The closest thing

You probably never meant to end up there, half-naked on a taken man's desk, legs spread wide and fingernails clutching on a broad back.

If anyone were to ask why you did it you probably wouldn't even know what to answer. Because you wanted him? Did you? Or was it because he wanted you? The primal urge, the simple wish to be desired had made you give yourself to him even though it hadn't been his place to take you.

You weren't the 'other woman', if anything you were the 'other girl', desperate and lonely, craving a fierce touch to make you feel like there was something in you worthy to be consumed. The black lacy bra was dangling from your elbows, exposing soft breasts, neither beautiful nor malformed. However he touched them as if they were the most alluring thing in the world, desire in his blue eyes as he looked at your reddened face.

Beauty was something you had never been gifted with. You had always been average, not worthy of a single glance clad in jeans and simple blouses, hair plain and flat and your face completely naked. Nobody had wanted you like that, especially not the pretty boy with the golden hair and the beautiful smile. You had yearned for his green eyes to see you, for his pupils to dilate in wonder and awe at your sight. It never happened, instead there had been indifference, later disgust as he found out about your feelings for him.

Now, barely legal and still lonely you turned clever, didn't you? Pale grayish foundation used to hide the yellowish tan of your skin, a desperate try to make yourself look more Caucasian, instead of the half-Latin girl that you were. Pretty boys didn't want half-Latin girls with big noses and tiny eyes, did they?

The red lipstick distracted from the rest of your face and enhanced one of the few parts of your body you didn't entirely hate. Your black hair was dyed lighter to make you look brunette, always big and curly, another distraction from your face.

Short skirts and dresses were your best friends, showing off your legs in lacy tights and black stockings. You knew how to deceive people into believing that you had a beautiful figure even though you hadn't by fastening a belt above loose dresses right under your small breasts, hiding the lack of feminine waist and enhancing your bust at the same time.

You looked like a doll like that - Dressed up, made up. Sometimes you were sure people could practically smell the desperation radiating from your skin. Eyes roaming over every male passing you in hopes to catch one or two of them staring. You did. Older men, unattractive men. None of them like the pretty boy with the green eyes.

Now he had been the next best thing, hadn't he? A little over thirty years old he still had a certain air of youth about him, short reddish locks on his head, a little bit of beard and a cheeky smile on his face whenever he saw you. He had been funny and he had been nice and you didn't exactly fall in love at first sight but you felt like you could give him your heart if he desired it.

It didn't take too long for him to show certain signs of attraction. However you already knew (you had seen her picture next to his desk and he had told you) about the beautiful blonde in his life. She had been the one to win him over a couple months before you even met him, before you were even legal in the first place.

Never had you wanted to be a dirty little secret, the villain of the love story for you were the mistress of the heroines love interest at this very moment. No, when you were younger you had wanted to be swept off of your feet by a beautiful boy and be finally loved, finally cherished. He was no beautiful boy. He was a man, witty and charming in his own way. And he didn't love you. It wasn't his heart burning for you when he touched you with big, experienced hands but his loins.

Now you liked to make it sound as if he had been chasing after you, didn't you? Even though you knew that it was you who deliberately made him want you. It was you wearing these little dresses and parading into his office whenever you could to cuddle with the puppy he kept there. You sat on the floor, thighs spread, the dog clawing at your lacy tights, ripping them a little while you were stroking it's fur. His eyes started to roam over you, just like you had wanted. Planting your body into his view, tempting him desperately even though you knew that he couldn't be yours.

Finally he had given in and now that he was tasting your ashen skin, not even bothering with too much of undressing, instead trying to shove your clothes out of the way, you realize that this hadn't been what you wanted.

Your body was burning for he was a good lover, waiting for you to adjust to him, waiting for you to be set on fire with him. His thrusts were a little rushed but passionate and you felt a little bit better, a little more worthy of something akin to love. However you weren't stupid nor blind. There was no affection in this fumbling and f*****g on a cold desk, the little puppy pulling at the legs of his jeans with it's teeth.

This was pathetic and sad and now that he was taking you, you knew that you would have much preferred for him to give you his heart instead of his body.

Now you had had the witty man with the cheeky grin and the blue eyes. However nothing of that was left as he finished inside your body, clasping at your hips and breaking the kiss to part his red stained lips for a last moan.

He didn't look at you when he let you go, his face pale as if he just realized what he had done with this, oh, so desperate girl lying on his desk. Your make up smeared and your body half exposed you looked more like a child than the woman you tried to dress up as. Nothing but a lonely little kid in disguise.

The puppy was barking as you shakily tried to sit up and get back on your feet. Putting your panties back on and rearranging your stockings you didn't seem to know what to say or do. He didn't help as he fastened his belt, staring at the floor with shame gracing his face.

He was too nice to sent you on your way, just like all these other times when you had put yourself in his proximity out of loneliness. There was no way he couldn't have seen the emptiness in your eyes. The childish wish to be loved.

He had a good heart, you knew that much. A heart that belonged to a beautiful blonde, smiling on the photography next to his desk, unaware of what happened right before her papery eyes.

There was smeared lipstick on both of you as you mumbled a 'Goodbye' and shakily left his office.

You didn't want to leave and feel cold again after having felt strong arms surrounding your body, warm hips between your thighs.

If you could you would have stayed there forever.

He wasn't a beautiful boy. But he had been the closest thing that you were ever going to know.

Author's Note

English isn't my first language, so I'll hope that my grammar wasn't too bad.

Reviews

[SleeplessVolcano]

English is not my first language either, but you nailed this one! From the first sentence the reader is captivated by the intensity of the scene. The contrast of her delight and guilt is great!

The irony is sad - she knows it will not last - that it was superficial, yet still she lost her heart. How true of casual intimacy.

Great writing!

[T. B. Stevenson]

Thank you so much for your kind comment! I am glad that you saw the irony in it for I love complex and kind of contractionary situations as described in this story.

Thanks again for reading and have a good day (or evening/night)!