It wouldn’t take long to make him crazy. Heather got the idea to seduce her boss the first time she noticed him gazing at her feet, transfixed. Miles was usually so composed and confident, but as they chatted at her desk he became distracted again and again by her bright red toenails and high heeled sandals. Again and again, his gaze fell to her feet and got tangled up in the straps of her shoes.
There were so many ways that it could happen. Now that she knew what did it for him, it was easy. Skirts and hot shoes, red toenail polish. Accidentally brush against him. Rose oil on her neck. Tell an off color joke, let him in on a secret. Find reasons to touch him. Accidentally offer a peek at the top of a lacy bra. Accidentally drop something in front of him, look up and smile mischievously. Accidentally brush against him again. Give him just a taste.
It would be quick and it would be easy. Great sex after hours in the office, then send him home to his wife, and she would go home to Jeff. It would be just a little fun before things got really serious. The boxes in the apartment weren’t even completely unpacked yet.
Miles’ gaze stayed fixed on her feet as he leaned on the side of her desk. It wasn’t the conversation with him that was so intriguing as it was the silence, and it wasn’t the silence so much as it was the way the silence fell around them. At home in the apartment with Jeff, the silence hung in the air like the dust from all of the boxes they were still unpacking. It was between them in the late evening, as he watched TV in the living room and she lay in the bedroom, reading. With Miles, the silence allowed his long, slow glances up her legs. Heather had the sensation of watching their conversation from six feet over her own head.
It always started like this, with vertigo. Looking down at Miles from high above, his dark hair and seawater blue eyes, his thick hand on her desk, made her spin. She shifted in her chair, uncrossed and crossed her legs, enjoying that his eyes were following each movement. He was an easy mark. The intense, successful ones always were; the restlessness that drove them, and the need for release were so close to the surface. They were easy to break, like eggshells. You can wrap your hand all the way around an egg and clamp down, and it won’t break no matter how tightly you close your fist, but put a little pressure in just the right the places, and they crack.
There were so many ways that it could happen. They could be alone in the office one night and she could mention the bottle of scotch she knew he kept in his desk. She could need a ride home one day. She could sit close to him wearing a skirt and hot shoes and rose oil on her neck, and if he made the first move, it wouldn’t even be her fault. As long as she stopped him at some point, she wouldn’t be cheating, and she could still get a taste of broad shoulders, of seawater blue eyes, of thick hands, of that scent of a starched shirt and scotch, of the restlessness and intensity that made him successful. There were so many ways to draw him in. What it would be that would finally break him? What would push him from looking to wanting to taking?
A few weeks ago he made a quip about the monotony of life at home, but I can’t see that ever happening to you, he said. Yet, there was all that silence in the apartment, and not the interesting kind, either. Instead of the dinners out every night after work, and going back to Jeff’s place or hers for fun, sweaty sex, there were long, quiet hours in separate rooms. For the past few weeks she had been telling him she was tired from the move when he finally made it back to the bedroom in the evening, but the sight of Miles gazing at her feet was an awakening, a ray of sunlight that shot straight through her and would keep her lit up all night. That was the thing about powerful men. Even their weaknesses are powerful.
Going for Jeff started as an experiment. They had good chemistry and he was handsome, but he wasn’t really her type. It was an act of will to fall for someone who was good for her and who didn’t send her reeling. Sometimes it felt like redemption, and sometimes all of the redemption made her restless.
Usually it was the broad, muscular, dark haired men with big hands and strong voices who did it for her, like Miles. Heather wondered if she could spend the rest of her life with some one who wasn’t what she pictured. Would she always wonder? What would happen, if in the future, when they were married, some guy who was just her type came along? Like Miles but not married. Or maybe like Miles. Best to get it out of the way now.
There were so many ways that it could happen. There were so many ways that she could break him down. The skirts, the long, slow looks that she allowed, the long slow looks that she gave. Once, in passing, Miles made a comment about life being too short, as he twisted his wedding ring around his finger, like he was trying to loosen a rusty bolt. It was after she said that she and Jeff were moving in together. He raised an eyebrow.
“It’s ok, I’m happy. It’s good.”
“You’re young. You may think you know what you’re doing now, but in twenty years you’ll wake up next to a stranger and wonder if you’ve ever really been known.”
He held her gaze until she had to look away. At the time, it made her sad for him, now, vertigo. When was the last time Jeff held her gaze until she could bear it no longer and had to look away or get into bed with him? He had a way of doing that early in their relationship. It was as if he was looking through her and past her all at once, as if he knew her secrets and they didn’t matter.
Heather imagined the silence around her apartment, drawn out over fifteen or twenty years. The thought of going home to a pleasant exchange about the day followed by the sound of the TV from the living room made her limp. Maybe stop at the mall on the way home, buy sexy new underwear, something lacy. Drive around in the warm night air, sit in a field with a bottle of scotch and a pack of cigarettes, anything to be alive, anything to prolong the feeling of Miles’ long slow gaze up her legs.
There were so many ways that it could happen, but maybe she could be smarter about this one. Maybe she could walk around at the office wearing something absolutely whorish under her work clothes, maybe just knowing that she could have him could be enough. Maybe that knowing could be enough of a turn on, and she could bring it back home, where it belongs. Maybe she could find herself working late one night wearing something absolutely whorish under her clothes. Maybe he would accidentally get a peek, and it wouldn’t be her fault. There were so many ways that it could happen.
There were so many ways that it could happen. She could wear the skirts and the shoes and laugh at his jokes and find reasons to touch him. If only she could push him so far that he lost control, that he took without asking, then it wouldn’t be her fault. That was the thing about powerful men, even their weaknesses are powerful. She could surrender to him, to the vertigo, just long enough to get a taste. Just a taste, was all she needed; it wouldn’t take long to make her crazy.
© 2009 Lauren B Flax.