It was the night of the office Christmas party and I was dreading it. I knew Kevin was going to be there. We went out on a couple of dates which ended badly. I thought he was a decent guy but I was wrong. He pretended to be interested in me but all he wanted was sex. Now he wouldn’t leave me alone and I couldn’t stand being around him. He’d stop by my cubicle at work every single day and try to chat me up. It was getting to the point where I actually thought about quitting my job. Kevin never missed a party, a chance to get drunk and hit on women. I wasn’t there long before he spotted me. I turned and headed for the restroom. When I came out, Kevin was waiting … drunk, leaning against the wall, drink in hand. He stumbled towards me slurring incoherently and pushed the drink in my face. I walked past him but he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the supply room. He pinned me to the wall, smashing his lips against mine, groping my breasts with one hand while shoving the other up my skirt. Somehow I managed to push him off me. Kevin was so drunk, he stumbled, fell to his knees and keeled over. I ran out into the street, gasping as the shocking cold rain washed my body of Kevin’s stink. I couldn’t go to my apartment; Kevin knew my address. Hailing a cab, I fled to the safety of my parents house … safe from Kevin. 


It was the night of the office Christmas party and I was dreading it. I knew Rita was going to be there. We had a ‘thing’ once which ended badly and she just couldn’t get past it. Now she wouldn’t leave me alone, texting day and night pleading I give her another chance. The last thing I wanted tonight was her making a scene, These office holiday parties … I only go to them because it’s expected by the boss but they really aren’t my thing. People get drunk and things happen that can’t be undone. I show up, make small talk and leave. Thirty minutes is enough time to make the rounds and wish the boss a Merry Christmas on my way out. I was searching for my jacket in the coat room when Rita snuck up behind me. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she tongued my ear whispering incoherently. When I turned to free myself, she kicked the door closed and started fumbling with my belt buckle. Rita was grinding against my crotch, her dress riding up to her waist. I was trapped by a drunken sex machine reeking of patchouli and bourbon. I was disgusted; this was not how I liked being with a woman. I just wanted to get the hell out of there and away from Rita. Suddenly she went limp and crumbled onto a pile of coats. I grabbed my jacket and made a beeline for the door. The air was cold and stung my face but I knew it would clear the smell of Rita from my clothes and out of my head. 

NAR © 2017