• The last thing you want to do after pleasing yourself is shake someone's hand
Image: FILE
Masturbation is interesting because one always focuses on a person or situation to get off. My focus is on a young man we featured in the last issue.
He’s from the wrong side of the tracks and trying to make his way in the world. He can barely speak English and doesn’t have two dimes to rub together.
He’s the last person I’d ever be involved with, but at this moment, his face and body is what I focus on (the magazine is lying on my desk), and it produces one of the strongest orgasms I’ve ever experienced. Well, well. What do you know?
I slowly get off the desk and pull my panties back on. I look around for wet wipes but can’t find anything. The reason why it’s not advisable to do this kind of thing in the office is for this reason exactly.
Now I have to walk past a whole bunch of people to get to the bathroom. What if someone wants to shake my hand? I open the windows and let the air in, hoping the someone-just-got-laid odour lifts quickly. The intercom rings. It’s my boss.
“Could you come in for a moment, Samantha?” he asks.
“Yes, right away,” I respond.
Oh, crap. I have to wash my hands first. I walk to the door and unlock it. I have to walk past his office to get to the washroom, but his door is wide open. I walk past as quickly as I can, hoping he doesn’t spot me. He does and calls out to me.
“Samantha!”
I turn back and pop my head around his door.
“Can I come back?” I ask. “I’ll just be a minute,” I plead.
“No, come in,” he insists casually. “I want you to meet my mom.”
I walk in and there is an elderly lady sitting on his sofa.
“This is my mother,” he says with a large grin. “Mama, this is Samantha, she is in charge of my magazine.”
His mother looks me up and down, quite expressionless and stretches out her hand. Oh, dear! She wants to shake the hand that has just been inside my vay jay jay, and for sure, it still has my juices all over it. I ball my hand into a fist and extend my wrist for her to shake. She looks confused.
“Sorry, I have some ink on my hand that I was just on my way to wash off,” I say hoping she doesn’t get a whiff of something more.
She shakes the wrist and I quickly pull away.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I say to her, turning towards my boss for permission to step out.
“Yes, go wash your hands,” he says, waving me off dismissively.
Relief washes over me and I head to the bathroom. I wash my hands thoroughly and head back to my office, where I spray on some perfume around my thigh area.
Close enough to eliminate any sexual odour, but far enough from my nether regions to prevent me from messing with my vagina’s natural pH. Perfume can also cause irritation on the vulva or vaginal lips, and I’m not trying to do any of that today.
I remember when I was a teen, one of my friends claimed she had found the magic potion for feminine hygiene — a douche, which works by expelling a liquid into the vagina.
This is problematic as hell because it destroys all bacteria — good and bad — leaving you vulnerable to infections. The vagina is a self-cleaning mechanism; stop using soap or douches on it!
There we go, all freshened up. I return to his office, where his mother is laughing over something my boss has just told her.