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Masturbating In A Spare Office Leads To Bad Karma

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The explosion of ecstasy retreated from Chris’s mind as the sweaty sediments of his escape settled back into the never-ending boredom of 2 p.m. on a Tuesday. As he stood, deflated, the realization that beating off in the spare office had been Chris at his most productive in weeks. This only served to depress him further. Taking the effort to stand at the climax as to spare his slacks of any further embarrassment was downright taking initiative as far as he was concerned.

He hit the home button on his iPhone, careful not to make more of a mess than he already had. The cleanup phase hadn’t previously occurred to him, so with no other options, he rubbed it into the carpet with his shoe. There was barely a mark left on the industrial grade shag and Chris wondered how many other disgusting things had fallen on the high traffic flooring only to vanish, unnoticed by those who track it throughout the building day in and day out.

Boredom boners had haunted Chris for some time, now that he was seven months into his new career. It was nearly a year ago when he graduated from college with high ambitions, but nine to ten hours a day in the cubical farm on a middling salary had removed any semblance of self-importance. His work was essential meaningless. No one asked to see it, no one checked it, and no one seemed to even acknowledge its existence. He wiped his hand on the carpet, confident that no one would notice he wasn’t at his desk either.

The first few months at work had been exciting, and various people from the office bought him lunch, let him shadow them as they conquered the corporate world, and reminded him over and over how much they appreciated him as a member of their team. Chris had finally made it at the kind of prestigious firm where he always envisioned himself: wearing suits to work, grabbing coffee with clients, eating power lunches with executives. It had taken time for him to realize the meaninglessness of what he wore, what he drank, and what he ate in comparison to what he did the rest of the time, but once he finally made the realization, it became impossible to ignore.

So, Chris would fade in and out of reality as the screen flickered before him, envisioning money, titles, and influence that seemed farther away now than ever. Naturally, his mind would shift to women, specifically those he had envisioned his prestige would attract, but it had been six weeks since even a pity fuck came his way and he was becoming desperate. Escaping into a spare office to relieve himself only seemed natural at this point.

“See me,” the post-it note on his computer screen demanded anonymously upon his return, but Chris knew by the handwriting and obnoxious placement who had issued the order. Another discussion on his career goals would be inevitable, as would having to edit them so they wouldn’t be used against him later. Chris had already learned the hard way that while his boss wanted him to be “entrepreneurial,” telling him that he one day wanted to be an entrepreneur was the wrong thing to say.

He wouldn’t bother removing the note. The florescent lights flickered overhead, snapping Chris out of whatever fog had crept into his mind, and he carefully took his coat off of the back of his chair and made his way for the exit. The relaxation that his self-inflicted hand job permitted had all but worn off and his collar was beginning to tighten once more.

“Have any big plans this weekend, buddy?” a voice asked. Chris froze, his eyes locked on the glass exit door, and he could feel his opportunity to escape slipping through his grasp. The source was benign, but Chris was sure it had alerted the rest of the small wing to his presence, the post-it writer included.

“Going out with some friends tonight,” Chris lied. The youngest man in the office by at least a decade, Chris was the envy of the rest of the men who imagined their lives to be far grander than what they were. Perhaps in their twenties, lacking an oppressive student loan debt, life had been different, but Chris had already resigned himself to drinking his dad’s beer and watching Netflix with a borrowed password all weekend.

The possibilities that his coworkers imagined about him only further fueled his resentment. After all, the $600 he paid in loans every month could have funded much more. A new BMW, he imagined. Moving out of his dad’s townhouse. A social life. The lost opportunities tormented him endlessly.

“Atta boy,” his coworker replied with a wide grin and an awkward high five. Chris attempted to feign enthusiasm for the return serve but his palm met the other hand gently and slipped off into embarrassment. Office awkwardness was apparently contagious.

As he feared, Chris’s boss burst through the glass door alongside another vice president, locking eyes with Chris as he passed, never breaking conversation. Chris stared at his doofus coworker, enraged that this guy had held him up, that his escape had been foiled, that his boss knew he was here, and every resentment and frustration surged inside of him. Without any recourse, all Chris could muster in response was a cheap smile.

Defeated, he made his way back to his desk, bumping his mouse with his hand to get rid of the screensaver. His inbox was predictably empty. The clock at the bottom right of the screen taunted him, now seemingly moving faster than ever. Chris took the “See me” post-it and covered the clock with it. Time was now as much his enemy as his boss.

If Chris had Friday night plans, they would have been ruined, but he wasn’t about to lie to himself. And hell, he mused, he already got his rocks off.

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RogerSterlingJr

I used to write for TFM and PGP when they were funny.

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