Lucky Days: A voyeur's perspective.
I am standing in narrow hall just outside a large closet disguised as an interview room. I arrived exactly on the hour to meet with the recruiter. If this was a business interview I would already be late, but this is for the public sector. I peek my head around the corner and see a pair of crossed legs in sheer black nylons. I look past her knee to an empty chair. I am still choking on a piece of bagel that I inhaled while rushing to the appointment. I swallow hard, and breath freely.
I enter the room and we exchange pleasantries and I sit in a chair opposite hers. There is supposed to be a third member joining our party. I can’t imagine where when I notice out of the corner of my eye a third chair buried under the small round table we are sitting at. She is professional and makes good eye contact. She has big eyes and a Midwest tan. She is wearing a modest black and white pattern dress that ends somewhere above the knee. Her dress is currently riding up her thigh which is pleasantly displayed. She uncrosses her legs; her nylons protect her modesty. She crosses her legs again and her dress rides up to the bottom of her ass.
I look directly into her eyes which are focused on me even as she fidgets with her dress. I am waiting for her to drop her gaze. I offer her my resume. She takes the bait. Her eyes drop to scan the document and my eyes scan her body. She stumbles through my resume; she is nervous. She has a pretty face, small tits with a curvy frame. Her crossed legs reveal nothing; my eyes cover the smooth curve of her thigh and bottom.
We talk. We each take turns asking questions. In my mind I imagine closing the door that is still ajar. I imagine sitting her up on the table. My hands brush over her calves and thighs. I imagine spreading her legs open and watching that proper dress retreat. I imagine the moistness I would feel as I rub her mound with the pads of my fingers.
She uncrosses her legs. My eyes dart down, peering into the darkness of her black nylons to snap a quick mental photograph before my eyes come back up to meet her’s. She caught me. She probably caught me before. Is that why she stumbled through my resume? I ask a few more questions to indicate that I am interested in the position and to extend this little encounter. This must be my lucky day.
That night I send her an email, “It was a pleasure meeting you. I enjoyed our conversation.” I wonder if she will pick up on the subtle point that I found pleasure in physically meeting her. I know it. That is all that matters.
The next morning (while I write this.) she responded back, “I really enjoyed our conversation. Thanks for coming.”
I am standing in narrow hall just outside a large closet disguised as an interview room. I arrived exactly on the hour to meet with the recruiter. If this was a business interview I would already be late, but this is for the public sector. I peek my head around the corner and see a pair of crossed legs in sheer black nylons. I look past her knee to an empty chair. I am still choking on a piece of bagel that I inhaled while rushing to the appointment. I swallow hard, and breath freely.
I enter the room and we exchange pleasantries and I sit in a chair opposite hers. There is supposed to be a third member joining our party. I can’t imagine where when I notice out of the corner of my eye a third chair buried under the small round table we are sitting at. She is professional and makes good eye contact. She has big eyes and a Midwest tan. She is wearing a modest black and white pattern dress that ends somewhere above the knee. Her dress is currently riding up her thigh which is pleasantly displayed. She uncrosses her legs; her nylons protect her modesty. She crosses her legs again and her dress rides up to the bottom of her ass.
I look directly into her eyes which are focused on me even as she fidgets with her dress. I am waiting for her to drop her gaze. I offer her my resume. She takes the bait. Her eyes drop to scan the document and my eyes scan her body. She stumbles through my resume; she is nervous. She has a pretty face, small tits with a curvy frame. Her crossed legs reveal nothing; my eyes cover the smooth curve of her thigh and bottom.
We talk. We each take turns asking questions. In my mind I imagine closing the door that is still ajar. I imagine sitting her up on the table. My hands brush over her calves and thighs. I imagine spreading her legs open and watching that proper dress retreat. I imagine the moistness I would feel as I rub her mound with the pads of my fingers.
She uncrosses her legs. My eyes dart down, peering into the darkness of her black nylons to snap a quick mental photograph before my eyes come back up to meet her’s. She caught me. She probably caught me before. Is that why she stumbled through my resume? I ask a few more questions to indicate that I am interested in the position and to extend this little encounter. This must be my lucky day.
That night I send her an email, “It was a pleasure meeting you. I enjoyed our conversation.” I wonder if she will pick up on the subtle point that I found pleasure in physically meeting her. I know it. That is all that matters.
The next morning (while I write this.) she responded back, “I really enjoyed our conversation. Thanks for coming.”
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