A few minutes later, clean but vulnerable without any underwear, I took the stairs up two flights to my floor. The halls to my area were packed with last minute arrivals and I made it to my office without any problems. I was a minute late clocking in on the computer but nobody seemed to care as I got right to work, drowning myself in my job to try and forget my shocking display earlier.
2
The day passed in a jumble. No matter how I tried to focus on my work, I couldn’t make myself concentrate. I found it necessary to double, then triple check my work to make sure I'd done it right. The temp data entry assignments I was given were tedious and brainless, but nevertheless I kept messing them up. My mind would flash back to the elevator, the handsome stranger and the first semi-public orgasm I ever had, and when I got back on track I couldn’t remember what lines I'd entered onto the computer.
This is so unlike me. I’d always been a sexual creature but never the type who knew what to do about it. The boys never asked me out; I wasn’t invited to parties or the like even in college. The few boyfriends I’d had, if they could be called that, hadn’t stayed around long. My life at the moment was boring, mostly out of necessity – college loans didn't pay themselves, and living near the City made things even tighter – but I couldn't find much connection with most men. They wanted to go party, I wanted to read; they were Sports Illustrated, I was National Geographic.
Dating, while the least of my worries at the moment, was definitely not a strong point.
Despite my attempts to forget the whole situation in the elevator, by lunch I desperately wanted my vibrator and a swift kick in the rear.