I've been sitting in a training session for two days. Eight hours yesterday and another seven today so far, all in the same classroom, talking about use cases and requirement specifications. Fun fun fun. At least there're five good looking women in the room to keep me visually entertained.

Yesterday even they weren't enough to keep me awake. I was up until 3 am night before last and then the training started at the ungodly hour of 9 (Who the hell gets to work that early?) But anyway I knew I was in no shape to sit up straight for eight hours so I sat in the back row nearest the door and unobtrusively rested my arms on the desk and my chin on my arms and pretended to be awake as much as possible

Resting in that position I drifted in and out of reality, enough in to both keep up with the instructor and fantasize about the tall, lean, spectacular redhead in front of me, enough out that I was only dimly aware of Ryla leaving the room behind me and even more confused than usual when I felt her hand rubbing my back a few minutes later as she returned to her seat.

The woman confuses the hell out of me, confuses and even scares me a little. She's the manager of the department putting on the training and the oldest woman in the room, a year or two younger then me, which is well above the median employee age of 25, and certainly not the most physically spectacular of the bunch. She's shorter than the rest of them and not nearly as trim and athletic. I don't fantasize about her as I do her female employees. I don't immediately picture her riding me or under me or kneeling in front of me or bent over her desk naked with her ass in the air every time I see her.

But I do want to come on her face.

It's an incredibly strong and singular urge, to come on her face and then kiss her. I don't want to fuck her, because she makes me just a tad uncomfortable but definitely, definitely, I want to spurt my seed on her, kiss her, and then lick it off. I don't understand it. Not completely. Part of it is the way she looks at me and part of it it is just the way she looks. She's got the same elfin, delicate featured, high-boned look as one of my father's girlfriends, but with blond hair and a much less severe expression, especially when she's throwing back her head and laughing. It's an almost screaming laugh and it makes me wonder if she looks and sounds like that when she comes. But whatever the reason, as much as I might not want to, I visualize coming on her face whenever she perches on my desk, inches away from me, staring down at me, asking me for status or a favor, and I visualize it when she runs her hand up and down my back while walking around me.

Can you say "sexual harassment" boys and girls? I knew you could. But I won't. I enjoy it too much, and I don't really think it's harassment. It's more just plain garden variety insanity. Confusing and somewhat disturbing insanity to be sure, like last week when I told her I'd have a design document ready for her the next day she said she loved me.

I guess I might also want to make her come. I'm not sure how, because, as I said, I'm a little afraid of her, and I'm not sure whether I should make her come before I come on her face or after.

Today at lunch they brought in food but nothing to drink. There's a dollar soda machine in the break room but all I could find in my pockets was forty-seven cents and a five dollar bill. I was standing in front of the machine staring thirstily at the giant buttons with the tantalizing pictures of soda bottles I couldn't drink when she walked up behind me and asked me what the problem was. I asked her if she had change for a five and she said "no, but today I'm buying you a soda. It's the least I can do."

That was four hours ago and that sentence has been running through my head ever since. I'm much more awake today and I can participate fully in the training and run that sentence through my head and watch her all at the same time. she's sitting in front of me and a little off to the side and she keeps turning her head just a little, just enough that she can see me out of the corner of her eye. Around 3 O'clock she ate a bag of potato chips and then licked the salt, very carefully, off of each individual finger. Not for show. At least I don't think it was for show.

God she confuses me. I think she's starved for attention and not sure how to get it or how to react or if it's real when she does - a very sexual woman whose husband doesn't find her as attractive as he ought to and who feels outgunned and ignored in the midst of all the spectacular sexy young things who work for her and around her, who feels free to touch and flirt and tease without consequence and has maybe even managed to convince herself that nobody will notice if she sits there quietly and licks her fingers.

But I noticed, and she noticed me noticing. She always notices me noticing. Usually if she catches me looking at her in a meeting she just shakes her head. Sometimes she wags a scolding finger at me. Every now and then she winks. Somehow for the last hour it's been different. More circumspect. Like there's a real possibility of something unspecified; a real possibility not to be so playfully dismissed.

People are standing around me. I must have missed the end of the training. Oh well. But I don't stand. I just sit. I wait. Ryla is thanking the trainer. The room is almost empty. My failure to stand is starting to look conspicuous, so I make myself useful and collect the plates and cups and soda bottles that everyone else has simply left on the tables for the cleaning staff to deal with.

Ryla is walking the trainer to the door. But her stuff is still in her chair and everyone else has left. I am still not sure what I want. But my cock is hard and I know whatever it is it involves her.

She is back. She looks confused. Confused and yet there is a twinkle in her eye. "You still here? What the hell's the matter with you old man? Something keeping you?" she asks as she reaches for her coat.

Now or never. I walk ostensibly toward my own coat which is on the other side of her from the trashcan. Just behind her I ask the question. "I've been meaning to ask you all afternoon..."

She turns. She looks intrigued. She is standing as close as usual, looking up at me. "Ask me what?" she asks me, with that little laugh in her voice that drives me mad.

"What's the most you could do for me?"

She looks at me quizzically. Tilts her head to the side as though staring at me from a different angle will make me seem more logical.

"When you bought me the soda" I continue, thinking this is all going horribly wrong, "you said it was the least you could do for me."

She just keeps staring.

"So I was just wondering" I fight on bravely "what the most was."

Still she stares. "I know what you meant" she finally answers, "I was just thinking of all the possible responses." And with that final sounding note she picks up her bag and heads to the door, leaving me feeling stupid.

But five steps later she stops and turns. "Come on," she says, waving me toward her like a third base coach, "let's go take a ride and I'll show you."