Episode Three – Is it okay to have sex at work or is it just frowned upon?
I am the queen of workplace crushes.
Honestly, every place I’ve ever worked at I’ve had a ginormous crush on at least one boy. Sometimes two. The heart is a fickle thing. I’m pretty sure I was actually in love with one of them (we will get to that story at a later date when I grow the balls to write it).
I know it’s not the smartest crush to have – you don’t shit where you eat, etc. etc. – but as it its probably alarmingly obvious by now, I am a raging idiot. I’ve sat through the lectures with my friends. What if it goes wrong? What if his penis looks weird? Then you have to go to work, and relive the baby cucumber experience all over again?
But what if it goes right? I always reply, drool practically running down my chin. What if he is it? The real deal? He’s not, of course. But at the time it’s the be all, end all.
This kind of thinking is what got me into one of the most cringey experiences of my life to date. I was in the break room at work, trying to steady my caffeine shakes as I made my 4th coffee for the day, when I heard it.
The accent.
Regular people have hidden talents like being able to juggle with their eyes closed or name every flag in the world. Some can wiggle their nose. Mine, is being able to pick out a British male’s accent with the accuracy of a fucking basset hound.
The world came to a halt. My coffee shakes stopped. My vagina tingled. And I swear to god, fireworks lit up the break-room like the Fourth of July. Not only was he British, but he was BEAUTIFUL. And immediately, the father of my future children.
Which is what I breathlessly told my co-workers the second I got back to my desk. That was my first mistake. From that moment on every time I saw him when I was with them I was the victim of overly loud coughs, obnoxious winks and in return, they were the victims of a series of kicks to the shins and death glares.
It even got so bad that when I came back to my desk one day after lunch, there was a photo of him (that they had sneakily taken) surrounded with love hearts plastered all over the walls. My manager called me a stalker whilst I blinked incoherently at the photo waiting for the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
We work for a big company so we did not know a name. Nor how old he was. We didn’t even know what department he worked in. He was like a foreign species and we were David Attenborough. We even enlisted the help of the IT guy to secure his name.
Now I’ll be the first to admit it was getting a little out of control. And then it came, the email for our Christmas party. My time to shine. Immediately I knew there was no way I was getting out of going. In fact I was pretty sure if I didn’t go I’d be fired.
As the event neared I could only formulate two possible scenarios as to how our great meet-cute would go.
A) Our eyes would lock across the dance floor like Troy and Gabriella in High School Musical, he would pull me into his arms and take me right there in the middle of the bar.
B) Our eyes would lock across the dance floor, I would let out an involuntary noise that I can only liken to a dying possum and I would promptly flee the country.
What actually happened although is something I could not have imagined in my wildest dreams.
My work had rented out a function room in a swanky nightclub in Melbourne’s CBD. It was 38 degrees although and I felt like my makeup was melting off quicker than I could down the free wine. I was halfway through my third glass when my work best friends, Megan, Charles and Max grab me and scream the two words I’d been dreading all day.
“He’s here!!!!!!”
My vagina quite literally fell out from the bottom of my mini-dress as I stared at the back of his head as we lined up for another drink. Coincidentally everyone in my department was in line with me and was physically pushing me towards him. I stood firm, too petrified to move, when Megan finally cracks – sick of my bullshit – reaches forward, taps him on the shoulder and runs away.
He turns, and the only thing I can think to say is “I’m so sorry about my work friends. I have a ginormous crush on you and they like to make fun of me about it.”
Within 0.3 SECONDS, I pretty much professed my love to a complete and utter stranger. To his credit, he just laughs and tells me that they’ve never made him feel awkward and that he name was Benji. It took all the self control I had not to go “Yeah I know, I bribed the IT guy into telling me.”
I introduced myself and we had a little chat about what department we were from, where he was from etc. He tells me that he’ll see me later and leaves to go dance with his friends. There were no d-floor romps or serenades, but I was happy to leave Benji and me there for the night and work up from there another day.
My friends of course had a very different idea. In true Christmas party fashion we all got abhorrently drunk, and by the time it hit ten o’clock we were all asked to move to the public nightclub upstairs. In the chaos Megan had managed to find Benji, ask him if he thought I was pretty (in which he replied with yes!!!!!) and tell him to come upstairs with us.
At this point I was already upstairs, obliviously getting myself a drink from the bar upstairs when Megan comes barging to the bar like a madwoman.
“HE’S IN THE TOILET WITH CHARLES THEY’RE COMING NOW”
I literally spun around into his arms. The first thing I notice is how completely and utterly hammered he is. He’s speaking to me but between his heavy accent and the no doubt 20+ free beers downstairs it sounds like he’s having a brain malfunction. His hands are on my hips and then he’s kissing me.
I don’t know what Charles said to him in the toilet but whatever he did it worked and I could probably give him my first born and it still wouldn’t be thank-you enough. We finish kissing and I see every person I work with cheering behind me like I’ve just won a Grammy.
“Cerrm onnn,” Benji grabs my hand and pulls me outside of the club. I’m able to give my friends one last salute before I’m yanked out the door. “Letss ger homes.”
I think he’s looking at me but the dude is so plastered I’m not even sure he’d be able to tell me apart from a pineapple right now. I stare at his big, beautiful face and sigh. I can’t have sex with him. Now I’m not opposed to drunk sex, in fact I even favour it, but I don’t think he could have sex even if he wanted to. And I did not wait fucking three months to sit on this guys face just for him not to be able to get it up.
So instead I smile through the pain and go, “Why don’t I get you an Uber?”
His answer to the question was giggling in my face, turning around and sprinting down Flinders Street with impressive speed. And what did I do? I CHASE AFTER HIM. In HEELS no less like some low budget drag Forrest Gump.
I think I chased him for a solid 3 minutes before I came to my senses. I think we all have these moments of clarity when we realise what a complete and utter desperate bitch we’ve become and that was mine. So without further ado, I turn on my heel and run back to my friends.
They’re all shocked to see me again. All except for Charles – who all of sudden looks extremely sheepish. He grabs my hand and takes me into the smokers and sits me down, and I suddenly have the feeling he’s about to tell me I have an incurable disease.
Instead, he hits me with this.
“Ben kissed me in the bathroom. We we’re taking a piss and after I was telling him to to kiss you and then he just grabbed me and kissed me and I’M SO SORRY.”
I have never laughed so hard in my life. Nor, done as many tequila shots. I never spoke to Benji again, but the story of how Charles made out with the potential love of my life before I did has gone down as office folk-lore.
And as much as I wish I’d learned my lesson about office crushes…I really do think me and Lucas have a promising bedroom career ahead of us.
TWENTY AND NOT READY 