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Discussions of workplace violence, moderate impact play

was hoping he wouldn’t be there Tuesday. That would give me enough time to think, and to plan escapes around the office, but of course he was. It turned out to be a non-issue though. We talked twice – he unlocked the door for me in the morning, and said hello. I said hello back, swooping my eyes up to meet his and seeing absolutely no reaction, no interest, like the whole thing hadn’t happened Monday. I actually breathed a little sigh of relief – maybe we’d just both had a momentary insanity. My heart stuttered a little as I walked past, looking back over my shoulder, maybe a little worried about another large hand snapping out to grab, or even a leg extended, to trip, or almost his jaw unhinging to take a bite out of my upper arm or throat, and then I realized he was wearing the same black jacket. The black jacket I had stared at, folded neatly over the arm of a couch while I was pinned down. The jacket that had nearly snapped at my face as I kneeled dumbfounded and he swept it back over his shoulders.
But still, the relief continued. I even managed to glance at him a few times. Watched him do that thoughtless thumb and forefinger brushing of his trimmed beard as he read his emails or whatever he wasted his morning with. Glanced at him while he was talking to people whose parents had died, kids up to their necks in debt, happy pregnant couples creating baby savings accounts. He all the time listened intently to whoever was talking to him, he never looked around or was distracted by other noise or conversation. I never questioned the fact that he was the most ethical employee in the company either – he would never trick or cajole people into things they didn’t need and he wouldn’t break rules either. The strangeness of this wondered also relaxed me, that I could watch him, and evaluate him at a distance and not get that quick dropping thump of blood rushing from face to genitals, or the loud hard bamp of my pulse starting to race. Our second and last typical conversation that Tuesday was about work. He came over to my desk, and we swapped six sentences altogether. He stood behind me, a strong two or three feet far away, even. He reached over my shoulder, without making contact to point to something on a screen. He said “good work, today”, flashed his teeth in that socially-okay not-a-smile that we do when we’re in a rush and don’t really care and was gone. We exchanged see-you-tomorrows with the crowd at the front door again, and that was the end of that. I felt an almost literal weight off my body – like I had been in a too-tight, heavy jacket for hours and now I could take it off. Since I was the only one who turned left out of the door, to head to the subway station, I was all the time the one to rattle the lock on the night deposit door. Almost perkily I jerked the little handle and then was crowded against it. Glenn was directly behind me, but not touching me. He must have drifted back, away from everyone else as they headed towards the parking lot. Nobody would be pulling out along this side, and there was no reason anyone would notice that he hadn’t reached his car yet. That panic and fear flew back in, and the fear created more racing thoughts, like the unhinged jaws – he was gonna kidnap me, I was gonna be thrown into the trunk of his stupid hatchback, crunched and uncomfortable in my work clothes and left there. He was gonna tell me that his wife was gonna assassinate me – I couldn’t think clearly or even bring up more likely concerns (like public humiliation or sexual assault). My right hand was uncomfortably jammed down through the handle, by being crowded up against the wall when I had been tugging at it. The handle was caught up to where my thumb met the rest of my hand, trapped past my knuckles. The top of my hand was scraped and bleeding and that became my second, irritating concern. It instantly hurt and itched. Almost like he was snuggling he dropped his chin so it was almost on my right shoulder. I felt his facial hair against the side of my neck and jaw and that thump and bamp happened, after a full day of no reactions I was back on that couch. “Sorry, I was busy today” feeling the warmth of his skin against the side of my face and the whispered puff of air against my ear had me swimming against the current of desire but, as I tugged my hand free of the handle I said, “I don’t care. I wasn’t thinking about you and I had my own shit to do”. It still felt strange to curse at a coworker (!) but I hoped it leant strength to my denial. He laughed and turned me around. I looked up and down the sidewalk. We were in a small business-zoned area of a very residential neighborhood. Everything around us was mailing services, lawyers, dentists, financial advisors and real estate agents. They zipped out as fast as possible at five pm, just like all our coworkers. It was unlikely to see very many people out on the street and even less likely that they would read an overt disturbance in two people standing outside the bank. I didn’t know if I was hoping for intervention or if I was hoping there would be no intervention, or if, again, I was worried about getting caught. After having glanced left and right, again, I swooped my eyes up. I didn’t realize how infrequently we had made eye contact in the past – we so rarely spoke face to face, and when we were close together I had to tip my chin back slightly to actually look him in the face, unlike others who were closer to my height. Of course he had been carefully watching my face and I felt my eyes jig away again when I realized it. “That’s okay, little girl, we can play games, for now. I just wanted to tell you sorry I was busy today.” I scoffed and backed hard against the brick wall, thinking maybe if I pressed myself hard enough against it I could sidle sideways (or just fall through it). It would have been better if he hadn’t said anything, if Monday could have been a passing moment. I didn’t want to talk about it. If another encounter happened (did I want that or not?) I didn’t want to talk about that. I didn’t want to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or set rules or anything. I wanted to pretend we didn’t even know each other. As my anger and discomfort and shame bubbled and riled he folded himself down in much the same way as yesterday, except putting both his palms flat against the wall right up against the sides of my face, framing me in place there. Once again, in almost a cozy, nuzzling fashion he slid his face against mine. If anyone were to happen along, it would have looked like a passing, romantic goodbye kiss. I stood in what looked like a comfortable stance against the walls, my own palms resting against it in a relaxed position at the sides of my thighs, once again too surprised to react more vehemently. Again, it was the tickle of his facial hair, trimmed pretty closely against his face, the warmth of his body, but also the realization that he didn’t wear cologne – he smelt of soap, cold water and beard oil that put a halt to whatever else my body might have attempted or my mind might have been begging for. He jerked up my right arm, forcing my forearm between my breasts while my hand inflexibly stood at attention at my left shoulder. He turned his head a little on my shoulder and pressed his almost open lips against the scrape, turning back to my ear “I jerk off about you. While you’re at home cooking dinner, I’m planning tomorrow.” Again, like yesterday it felt like he was gone in less than a second. Again, I had space to breathe. I had to just walk down one block and the subway stairs on legs that felt like toothpicks without joints. I had forgotten to change out of my work shoes too. There was the thrumming irritation in my hand and pinched achiness in my toes. I purposefully hadn’t worn “sexy” shoes just plain little pumps but I still didn’t like having to run across the platform in them. I felt like every man watching me run past was smirking. I felt hot and sweaty, and like all my clothes were too tight and unflattering.

NSFW: yes

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