Blog 3

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Blog 1   So, Pippa and I were sat in Starbucks this afternoon for one of our regular little tete a tetes and I’d just told her all about the photocopier incident from that morning, when she pipes up with: “You know, with all the stuff that happens to you, you really should write a blog ‘cause I reckon it would be like really addictive reading.” And I sort of thought, “Yeah right” but as the afternoon wore into evening the idea just grew on me and I thought I’d give it a go. She’s wrong about one thing though, is Pippa, stuff doesn’t really happen to me often so I can’t imagine that this is going to be very interesting and no doubt in days to come I’ll just end up waffling on about housework, pets and the nightmare that is work. But today, something did happen. Today there was the photocopier incident. And so for today, at least, I’m going to have a go at writing a blog. Now I’m pretty certain that if you’re reading this that you are already a bit bored and you aren’t really very interested in me getting up, showering, breakfasting etcetera … and that the journey to work and the mundane etlik escort repetitiveness of my day hold very little attraction for you. So what I’m going to do is skip all that and leave you to imagine those bits, if you can be bothered, and really just cut to the chase. Now, this afternoon at about 2.30, I collected up all the bits and pieces of paperwork that I knew needed photocopying. Generally my job purpose seems to be to shuffle paper, and wherever you have anybody shuffling paper you can guarantee there is a fair amount of photocopying that needs to be done every day. Basically, I like to get all my photocopying done at once; it may take me half an hour but it’s better than constantly having to traipse back and forth. So, 2.30 and I’m off to the photocopier which is in a little alcove come open room down the other end of the building. I quite like this time ‘cause I get to mentally tune out; basically you put the paperwork in, press the button, the light flashes and the jobs done … no ringing phones, no Stephanie wheeling herself across on keçiören escort her swivel chair to point out all the things you’ve done wrong with your life, no bloody computer screen that never, ever seems to want to do anything but freeze or crash or … well I don’t bloody know what’s wrong with the damn thing. Anyway, photocopier time is chill out time and I’m happily humming some pretty much unrecognisable tune and checking out the smoothness of the sheer hold ups that I’ve worn today by running my middle finger up and down my thigh when who should wander over but the new(ish) kid from accounts … Stephen, I think. Okay, it is Stephen. I knew that really. I was just trying to make out that I hadn’t really noticed him before. Quick history: he’s been there a couple of months, three max, and although he’s quite a bit younger than me I’ve noticed him checking me out a few times. So, ‘cause I can be a bit of a tease when I want to, in the last couple of weeks perhaps I’ve been leading him on a little bit … you know the sort of stuff; dropping pieces kızılay escort of paper in his line of sight and then bending from the waist on tottering heels as my tight little skirt hugs my arse and rides up my thighs to show my lacy stocking tops … actually when I did that I turned and gave him a huge smile afterwards and his mouth was splayed as wide as I’d have liked my thighs to have been. Oh, and the other day I did the “Ooopps, how did that button come undone” as I leaned over his desk and, come to think of it, that was the day when all the bras seemed to have disappeared from my underwear drawer and I’d forced myself to risk attending work improperly dressed. Grin. Naughty me. Picture; me half bent over the photocopier, wiggling my petite bottom in my ‘just about long enough’ short, tight black skirt to some tune that is rattling around in my head as I stroke the inside of one thigh whilst busily inspecting the manicure on my other hand. Well, lost in my own little world I might have been, but I heard him cough. He was a bit red and shuffling from foot to foot. He had one of those plastic drink dispenser cups in his hand as if he was on his way back from the water bottle and he kept squeezing it as his eyes flicked down to my hand as it teased its way along the bottom edge of my skirt. His mouth moved but the words seemed to have got lost somewhere.

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