Since that first day, I always look for him whenever I walk around the office. Every time I go to the bathroom, I hope he’s there, at the urinal perhaps, back to me, legs spread. I imagine stepping up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist, covering his hands with my own. Kissing the back of his neck as his c**k hardens beneath my fingers. Fondling him as he grabs at my hips, thrusting against my closed palms. My name on his lips when he comes.
More than once, I’ve hidden in the stall at the end of the restroom and m*********d into the toilet, that daydream of him bright in my mind. Then I hope he’s overheard me, that he’s snuck into the restroom without my noticing and somehow knows I thought of him as I got off. I can almost see the slow smile that would spread across his face be
