I’ve been in the workforce, off and on, for a good 25 years now. One thing
I’ve learned about the people that are my co-workers along the way is that they are not really as they seem, but is who is right?
I often think that I would cause a bit of a ruckus if my blogland identity were to be found out.
I recently found out exactly the shape and form that ruckus would take.
I arrived at work on Monday on time and sat down at my desk ready to start my morning routine. The day didn’t seem that special to me, at least not yet. I’m not a morning person and the hot mug of French roast was helping to bring me to life only to be insulted by the glare off office fluorescent lights.
Since it was Monday, the Director of our division was in our office for his weekly visit. Usually he came in about an hour after me, but this morning he was early; apparently in a closed-door meeting with my immediate boss, not an unusual circumstance. About 20 minutes later the door opened. I looked up, smiled, and said “Good morning” in my daily receptionist style.
They did not return my smile or my greeting. I knew I was in trouble, bad-ass trouble.
I was called down the hall to the Director’s office. As I walked down the hall, I felt as though there were a hundred eyes on me. Once through the door my stomach started churning as he shut the door and locked it. He calmly and firmly told me to take a seat. He sat down across from me and dropped a bombshell by saying, “I know who you are.”
I was stunned and confused at the same time and answered with the stock reply of “What do you mean?”
All he had for me was a two-word reply, “Dirty Debbie”
It was almost surreal to hear my alter identity spoken at the office. My stomach did another turn, my heart started to pound, and I could feel my hands were becoming cold and damp. I crossed my legs, opened my mouth to speak, although thinking back to the moment I don’t know what I said. Mr. C. interrupted my attempt at speech with “Don’t lie, it’ll just make things
I shut up with that comment. Now my nervousness turned to anger. I have thought in the past about my family, friends, or co-workers finding out about Dirty Debbie and what I would do. I always figured that if they were aware of my blog then they were surfing, reading, and looking at porn on the web and that meant we weren’t so different. I wanted to say this to Mr. C, but I figured I wouldn’t make a bad situation worse.
“We have rules in the company Debbie,” he said sternly.
Again, anger mixed with my uneasiness. My company isn’t mentioned anywhere in
my blog, and I’m doing this on my own time (well mostly). Isn’t this my private life?
“I’m afraid this is something we can’t tolerate, I’m going to have to let you go,” he said with no emotion.
My anger turned to heartbreak. I loved my job, I would do anything to keep it, and I told this to Mr. C. He looked straight at me, almost leering and said, “Let me think about this.”
I left his office and went to my desk to wait for his decision. I mulled over in my dirty little mind exactly what I would do to keep my job. I didn’t rule out much. Soon my phone rang and brought me out of my dirty considerations and back to reality. It was Mr. C. calling me back into his office. This time no one in the office seemed to be watching. I assumed that another, juicier piece of gossip had replaced my current predicament.
So I again entered the office and again the door was closed and locked.
There were a couple of things that had changed this time: the first thing that caught my attention is that Mr. C.’s computer was up and running and my blog was on the screen. The second thing I noticed was that Mr. C. was standing in front of me looking unforgiving, but with an obvious bulge in his pants.
I was terrified and excited at the same time. Actually, I was stumped, not knowing what to do or say, and I decided just to let nature take its course. Finally, he began speaking to me, but as though I was my blog persona.
“So Dirty Debbie can you guess what you have to do to save your job?”
I stupidly just shook my head ‘no’.
“Really, so you’re not all you say you are on your blog?”, he asked sarcastically.
Of course I am and I know this, but this whole situation was unexpected and unreal that I was thrown off my confident, assertive sexual self.
“Well Dirty Deb I’ve noticed something sorely lacking from your blog and I’ll be the one to help you fix the problem.” he said.
I asked him what that was. His answer wasn’t direct, but I understood it.
“You need some sex from my homeland”
His name ended in k-o-s so I knew he meant Greek. His looks were typical of his family, he was about 5 foot 10 inches, muscular build, olive skinned, wavy brown hair, and dark brown eyes. Actually, he wasn't a bad looking man at all. In the past, I had always got along with him and it
was strange to think about how I ended up where I was now.
“I think it’ll be your ass that will be the recipient of the disciplinary action and the permanent record of it will be on your blog.”
With that, he pushed me over the top of his desk. I turned around to see what was happening. His stiff cock was already pulled out of his pants and he was taking off his belt. He snapped at me to turn around and not to watch him.
I know that drill and I obeyed. All I wanted was my job, but now I going to get cock too. Everything now was only sensation, mostly touch and sound.
“In fact Dirty Deb I’m going to make sure you don’t try to look again,” Mr. C. said as I felt his expensive silk tie being tied across my eyes as a blindfold.
Next: Does Dirty Debbie get to keep her job?