Oh gawd, this. She's obviously feeling really strongly about you if she keeps asking you to lunch. It always starts off as something innocent and builds very quickly. It leads to great conversation over some white wine and salmon, a long walk down to the end of Crystal Pier where she gets that distant, thoughtful look in her crystal blue eyes and
she confesses that she's not happy with her life, you try to put your hand on the small of her back to comfort her because your
savior tendencies start to take over, she throws her arms around you and buries her face in your chest and tells you that you're the only person she feels like she can "be herself" with and that she's
so grateful to you, and
you all of a sudden have a powerful rapport that didn't exist before with what was "just" a lunch.
Next thing you know you have a bunch of inside jokes. You make jokes about how guys can't stop staring at her boobs, and she'll tease you about how everyone can't stop checking out your ass or that bulge in the front of your pants that you have but you can't help it because it's hard to find pants that can hide that shyt. She smiles warmly
every fukking time she passes your cubicle, giving off a melodic laugh that puts you a little
too much at ease.
You start spending more and more time with one another. She keeps "needing" to confide in you about more and more things. Before you know it, you're enjoying cocktails at Rei Do Gado (best Brazilian steakhouse in San Diego!) talking about how you wish other people would just splurge a little more often and a little more recklessly to indulge themselves because hey, you only live once, right?
Then she says that she doesn't want to go home tonight.
She wants to stay in a hotel to escape her husband and married life, and invites you up for more drinks up in her hotel room in the US Grant. One thing leads to another and you're pinning her up against the wall, slamming into her, gyrating your hips to make sure you hit that g-spot
extra hard, and she clinches her thighs around your waist as you continue to punish her relentlessly. Maybe when you climax you'll whisper some Spanish in her ear as she digs her fingernails into your back.
You both collapse after the marathon and your thoughts begin to race.
You wonder what you've done to this poor guy's marriage, what kind of worth you've burdened this woman with, the financial ruin you left them prone to as a result of doing what you did with her, and the lifelong distrust of the opposite sex you've created for the both of them. You wonder why you couldn't just go for a single woman rather than go for the "forbidden fruit."
But I wouldn't know shyt about this. Besides, it's just lunch, right?