One Saturday I went in to work at the office where I do IT support. I didn't really need to go in but there's always something to do and it makes me look good so I do it a couple of times a month at least. More to the point I'm recently single for the first time in a long time and this feels better than sitting around the house watching reruns, or sports I don't even like, or "Snailasaurus" or whatever the hell the Sci Fi channel has come up with this time. I can catch up on the small tasks like swapping out old keyboards, double check backups, etc, and at the same time I can get some writing done. I'm trying to give short story writing a shot.
There are only about 50 people in this branch and when I'm there on Saturday's I'm usually by myself so when I came in one time and the lights were already on I took a look around to see who else was there. I looked from one end of the office to the other and then along the path of cubicles that ran along a section the side of the building that was entirely glass. Leslie was sitting in the second to last desk from the end.
I'd never really talked to Leslie before. I knew that she was the CFO' assistant and that she'd started within the past three or four months. She was short with long, straight red hair and she looked like she was in her late twenties. I coughed so that I wouldn't startle her. She turned and looked at me. I held my hand up and said “Sorry. I just wanted to see who else was here”. She nodded quickly and turned back to her monitor and I went over to my desk.
A few hours later I was in the kitchen heating up my lunch when she walked in. She grabbed a bag out of the refrigerator and gave my a polite hello smile waiting her turn to use the microwave. After an awkward few seconds I tried to make small talk with her.
“Got a lot to do here today?”
“Jay has me organizing all of his forms.”
“Why doesn't he do it?”
She shrugged. “Because he can make me do it. You busy?”
“Not really. I just come in to do little stuff. And I do some writing while I'm here.”
“Writing what?”
“I write short stories.”
“Your a writer?”
“I want to be.”
Just then the microwave beeped. I took out my plastic bowl of fish and rice and walked out of the kitchen saying “have a good one” as I walked by her.
At my desk I start thinking about it. She definitely seemed to go from adequately civil to genuinely interested when I told her I write. After I've finished my lunch the IM window opened up.
LeslieRox
Hi Chris
UnsweetenedIT
Hey
LeslieRox
What kind of stories do you write
UnsweetenedIT
Fantasy
Some like intellectual stuff
some 'slice of life' I guess
LeslieRox
Are you published?
UnsweetenedIT
No, not yet, I have some on some forums
sent a few to some magazines
haven't heard back
LeslieRox
I write too.
Poetry.
UnsweetenedIT
I'd love to read it some time.
LeslieRox
I'll bring it sometime
I prefer writing on paper
UnsweetenedIT
OK, you can read my stuff too if you want
LeslieRox
Where can I find them?
Which forum?
UnsweetenedIT
I can email you one or two
I have them on a thumb drive here
LeslieRox
Cool
UnsweetenedIT
I'll send them in a minute
I opened my thumb drive and zipped up the three stories that I thought would go over the best and emailed them to her. A few minutes later IM opened again.
LeslieRox
Thanks,
I'll read them this week
Will you be here next Saturday?
UnsweetenedIT
Yep
LeslieRox
OK, I'll bring my stuff
UnsweetenedIT
Excellent
I'm heading out now.
See you Monday
LeslieRox
Bye!
I didn't see her one time over the next work week. A couple of times I opened an IM window but couldn't think of anything to say or I'd worry about annoying her. Then I'd wonder why this should be so weird. I hoped my mind wasn't going to the wrong place. She just wants to talk about writing.
The next Saturday I got to the office at 9:00 am and she was already in. I walked over to her side of the office and found her sitting on top of her desk with her legs hanging over the edge with her sandals on the floor beneath her feet. It was a thick overcast day, the kind that smoothed out what light there was with no shadows. With only the light that was coming through the windows most of the office seemed a little darker and grayer except for anything white which seemed to have it's own soft light. Things like paper, or one of the table tops, or Leslie's pretty face and hands and her pretty bare feet. She smiled and waved when she saw me.
I grabbed a chair from one of the empty cubicles and rolled it over to her. She was holding what turned out to be a print out of one of my stories.
“I really like this one”
“Which one's that”
“The girl and the guy at the carnival”
“Oh yeah, I like that one too.”
I sit down in the chair I brought over and noticed how close I was to her feet.
“Here you go!”
She handed me a spiral notebook. I opened it and began to read. I'm not great with poetry but her's really isn't bad. The subject matter is a bit repetitive, loneliness, lost love, but it's actually very well done and I tell her so. She beamed back at me and swung her legs a bit tapping my knee with her toe.
“Oh, sorry”, she said.
“It's OK”, I said.
I look down at her pretty feet and reach and give her a little tickle on the closest sole. I barely touched it but she let out a sweet full giggle.
“I think I read somewhere that redheads are more ticklish than other people. Is that true?”
“It's definitely true of me. I have the most ticklish feet in the world, but”, she pointed a finger at me, “ there is to be no tickling at the office”.
“Oh, that's incorrect. Haven't you heard? That's part of the new management initiative.”
I reach my hand behind her ankle and pull it toward me gently.
“LESLIE, HAVE YOU FINISHED SORTING THOSE FORMS?”
“No sir” she said, a huge grin filling her face.
“NOT GOOD ENOUGH!” and I tickle the bottom of her foot with all five fingers from my other hand. She wiggles and shrieks so sweetly.
“LESLIE, HAVE YOU FILLED OUT YOUR TIME SHEET?”
“Yes sir, I did sir!”
“DO IT AGAIN!”
I run my fingers right in her arch and she releases a long drawn out belly laugh.
“LESLIE, WHERE IS MY STAPLER?”
“It's on your desk sir, I swear!”
“I DON'T HAVE A RESPONSE TO THAT!”
This time I tickle her heal and she screams with laughter. After that I let go of her ankle and let her settle down.
“Oh God”, she said, wiping her eyes. “Maybe you should write a story called 'The Tickling Manager'”.
“Maybe I will”, I answer (actually, I think I already had but I didn't tell her that).
Just then there was a loud click and the alarm system beeped twice. Someone had just walked in the front door. She jumped off her desk and slipped her sandals on. I stood up with her poetry book in my hand.
“I'd better get back to...”
“Yeah, me too”
“Do you mind if I take this back to my desk? I'll bring it back before I leave”, I said, holding up the notebook.
“Yeah, of course. You really think it's good?”
“Yes I do”
“Thank you. I really like your stories. I still have one to read.”
“OK, I'll see you later.”
As I walk back to my desk I notice the top of a head bobbing behind a row of cubicles. I don't go to see who it is but I freaking hate them.
The next Saturday I'm at the office at 9:00 sharp. I see Leslie's car in the parking lot but when I go inside and go to her desk she's not there. I go back to my desk and she's waiting for me, sitting on my desk with a few sheets of paper in her hand, pretty white feet dangling, sandals on the floor. She smiles when she sees me.
“Hi Leslie”
“Hi”
There are only about 50 people in this branch and when I'm there on Saturday's I'm usually by myself so when I came in one time and the lights were already on I took a look around to see who else was there. I looked from one end of the office to the other and then along the path of cubicles that ran along a section the side of the building that was entirely glass. Leslie was sitting in the second to last desk from the end.
I'd never really talked to Leslie before. I knew that she was the CFO' assistant and that she'd started within the past three or four months. She was short with long, straight red hair and she looked like she was in her late twenties. I coughed so that I wouldn't startle her. She turned and looked at me. I held my hand up and said “Sorry. I just wanted to see who else was here”. She nodded quickly and turned back to her monitor and I went over to my desk.
A few hours later I was in the kitchen heating up my lunch when she walked in. She grabbed a bag out of the refrigerator and gave my a polite hello smile waiting her turn to use the microwave. After an awkward few seconds I tried to make small talk with her.
“Got a lot to do here today?”
“Jay has me organizing all of his forms.”
“Why doesn't he do it?”
She shrugged. “Because he can make me do it. You busy?”
“Not really. I just come in to do little stuff. And I do some writing while I'm here.”
“Writing what?”
“I write short stories.”
“Your a writer?”
“I want to be.”
Just then the microwave beeped. I took out my plastic bowl of fish and rice and walked out of the kitchen saying “have a good one” as I walked by her.
At my desk I start thinking about it. She definitely seemed to go from adequately civil to genuinely interested when I told her I write. After I've finished my lunch the IM window opened up.
LeslieRox
Hi Chris
UnsweetenedIT
Hey
LeslieRox
What kind of stories do you write
UnsweetenedIT
Fantasy
Some like intellectual stuff
some 'slice of life' I guess
LeslieRox
Are you published?
UnsweetenedIT
No, not yet, I have some on some forums
sent a few to some magazines
haven't heard back
LeslieRox
I write too.
Poetry.
UnsweetenedIT
I'd love to read it some time.
LeslieRox
I'll bring it sometime
I prefer writing on paper
UnsweetenedIT
OK, you can read my stuff too if you want
LeslieRox
Where can I find them?
Which forum?
UnsweetenedIT
I can email you one or two
I have them on a thumb drive here
LeslieRox
Cool
UnsweetenedIT
I'll send them in a minute
I opened my thumb drive and zipped up the three stories that I thought would go over the best and emailed them to her. A few minutes later IM opened again.
LeslieRox
Thanks,
I'll read them this week
Will you be here next Saturday?
UnsweetenedIT
Yep
LeslieRox
OK, I'll bring my stuff
UnsweetenedIT
Excellent
I'm heading out now.
See you Monday
LeslieRox
Bye!
I didn't see her one time over the next work week. A couple of times I opened an IM window but couldn't think of anything to say or I'd worry about annoying her. Then I'd wonder why this should be so weird. I hoped my mind wasn't going to the wrong place. She just wants to talk about writing.
The next Saturday I got to the office at 9:00 am and she was already in. I walked over to her side of the office and found her sitting on top of her desk with her legs hanging over the edge with her sandals on the floor beneath her feet. It was a thick overcast day, the kind that smoothed out what light there was with no shadows. With only the light that was coming through the windows most of the office seemed a little darker and grayer except for anything white which seemed to have it's own soft light. Things like paper, or one of the table tops, or Leslie's pretty face and hands and her pretty bare feet. She smiled and waved when she saw me.
I grabbed a chair from one of the empty cubicles and rolled it over to her. She was holding what turned out to be a print out of one of my stories.
“I really like this one”
“Which one's that”
“The girl and the guy at the carnival”
“Oh yeah, I like that one too.”
I sit down in the chair I brought over and noticed how close I was to her feet.
“Here you go!”
She handed me a spiral notebook. I opened it and began to read. I'm not great with poetry but her's really isn't bad. The subject matter is a bit repetitive, loneliness, lost love, but it's actually very well done and I tell her so. She beamed back at me and swung her legs a bit tapping my knee with her toe.
“Oh, sorry”, she said.
“It's OK”, I said.
I look down at her pretty feet and reach and give her a little tickle on the closest sole. I barely touched it but she let out a sweet full giggle.
“I think I read somewhere that redheads are more ticklish than other people. Is that true?”
“It's definitely true of me. I have the most ticklish feet in the world, but”, she pointed a finger at me, “ there is to be no tickling at the office”.
“Oh, that's incorrect. Haven't you heard? That's part of the new management initiative.”
I reach my hand behind her ankle and pull it toward me gently.
“LESLIE, HAVE YOU FINISHED SORTING THOSE FORMS?”
“No sir” she said, a huge grin filling her face.
“NOT GOOD ENOUGH!” and I tickle the bottom of her foot with all five fingers from my other hand. She wiggles and shrieks so sweetly.
“LESLIE, HAVE YOU FILLED OUT YOUR TIME SHEET?”
“Yes sir, I did sir!”
“DO IT AGAIN!”
I run my fingers right in her arch and she releases a long drawn out belly laugh.
“LESLIE, WHERE IS MY STAPLER?”
“It's on your desk sir, I swear!”
“I DON'T HAVE A RESPONSE TO THAT!”
This time I tickle her heal and she screams with laughter. After that I let go of her ankle and let her settle down.
“Oh God”, she said, wiping her eyes. “Maybe you should write a story called 'The Tickling Manager'”.
“Maybe I will”, I answer (actually, I think I already had but I didn't tell her that).
Just then there was a loud click and the alarm system beeped twice. Someone had just walked in the front door. She jumped off her desk and slipped her sandals on. I stood up with her poetry book in my hand.
“I'd better get back to...”
“Yeah, me too”
“Do you mind if I take this back to my desk? I'll bring it back before I leave”, I said, holding up the notebook.
“Yeah, of course. You really think it's good?”
“Yes I do”
“Thank you. I really like your stories. I still have one to read.”
“OK, I'll see you later.”
As I walk back to my desk I notice the top of a head bobbing behind a row of cubicles. I don't go to see who it is but I freaking hate them.
The next Saturday I'm at the office at 9:00 sharp. I see Leslie's car in the parking lot but when I go inside and go to her desk she's not there. I go back to my desk and she's waiting for me, sitting on my desk with a few sheets of paper in her hand, pretty white feet dangling, sandals on the floor. She smiles when she sees me.
“Hi Leslie”
“Hi”
