The Tell-Tale Desk Stain

About eight years ago, neglecting the golden rule that you just don’t swim pantsless in the company pool, I got in bad with a girl from the office. She was married and apparently suffering the one-year itch. I was the object of her desires, and since my inbox wasn’t exactly toppling with blowjob offers, I just rolled with it.

We did the drinks-after-work thing, the three-hour make-out/heavy petting sessions in my car, and then, throwing caution to the wind, we started fucking right there in the office.

One night, after the place cleared out at 5:01, she shuffled into my office with her bag and closed the door behind her, locking it. She then sat on the edge of my desk, hiked up her skirt, and begged me to come hither.

So I finally got something done at work that day, going down on her for a good 90 minutes.

The next day, I walked in to find… a mark on my desk. A stain, to be precise. Right where she had been sitting. I was immediately obsessed. I shut the door and examined it closely, actually making out the traced lines of her pubic hair and two perfectly round sweat stains where her buttocks had rested.

Common sense would have said, “clean that fucking thing off and get on with your life.” But I couldn’t do it. It was so perfect. And so… I dunno… awesome that I just couldn’t bear to Lysol it into oblivion.

So it stayed. For weeks. Months. Years. Literally. I couldn’t bring myself to ever clean that one area of my desk, eventually putting an inbox over it to protect it from overzealous janitors. Whenever the job got too shitty or started spinning out of control, I simply glanced down at that ass mark and was instantly transported to the night she wrapped her legs around my head so tight I saw my life pass before my eyes.

The girl? She eventually moved on, as they all do. To another job, maybe another guy. I may have been the fling she needed to help get her head straight. Whatever. The desk is long gone too, lost in a major office renovation a couple years back.

I have yet to dirty up my new desk, but I’m always looking for willing candidates.


  1. Brandon

    May 21, 2012 at 4:10 pm

    Sad to say I never had an office with a door on it, so I was never able to match this story.

    However, I did have a semi-private cubicle. A passer-by (as infrequent as they were) would never be able to tell is someone were under my desk, unzipping my slacks…

    *sigh* Oh Christi, I miss you…

    • Ken

      May 22, 2012 at 10:13 am

      Thanks for sharing… they do leave an imprint. Not just on your desk. But on your brain.


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