I felt like I was back in high school.

It all started when I decided to start bringing my lunch to work, rather than go out to eat every day. It was part of a health kick combined with an austerity program; my stomach was getting fatter and my wallet was getting thinner as I tended to frequent restaurants that featured all of the wrong foods at rather ridiculous prices. The personal results were astounding.

As people started to notice how much fitter I was looking, word spread. Pretty soon there were a bunch of us eating in together on a regular basis, taking over an entire cafeteria size table every day. Unfortunately, it was probably inevitable that what the men at the table wanted to talk about: sports, cars, politics, women; and what the women wanted to talk about: clothes, celebrities, books, other women; diverged to the point where we ended up with a “boys” table and a “girls” table.

It was lunchtime on a Monday when one of the IT people, Chari, came in. All heads turned to stare at her. Chari was a youngish looking woman; my best guess was that she was in her early- to mid-twenties. She had worked IT and the help desk on the “swing shift’, so almost no one in the room really knew her but me; I having had to work with her on more than one occasion due to after-hours connectivity issues. She had just been transferred to the “day shift” when all of this took place.

She was dressed like a typical “techie” of either sex working for us; an over-sized “hoodie” to cope with the cold in the server room, navy Dickey’s work pants to deal with having to climb under desks, and clunky safety work shoes. She had short unpolished fingernails, wore no make-up to speak of, and her auburn hair was tied back in no real particular fashion. She carried her lunch in a paper sack. There was an open seat at the “girls” table, but when she approached the women seated there “closed ranks”. I couldn’t tell if it was her age (the women were all older), her occupation (a “non-professional”), her look (“grunge vs. business dress) or a combination of these, but it was clear that she was not welcome at “their” table.

Dejected, she took a seat alone at an empty table, ate quickly, and left. Like I said; high-school déjà vu.

The same thing happened Tuesday. On Wednesday, when she came in and got the cold shoulder, I invited her to sit with the “boys”. She seemed a little embarrassed, and politely turned down the offer. But when Thursday came, and she was still being frozen out, she accepted my invitation. She just kind of sat there and ate in silence, but I could tell that she appreciated the company.

On Friday, she didn’t even try to sit at the girls table; she came directly over to the boys table and sat next to me. As it turned out, she was quite the football fanatic, and fit right in. Things got a little boisterous, but she was right in the thick of it. Then, just as lunch was over, one of the women came over; Karen, a rather snarky PA who was the “head cheerleader” equivalent, and said just loud enough for Chari to hear, “It’s nice to see that she is eating with her own kind.”

Chari turned to Karen. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Karen looked her up and down, then said, “Well, you are one of the ‘boys’, aren’t you?”

The clear implication was that she thought that Chari was a lesbian. For a second, I thought that Chari was going to deck her. Instead, she just grabbed her stuff and stormed out. Karen, all smug, turned and said to the group, as if in justification,

“Well, you didn’t hear her deny it, did you?” All of her toadies nodded in agreement.

“Hold on there, Karen,” I said, “exactly what are you accusing Chari of?”

“C’mon Bill; the clothes, the hair, no make-up. Hell, she knows more about football than all of you guys put together. You get the picture. She plays for your team, not ours.”

Now, I’m no crusader, but this was quite a harsh bit of pre-judgment. To say nothing of a direct violation of company policy. The kind of crap that gets a company sued. I dumped my trash and went straight to HR. Within the hour, Karen was called in to her manager’s office, and then the two went upstairs to HR. When they came back down, both of them glared at me, and Karen left for the day.

As usual, I ended up working later than the official 4:30 quitting time. In fact, it was about 6:30, and I was pouring over a ridiculously complicated spreadsheet, when I felt a presence hovering over me. I looked up, and there was Chari.

“Hey,” I said, “what’s up? I thought you were on the day shift now.”

“I am, but I’ve got a problem. My car won’t start.”

“Is it the battery? I can give you a jump.”

“No, it isn’t the battery. The engine turns over okay, but it’s like there’s no gas even though I have a full tank. Anyway, I called the auto club, but they can’t get here for an hour. I’m really nervous about waiting alone in the parking garage, and I was wondering if you could check on me every once and awhile until they get here.”

I thought about how much I’d get done if I had to leave the building every ten minutes to run out to the parking garage, and I was about to tell her that I was too busy; but then I saw the same dejected look on her face that I saw when she was being shunned by her fellow female co-workers.

“Listen,” I said, “I’m ready to wrap it up here anyway. Let me shut this program down, get my stuff together and I’ll just wait with you.” The smile that lit up her face when I said that could have melted an iceberg.

We walked to the parking garage in silence. Once there, she led me to what looked like a 1966 or 1967 Ford Galaxie fastback in the late stages of being restored; all it needed was paint and wheels. “Nice ride,” I said. “Did you do the work?”

“I did the interior,” she explained, “my Dad did the engine, and we’re both doing the body work.”

“Mind if I take a peek under the hood?”

She reached into the custom grill, popped the release, and lifted the hood. The engine compartment was cleaner and more squared away than an operating room, and was occupied by a modified big-block engine with just the right amount of chrome.

“I know why the car won’t start. Look, here, someone cut the distributor wire.” I held up the cut line, which clearly was fresh as there was no way that she could have driven to work that morning otherwise.

“Shit! How the hell did that happen?” She was pissed, and I had a pretty good idea how, but I kept my mouth shut. “Well, at least it’s something that my Dad can fix. I guess we just wait now for the tow truck.” She opened the passenger door for me. “Care for a seat?”

I slid in onto the passenger side of a bench seat that had been re-upholstered in leather that felt as smooth and soft as butter, closing the door as she got in on the driver side. “Thanks for waiting with me. I guess this is the second time that you’ve gone out of your way for me today.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know it was you that went to HR about Karen. Did you know that they almost fired her? She ended up with a week off without pay, and she lost her year-end bonus. What’s really funny is that what she was implying, that I am a lesbian; well, what she doesn’t tell anyone is that she has been hitting on me since the day I came to work here. I kept turning her down, and I guess she thought that I was in denial. I think she was trying to ‘out’ me, or else was mad that I turned her down.”

“Wow, that’s bizarre. What made her think you were gay to begin with?”

“Well, you know, the clothing, the job, the fact that I act like a tom-boy, even my car. I guess she just assumed it all added up, and then thought that I was lying to her when I told her that I wasn’t. Which I’m not, by the way; in case you were wondering.” Then she blurted out something that floored me. “Not that I’ve ever had any real sex with a boy, ... er, man, either. I just know that when I do have sex, it will be with someone of the opposite sex.”

“First; I wasn’t wondering. Second; you’re what, twenty three, twenty four, and you’ve never had sex?”

“Not with anyone but myself,” she blushed. “Okay, once, sort of; but, it wasn’t really sex and didn’t involve any of my ‘lady-parts’. Look, I was pretty chunky and pretty nerdy in middle-school and high school. And, like I said, I am a tom-boy. And even when I got into college, I was still nerdy, and hung out with the computer nerds and gamers. FYI, the stereo-type of men gamers is true; they have no idea what to do with a live girl.” Then she said, “It’s getting hot in here. Do you mind if I take this hoodie off?”

“No, go ahead. I don’t see how you can stand wearing them all day, every day.”

“It’s almost like a uniform,” she said, facing away from me as she crossed her arms and reached down, grabbing the hem, and then pulled it up and over her head. She pulled her arms out of the sleeves and threw it in the back seat, then let down her hair. She turned back around to face me, and I was speechless.

I was expecting to still see some sort of frumpy looking nerd. I did not. Under the sweatshirt she was wearing a t-shirt with some sort of saying on it, but I was too busy looking at the pair of 36B tits that were underneath; firm and bra-less. I focused a little higher, and for the first time, I guess, really looked at her face; flashing emerald green eyes, a peaches complexion with a hint of freckling on her nose, all framed in her reddish locks. She was actually quite pretty. I looked back at her breasts again. She noticed where I was gazing, and started to try to tell me what the saying was on the shirt.

I interrupted her.

“I really wasn’t trying to read it.” She stopped, thought for a second, and turned red. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t offend you,” I said.

“No, no. I’m just not used to men looking at me as anything more than a nerd.”

“Well, it’s their loss. You are very pretty; and sexy looking. In fact, if I were about twenty years younger, I’d be hitting on you like crazy.” She blushed again. Interestingly, her nipples started to poke through the front of her shirt. I pressed the advantage. “In fact, I’d be kissing you right now.”

I wasn’t sure how far to take the flirting, but her next move took the decision out of my hands, as she slid across the seat and into my arms. “Okay, then, kiss me,” she said.

“But I’m old enough to be your father,” I said, trying to take the high road, at least for a while.

“But I thought you said you were attracted to me/”

“I did…I am…but shouldn’t you be doing this with someone your own age?”

“Do you see any of them around beating a path to my door? C’mon, it’s just a kiss.”

“Yeah, but you don’t understand men. First it’s a kiss, then it’s a grope, then we’re plotting to get you into bed. We can’t be trusted; especially us older guys,” I chuckled.

“How do you know that I don’t want that?” She paused, then said, “Look, you think I’m sexy, I think you’re sexy. I want you to kiss me, you want to kiss me.” She ran her hand over my chest, then brushed my cheek with her fingertips. “Why don’t we start there, and see where it goes. We’ve got about forty-five minutes to figure it out until the tow truck gets here.”

I leaned back against the door and pulled her to me; my left arm going across her back and shoulders while my right went across her lower abdomen. She turned her face to me, and I kissed her gently, almost chastely, on the lips.

We broke, and she looked up at me again. “That was like kissing my brother,” she said. “Kiss me like a lover. Kiss me like you want me.” And I did. They were hungry kisses; hot, wet, forceful, as I pulled her tighter to me. She responded in kind, pulling me into her as she opened her mouth to accept my invading tongue. Based on her technique, she was clearly not experienced. But she was sure getting an “A” for effort. This time when we broke, we were both winded. “Now that’s more like it.”

She ran her hand over my chest again. “So, do we kiss some more, or do we start the groping? And who gropes who first?” The darling thing about her question was that she was serious. I could see it in her eyes; that, and the beginning of a look of desire previously suppressed, but now being allowed to roam free.

I kissed her again. “Well, groping is still down the road a bit,” I said, huskily. “First there’s touching, then caressing.” I demonstrated by lightly tracing the form of her torso with my fingers as I resumed kissing her. She shivered, despite the heat that was building up in the car. I ran my hand along her thigh, then up her side and outlined the shape of her left breast through her t-shirt. She moaned into my mouth, and then guided my hand to cup the entire tit; squeezing my hand so that my hand squeezed her.

I broke the kiss and looked her in the eye. “It’s not too late to stop,” I said, giving her one last chance to pull back from the brink. She took my hand, which was still cupping her firm orb, and pulled it away. I thought that it was over, but instead she directed it up under the hem of her shirt, leading it to her bare breast beneath, and then started kissing me again. We had definitely moved on to groping.

I could feel the hardness of her aroused nipple as my palm brushed over it. I took it between fingers and lightly pinched it. She shifted so that she was now straddling my left leg, and I thanked the sex gods that we were in an old-fashioned sedan with a front seat area that had tons of room. I was again reminded of high-school.

I could feel the heat of her pussy seeping through her pants as she rubbed her crotch up and down my thigh. I started to really handle her tit, especially her nipple which was now not only hard but swollen; and she sped up her rocking while sucking my tongue into her mouth. All of the sudden she paused for about two seconds, hugged me so tight that I couldn’t move, and started bucking and grunting through a very intense orgasm.

I held her loosely as she came down from her peak; her breath coming in short ragged gasps while her head lay on my chest. I could feel her heart beating a mile-a-minute; and the moist warmth that seeped through her pants onto my leg. I stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head as I did so. She finally calmed enough to regain cognitive function, and snuggled into me. “That was amazing,” she whispered. “I’ve never cum that hard on my own.”

“Well,” I commented, “I’m pretty sure that nature intended for sex to be a joint effort, not a solo one.”

“Speaking of a joint effort,” she said, “I have to warn you that I really am totally inexperienced in what to do to a guy.”

“Well wait, what was this ‘wasn’t really sex’ experience you mentioned?”

“Oh, that…well a bunch of us ‘nerds’ were at an outdoor showing of a Star Wars movie, and it was cold so everyone was under blankets. I noticed the guy next to me doing something under the blanket and asked him what was going on. He grabbed my hand and pulled it under; he had his dick out and was beating off. He started using my hand in place of his, and came all over it. It was over in about two seconds. I was kind of stunned; but I was also curious. But when I asked if I could look under the blanket, he got all embarrassed, zipped up, and left.”

By then she was rubbing my erection through my pants. “I never even got to see what he looked like. If I ask to see yours, will you let me?” I just smiled and started to unbuckle my belt. “No, wait, I want to do it.” She finished undoing the belt, then unbuttoned my pants and slid the zipper down. My erection was now tenting my briefs.

She ran her hand over it, and then squeezed it a little. “It feels a lot bigger than what that guy’s was.” I pushed my pants down below my ass, and she peeled down the front of my underwear; freeing my erect member, which kind of “popped” up at her. “Wow! Can I touch it?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she took the length into her hand, stroking and squeezing a little too firmly until she saw the look on my face. She pulled her hand away “I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful. Tell me what you like.”

“Just hold your hand a little looser and slide it up and down the shaft. Also, lightly rubbing the head is good too.” I took put her hand and put it back around, then put my hand on the outside of hers and guided it up and down to show her a rhythm, and squeezing her hand in mine to show her how hard to grip me and where.

Pretty soon she had copious amounts of pre-cum flowing out of my slit. She took some on her fingertip and the tasted it with her tongue. “A little salty,” was all she said. She took her thumb and rubbed the rest around the head and the coronal edge. I moaned as my dick twitched of its own mind. She looked up at me, all serious, and said, “I want to make you cum. Tell me what to do.”

“Do you have any hand lotion?” She nodded yes. “Okay, put some on your hand for lubrication. That way you can squeeze a little harder and rub a little faster.” She squirted a dollop onto the palm of her hand, smeared it up and down the shaft and over the crown, and then resumed pumping me. “Oh, yeah, just like that,” I said, pulling her closer and kissing her as she jerked me off.

Despite her lack of experience, the feeling of her hand running up and down my cock and swirling over the head had my balls churning overtime. She alternated tempo and pressure, as if trying to develop her own technique. It had been a while since anyone other than me had paid attention to my sexual needs, and the situation at hand; a young and inexperienced girl that was wanting and willing added a psychological complement to the physical pleasure. I was becoming somewhat light-headed.

My hips started a subtle thrusting motion of their own accord, and I knew that I was about to erupt, when I realized that it was going to land all over my shirt. But, just as I felt the first load travelling up my shaft, Chari swooped in and put her mouth over the head of my dick, her lips tightly encircling the shaft just below, while she continued to pump me with her hand. My hips reflexively thrust my dick farther into her mouth, which took her by surprise, but she never took her mouth off. She didn’t know to suck, but she did realize that she needed to swallow, which she did.

I know I shot at least six or seven full ropes of my hot, white stickiness into her waiting mouth, and she didn’t lose a drop. She had this look of concentration as I blasted, and then a smile of satisfaction at a “job well done” when I was spent and she hadn’t let any escape. She squeezed the last bit out and lapped it up. Through heavy breathing, I said, “Where did you learn that?”

“I saw my college roommate do it once to her boyfriend when they thought that I was sleeping. He seemed to like it,” she giggled, “although in hind-sight, she didn’t use hand-lotion as a lubricant. The taste took a little of the fun out of it. I think I want to try it again without the hand-lotion.” She continued to play with my softening penis. “Do you always cum that much? I almost couldn’t swallow it all. How small will it get, and how long until it can get hard again?”

She obviously wanted to do more, and I was ready to accommodate her, when we heard the tow truck coming into the garage. It was early. I quickly pulled up and zipped up, while Chari hopped out of her side of the car and waved to the driver.

“Where do you want it towed to?” he asked, as he pulled to a stop.

Without even thinking to ask her, I quickly rattled off my address. Chari looked at me with a sly smile and put her arm around my waist.

“Can’t resist another chance to get a peek under my hood, huh?”