(this story was written in September 2007 when I worked for a recruiting firm in central Orange County)
We have two different rooms in the office. The front room is the reception area and also where the middle-to-higher management level people sit, including the CEO/Owner/my boss (who I will refer to as "SoccerDadBoss"). My boss's mother also works in the office as the office manager. There is an Argentinian guy who has been there for a few years that does high-end recruiting, pulling in most of the revenue for the company. The person that sits behind him is a guy that is in charge of company operations and IT management, and has also been buddies with my sexually-enticing-yet-married boss for about ten years. We call this section of the office "The Geezer Group." SoccerDadBoss has this lovely habit of stealthily emerging from the front office and sneaking up behind me without notice whenever he wants me to do something for him. It usually scares the shit out of me, especially when I have my iPod headphones on - and I never notice him through peripheral vision because I've got the corner cubicle, obviously facing the wall.
Our section of the office, the back room, consists of what we call "The Young Bucks": myself, "JG," "Cowboy," "NotSoMuslim," and "HotBlonde." Our ages are 21, 29, 25, 23, and 37 respectively. Aside from the office manager, I am the only female in the office. JG, Cowboy, and NotSoMuslim handle lower-level placements for the candidates and clients we already have in banking/finance, health care, and sales. HotBlonde, who is a mortgage loan officer during the day, does headhunting on the candidate side while I do headhunting on the client side because I am adept at finding big names (or so my boss tells me - if only I were good at finding other big things, too). In the back office, we're all friends with each other meaning we talk about more-than-personal-outside-of-work subjects (i.e., who we banged last week and who we're going out with later and other miscellaneous dirty details) in the office. We all hang out for lunch and talk about the same things, sans HotBlonde as he is a part-timer and doesn't come in until some time after we finish lunch, making him the one person in the back room out of the loop with everything that goes on.
One week during lunch, we talk about who in the building (not in our actual office per se) we'd like to do and I said that there were a few hipster looking guys who looked like they needed their dolphins flogged. I then let it slip that I hadn't been with anyone since the last guy I dated (who broke up with me a month prior and went crazy - another story in itself) and that it was becoming increasingly frustrating. I also let it be known that I'd hit it with SoccerDadBoss if he wasn't married and that I had some kind of odd soccer dad fetish.
Cowboy: HotBlonde is single. He just broke up with his girlfriend. What about him?
Me: Well, actually . . . I've been thinking about asking him out for the last few days.
JG: Haha, REALLY? Why?
Me: I think he's gorgeous. He seriously fits my type to a T. Bigger build, blonde, big hands.
NotSoMuslim: Ah, so you like white guys.
Me: Yeah, pretty much . . . and Israelis. Anyway, ever since I first saw HotBlonde, I've been wanting to ask him out. Not really feeling the vibe from him though.
JG and NotSoMuslim: That's BUUUULLSHIT.
Me: Haha, what! I don't think he's interested.
JG: Man, all boys be interested. They just playin' it cool. Believe me, I know fo' SHO' he wants to go out witchu.
JG is a suave, debonair black man from southeast San Diego. He keeps it real.
I eventually worked up the courage to ask HotBlonde out for a drink the other afternoon after everyone was leaving the office. He asked if the following night was OK and we agreed on a time and place to meet. The next day at work, The Young Bucks (sans HotBlonde) asked me if I had asked HotBlonde out yet and I said yes - and in unison: "GIVE US THE DETAILS TOMORROW!"
The long and short of it, I drove down to Santa Ana to meet HotBlonde near his apartment and from our meeting place, we adjourned to a bar on the Tustin/Santa Ana border. We ordered some drinks, played pool, smoked cigarettes, and threw sexual innuendoes at each other (more him than me, because I'm aloof or something) and "mysteriously" ended up back at his place, going at it no sooner than ten minutes in the door. The sex was ten times more amazing than I expected it to be. The duration of the first round, collectively, was about an hour and a half while the proceeding rounds were no shorter than 30 minutes - and we had 4 or 5 rounds total. I wound up spending the night at his place and driving straight to work the following morning. I was completely giddy and couldn't stop smiling. HotBlonde did amazingly well for 37.
As soon as I walk into the office, I'm greeted by Cowboy, who grins and points his index finger at me. "You're SMILING!" I walk into the back room and get seated at my desk. JG and NotSoMuslim greet me with a smile.
JG: Hey, I like your dress! So . . . what happened?
NotSoMuslim: You're glowing!
Cowboy walks in as I am going into detail about everything. They all ooh and aaah! at HotBlonde's amazing performance and stamina.
JG: Daaaayuuum, SUPAAAHOTBLONDE! Super-super HotBlonde. Tha's dope though.
NotSoMuslim: For real. HotBlonde's the man!
JG: Man, look atchu. And here you were tellin' us he probably wasn't interested. 'ey, I'll tell you what - I already knew he wanted to go out witchu 'cause he told us a while back that he thinks you're a cool cat.
Cowboy: Aha, that's funny. But hey, seriously guys . . . we probably shouldn't say anything when HotBlonde comes around because he might become uncomfortable.
Me: Yeah, he doesn't know that you guys know . . . so please, keep it on the DL.
JG and Muslim: Fo' sho'.
Cowboy: Is our friend coming in today? Mr. Lover Boy?
Me: Nah, I don't think so.
We do a few hours of work, go to lunch together, and come back into the office. I like to listen to my iPod while I do data entry work and on occasion, Cowboy, who sits in the cubicle next to mine, will not realize it and start bombarding me with questions. I turned my iPod off when I realized he was trying to ask me something as I stared at my computer screen, typing names in. My headphones were still in my ears, so I couldn't hear minimal noises such as footsteps or doors being opened.
Cowboy: So, is he a good kisser?
Me: Yeah, he IS good . . . he's good at EVERYthing. Heh heh.
At that moment, I turned around in my chair.
SoccerDadBoss was standing there.
RIGHT behind me.
With a shit-eating grin on his face.
He heard the whole two-sentence dialog between me and Cowboy and through suppressed laughter, asked me to enter something into the database. I gasped in horror and I hid my beet red face out of shame as he walked away chuckling, and all I could hear was Cowboy laughing his ass off. As I do when I become suddenly nervous, I grabbed a cigarette and sprinted out of the office. I finished smoking and came back to my desk and everyone in the back office was still laughing their asses off - and before I could sit down, SoccerDadBoss walks in again with more tasks for me, this time with an even bigger grin on his face as he knew I was standing in a completely awkward moment. After handing me a stack of papers, SoccerDadBoss returned to his office.
Cowboy: Well, at least he doesn't know who we're talking about.
Me: Thank fucking God.
Moral of the story? Don't fish off of the company pier, if you can help it.