10:22 am
“Tellin’ you…huge.”
Two of my employees erupt into a frenzied display of childish pubescent giggling. They’re talking about one of our interns here, Christina. We all stand near the copier, me attempting to do my shitty job, and they, ogling at the poor girl. She stands across from us, behind a receptionist counter dutifully performing her job.
“Too young. Girls like that will latch onto you. They want love.” Kevin says, another residential turd here. The man looks like he’s spent one too many hours at the gym. The stereotypical guido iron bound meat-head, who I imagine exercises in front of a mirror as he is being egged on by another fellow gym rat who spurs him to do just one more set. He’s the archetype for pricks who berate about and obnoxiously yell out “Do you even lift?”
“What do you think Josh?” Kevin asks, while drinking his bottle of water. I give him a shrug, saying something about how she looks cute.
“Just cute? Rosa from HR is cute, but that girl over there is ridiculous. Look at em’.” Kevin says, concentrating on Christina’s cleavage in a not so subtle way. I pretend to be nonchalant about the whole thing, peering briefly before returning my attention back to the copier. But the asshole was right.
She couldn’t have been more then twenty but her tits -which I guessed were GG- were already bigger then most of the other older females employees here. She wore a simple blue, buttoned long sleeved dress shirt, the sleeves themselves rolled up to the elbows, and shirt tucked away inside her charcoal skirt that ran down just past her knees. Her sandy brown hair was neatly pulled back, pinned around the nape of her neck.
“Ah!” exclaims Kevin. We all react and watch as she tilts forward trying to reach for the phone. Silence descends upon our little troupe. The girls shirt, not quite buttoned near the top, was a Godsend for men here back on earth. Her caramel chocolate cleavage pushed forward; barely contained and ready to spill out for our pleasure. I swear, we must have looked like a group of stupefied children; eying at a toy that was just out of our reach.
“Fuck. Dominican Girls.” is all Kevin could muster.
I tap my fingers anxiously on the copier wondering what it would be like. I wonder how it would feel to have my hands swim across those mountainous chocolate breasts of hers. I wonder how it would feel to clutch tightly onto them; having her breast skin squeeze in between my fingers, and watch as it oozes out like honey.
That’s all I can do right now. Just wonder.
