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Journal of Distraction - by Michael Kelly

Week 2 - Monday

Today's workplace sex fantasy: straight for the top, _____ my boss.

Fairly standard bitch-boss fantasy.

'These files are not in alphabetical order, Michael,' she says. 'Do you actually know the alphabet?'

'I before E except after C,' I say.

'I am going to have to punish you,' she says.

'Oh no,' I say.

'I am going to teach you the alphabet,' she says. 'As we have no other teaching aids available I will have no recourse but to demonstrate various words with parts of my smooth naked body.'

'Very well,' I say.

So then she's all, 'A is for Arse, B is for Boobs, C is for, etcetera.' (And of course it's when we get to Z that the fun really starts. If you don't know what Z stands for I'll tell you when you're older. It's really really rude. You teenagers don't know it all, you know. When you get to 30 they teach you new parts of the body, including the Z----. _____ has a very fine and perky set of Z----s and she vibrates all twelve of them against my quivering green J---------- until I half faint with pleasure.)

So anyway we have sex standing on top of my filing clerk's wheeled stool; I keep one foot on the floor and propel us along the aisles as we go at it, and at the end we crash through the door and go flying into the corridor and trip up Mrs. Prendergast, and she joins in a bit too.

And then we have sex in _____'s swivel-chair, while swivelling round. We swivel around so many times it gets broken and as we continue to spin the chair ratchets up to the ceiling and her head crashes through the floor above as she moans in ecstasy. Mr. Pryor is pacing around his office there and she bites him on the toe.

She later admits this is the greatest erotic experience of her life and she is so overwhelmed she promotes me to floor-sweeper on the spot.

Hahaha. '"Very well," I say.' Writing this Orbison Clingfilm novel I realised that Ulrich Haarburste c'est moi and that, allowing for our different tastes, our fantasies are really quite similar, equally simple-minded, and if you wrote mine down they would very often be as straightforward as his:

...Catherine Zeta Jones walks into my living room and sits down on my couch. We make urbane small talk on various matters of the day.

Presently I say, 'Perhaps you would like to see my penis? There is a surprising amount of it.'

'Very well,' she says. Her expression is unreadable behind her trademark Celtic pout and I cannot tell if she genuinely has an interest in my penis or is merely being polite... I bring it from the kitchen, all the rolls of it...

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