Page 6 of FWB

Tiegan

I get home after my forty-five-minute commute and walk through the door, greeted by no fewer than three furry friends. “Hey, guys. I missed y’all.”

Just then, my Aunt Tweetie walks in carrying a mug of hot tea. “Hey, how was your first day, kiddo?”

Despite being thirty-two, my aunt insists on calling me “kiddo.” I’ll forever be seventeen in her mind. I don’t mind. Ever since she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, I cherish all of her little quirks and the moments with her that I can get.

“It was good,” I say as I settle into the recliner. My favorite cat, Berlioz, hops onto my lap and starts making biscuits.

“Good? Is that all I’m gonna get out of my new hot-shot niece working in the corporate world? I’m an old lady! The only news I have from the outside world is from you and the ladies on The View.”

I smile. “I mean, it was just the first day, so there’s not a lot to report on.

Orientation was a drag, but I managed to make a friend, I think.

But the guy in charge of my department seems like a total bonehead.

And get this—his wife is the Chief HR Officer for the firm.

I better pray that I stay on Mr. Potato Head’s good side. ”

“Well, refraining from referring to him as ‘Mr. Potato Head’ would probably be a good start to staying on that good side.” She laughs.

“I know, but you should have seen this guy. He walks around acting like his shit doesn’t stink all because he knows he’s untouchable because of who his wife is. I can see this becoming a problem.”

“Now, Tiegan, don’t go stirring up trouble the first week at your new job.”

“I’m not! I plan to keep my head down and do my job, but I can’t help what I see.”

“Good, because you know money is tight now that I’m out of work,” she says with a sigh.

“I know, Aunt Tweetie. I promise I’m gonna make this job work out. I have a good feeling about it. My direct supervisor seems nice, if not a little overbearing. But I can work with that. And like I said, I’ve already met some really cool people there.”

“That’s great, kiddo. I hope this works out for you.”

“Thanks. Where’s mom? I saw her car in the driveway.”

“She’s in the backyard. Forewarning, though, she’s been drinking heavily today.”

I roll my eyes. Of course, she has. “Thanks for the heads-up.” I make my way through the house to the backyard that leads to my casita.

I smell Mom before I see her sitting in one of the chairs that rests against the side of the house. “Hey, baby! How was your first day?” she asks, slurred. She takes a drag from her cheap cigarette, the red cherry tip glowing in the darkness.

“It was fine,” I say, not breaking my stride to my hut.

“Why don’t you ever want to talk to me?”

I stop and turn around to look at her. “Maybe because I would rather talk when you’re sober, which is becoming more and more rare these days.”

I can visibly see her defenses rising the way they always do when I bring up her drinking problem. “Oh, here we go! Why does everything have to come back to my drinking when it comes to you?”

“Look, I’ve had a long day. I’m tired, and I don’t feel like fighting with you tonight,” I tell her, physically and mentally too drained to deal with her bullshit.

“Fine.”

Great. Now she’s going to pout about it until she goes to sleep. Oh well.

I enter my room, two cats at my heels, and walk over to my record player, turning it on.

I pick up the needle and drop it on the record I have queued up.

Suddenly, my small room is filled with the sounds of “Lost” by Dermot Kennedy.

My cats, Marie and Toulouse, hop up on the bed, eager for attention.

I pet their soft heads before taking off my makeup.

Once I’m fresh-faced, I desperately need to take off today’s clothes.

I slip out of my uncomfortable shoes and unzip my dress, slipping it off and throwing it in the hamper across the room.

Needing to set the girls free, I unclasp my bra.

The air conditioner makes my nipples peak up.

I choose my favorite band T-shirt and a comfortable pair of sleep shorts before crawling into bed.

When I get settled into my soft, memory foam mattress, I reach for my trusty purple vibrator.

It’s got these little probes that massage your clit while you’re fucking yourself.

I remove my sleep shorts and panties before squirting a dollop of lube at the head of the toy.

After turning it on its highest consistent setting, I spread my legs and position it at the head at my entrance.

The coldness of the lube touches my most sensitive area, and it sends a shiver up my body.

Entering the toy into my tight pussy, I feel it fill me up.

Starting to move the toy in and out, I play with tempo until I find just the right rhythm my body is begging for tonight.

My pussy tightens around the toy as I reach under my shirt to play with my hard nipples.

Normally when I do this, I’m listening to a spicy audiobook.

However, tonight I’m thinking of someone who is flesh and blood.

Kenny. I imagine it’s his cock pumping inside me.

I want his body against mine, skin on skin.

I picture his delicious beard leaving the insides of my legs chaffed from how much attention his tongue gives my clit.

I want to wrap my lips around his thick cock and feel his seed in the back of my throat.

I keep pumping the dildo in and out of my soaking wet pussy.

I’m so close. My legs tense up, preparing for my release.

Picturing Kenny kissing me with his sensual mouth sends me over the edge.

Afterward, I lie in bed completely spent in every way possible.

That doesn’t stop my mind from reeling, however.

My thoughts continue to drift back to Kenny.

I can’t stop thinking about all our interactions throughout the day.

Was he flirting with me or was he just being friendly?

I guess I’ll find out tomorrow when I see him in the office.

I, in fact, do not find out the next day because he is nowhere to be found.

I don’t quite yet know where his cubicle is, but every time I do a mail sweep through each of the three floors Kroger occupies, I have no sightings of him.

I’m beginning to think he was a hallucination until, finally, on Friday I get my answer.

We get a package for a Mr. Kenny Hillford.

And who gets to make sure it’s delivered to his desk promptly?

That’s right. I do. I check the company seating chart for his name and see he is at seat 12-231.

I grab the package and make my way to the twelfth floor.

Taking a deep breath, hoping to see him, I round the corner.

No luck.

I figure I might as well try to find out where he’s been this week. Seeing someone sitting at the neighboring cubicle, I introduce myself. “Hey, I’m Tiegan. I work in the mail room. I have a package for Kenny. Do you know where he is?”

The guy looks up at me and smiles. He’s cute, in a nerdy way.

He has short brown hair buzzed at the sides and slightly longer on top, with a well-kept beard to match.

His green eyes compliment his fair skin tone.

“Hey, I’m Rex. And Kenny’s been in LA all week on assignment.

But his desk is right here. I’ll make sure he gets it when he comes back into the office on Monday. ”

“Nice to meet you, Rex. That would be great. Thanks,” I say as I pass over the package for him to place on Kenny’s desk.

When he stands, the first thing I notice is his height.

He’s incredibly tall, and towers over my short frame.

Then I get a good look at his shirt. It’s a T-shirt from one of my favorite bands, The Black Keys.

“Hey, I dig your shirt. I love The Black Keys.”

“Oh, yeah? Not a lot of people really care for them around here. You must have good taste in music.” He looks at me appraisingly.

I size him up in return. He’s cuter than my initial assessment, but good taste in music can make someone exponentially hotter. “Wow. That’s surprising with how expensive tickets to their shows are nowadays.”

He smiles. “I know that’s right. Hey, we should go to a show sometime. This guy, Dylan LeBlanc, is playing at the Basement East next Tuesday. Would you want to go? My boyfriend is supposed to go with me, but he’s got COVID.”

“Wow, you know Dylan? He’s one of my favorites. I was actually already planning on going. We should totally hang out and grab a drink.”

“Well,” he blanches, “I’m actually sober. But that doesn’t stop me from having a good time.”

“Oh, damn. I wasn’t aware. Okay, no drinks. Just good music. I’m in if you are.”

He holds up his hand for a high-five. “Hell yeah! Here, let me get your number so we can link up next week.”

We exchange numbers, and I turn to head back to my workstation. California? So that’s where Kenny’s been all week. I was starting to wonder if I had somehow scared him off. Good to know I haven’t … yet.