, lecherous smirk as she walked on past her only seemed to add unneeded fuel to the already glowing bed of coals smoldering in the hot, fluid hearth of her.
When she finally found Instant Press, a small building set off from the street brightly decorated in red, white and blue, she discovered that only the errand boy was there to fill her order.
"The boss'll be back later, lady – it'll be about two hours, I'd say. But if you want I'll be happy to fill it for you. Three copies you say?"
"That's right… oh, is there any chance you could deliver this to my house? You see, lad, this is a dire situation I'm in, and it would save my life… my job at least if you could get this order to my house later today." Emphasizing her helplessly needful situation, she leaned her elbows on the counter in a weary gesture, perhaps to egg him on. She could tell after she'd bent down to fill out the order form that his youthfully bugging blue eyes had briefly fed on the unexpected, engaging sight. His good looking teenage mouth was agape, his smooth, fair cheeks a flushed crimson.
Lord, it was absolutely absurd to work one's self into such a lewd state, she berated herself teasingly. But she couldn't help it, either… there was something erotically exciting about it, being caught up in such a lascivious mood right out in public… before God and everyone and in broad daylight.
"I'll have this to you as soon as the boss comes back, ma'am. You fill out the form? Okay, I'll be over to your office real soon…"
"Oh, that's not my office address, dear; that's my home address." Her eyelashes fluttered and she perched her hand on one hip. "But I'll be there in just a few minutes. And thank you, dear, you've saved my life." With a warm pat, she rested her hand on his, and for a brief moment she was tempted to jump over that counter and plant one on his full lush lips. But what normal woman would ever set out to lure a boy when she could have a man, not that the choice had been offered to her as of late, she realized with a throaty moan.
"Thank you… what's your name?"
"Eddie…"
"… Eddie," she warmly smiled at him as he raced around the corner to open the door for her. Girlishly, she waved at him through the glass window pane, though his face was blocked by the poster covering the far corner of the glass. Instinctively, she knew he was still watching her and she made an extra effort to take salacious long strides for the duration of the block.
Damn, he was a sweet, young dream, the infused blonde wife reflected most of the way to her car. Some lucky girl either was, or was going to be made mighty happy with that young darling crawling between her legs… Lord… if she didn't stop thinking like this she was going to be a mess of frayed nerves before the day was over! And it was her own fault, too! Her scheme had worked with George… at least she knew his taunting remarks had been sincerely founded… then, dammit, she'd blown the whole thing, telling him she had to work. Damn, he knew it was a lie! What she needed was a drink.
The ride home was brief and uneventful in reality, the fantasy side of her mind feasting off the events of the day. Oh, thank the Lord there were only twenty-four hours in a day! Perhaps a good night's sleep would quell that surging loneliness up there between her legs.
After hanging up her coat, Ann made a bee-line for the liquor cabinet and mixed a martini. With this fortification, she took out a roast from the refrigerator and plopped it in a dutch oven and set the timer. Thank God for modern conveniences, she mused as she sipped ravenously at the martini.