Despite the married man’s frequent lament, there are married women out there who have healthy and wide-ranging and even naughty appetites. True, we know that men need to work extra hard to make sure that they’re doing their part in the way of romance. But women are every bit as capable of wanton, physical desire.
One of my favorite Valentine’s Day traditions with my precious is giving each other a sexy wish list. We each write down five things we want to try, no limits, no rules. We trade lists and we each get veto power over one of the items on the others’ list. Maybe next month I’ll go into details, but my point here is that women can be every bit as perverse as men, given the opportunity.
Case in point: Last year, my precious dared me to show up at her office in nothing but a trench coat, and to ravish her in the boardroom while secretaries and middle managers strolled by the curtained windows completely unaware. It was a blast for both of us.
Lots of people fantasize about getting naughty at work. I’m not sure what that says about their level of engagement in their jobs, but I do know there’s a little childish kick to be had by breaking the rules and risking getting caught. (Actually, it’s a bit more powerful and insidious than that—think of all the politicians who have gambled away their whole careers and all their dignity just to get physical for a few minutes. I blame the media. Then again, I wonder why none of them are ever caught doing the nasty with their wives. Maybe we just didn’t hear about it when Bill and Hillary, uh, took off their jackets in the Oval Office.)
Just last week, I was helping Melanie move. She got a promotion from her old cubicle to her new one, and she had a few boxes of office supplies and doodads. The bottom fell out of the box I was carrying, desk crap rained down on the carpet, and among the paperclips, file folders, family pictures, and an old telephone headset was a big surprise: a well-used, uh, vibrating device.
Melanie turned a bright shade of red, grabbed it, and stuffed it into her handbag. “A gag birthday present. From Emily in accounting,” she stammered. I just smiled and shook my head. “Sure, Mel.” I didn’t want to be mean, but both of us knew what I might ask Emily the next time I saw her at the water cooler.
It’s not like that, though. Mel and Emily and I are good office buddies who actually talk pretty frankly about stuff, and I hang with their husbands on occasion. The women are always giving me the female perspective on things. But now, of course, it had gotten personal. I decided to be cool about it. If Mel wanted to tell me more, that was her business. But I was curious. Did she—you know—at work?
The short answer was yes, the long answer was none of my business. But this got me to thinking and speculating. Did Mel slip off to the bathroom when she felt the primal urge? Did she go to her car? I thought it was kind of cool that she could be so straightforward about it—as if it were no different from a break she might take to powder her nose or get a cup of coffee.
Is it morally wrong to get sexy at work? I know most employers won’t touch that subject with a ten-foot pole. They forbid it as best they can, as well they should. The most obvious reason is to eliminate harassment and the abuse of power. But if there is no victim—either Mel with her electronic friend, or me with my lawful wife—the issue is not so black and white. The social proscriptions against it make it titillating, and the shame of getting caught would certainly be punishment enough.
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