The Temp

Roger liked getting to the office early like this . He especially liked to be here this early on a day where the afternoon temps were sure to skirt the edges of 90 in the shade. Today, the humidity would leave a sweaty fingerprint on the back of his shirt all day. Early like this and it was still fresh outside. The heavy dew hadn't dried up yet and everything shimmered in the first traces of a pink sunrise. Moments like this were why he wouldn't move away. Let winter come and shake your bones open and chill you until your teeth rattled. Nothing like six months of a back breaking Chicago winter to make you appreciate just how lovely summer in the Midwest could be.

Roger also liked parking in his parking spot, the one marked "R. Lincoln, Pres". The only thing that would be better about that parking spot was if President had been spelled out but the man who painted the orange stripes on the asphalt after they'd done the lot last year assured him that they couldn't fit that many letters.

Roger thought he could have if he'd tried harder.

Roger straightened his navy blue tie in the rear view and frowned as he slicked down the errant cowlick. His hair was getting wild, well, wild for him. It was time for Barb, his secretary, to make an appointment for him at the cheap haircut place in the strip mall. He liked it there. It was all business; in, out, no hair washing, no styling product, none of that pansy crap for him. He didn't want any aromatherapy. Just a quick buzz with the trimmer, a sweep of the cape and a crisp ten dollar bill and he was on his way.

Shit, he suddenly remembered; as of this morning, Barb was out on sick leave for the next six weeks. He knew there was a surgery involved. He knew that the girls in accounting knew all of the intimate details but once he got an inkling that it had something to do with lady parts, Roger had just shrugged and walked away. Sure, take off all the time you need in the busiest quarter of the year, he'd thought but would never dream of saying. The truth was that he could get along just fine without Barb, he assured his reflection. She wouldn't believe he could but Roger was surprisingly self-sufficient. Hell, he started the company, he was sure he could figure out a few clicks on a keyboard, or a few buttons on a copier. And just in case he couldn't, that's what the temp was for.

Once inside, Roger pressed the button to silence the alarm and flicked all six of the light switches on. Everything flickered and came to life with a sputter and a hum. He checked the thermostat and reassured himself. Yes, the sticky note that he'd placed there two years was still in the proper place. "Do not adjust RL", it was short and to the point like all of his workplace communications. Given the opportunity, every woman in the building had a preference and would like it a tad cooler or a smidge warmer. It was set on 72 in the summer and 67 in the winter and he didn't really give a damn in between.

Roger placed his bag lunch in the refrigerator. His spot wasn't marked, he just put his lunch in the same place every day. He liked to have it on the top shelf, furthest to the left, with his initials front and center just in case someone got cheeky and grabbed it. He wasn't a germaphobe. He didn't even believe half the bullshit about COVID but that didn't mean he wanted anyone touching his stuff.

He also liked getting to the office first because it gave him the chance to make the first pot of coffee. This way, it was the way he wanted it; strong and black and blistering hot. Once the ladies came in there was all kinds of froufrou nonsense, vanilla this and caramel that. It made him grumpy if there was even a hint of scent in his coffee. Coffee should smell and look like what it was, the sludge that woke you up. There was no need to be pretty about it.

At his desk, he read the morning's emails and blew on his steamy cup of joe and in silence. He liked Barb, she'd been with him for over a decade. She was a good, decent person and a loyal employee. She reminded him vaguely of his sister, so there had never been any uncomfortable sexual undercurrent between them. But Christ, the woman's small talk drove him nuts sometimes. Roger hoped that the temp would be some slightly bored, slightly chunky housewife who wanted to make a little extra spending money. Someone easy who wasn't going to try to turn the place upside down. Someone who got all of her small talk in with the ladies. He liked things quiet and predictable and that, according to his wife, was why he was a stick in the mud.

Too bad, he thought to himself as he knit his straggly, gray eyebrows together.

The ladies started coming in pretty steadily by 7:30. Sometime between 7:30 and 7:45, all signs of life had returned and the factory was in full swing. There for a while, during the COVID shit show, Roger had been worried although he always dismissed everyone else's concerns with "poppycock." He'd been worried that maybe they wouldn't make it after all. Now that they had all gotten their vaccines and the government had pumped trillions of dollars into the economy like it was water, he felt confident. He had even begun to believe that a full, economic revival was within reach, even if politicians were mostly con artists.

That's why he needed the temp. Roger looked at his watch and saw that it was 7:56. In his mind, she was already late, but he knew that he wouldn't like her if she kept him waiting after 8:00 sharp.

The tap on the door was so quiet that it was barely an announcement. It was a far cry from Barb's hearty fist on the door because she knew that sometimes, Roger was adrift. It was a soft, girly little sound but that made all the sense in the world when he turned around and saw her.

She was tiny, although petite was a better word and she had one dimple when she smiled. It was a wide, warm smile, with full, pouty, pink lips and even though she was a complete stranger, she looked like she was genuinely happy to see him. "Good morning, Mr. Lincoln," she purred. It was a definite purr. She had a voice that sounded like she had just woken up from a fabulous nap where she'd dreamed about something that would make her blush. "I'm Gloria, the temp."

Roger had to clear his throat. He was suddenly parched and worse, he couldn't remember the words. "Come in," he waved to her but everything was in slow motion. He managed to find his tongue even as the wave of her muted, warm floral scent rolled in with her. Barb never wore perfume. In fact more often than not, especially since COVID began, she smelled like Lysol.

Gloria smelled like a garden at dusk, where the warmth of the day brought each scent to a crescendo and now, it cooled and mellowed in the evening dew.

She had inspired him to feel poetry in his heart and yet, here she was, for all intents and purposes, late on her first day.

This was ridiculous, he told himself as she came closer and closer. No, what was ridiculous was that dress, he added as she stood in front of his desk. Barb never wore a dress. In fact, except for the occasional fashion faux pas made at the Christmas party, no one ever wore a dress. Barb wore shapeless sweaters and baggy pants and covered all of that with an even longer sweater, as if she were afraid that he might see she had a tail.

It was safe to say that no one had ever worn a dress like this. It was white and had pink flowers everywhere. The bodice had a row of tiny pearl buttons that his thick fingers would never be able to work and why would he think of unbuttoning her? The bottom was a swirl of ruffles and the skirt swished with every movement of her thighs. This was no good, Roger decided, it wasn't productive. He felt a twinge of something inside, something that back in his twenties would be the beginning of a hard-on but at his age, it could just be that he had drank too much coffee.

That would explain why his pulse raced.

"Actually why don't you get started on the filing?" he blurted out. The sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and he could feel the sticky sensation on the back of his neck. Roger wanted to blame the tie. It was probably too damn tight but even though it had been too long to remember the exact date, he had the recollection. He was old, not dead.

Desire.

He leaped up from his chair and hit his thigh on the desk. Roger held back the first word that came to mind since there was a lady present but his leg smarted and he winced. Good, pain was useful in this case because then he couldn't think about the other nonsense that felt like fingernails that ran down the length of his spine. "Over here," he pointed straight ahead to the rows of green, metal file cabinets. "We keep all the copies of orders in these," he licked his lips. He was parched and dry and chapped. Gloria's lips were glossy and wet and shiny and pussy pink and would be much more refreshing than an ice cold glass of water.

Dammit. "Invoice copies go in these. Barb hasn't filed in a while so there's enough to keep you busy." And out of his hair until he could pull himself together. He was acting like a goddamn teenage boy. Roger retreated to the employee kitchen and poured himself a small paper cup of water from the five gallon dispenser. He chugged it down in one gulp and then got another to sip slowly. Had it really been so long that when he was confronted by the urge that it hit him like a sickness?

Once he no longer felt feverish, Roger slunk back to his office and sat heavily in his chair. He felt unsteady and lightheaded and if Barb were here, she'd want to check his temperature. He had Zoom meetings for the next two hours and he was almost happy about it. All throughout COVID, he'd done nothing but complain about the additional technology. He preferred face to face over videoconferencing but now, it was absolutely perfect; a much needed distraction without actually leaving.

He logged in and stared out the window as the conference began. The topic of discussion was supposed to be the economic recovery and all of the new growth opportunities that were on the horizon but Roger knew better. All they had talked about for the last six months was the supply chain difficulties and no amount of free government money was going to turn that around any time soon. He grimaced and bet himself that in less than ten minutes, that would be the main focus.

Wait, did Gloria have freckles?

Roger had come up with a list of items that were terribly important and all of them revolved around a delicately built, absolutely gorgeous girl. At this moment, Gloria stood on her tiptoes to reach the top drawer. She was enchanting, all the way down to her toes, Roger thought. Her toes were dollops of dough and each one was decorated with a bit of hot pink nail polish. She wore wedge sandals that tied around her slender ankles with white bows. Gloria had little ballerina feet and Roger felt fairly certain that they also smelled of lush flower gardens, like the rest of her.

He let his eyes meander discreetly as the others joined the conference on his screen. Gloria's hair was a mass of honey colored curls that rested on her shoulders. It was bedroom hair, that's what he thought with an ache inside. It was hair made to be worn wild and free, to be pulled in moments of desperate passion and caressed when it was tossed about on the pillow after.

And freckles.

There was a dusting of freckles across her small, narrow nose, a few on her rosy cheeks and maybe even a couple on her forehead. Gloria belonged in the sun on a day like today. It was too easy to picture her lounging on a hammock in a pink polka dotted bikini. She shouldn't be slaving away with papers.

She had small breasts and his face was hot again as he noticed. It was the light, it was the dress's fault for being so flimsy and transparent, he told himself. She had small, pert breasts that were topped with rosebuds that, thanks to the air conditioning, were in full bloom. He imagined that they would be the most glorious shade of dark pink and she would giggle and show him her dimple if they were touched lightly with his trembling fingers.

Her waist was tiny. She was a slender girl and he wondered if it was the cut of the dress that made her bottom appear to be so shapely and round or if she were just gifted beyond imagination. The mystery remained unsolved as Roger imagined how her cheeks would quiver under the dress if he were standing behind her. He'd like to approach her from behind, as she was. He would like to prop her up against the file cabinet and flip up the dress and let his fingers sink into baby smooth, bouncing, plush skin. That scrumptious ass would wiggle and jiggle, her cheeks would vibrate and shake. She would look back, over her shoulder at him, with that lovely smile. She'd give him that coy flutter of lashes and her freckles and maybe even pop that bubble gum that he saw her rotate from right to left. God, he'd eat her ass like cherry pie a la mode and listen to her pop bubbles.

Gloria turned to the side as she flipped through the stack of papers. She seemed to be consumed with her work and the light embraced her in a full body halo. Roger tried to turn and face his computer monitor but it was hopeless, he was spellbound.

Wait, could he believe his eyes?

Gloria shifted from one foot to the other and yes, there was the fleshy bulb. It moved from side to side, with her, a part of her all along. Gloria's dick was soft and tucked away in panties and all of the girly underthings that someone like Gloria must wear but it was very much there.

He gulped; a dick?

"Roger, are you still on the conference?" a male voice blurted out and cut through the slow reel of delectable pornographic images that were running through his mind. No, wait, that wasn't right. She had deceived him, with that dimple and that voluptuous mouth made for kissing.

Shit, he had no idea what they were talking about.

He could only whisper, "Sorry, technical difficulties." Technically he was hard as a bolt and couldn't possibly get up and move about like this. It would be obscene and in this day and age, with sexual harassment and #metoo and whatever else, Roger tingled all over his body and yet, was scared to breathe.

"What? Is he on or what?" Pam, big mouthed Pam squawked like a chicken. "Or is he taking a nap?" she snickered. Pam was obnoxious and bossy and Roger secretly thought, unattractive. One of those angry women.

"No, I'm here," he said with some authority. Pam could just keep her estrogen to herself. If he had the tendency to space out on the calls, it was mostly because the material was less than thrilling. It wasn't his fault that a magical, young girl was in his office today and there had never been such beauty here before.

A girl with a dick.

"Did you want to weigh in here, Roger?" Charles asked. Now he recognized the voice. He liked Charles. They both felt the same way about videoconferencing. They were they in the same age bracket and Roger could tell, they felt the same way about Pam and the rest of her ilk.

"No, I think you're doing just fine," he said firmly and cleared his throat. He had too much to consider at the moment. A girl with a dick, the thought came back, like an itch between the shoulder blades that was just out of reach or a small paper cut on his lip. Something that demanded attention, much more attention than he should be paying to anything and there it was again, a pulse in the front of his pleated pants.

What the hell was going on? His body suddenly had a mind of its own and he was disturbed by this reaction. Roger exhaled deeply and then realized that everyone on the call had just heard that. He muted himself, thankfully Barb had taught him how to do that and tilted back in his chair.

What he really should do was call the temp agency. Gloria, in all of her fanciful femininity was hardly a match for the position. He needed a girl, an actual girl. No, better, he needed a frumpy lady. He needed another Barb with elastic waist pants and a polo shirt that was two sizes too big to accommodate for her rolls around the middle. It wasn't just that he needed that, he was thinking about the company as a whole.

If he could clearly make out the gorgeous, little lump, then it was just a matter of time before someone else did. Besides, given how pretty Gloria was, she was certain to make enemies here. He'd give it a day, maybe two and someone, anyone of the ladies would be in his office complaining about some imaginary infraction that Gloria had done. They were older and plainer and in that regard, mean as rattlesnakes. Women, he shook his head and sighed. They had no idea how close they were to running the world and they would, if they could just stop being such jackals with each other.

Roger nodded, that's what he'd do. He'd send her back to wherever she came from. Although he knew he'd never forget watching her. He was sure that tonight, in the privacy of his basement, he'd have many more thoughts about how magnificent Gloria must be under the dress.

The call finally ended and Roger looked at his day planner. It was the perfect time to eat his lunch even though that meant he had to walk past the girl. The curly-haired girl with the intoxicating scent and the gorgeous, little lump that shifted and fluttered whenever she moved.

It hardly seemed fair that she was like an angel, or maybe a fairy. Roger had never wanted to see another cock before. It couldn't be avoided when watching pornography but this wasn't like looking at another man at all. This was a thing of exquisite beauty, of that, he was already certain.

He couldn't help it, his feet froze as he came within two feet of her. She turned from one file cabinet to the next, her dainty fingers, her elegant arms, her skin seemed to sparkle and he wondered if that was some kind of magical potion that she'd rubbed on herself or if it was all just a trick of the light. Maybe he was seeing things.

"Mr. Lincoln?" Gloria paused and gave him another sweet smile that sent the sweat bead down the center of his back. Her voice was sweet and sultry. Her voice was honey or molasses or caramel, something slow and delicious and it dripped down his body and hovered right there, just above his zipper.

"Just getting my lunch," he told her, as if he needed to clear things with her. As if a pretty girl walked in and just turned his world upside down. "Take your lunch whenever you want," he added and almost tripped over his own feet as he hurried back to the employee kitchen. Damn, there was no way, given her position and where his office was, there was no way to avoid her. Of course, there was the fact that every pore in his body wanted to be as near to her as possible. To be enveloped in that fruity girl scent, to study every freckle, to kiss every single one as his hands busied themselves on her ruffles and ridiculously small buttons.

But there was a dick there at the center of all of that. Dammit, he thought to himself as he headed back to his chair, this was no good for work. She was a distraction.

At 12:30 sharp, like she did everyday, his wife called. Roger should have told Gloria to expect her but he'd forgotten. He was completely caught up in the sight of her ass in profile. His eyes followed the curve of her cheeks, which started up high, where her tailbone would end. Then they ballooned out into an inviting heart or a bubble, something full and womanly. They were made to be squeezed and molded in his hands. He wondered if she didn't have dimples at the bottom of her back as well. Roger could very clearly picture kissing them both on the way to her crack, which he could see himself exploring with his tongue.

But then there was that dick.

"Charlene is on line one, Mr. Lincoln," Gloria's purr interrupted that thought. Thank god because he was close to being fully hard again.