After signing in George, or rather Latisha, navigated to a streaming music site that specialized in heavy metal. He wasn’t exactly a metal fan, but he knew the music would drown out Espinosa. Five minutes later he heard the muffled roar of Espinosa’s voice, and he smiled. Fuck you, Bluto.
Two minutes later three grunts in fatigues passed in front of his desk, smirking as they did. O’Hara knew that Espinosa had been shouting at them, but he also knew that as a civilian employee of the government Bluto had no effect on their lives. The soldiers listened patiently before they spun around and, laughing at the idiot, made their way back to their desks.
George then logged into his secure system, pulled up his software and stared at the code on the screen. He knew that he’d be unable to do anything until she arrived, so he just waited. Right on schedule, exactly one hour after George arrived, he smelled her perfume. It was a glorious bouquet, going straight up his nostrils to his brain and sending his heart racing. The best part of his day was a few seconds away.
She passed in front of him-Annie Montoya, a half-Japanese, half-Brazilian little doll. As always, she turned, smiled at him, and then made her way to a group of military guys to flirt. He was jealous, of course, but the last thing George wanted was to appear to be a pathetic old man, so, although he talked with Annie occasionally, he never said or did anything stupid. He just wanted to be around her when he could and wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his opportunities.
He studied her as she walked, pleased that, instead of the tight jeans she normally wore, she had on a miniskirt and boots that made her hips whip from side to side. His cock began to stiffen, taking an uncomfortable angle into his undershorts. After carefully making sure that no one was looking, he reached under his pants and straightened it out. He chuckled at the fact that at his age instant erections were things of a past, but not when it came to Annie.
George sighed and, in an effort to blank his mind, turned up the volume on the heavy metal music as he stared at his code, trying to solve some nagging problem.
His thoughts, though, soon returned to Annie. A myriad of questions ran through his mind, questions about what, exactly, he hoped might someday happen between them. George, ever the analyst, tried to figure out what it was about Annie that intrigued him. She was, as she called herself, Brasian, but the average person would have difficulty determining that she was anything but fully Japanese.
George was not the average person, though. After being married to a Japanese woman for more than twenty years, he could pick out the subtleties that defined Annie. Her eyes were hazel, not brown. Her hair was not quite straight, but slightly wavy. It was her lips, though, that defined the difference between her and his wife. Annie’s lips were full and luscious and, so it appeared, always slightly damp. George found it hard to concentrate on Annie’s words when they spoke. He could only concentrate on her lips.
George reminded himself every day that Annie looked amazingly like his wife Nikki did when they first met. Could that be it? Could he see a manifestation of Nikki in Annie? He wondered if Annie was as wild as his wife had been years ago and if…
George quickly dismissed any sexual thoughts from his mind, forcing himself to concentrate on Annie’s well documented intellect. Of course that, too, reminded him of his wife who was now moving up the ranks in a high powered consulting firm.
George laughed at the idea that he might be turning into a pathetic old man, the kind that lusted after young women that had no interest in them. After laughing, though, he grimaced at the knowledge that he still lusted after his wife who, it seemed, had no interest in him. Like a pendulum, his thoughts swung from Annie to his wife and back again. “Face it,” he mumbled. “You’re pathetic.”