Office Talk

Office Talk
by
Bobby Derie

Mal mashed his lips together, tasted lipstick, looked in the mirror. They looked better in black.

“There was this woman sunbathing in the park, you know? Huge breasts, like just a hint of sag, pale and freckled like they’d been kept in all winter. Then this little girl goes up to her and asks if her nipples get sunburned.”

Marsha was in trousers today, the ceremonial penis sheath of middle management banging with every step. The rest of the girls in the office were giving her shit about it, told her she should have practiced with a sock first.

“…my daughter asked me if it hurt when he did it and I said ‘yes, sometimes, but it also feels so good, and one day you’ll know what that’s like too…”

Sam was trying to look butch today, all square shoulders and power skirt, but her girlfriend had painted her nails pink and the kids had painted her eyelashes on.

“So I told Jhima, look: we can split the house and the car and the 401(k) but the cat is mine. I don’t care who bought it, I was the one that always took care of the damn thing.”

Gib did the herding duties, getting everyone into the conference room. Powdered donuts sat uneaten on a slab of something that might have passed for wood, if you’d never seen an actual tree, and which passed for a conference table if you didn’t squint at it too much.

“So I couldn’t just give him the book, but I tucked it into the bookshelf, and a week later I see that he didn’t quite put it back right and suddenly there’s a run on the medical gloves and saran wrap…I tell you, his boyfriend is so cute, blushes every time he comes over.”

John slipped out of his heels once safely seated. They really made his ass stand out with the skirt but his calves were killing him. He ran a hand down to his heel, just to make sure he didn’t have a run in his hose.

“…no place for sexual harassment in the workplace. If you feel that you have been discriminated against in any way, you can report it to me or to our company safety officer…”

It was Gemma’s transition day, and Gib and Marsha had brought out a cake. Mal thought her—his binder looked a little tight, but then Gemma had been a c-cup before. He wished he’d be there at night when she took it off, but she probably only thought of him as an office friend.

“…also successfully bringing in project 1301 forty-five percent under budget. So everyone I’d like you to congratulate Sam, your new technical lead!”

Marsha had to take her husband to the hospital, so she passed the sheath off to John for the day so he could act as her deputy.

“Maybe you’d like to get a drink after work? I know a place…”

Gib policed up the remainder of the cake. The breasts and penis were gone but she wrapped up a square with a frosting navel on top to take home with her.

“Only if you tell me where you bought that lipstick.”

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