new text message

Tim felt the familiar vibration and reached inside his pocket to stop the buzzing.

The conference room had no windows, and not quite enough room to fit the group–all men–who claimed their space confidently, scrutinizing the scribblings on a flip chart. It was another “status update”… one for a department working on projects related to Tim’s department, but not to anything he was doing. Mandatory face time on a Friday afternoon. No chance of ducking out at noon.

Four hours until vacation.

Liz was home packing. She had scheduled her time off beginning two days before Tim’s, partly to avoid arousing suspicion, partly out of what seemed an overwhelming desire to plot her fantasies with as much preparation as possible.

The nights leading up to this departure date, Liz described in lurid detail what she imagined for vacation: the sensation of hot sand against her chest, her knees digging in as Tim would kneel behind her, his hand on her back, then both hands pulling her hips back toward his as their movements would dig deeper to the cold, wet sand beneath. He dreamed of this, the gentle lull of the waves, the sun beating down as he would fuck her there, on some beach still warm but abandoned after Labor Day.

Liz was silent on the subject, however, when Tim asked her where they were going. They would be camping some of the time, and they were driving his pick-up. That much he knew, and in any event, he barely cared, cared only about the luxury of uninterrupted time with his new girlfriend. Tim leaned back and breathed. At least the hard part of the day was over.

In spite of Liz’s reticence about the trip itself, she had been texting Tim throughout the morning.

“Tim, do you have a flashlight you can pack? THX xo Liz”

“Tim, don’t forget: TWO swimsuits! xxLiz”

“We can have dinner before we leave town.”

The stream of information arrived steadily as Tim finished the proposal, the culmination of weeks of work, due today at noon.

Liz sent details, difficult to avoid, though totally unnecessary. Tim watched the texts carefully at first, anticipating the promise of Liz’s lusty imagination on his cell phone screen. No. Just details. About packing. He answered the first three texts immediately:
“Sure, will do x Tim”

“Already packed. See you soon, Tim”

“Sounds great. See you after work!”

When the fourth alert came minutes later, Tim sighed, looked down: “NEW TEXT MESSAGE”. He turned the phone to vibrate and set it on the table behind him.

Uninterrupted, Tim put the finishing touches on his work, and delivered the proposal to his supervisor. He hurried down the hall to grab the slice of greasy cheese pizza offered at Friday afternoon meetings, stale apologies for a stolen lunch hour. Tim yawned and found a seat near the door.

The others started to file in, men Tim knew from the gym, from lunch, from their attendance at his own department’s status reports…

“Hey Tim, we hear you’re off on vacation! Where are you going?”

“Tim, great to see you here. Are you going to pitch for us when you come back?”

He chatted, anxious to distract himself enough to sit for the rest of the day. A nice enough group of guys, Tim thought as they talked, though he knew so few people even now since he moved east. Two years, and the city was fun, but still not quite home. Maybe this is what happens, Tim pondered, when you stay too long in the place where you grew up. He spent his entire youth trying to plan his escape from Iowa, only to leave and discover that he was a Midwesterner still.

Joe, Tim’s supervisor, nodded as he walked past–twenty minutes late–and took a seat near the front of the room. The meeting finally began.

Tim thought about Liz.

He had met her the day he began working in this office almost two years ago. She worked in human resources, and he remembered her curly red hair pulled back from her face, her gauzy polka dot blouse gaping open enough to reveal an edge of lace curving against her white skin. She handed him a stack of papers–insurance plans, short-term disability, words words–and he was there, in the panting flurry of a new job, a new life, the hint of her breasts distracting him from the details she explained clearly, he did not doubt, though all he remembered about them was the sound of her voice. He returned the forms to her the next day, lingering long enough to ask her to lunch.

She said no.

Tim saw her once more about six months later, in the hall outside his office. She caught his glance, then turned quickly to hide the tears running down her face as she left the corner office. He watched, saw Joe walk out and slam the door shut a few minutes later.

There was chatter about the outburst, of course, but no one had known about Joe and Liz, or what had happened between them. Days later, Joe seemed unchanged, laughing and throwing darts as he sipped his beer, flirting with the waitress exactly as he did every Thursday after work. And Tim never saw Liz again until this past spring–open enrollment. Dental insurance. She took in the required paperwork and smiled at Tim. Her nipples hardened beneath pale pink angora, and he asked her out to dinner. She said yes.

That night, Tim ran his finger gently along Liz’s ivory arm, up to the short sleeve of her sweater. He put his hand on her shoulder, and pushed the red curls from her neck, then kissed her gently, his cock hardening as she kissed him back, blushing, her nipples beneath the softness hard once more.

The rules were clear: no contact at work. No talking, only texts. And avoid the bar down the street.

The cell phone vibrated once more. Joe glared back at Tim. It was one o’clock.

Tim reached into his pocket:


He looked quickly, opened the first:

“I put gas in the truck!”

Oh.. good. More of these. Tim knew that Liz was excited, but the time she sent it… eleven o’clock! She knew! She knew he would be working, trying to finish.. But still. A twinge of guilt ran through him for not answering. He looked at the next:

“DAISIES!?? Oh Tim, how romantic! I love them XXXX Liz!!”

Flowers? Tim was perplexed, thinking first of what occasion he might have missed. The trip? Yes, but they would go bad then, and she would have them for nothing. He should have answered her before the meeting. Should have seen this.

Flowers? Tim pushed the phone back into his pocket.  If not from him, then, from whom?

Tim was romantic. Only he liked to show it in practical ways.. making Liz her lunch when she stayed overnight with him, changing the wiper blades on her car. She appreciated this, he knew, and he felt he could always do those things, always make her life a little better in small ways because he adored her already. He felt his dull days brighten, just knowing she was upstairs, just knowing that he would leave and sometimes see her pull out of the parking lot near him, that they would meet somewhere minutes later. She texted him most days, told her about her indiscretions, her lack of panties, and he answered her, promising fingers and tongues plunging into her wet crevices. She told him about the way other men looked at her as she leaned over, pointing out the way to fill out the W-2 forms. She told him about her garters, her heels, her own fingers creeping beneath her panties, when she wore them, as she lingered in the women’s room after lunch. She told him she dreamed of him locking the door to her office and pounding his steel cock into her hole as he pushed her face down into her desk, the papers floating to the ground, and her utter incapacity to retrieve them as he held her hands locked behind her back, as he used her slick cunt in his moments of vicious lust.

Flowers. Tim grabbed the phone and opened it again.

“Tim, my panties are drenching. I wish your fingers were where mine are now.” One o’clock. She was drenching at one o’clock

Tim’s cock hardened as he thought of Liz’s panties, wisps of lace, precious in price, evidently for the artistry, the way they drew lines on her skin, embellishing the curves beneath, covering her if only so that he could uncover her.

Joe stood, “I am afraid I have to be at another meeting in a few minutes.” He turned quickly and walked back, planted his hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“Good work helping with that proposal, Tim. See you after next week.”

Tim reddened, hoping that Joe did not notice his excitement, his lack of response to the gesture. He glanced again at the clock. Another two hours until he could get to Liz, until he could run his hand along the side of her thigh, feel her press against him, his hands lifting the wet lace and teasing her, but only for a short time before slipping the panties off and gliding into her. His cock pressed against his pants as the phone vibrated again. He leaned forward, flipped it open

“Come over now! I want you so much.. xoxo Liz”  Two o’clock. She had waited a whole hour to send again. It really was not so much, even if he was busy. He wanted to text back, but saw his colleagues next to him. Impossible to do it discreetly.

Tim needed her now, too. So long to wait, it seemed now… and the messages sat there. Liz would never wait so long for her release. She never could resist the urge to let her own fingers circle her clit. She would pull the purple dildo from her nightstand after a while, push it between her plump labia, her whole body tensing, pausing as she instinctively aimed for her favorite spots, over and over again, just short of climax, then pushing past it. He imagined her head pressed hard against the pillow as she came, her cries loudly calling out his name.


“Where ARE you!? LIZ!”

Oh.. if only. Two-thirty. She made it longer than he had imagined…

Three o’clock. Another buzz.

“Oh Joe, can’t wait!”

Joe! She called him Joe. Another hour, and she had called him Joe.

Tim’s chest pounded. His gut ached. He knew it was a mistake, knew she meant Tim. But in the power of her lust, she was texting his name. Joe.

But he wondered. Joe had left a full hour ago. It was three o’clock. The meeting ended early, and Tim exited quickly, rushed into a storage closet and scrolled down to find her name, pressed send, then waited for her to pick up. Ring. Ring.


“Yes, Liz! It’s me. I.. I can leave now. I’ll be there in twenty min…”


“Yes! I ‘m sorry I didn’t answer the texts. I was finishing the proposal, then had to go to the meeting.”

“Tim, it’s fine. It’s just…”

“Okay Liz. Be there in just a few minutes. I just have to check my email and close up. Then we can leave. I love you.”

“Oh Tim.. Okay. Goodbye.”

Tim opened his mailbox.

From: The Big Cheese (ooh. Boss with a sense of humor) To: Joe Cc: LIST

Joe, great proposal. Congratulations on all the hard work. You definitely earned a great vacation.

From: Joe  To: Tim

Great work, Tim. Thanks for the team effort. I hope you have a great break. Hey, I never mentioned this, but the wife and I separated for awhile. I think I convinced her to try it again, so we’re going away for the week. Amazing what a bunch of cheap flowers on your anniversary can do.

From: Liz  To: Tim

Tim. Why didn’t you answer? I found the flowers, thought they were from you. But then…

I am so sorry. He loves me, Tim. It was good, Tim. I hope you understand. I love you.

Tim blinked at the screen. No one knew they were married? Buy why? Why was it a secret? And why did she accept Tim’s invitation for dinner, much less want him to be her boyfriend, to go away with him? Did Joe know? Why? For everything, why?

Tim grabbed his jacket and walked out of his office. He headed down the stairs, walked down the street toward Liz’s apartment. In a few minutes he would see his red pickup parked on the street outside. He would take the keys from her silently as she cried and explained, and he would start the old thing, then wrap his right hand around the bench seat, looking back through the center for other cars. He would stop, then shift, three on the tree, and pull forward, driving all night if he had to, driving on, to the next best thing.

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