My Fantasy

My fantasy is to walk up to a group of men in suits and say, “Hey, you guys, you know who’s hot? John Doe over at ABC Corp. I mean, he is smokin’ hot. Seriously. Is he married? You think he’d be willing to cheat on his wife this weekend after the XYZ Conference? Heh, heh. Because I would lo-o-ove to spend some time with him, if you know what I mean. Alone time. You know – naked. Hey, so have any of you guys ever stood next to him at a urinal? What’s he packing? Anybody know?”

And they’d laugh and say, “You’re a pistol, Gwen. I’ll ask around – see what I can find out.”

Or wait… this one…

I’d go to some industry happy hour and run into Jim Smith from Cogswell. After a few drinks, I’d put my hand on his waist and ask him if he’d like to continue the party at my apartment. He’d say some shit like, “I’m flattered but I’d really like to keep our relationship professional,” or whatever.

Then, two months later, I’d be having a meeting with all the important men at my company. We’d be making decisions on a really big contract. Someone would suggest, “What about giving it to Jim Smith at Cogswell? His bid looked really good.”

And I’d say, “No. Not Jim Smith. He has a really bad attitude.”

And, from the look on my face, all the men would know what I meant, and they’d just smile knowingly and award the contract to someone else.

No, no, no – wait! Here’s the best one:

I’d be a big-time manager at a big company, right? And some little hottie – say, Bob Jones in Accounting – would be walking down the hall amongst ten or eleven of his coworkers. And I’d say, “Hey, Bob. Lookin’ good. Boy, I wish I could see what your wife sees when you get out of the shower every night. Mm, mm!

And it would be so awesome, because Bob would have to smile awkwardly and stumble away, because he’s know that if he told me to go to hell, I’d so totally have his ass fired. Or, at least, make his life really hard from 9 to 5, you know?

And then Bob would go out for drinks with his coworkers. Some of them would treat him like crap because they’d be assuming he was sleeping his way up the ladder with me. Others would tell him, “What are you going to do?”

And he’d say, “I don’t know. If I complain to HR, they won’t do anything about it. I can’t go to Gwen’s supervisor, Mrs. Gotrocks – she’s the owner of the company and no one’s ever seen her! Plus, if I say anything at all, Gwen will either have me fired, or else make my life hell.”

“Why don’t you quit?” his friends would say.

“I can’t afford to,” he’d reply. “I’ve been looking for another job, but I can’t find anything.”

Then, every morning as Bob drove to work, he’d be depressed. All day at work, he’d be jumpy, worried that I’d show up at his cubicle. He might consider suing my company, but he’d be too scared to lose his benefits because, like, his wife would have cancer or some shit, right? So, whenever he saw me in the hall, he’d get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, not knowing whether or not I was going to say something disgustingly inappropriate.

And I’d keep him guessing – that sexy little tease!

And it would be awesome.

Wouldn’t it? I mean, I’m guessing it would be, but it’s actually kind of hard for me to imagine.

If you’re one of the people who lives those fantasies every day, write and tell me how it feels, okay?. I’m really interested to know what it’s like to be you.

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Posted in fantasies, sexism, venting on 04/21/2006 02:12 am

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