Getting Screwed at Work, Part 2

227234_10150189647514153_1184052_nA few months later was the company retreat and party. When the afternoon of the event arose, I was getting ready and pre-drinking in my apartment. I was extremely nervous about having to meet and mingle with all the upper management. I may have been a little preoccupied with my nerves because before I knew it, I had finished off a bottle of wine.

I managed to pull myself together and head off to the event. When I arrived, I saw that Julian was working at the check-in table. He gave me a sly smile and handed me a handful of drink tickets – clearly more than the allotted two – which were being handed out to others. He winked and told me to have fun. I didn’t question it. Great. Give a lush twenty drink tickets. I’ll be wasted by the end of the night, if not sooner.

I headed in, talked to a few executives, then headed to the bar when I figured I was in the clear. After a few stiff drinks, I was drunkity-drunk-drunk and decided to hit the dance floor, dancing with every woman there – and even a few men.

As the party died down, I tried to sober up and started to leave. I was almost in the clear when one of my co-workers stopped me to give me props on my dance skills. As I was talking to her, I felt a hand clutch my ass. I turned slightly to see it was Julian with his back to me, talking to someone himself. At first I swatted his hand away, but when he persisted, I reciprocated.

We ended our respective conversations and turned toward each other.

“You look hot,” he slurred.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who had hit the bar hard. I smiled.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I managed to say with a wink.

“Follow me,” he directed, looking around to make sure no one saw us.

I followed him to the elevators. We took them down to his office where he unlocked the door and guided me in with his arm out. I walked in. In one swift maneuver, he shut the door behind him, pushed me against the wall and started kissing me. He then led me over to his desk where he undid my belt and unzipped my pants. They fell to the floor. I took off his suit jacket, untied his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. I don’t know why but there’s something sexy about taking off or even putting a tie on a man.

When he stood up from kneeling in front of me, I unzipped his pants and pulled them and his underwear to his knees. He sat down in his chair, reached over, opened a desk drawer and pulled out a condom. He placed it on me then stood up to lean over his desk.

It was then I realized how much shorter he was than me. There was some difficulty attempting to… put it in, if you will.

“Can’t you just bend your knees a little?” he requested.

I giggled a little and obliged. Not the most comfortable posture. So, I simply flipped him on his desk on his back. When it was over, I couldn’t help but think, Man, am I going to get a great column out of this or what?

Back at work, our contact had dwindled – mostly due to him avoiding me – but then one day he called me down to his office. I figured he wanted to talk about our tryst out of fear that I was telling people about it at work. That wasn’t the case. Instead, he asked me to go out with him after work. He said he wanted to take a step back and make an attempt at friendship. I was fine with that, but something in his demeanor told another story. It seemed more like he was trying to tie up loose, uncomfortable ends.

Later that evening at happy-hour, we were sipping cocktails and swapping carefree banter and racy conversation.  When I mentioned our rendezvous and the possibility of us dating – which he had previously mentioned an interest in – the mood quickly turned sour.  It turned out he was dating somebody – somebody he had been hoping would ask him out for awhile – and regretted doing anything with me. He lashed out and I became the “immature, slutty mistake” he made. He begged me not to talk about it, which I had been respectful of.  But I called him out, knowing that he had already talked to a number of mutual friends about it.

He flaccidly tried to defend himself. I stood up and began to walk out, insulted and annoyed.

“Good night,” I retorted.

Julian grabbed my arm. “Erik. Erik,” he whimpered. I turned back, thinking he was going to apologize. “Please don’t write about this,” he stated. My bad.

Back at work, I was strictly business and kept my contact with Julian to the mandatory minimum.

After a few more months of awkwardness and exploitative behavior from him at the office, I was slowly but surely pushed out of the company ultimately being laid-off for my “behavior and attitude.” What?! Good riddance.

Erik Fact: Don’t fuck with a writer.