The Four Types of Women In My Office Who Never Cease to Fascinate Me


The Woman Who Talks Constantly About Sex: Every office has that woman who wears her sex life on her sleeve. Who has to tell everyone about the hot weekend her and her husband shared in Maui or how the UPS guy wants to screw her in the back of the truck or how she hopes that rash inching its way down her legs is the result of a new laundry detergent and not that gin-fueled weekend with those Cuban boys. She’s usually in her late 30s/early 40s with a pretty decent body and what we’d call “serious highway miles.” And I’m still not sure what her endgame is; does she want to make her fellow female workers feel ridiculously undersexed or is she putting the vibe out to every male within earshot that she’s ready, willing and able to gobble some peen in her car during lunch? Whatever the case, her stories take my mind off work and place it squarely in her pants for at least an hour each day. For that, I am grateful.

The Pack O’ Vixens: These are the girls I wouldn’t dare approach in high school or college. Young, pretty, self-assured, dressing like they’re trying to “out-hooker” each other. They’re the ones huddling in the cafeteria, checking out everyone who walks in and sniggering to themselves. Or out in the courtyard smoking on break. Whether they really know their shit or are simply here to fill that critical “eye candy” quotient, I’m not sure. But I know this: they will have absolutely nothing to do with me.

The 40-Going-On-20-something: While most of her peers have embraced mom jeans and PTA meetings, this woman continues to dress for the office like she’s about to hit South Beach or pull back-up duty in a Flo Rida video. Cleavage for miles, make-up just a few inches shy of circus clown, pants or skirt so tight that one false move might cause half the building to implode. The younger girls may laugh but I admire her moxie; she’s seasoned enough to know her job like the back of her hand, but still savvy enough to know that nothing helps sell an idea up the chain like a round ass and big red lips. Especially if that idea is “sitting on my face.”

The School Marm: There’s a woman in my office who’s in her mid-50s, kinda pretty, blessed with a still-phenomenal ass, and quiet as a mouse. She moves stealthily through the day, speaking up very rarely but when she does, it’s just-the-facts and right-to-the-point. This is the only woman in our office who actually gets anything done on a regular basis. She’s everybody’s Aunt and the only person you can rely on to cover for you when you’ve fucked up good. Does it make me a bad person that I imagine every waking moment of her life at home is spent with a leather mask on her face, riding crop in her hand, and her husband’s nose up her asshole? I’m guessing it does.

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