I had only been in my job as facilities manager of a major hospital in the Philadelphia area for a few months. Yes, it was demanding as it might sound. Truth be told, it wasn't the doctors who were the prima donnas, not most of them anyway.
Rather, it was the office managers, otherwise known as the practice managers. See, even though the great majority of visitors don't necessarily pay attention, most hospitals have a variety of suites where the doctors either have their office or see individual patients.
So, I was responsible to make sure they had their needs catered to. Equipment, air conditioning, lighting, and so on.
Wherever possible, I steered clear of the practice managers because inevitably, whenever I stopped in to check on something, they found me three other things to do.
And that leads me to Amber.
She wasn't the bitchy prototype of practice manager. In fact, far from it.
She was a sweet woman, transplanted from Georgia where she met her cardiologist husband in college. Georgia Tech, to be precise. Doctor Hubby worked in another hospital, and apparently he was among the best in the region. Maybe too devoted to his craft, as it turned out.
Amber kept me busy, summoning me to her office on an almost daily basis for the most arcane, nebulous things. Things that anyone on my staff could have addressed. Yet Amber always insisted on having me personally attend to her requests.
Oh, not that I minded. Nope, not by a long shot. Not only was Amber the antithesis of the normal practice manager whose personalities rivaled that of Cruella De Vil, she was also easy on the eyes, especially for a woman I estimated to be in her mid-to-late forties.
Short, thick, honey blonde hair cut in a stylish bob. Big green eyes and thin pink lips that always glimmered with what looked like a fresh sheen of lip gloss, just waiting to be kissed. Tall, maybe a bit under six fee tall, or about an inch taller than myself.
Best yet, although she dressed conservatively and was usually adorned in a white hospital smock, her amazing body was hard to hide. Endless legs. A tight, wide bubble butt that shook in tantalizing jiggles when I followed behind her like a adoring puppy. And the bonus was the set of fat, firm jugs on her that jutted out of the smocks like two extra large scoops of vanilla ice cream.
There's just something about big tits on a tall girl, isn't there?
Unfortunately, Amber also wore a diamond ring on her hand that was about the size of a golf ball, so I never imagined that anything would transpire.
However, as the saying goes, ya just never know.
It was on one of these trips to her office that the proverbial can of worms opened. I was now comfortable enough with Amber to engage her in the subtle flirting that we had initiated little by little over the past few weeks.
I was futzing around with a counter drawer when Amber asked me to look at a light in their conference room. I gazed at her shapely ass sashaying beneath the scrub as she walked ahead of me.
There's just something about a nice ass on a tall girl, isn't there?
When we entered the room, she pointed to one recessed light in the ceiling. "There, that one. See how it has a slightly different hue than the others. Can you change out that one so that the look is more uniform?" she asked in her slow, polite drawl, turning on the latent Southern girl charm that just had to melt any Yankee boy. She could have asked me to build a townhouse and I would have complied.
I shook my head in mock indignation. "Ya know, you're very high maintenance, has anyone ever told you that?" I asked.
She looked back at me, smiling, happy to play along. I noticed that she had undone the front of her smock and her tits stood proud under a tight ribbed sweater.
"Yes, I know, my husband used to tell me that all the time."
"Used to?" I asked, climbing up on a chair so that I could unscrew the bulb. "What, have you suddenly become lower maintenance?"
I looked down to see that Amber had walked closer to the chair, and that her head was now at my crotch level, no more than a foot away. And she wasn't looking up. No, she was looking straight ahead. Right where my tool belt would have been, if I had brought one, if you know what I mean.
"Oh, no, I'm still high maintenance," she said, finally raising those big green eyes upward. "But we separated about two and half months ago. So I don't necessarily hear that anymore."
Her eyes were twinkling now, mischievously. "Except from you."
I unscrewed the bulb quickly and scurried off of the chair so that my, um, enthusiasm would not grow in this compromising position. It's not every day I get a six-foot-tall woman at eye-level with my cock
"Oh, sorry, I didn't know," I stammered, now face-to-face with Amber, looking up at her by about two or three inches since she had on conservative heels. "I mean, your ring and everything. You still have it on."
She sat down on the same chair I had just been standing on seconds ago. The result was that her face was once again parallel to my crotch. I didn't think this was a coincidence, but I wasn't getting my hopes, or anything else, up just yet.
"Oh, this," she said, twirling the ring around her long finger. "I keep it on so that I can keep the gossip down in the office. Plus, it fends off any unwanted advances from the fellas."
Her eyes traveled from my face down to my lap, and then back up again, slowly. I was grabbing the light bulb so hard now that I was afraid it would shatter in my palm.
"Although, sometimes," she cooed seductively. "...a girl wouldn't mind advances from the right man. It's been awhile since I've been on a date. I might be rusty. But I won't know 'til I find out."
Fortunately, I'm a man who can detect such cues.
"I'm gonna have to get another bulb, and I'll be back in just a bit, Amber. And I think I can offer some tips for your situation, if you're interested."
I held out my hand not holding the bulb in a death grip, and she placed her hand in mine and rose from the chair.
"Oh, I'd be very interested in whatever you can offer me, John. See you in a little bit, then?"
Her walk to the door this time had just a little additional shake since she knew it was a private show for me, away from the rest of the office staff.
I returned about a half-hour later, somehow resisting the urge to duck into my private office restroom and alleviate my growing discomfort. Without a word, she rose from the front desk and escorted me to the conference room.
Amber stood next to me again as I climbed up on the chair. "I always wondered if you facilities guys had a special method when it comes to screwing things. So, if you don't mind, I'll watch as you give me your tips. Can you multi-task?" she teased.
This time, I leaned my pelvis out just slightly towards her under the auspices of reaching the light socket. Amber smiled up at me, not recoiling in the least. Her mouth was inches from my zipper.
"Normally, Mrs. Bailey...," I began, feeling naughty enough to acknowledge that she was still technically a married woman. "...my screwing techniques are a professional trade secret and exhibited only in private quarters."
I rocked my hips forward slowly as I inserted the light bulb. "But since you're separated now and might be rusty by your own admission, I might be coerced to demonstrate for you in a seminar, so to speak."
Amber licked her lips, the lip gloss shining under the illumination of the new bulb, now properly and snugly inserted in the socket. "Yes, I'd like that. It's been quite a while for me. But I used to be quite good at screwing myself, so I'm certain I'd catch on quickly with the right tutor."
"Just how long has it been since you last, uh, practiced?" I asked.
"Over a year at least. My socket definitely needs filling."
I still stood on the chair, pondering that, acting like I was adjusting the bulb, trying to stat composed with Amber's tongue sneaking out of the corner of her mouth. "Times have changed since you dated last, Mrs. Bailey. It's perfectly acceptable, and even encouraged, for the woman to ask out a man that she's attracted to. That's one tip I can give you."
Amber didn't hesitate. "Then let's make an assumption that I'm attracted to you, shall we? Let's do lunch tomorrow. Let's drive in separate cars, so that no one knows. Meet you at Phil's Tavern at twelve-thirty?"
"On one condition," I said, easing reluctantly down from the chair, aware of people walking in the hallway. "You have to wear your sexiest, sluttiest lingerie underneath your conservative clothes. Dress just for me. Deal?"
"Deal," she replied, her face flush with the unmistakable glow of desire. "I like it when a man tells me how to dress. It's incredibly fucking sexy."
It was a long twenty-four hours until lunch time tomorrow, interrupted by more than one spirited masturbation session.
************************************************
Amber had already secured a booth in the back of the tavern by the time I arrived. It was difficult to tell exactly how she was dressed in the dark corner, but I wasn't so much interested in what she had on for public view.
"My first date in almost twenty years," she greeted me. "So I just felt the need to put on something extra special this morning."
"I'm honored to be your date, Mrs. Bailey," I responded, still enjoying calling her by her married name.
"So, let's ask some questions to get to know one another. Do we have another deal?"
"We do. Ask away. I'm an open book."
I noticed that she wasn't wearing anything out of the ordinary than her everyday office attire. A light blue cotton sweater and black linen slacks. I resisted the urge to interrogate her about her secret undergarments for the time being. I had another subject that needed to be explored.
