Mixing work lives with social lives can be a tricky thing.

As a matter of practice, I tend to keep my “real life” and work life separate, mainly because – and taking exception to this admittedly exhibitionist-born, attention seeking blog – I’m a private person at heart. It’s not a control issue, but more a concern of being judged by others I know on a professional level without knowing anything about their own proclivities (i.e., will they be horrendously disgusted, morally offended, or bored silly by my private life’s wants, desires and fantasies?).

However, sometimes those two worlds meet, and that’s when things can get…interesting.

In a former life, I worked for a company that can best be described as small, somewhat incompetent/less than ambitious, and unusually laid back about its professional demeanor, décor and dress code. It was a small firm with a very select clientele, and took up residence in a series of small office buildings that were more like townhouses than office space. The general rule of thumb was we only needed to dress up for clients, meaning that we were almost always on duty in jeans and t-shirts. During the summer, most of us wore shorts and sandals, and a few execs sponsored improvised happy hours, toting in packs of beer on Fridays well before close of business. In effect, this provided a very casual and even homey feel to the place, as well as the overall mentality of the coworkers. Whether by design or organically, companies develop their own “cultures,” where associates are expected to be more formal and/or careful about how they conduct themselves. This place wasn’t all too concerned about inappropriate workplace behaviors, and my coworkers sort of maintained a handshake agreement to not report each other to HR unless it was something exceptionally dire (e.g., cursing each other out in front of a client, death threats, etc.).

Many of us on my team eat lunch together, developing an almost family-like bond. Lunch usually involved sitting in the conference room or at a wood picnic table outside next to steps that were frequently terrorized by skateboarding teenagers. They would repurpose the table as an impromptu ramp for trick moves, causing mostly superficial but annoying damage to it. One of the execs, fed up with their violating company property, took it upon himself to chain the table to a nearby tree to quash the skateboarders’ activities. The following day we arrived at work to find it pulled apart with table top on the stairs and one bench still chained to the tree. Not to be defeated, the exec promptly bolted the table back together (as opposed to its original and relatively weaker finishing nails), which put an end to the skateboarders’ rule of terror over our outdoor lunch setting.

It was at these lunches that any and all subjects were discussed, laughed over or stories told in great detail. We hired a project manager who always had fun stories to tell about her past as a young single mom. I found her to be a marvelously intelligent, witty, vibrant and attractive woman and it wasn’t until several months into her employment that she mentioned her toddler-age granddaughter. I nearly choked on my lunch when this came up since I thought she was closer to my age (I was barely thirty at the time, she was closer to her mid-forties). Admittedly, I still consider her to be the first GILF I ever met. Nevertheless, her stories were among the more popular and raucous to hear about (i.e., clubbing, vacations, meeting and sometimes hooking up with minor celebrities, etc.).

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for coworkers’ friends, relatives and significant others to make appearances at the office, and this project manager’s husband was no stranger to us, even joining lunch from time to time since he worked nearby. They made an interesting couple – she was of Black Dominican decent and he was Columbian. They met at a bar and hit things off despite a nearly ten-year age gap, both had children from previous relationships and weren’t planning on having more. To see them together was inspiring, and I haven’t met many other couples who were so incredibly made for each other. So, when the project manager’s birthday came up, her husband eagerly invited us for a surprise party.

They lived up in Frederick, MD, which for those who don’t know much about the DC area, is where suburbia ends and farmland begin. It’s effectively a bedroom community that frequently suffers from redneck-reputation jokes from those living closer to the city despite that the cost of living is relatively much cheaper out there. It’s also about a 45 minute drive from where I was living near Tysons Corner – and that was without the DC area’s legendary and traditional traffic headaches.

The revelry was set for a Saturday night, with strict orders to be there by five in the afternoon (the project manager was taken out for a spa day as the excuse for her being out of the house for setting up). We were told in no uncertain terms to not bring presents – the project manager and her husband valued time with friends and family over materialism (a belief I gained from them and practice to this day). As we trickled in, the main party area was their large, open basement. After several “recalculating” moments with my GPS, I arrived a little after five, and found that several of my workers were already there, giving my introverted self a set of “wingmen” to lean on amongst the new faces I didn’t know. As we chatted, drinks were passed around and I promised myself to keep the drinking to a minimum given the long drive home.

Before and after the project manager arrived (she was completely taken by surprise), my coworkers and I were introduced to many of the couple’s neighbors and friends who showed up. They were your typical, suburban fare, but a few of the them were giving me a strange vibe – I couldn’t put my finger on it. One wife with far-too-platinum-blonde-to-be-real hair was laughing things up and having a great time while checking everyone out – a shark trawling for its next meal. Another couple were very touchy-feely with each other and everyone else they talked to, including my follow coworkers and I who didn’t know them nearly well enough. The husband of another couple repeatedly told dirty and somewhat suggestive jokes about themselves and other people they knew.

The neighborhood couples were all around the same age range – mid-thirties to early fifties. I guessed that Platinum Blonde Wife was maybe forty and fit, but in a “I lift weights” athletic build, wearing a low-cut/super tight t-shirt and leaving very little to the imagination about the freckles across her chest and cleavage. Touchy-Feely Couple struck me as a pair of vegetarian-esque thin ex-hippies who probably still toked up regularly, and Dirty Jokes Husband was pure, unbridled status symbol-coveting yuppie. My crowd of coworkers formed our own clique since we didn’t know the neighbors, and I was getting the “spidey sense” from my compatriots that they were feeling a little weirded out, as well. Touchy-Feely Couple were definitely social butterflies who enjoyed frequently passing by us. It almost became like “body language white noise” for their hands to brush an arm or back as they made their way by while talking to us. And Platinum Blonde Wife was more than attentive to me, constantly asking me if I needed another drink, or anything else I “might be interested in” with a hard to miss wink and a smile.

I really didn’t put that much thought into what my instincts were telling me. Everything seemed relatively harmless and alcohol was beginning to loosen up everyone.

As the afternoon became evening, I was nursing my second beer when the project manager’s husband broke out his prized collection of assorted tequilas. With food and water, I was definitely ahead of any potential buzz, but decided to turn down shots to play it safe. However, the project manager’s husband insisted that we all have one shot, complete with a very loving speech and toast to his wife. Soon after, another round was being poured and Platinum Blonde Wife was making a beeline with a shot in hand for me. I was in the middle of telling her that I needed to watch it with my drive home, when the project manager’s husband stepped over and good naturedly told me to take the shot – I was crashing there tonight. With validation secured from the host, Platinum Blonde Wife gave me the shot glass and we made another toast to the project manager.

After least one or two more rounds, the party games started. Cards Against Humanity proved to be very popular as the partiers were buzzed, drunk and were even more open and suggestive with their quips, jokes and answers. A few more rounds, and Platinum Blonde Wife and Touchy-Feely Couple introduced some new games that a few of my coworkers and I immediately picked up on as swingers games. One involved passing around playing cards by pressing them to your lips and “kissing” another person to pass the card to them. Several of my coworkers brought their wives, girlfriends, husbands or boyfriends and had no trouble with the game, but the single members of our crowd or without significant others present definitely balked at the idea. Platinum Blonde Wife started another game involving players passing a balloon around, but the trick was holding it between your knees and you couldn’t use hands to help. Not surprisingly, Platinum Blonde Wife was always next to me when I was receiving or passing the balloon. She also demonstrated a habit of either pressing her upper body (including the most obvious set of breast implants I’ve ever seen) against me when face-to-face, or my crotch was against her very well-toned ass when facing away.

As the hour got later, the crowd thinned. Most of my coworkers had left and neighbors (including Dirty Jokes Husband) went home. By now, we were too inebriated to play games. At this point, we sat on couches and chairs, telling stories about each other and having more laughs. Platinum Blonde Wife had planted herself on the couch next to me, taking every opportunity to drape her arm on the back of the couch behind my shoulders or grab my knee while laughing at a funny joke (I had no idea where her husband was at this point). Touchy-Feely Couple were on another couch, sending off painfully obvious interest in one of my female coworkers who was visibly uncomfortable with their focus on her.

Mother Nature was calling to me, forcing me to excuse myself. Someone was in the basement bathroom, so I winded my way upstairs to find the facilities on the main floor of the house. The bathroom was a welcome refuge from the noise and people, and I took my time in there, soaking up the silence and solitude, even as I took what could easily be one of the longest pees of my life. My legs were a little wobbly from the drinks, so I took a deep breath to steady myself and opened the door.

As I went through the doorway and pass the kitchen, there stood Platinum Blonde Wife against the island. We made eye contact for a fraction of a second before she gave me the mother of all come hither grins.

“You play hard to get,” she said. Without missing a beat, she walked up to me, took my face in both hands and planted a huge kiss on me. I could smell and taste a faint trace of tobacco on her and felt the tell-tale sandpaper-like roughness of a smoker as she plunged her tongue into my mouth. Her whole body pressed up against me as she slid her tongue around mine, just as muscular and adroit as the rest of her. I caught myself enjoying it and then pulled away.

“Aren’t you married?” I asked.

“Yes, but it’s okay, my hubby and I have an agreement.”

She made as if to move toward me, her hands lower down and aimed at another part of me, when others came up the stairs on their way out, laughing and saying their goodbyes. A quick glance at the microwave clock told me it was just after 1:00 AM. The moment gone, I made my way back downstairs as Platinum Blonde Wife followed a minute later.

At this point, it was just the project manager, her husband, and myself. They were pretty much done cleaning up whatever couldn’t wait until morning and showed me to the guest room.

I stripped down to my briefs, killed the lights and collapsed into bed. I was too tired and drunk to have my usual “uncomfortable adjustment to a new bed” routine, and quickly dozed off. By nature, I’m a deep sleeper, and it isn’t unusual for me to wonder if something unexpected during sleep was real or a dream. As I drifted deeper into the arms of Morpheus, I saw and felt visions and sensations of warmth, touching and flowers. I began to wake up and become aware of someone else in the room with me. In fact, that person was on me. Without opening my eyes, I could tell who there were from the mixture of perfume, trace cigarette smoke and hair product – Platinum Blonde Wife.

I looked up, and she was down on her knees next to the bed, kissing my chest as she slid one of her hands under the covers and down my stomach. I started to rise in protest, but she gently goaded me to relax and lay back down. As a matter of practice, I avoid even flirting with married or otherwise spoken-for women – it’s an ethical choice of mine to respect couples in committed relationships. I suppose the fact that she, her husband and the other neighbors were of the open marriage variety is why I stopped trying to get up once I felt her hand slide into my briefs and curl around my flaccid-but-quickly-hardening cock.

The covers came off as she kissed her way down my stomach, and then pulled off my briefs as she reached my now very stiff member in her warm, adroit hand. Gentle kisses peppered along my shaft as she gently stroked it while her other hand roamed all over the rest of me. Platinum Blonde Wife used the tip of her tongue to teasingly flick at the tip of my cock, then trace along my cock to my balls. I moaned as she drew her tongue across them and took one in her mouth to gently suck on. I placed one hand on her back and felt her arm bump into mine. I looked down to see her rubbing herself inside her skintight capri pants. I began moving my hand down to help her, but she nudged it back as she pulled my cock up straight and slid her mouth on top of it.

She moaned a little as her head bobbed up and down, a perfect blend of vibration, warmth and wetness as she drew my cock deep into her throat. She took “breaks” from sucking on me to lick my cock, but like a machine, took it right back in. I had no idea how long this went on, only that she wouldn’t stop and I was loving every moment of it. Her tongue danced around me and nearly drove me into cumming every time it slid along the tip. Finally, as she rubbed the tip along her lips, my cock stiffed even more. Without missing the hint, she swallowed my cock as I began exploding. She moaned loud enough that I wondered if my coworker and her husband would hear. Platinum Blonde Wife kept my cock in her mouth even as the last post-cum throbs and jolts pumped my cock and sent delicious shivers up and down my spine. She got up and went to the bathroom as I pulled my briefs back up.

She returned and kissed me – her breath unmistakably fresh and minty from whatever toothpaste or mouthwash was at hand. Without another word she drew the covers back on top of me and slipped out of the room. Seconds later I heard the front door open and close.

I awoke before anyone else. The sun was up and I heard the sounds of early day nature, and even a lawnmower somewhere off in the distance. I got up, dressed and cleaned up a little. Hesitantly, I wandered out to see that everyone else was pretty much still asleep. I left a thank note on the kitchen counter and immediately regretted stepping into the sunlight as a monster hangover reared its ugly head. As I clambered into my car, I saw Platinum Blonde Wife looking out of a window from her house across the street. She seemed to have a devilish grin and waved to me as I started off for home. The next week at work, my coworkers from the party asked if I was okay (I was that drunk) and we reviewed the pros and cons of meeting those neighbors. Shortly after that party, several of those coworkers left the company or moved on to other projects, and I took a job at another place, so it was never spoken of again.