I’m in Love With My Black Boss
Dearest Abby,
I have a confession to make, and you are the only genuine person I can share it with. I am twenty-three years old, single, and I work in the HR department of a software company. I have dated often. My last relationship ended four months ago, and since then I’ve been back in the single-and-still-searching market. But I’m not despondent about it, and I’m not writing to you to talk about myself. Rather it’s about my infatuation with my black boss.
His name is . . . let’s just call him Tevin. He’s twenty-five years old and married. Yes, Abby, you read that correctly: he is married. Why is it always the good ones that get married so quickly? How do I know he’s good? Because I’ve been working under him for several months, and I’m yet to see him slip in anything regarding work ethic or interaction with others. Everyone in the department likes him, that includes the higher-ups. The word that’s going around is that he’s soon to be earmarked for promotion. I have brought this to Tevin’s attention, but he’s such a modest fellow. He casually brushed it aside and laughed and told me not to take rumour mills too serious.
Except I cannot help myself. The rumour mill is where second-tier climbers like myself get our news, which is to say, gossip pool. The cafeteria during lunch hour is where we usually hold court to decipher truth from bullshit. Always there are hordes of bullshit to sift through when we put our heads in thought and speculation. But when one news starts making the rumour mill rounds often, it’s liable not to get included in the bullshit tray. You get what I mean, Abby?
As it turns out, I’m not the only one that’s got the hots for him.
Other women that work not only in HR but in other departments have been admiring the guy. He’s very athletic as he is charming, and he indulges in various sporting activities. I remember overhearing at one social get-together that the company annually sponsors, a group of ladies whom I often gossip with talk about watching him play squash. They mooned about how cute and athletic he looked in his outfit. One said she wouldn’t mind him playing squash between her legs all day. The others broke out laughing. I threw my face to the corner, not wanting them to see how upset I was to be hearing such.
Was I madly upset? Yes, I kinda was. Why? Because I, too, had been having the same thoughts since about Tevin. The last thing I wanted was for some other bitch to snatch him before I ever have a chance to work on him.
It’s a dog-eat-dog world, as they like to say. It’s not like I’m new to the game. I’ve had my share of cat-fights before; some I lost out on, and a few I’ve won, or others I gave up when I realised the man wasn’t worth the prize after all. But this is one prize that I don’t intend to back away from. No fucking way!
I know what you’re thinking, Abby, as you’re reading this. You’re probably saying this girl is going way over her head for this. Like I’ve drunken some infatuation pill that I can’t see clearly anymore. Yes, I’m aware it’s against company policy to have any form of extra-marital affair with work colleagues. To put it bluntly, it’s never a safe bet to shit where you eat. I wouldn’t be writing to you about this if I weren’t thinking about becoming committed to carrying out this dream.
Yes, I do have dreams. Dreams of Tevin and me doing the dirty. There’s one in particular that I want to share with you.
He props me against his desk, pulls down my bra, and attacks my tits.
I knock on his door to deliver to him an office file he’d had me working on for days. I’m wearing a maroon blouse that’s tight on my torso. It’s got my bust poking front and centre like my tits are eager to rip through the fabric. I’m wearing a tight skirt with thigh lace stockings. I’m looking smoking hot, is the picture I’m trying to draw for you. I approach his desk and present him with the file. Usually, he simply takes stuff from me without bothering to look up at me — so rude of him, but I understand he’s probably doing that because he’s afraid my seductive powers might steal him from his wife — this time, he does look up and we hold each other’s gaze.
You’re looking rather different today, Bree, he says to me.
Why yes, I’m glad you noticed. Maybe you’d like to see more.
I turn towards his door, but only to turn the lock so we won’t be disturbed, and then I return to him. Tevin gets up and comes from around his desk. My hands are busy undoing the buttons of my blouse. I open them and present him with my massive jugs nestled behind their bra cups, awaiting his touch. He looks at me and sees the hunger in my eyes. He’s got some hunger in his eyes, too. Like he had been deceiving himself all this time from listening to his crotch instead of his brain.
I must admit, I’ve been wanting you so bad.
I know. I’ve been wanting you, too. Just glad we’ve got this quiet moment to ourselves.
He comes at me and we kiss like two passionate lovers who’ve lusted over each other for ages but never realised it until now. He props me against his desk, pulls down my bra, and attacks my tits. He rakes his lips across my nipples. I plead for him not to stop . . .
I know the dream is incomplete but isn’t that how most dreams usually are? We end up having a quickie in his office, then make a break for it with the promise to catch up later. I wait for him in the lobby after office hours. He asks if I want a ride, to which I say yes. We get into his car and then I lead him to my apartment. He keeps on his ring while we make out.
That’s how I hope for the start of a beautiful relationship with him to begin. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan working on making things happen. I’ll keep in touch to let you know how things are going.
