Sex in the Workplace

Sex in the Workplace

The simple explanation would be that my husband and I were married, I
started to work nights, he couldn't live with that, and we got
divorced. Simple as that. But the real story has more to it. The real
story is what saw me holding a reference note from my husband in the
middle of the street outside our house, the rain sticking my clothes to
me. Him inside, sitting at his desk. The real story is this.

Just after my husband and I married I finished my studies and got my
first job, a low paying job with bad hours. For this job, I would be
working at night. My husband didn't like this, with him working days
and all, as we got to see a lot less of each other. One day I said to
my husband that he sould come in and visit me at work because it's at
night and no one is there but me so maybe he should come in and have my
dinner break with me. I showed him the office, the deserted desks where
people worked all day, computer screen savers lighting up small family
photos and cheap ornaments. My husband said that he'd been missing me
at home and kissed my neck. My husband said he'd always wanted to have
sex at work, up against the photocopier, like those office party
stories. He lifted my skirt up, bunched it up onto my hips, his belt
jingling to his ankles. And no-one else is around at night, except us.
The adrenalin rush at the risk of getting caught having sex in the
workplace He unbottoned my work shirt, dropped his underwear to his
ankles. And he took me under the flickering flourescent tube light
above.

It was two days later at work when my husband called. He asked if there
was anyone there, if maybe he could come have dinner break with me
again. I laughed, told him no, that was a once off. He called again the
next night, same thing, said he really liked it, having sex in the
workplace, that he didn't know what it was about it. He called the next
night too. Said he was out and it was on his way home, if I wanted him
to stop by. Said that he missed seeing my beautiful eyes. He always
said he loved my eyes, always said they demanded attention. That he
could get lost staring into them.

On a weekend was when it started, when we were at home. My husband was
kissing my skin, unbuttoning my jeans, lifting his t-shirt off. My
husband led me into the bedroom, lay me down, took his pants off then
stopped, looked around the room for a second. He turned the computer in
the corner of the bedroom on, let it go to screen saver, then returned
to me, slid my underwear off over my ankles. He said nothing about
this. Afterwards, I watched the animated screen light up a photo of us
that sat by the keyboard. My husband was asleep, his breath on my naked
shoulder.

This is when it started.

My husband rang me at work again that week, asked if he could come in.
I told him, no, not laughing this time, told him it was seriously a
once off, and that it would not happen again. He asked if I was sure.
He asked if maybe he could just come in for a little while. No, I told
him. He told me agina how he really liked having sex in the office, how
he couldn't explain it. He rang two more times that week, then
stopped.

There was a water cooler in my loungeroom when I came home. A water
cooler, just like the one at work. It was humming and bubbling to
itself over next to the counch against the wall. Tiny plastic cups
waiting to be used. My husband walked by me, said hello, then went
straight to the water cooler, filled a plastic cup.
'It came in yesterday, do you like it?' He asked.
'Baby, why do we need a water cooler, we have water taps here'
'Yeah, but not this spring water stuff, I watched TV report on it,
it's really good for you.'
'But we don't drink that much water'
'That's right, not enough. I'll bet you use the one at work though,
cause it's there. Well, now there's one here too, just like it.' My
husband took a sip, let out a satisfied 'ahh'.

On saturday morning my husband woke up at eight thirty. He had
showered and was dressed in his business suit, straightening his tie in
the mirror.
'Where are you going?' I, half awake, asked.
'Oh, no where, just making sure I look nice for my lady' He smiled
over at me. The computer behind him was turned on, it's screen saver
darting across the monitor. There was a new whiteboard up on the wall
beside it.
'I'm gonna' do some paperwork today, bills and stuff, what are you
going to do Mrs. Butler?' With my eyes still half open, I stared back
at him. I said nothing about this. I stumbled into the hallway, past
the bathroom which smelled of fresh deodorant, and stubbed my toe on a
box. My husband came to me, hearing my cursing it's presence.
'Oh, sorry about that honey, I'll make sure it's moved ASAP.' As the
pain flooded reality to me two things flashed into my mind. The first
was, why the hell was there a box for a photocopier in my
hallway?

The second, why did my husband just say 'ASAP'?

Later that night, my husband, still in his business suit, he ran his
hand along my skin in the kitchen.
'Oh, Mrs. Butler', he whispered to me, his hand now moving along my
thigh. 'Mrs. Butler, I need to see you.' His words tingled onto my
neck. My husband turned me to face him, kissed me, then stepped back,
smiled.
'Meet me in my office, Mrs. Butler.'
'Why are you calling me that?'
'Just go with it baby, for me.' He said, leading the way. My husband
strode into our bedroom, loosened the tie around his neck, put
something into the new photocopier then turned to me.
'Mrs. Butler, we need to talk. It's about your dress sense.' I looked
down at myself, a t-shirt loose across my body, tracksuit pants for
around the house.
'What are you...?'
'Please, baby,' My husband broke out of his character for a moment.
'Just go with it'. And though I could not justify it in my mind, he
looked so happy. So excited. His obsession with sex in the workplace
was overflowing slightly, but maybe this once it would be okay.
Maybe.
'So, Mrs. Butler, you are really not meeting the dress standards of
our office.' My husband leaned back on the photocopier, the bright
light sliding across beneath the lid.
'I am sorry, Mr. Butler.' I said, playing the role. 'Very
sorry.'
'Well' My husband picked up a plastic cup from by the copier. 'I'm
going to have to ask you to take that t-shirt off.'

The photocopier beeped. It's job was done.

It was another week before things took the next step. Our bedroom was
now flooded with paper trays, stationery and pictures of cartoon which
had things like 'Don't ever give up' and 'I hate Mondays' written on
them. My husband called me into his office early, criticised my
clothing, then told me to pay some bills. Immediately.
'Look, you're starting to...'
'Babe,' My husband reasoned. 'Please, just go with it.' And he kissed
my forehead. 'Now, pay those bills or we may have to have a serious
talk.'

The TV in the lounge room was on the news channel. always on the news
channel, no exceptions. The photocopier was noisily flashing back and
forth in the corner. The water coolrt bubbling. And here we were, in
what was once our home. Now, a workplace that produced nothing. My
husband CEO of the Nothing Corporation, sitting at his desk. He asked
me 'What are you getting up to on the weekend?.' My husband, who I
loved.

He'd ordered two new computers for the kitchen.

On a Thursday my husband called me into the office, criticised my
clothes, then sat me down.
'Our business is expanding.' He told me. 'Our needs becoming more
diverse. So, it's time we took the next step.'
'Okay, look, this has gone...'
'Please be quiet, Mrs. Butler.' My husband snapped. 'Now, I have
ordered a new desk and have placed an ad in the paper this week.' My
husband, the CEO, flipped a newspaper in front of me, a job ad
highlighted.

Secretary/Admin. Must be confident, professional in appearance, have
good typing speed (60 WPM) and have eyes that demand attention. Call
during business hours.

'What?' I stood over him. 'A secretary? What for? We don't have an
actual business here. You've gone too far with this. I mean, you're
starting to lose your grip.'
'Mrs. Butler.'
'No, don't do it. Just stop with this. Babym I love you, but this is
too much. I mean, what is a secretary going to do?'
'Mrs. Butler.' y husband spoke calmly.
'No, no more Mrs. Butler. That's it. I'm done with this. this is our
home.' My husband stood staring at me, then looked around the
office.
'You're done with this?' He asked, looking at what was once our
bedroom. 'You're done, Mrs. Butler?' His eyes met mine. 'You're done?'
He yelled. 'Fine. You're fired.'
For a moment I struggled for words.
'I'm what?'
'Fired, Mrs. Butler, you can pack your things, I will give you a good
letter of reference. Good luck.'

And that's how it happened. Me standing in the rain, a reference note
from the CEO of nothing in my hand. Him working away inside. The real
story. I never saw him again. But I have seen his ad in the paper,
still looking for the perfect business partner to share his empire
with. Someone with eyes that demand attention. He changed one thing on
it though. It now has a title, his little job ad, in bold print above
the description:

Seeking Mrs. Butler.