Jessica’s Journey

This job was beneath me. I knew it, my mother knew it, and I was certain my new employer knew it. But as a college graduate with a math degree, in the age of AI and inflation and all the other bullshit, I supposed I was lucky enough to be able to leave my barista job for a couple of months to work in an office. An office in some bumfuck, swelteringly hot town in Texas, far from my home or any of my friends, where my job would be to fill in for the boss's cousin for a few months as a financial analyst. Stupid, boring financial analysis for a local credit union.

God, I thought, just put me out of my misery.

I couldn't complain, though, or even frown. Aditi Sen was a friend of my mother's from their graduate school days, and based on my Zoom interview, a perfectly nice lady. As I ripped one last hit from my vape, leaning against my car in the scorching heat radiating from the parking lot, I saw her exit the small office and wave to me.

She was dressed in a conservative blouse and jacket, with a matching gray pencil skirt, black curls falling loosely around her round face, light brown skin glistening a bit with sweat. She was younger than my mother, maybe forty or just a bit over. That made sense - my mother went to graduate school when I was little, so she was one of the older women in her class.

"Good to finally see you in person, Jessica," Aditi said, walking half the way to meet me as I hurriedly shoved my vape into my purse. I'd dressed in smart business slacks and a loose blouse, both of which weren't heavy, but I was still sweating through them in the Texas heat. "I remember you so well from when you were little, but I couldn't believe it was the same girl on Zoom. You're so grown up."

She seemed to want to hug me, but opted for a professional handshake, which I preferred. Especially since I couldn't help but notice her ample breasts, and the last thing I needed was to get riled up by my new boss. It was embarrassing that it was so easy to turn me on - basically any decent looking woman who smiled at me did it these days - but I hadn't had sex in almost six months. My main outlet was my participation in a research project that tracked my... well, self-pleasure habits.

But actual sex, with another woman? I was deprived, to say the least.

Okay, focus. Work. Aditi led me inside, showed me around the small office. There were two tellers who worked with the customers, Mexican women who tried to speak to me in Spanish. I'm half Mexican, half Japanese, but my prowess in both languages is laughable. So we spoke in English - their names were Maria and Carla. Both short, curvy, and a bit browbeaten.

"Overworked," Aditi said, as she walked me to my desk. "We had another teller, Jose, but he..." She blushed. "Personal problems."

"Oh yeah?" I said, trying not to sound too curious as I sat down. It was silly and childish, but I loved a bit of gossip.

"Nothing really. Just some issues outside the office. Let's focus on your work." Work. I kept my smile plastered on as Aditi explained the datasets they used, the worksheets and Excel macros, and some of the modeling she needed help with. "You studied math at Brown, so I'm sure you'll be just fine. This is probably really easy for you."

I smiled politely. "I'm grateful for the opportunity. And I appreciate you getting me that rental unit." A studio, ten minutes from the office. Nothing in walking distance besides a strip mall. Whoopee. "I think, if you're interested, I could set up some predictive models. Nothing crazy, but I know you're having trouble projecting your credit lines, from our interview. I think I could..."

Aditi beamed at me. "What a smart girl!" I loved her accent. Some people (racists, I thought) made fun of Indian accents, and sure, Aditi's was a bit watered down after nearly twenty years in the US, but it had such a pleasant way of rolling off her tongue. "Try anything. Please, I had to give my cousin this job for visa reasons, but he's not a go-getter at all. I'd love to take a look at some of your ideas."

I nodded, watching as she walked away to her office, trying not to stare too much at her ass. Married woman. With two kids. My mom's friend.

My fucking boss.

But I couldn't help feeling a little flutter in my chest. A little tremble lower down. I decided to focus on the spreadsheets. Nothing killed arousal like Excel!

Or so I thought.

#

#

A week into my new job, I found it wasn't so bad.

Aditi was the first person since I left college to actually take an interest in my development, and who actually wanted to talk math with me. She was a CPA, and not really a mathematician like me, but her masters was in financial engineering, and she confessed that if things had gone differently, she'd probably have been a quant on Wall Street.

"That's my dream," I said, sighing. "Well, one of them. But that would be such a cool job. Why didn't you do it after graduate school?"

"Oh... well, you know, the 2009 recession." She smiled sheepishly. "I worked as an accountant for a while, and I took my CFA exam, but I'd gotten married and found out I was pregnant before I ever really got a chance to get a job in banking like I planned. Life comes at you fast."

Sometimes I was really glad I was a lesbian. No getting knocked up out of the blue for me. "You ever regret it?"

She looked taken aback. "I was... I had family duties. I don't regret doing right by my parents. My father was sick and he wanted me to get married." Aditi smiled, but there was a hint of sadness there. "I see you, and my daughter, who's just started college, and I'm just happy that you're all doing well. Now, show me that model again."

It wasn't anything crazy. It was a simple logistic regression model to recommend a yes or no decision on loans. But Aditi thought it was amazing, and immediately made me upload it to Maria and Carla's systems. The annoying part, honestly, was teaching the two women how to use it. Suffice it to say, they were not tech savvy.

As the weeks went by, I found myself really liking my boss. She was a true mentor, like some of my best professors in school, and she pushed me. I even got to test out some cool AI stuff - which I was struggling to get to work properly, but would be great to put on my resume. The days were boring, our customers were just local construction workers and truck drivers mostly, and the days hot, but Aditi was fascinating.

Two kids, a husband who was gone on long trips around the state, visiting all of his credit union locations and convenience stores. She spoke of him dispassionately and guiltily in turn, as though she felt bad for badmouthing her. And though I was lonely here in this town where I knew no one, and there were few people of my age or educational background, Aditi and I soon became something close to friends. And Maria and Carla, once they warmed up to me, spoiled me like they were my owntias.

It was nice. I started to feel like I was wanted, like I was doing something real. I almost didn't want to go home, back to my boring, unfulfilling life.

I did find Aditi attractive, but I kept my... urges, under control. I participated in my female sexuality study, and I pleasured myself and tracked my fantasies. Some of them involved her, sure. But it wasn't any different than many other women I fantasized about. Shit, one time I even fantasized about Carla, her big fat belly and tits flopping over me as she finger fucked me. And I definitely wasn't into Carla.

So I blew it off. Didn't think about it much. Until one day, about halfway through my contract at the credit union, when Aditi asked me to work with her late, in her office, on a complex problem. Things changed quite a bit that day.

#

#

I finally learned what Jose did. "So... he cheated on his wife with a man, stole a bunch of money from your bank, and now he's gone?"

She sighed. She looked tired tonight, and yet, so beautiful. Her blouse hung loose from her slightly dampened skin, hair fluttering against the breeze generated by the ceiling fan. Her dark eyes bored into mine, and I felt a sudden urge to confess that I'd rubbed my vibrator against my cunt last night, muttering her name. And that I'd logged it in my journal for the study, that it might one day appear in a research journal (with our names redacted). But I was sensible. I resisted.

"I couldn't believe it." Her tiredness grew angry as she gestured at the screen. "My husband was disgusted. He hates gay people. I myself... I don't understand, maybe, but I am open-minded. But Jose was my friend. Why didn't he tell me?"

I bit my lip. I was fairly sure she knew I was gay. Even if my mom hadn't told her, she'd probably seen me checking out her cleavage. Shit, I was doing it right now. "I... It's not about that, Aditi. He was gay, and I bet living here, in this conservative Catholic place... with thetiasas his coworkers, that was tough. But he stole from you. A friend doesn't do that."

I leaned closer, and her smell wafted over me. Coconut and jasmine. I could feel my loins moisten. I tried to focus on the computer. "My risk model will help. We'll adjust the weights. You have to be strict and deny loans for more people. Only the best credit scores."

She cringed. "But... People here are poor, Jessica. They need my help."

I turned towards her. Our eyes met, watched each other. I licked my lips. She watched me. I laid my hand on hers. "You're a really kind person, Aditi."

"You're really..." She trembled, and I could see her nipples under the thin fabric of her blouse, puffing up. "I'm amazed by you every day, Jessica."

I leaned in, hesitant. She didn't pull away. "I'm gay, too. Like Jose."

"I know," she whispered. Her breath was so soft against my cheek.

Our lips met. I squeezed her hands as she pushed me against the desk. She was hesitant, probing, careful. I didn't push too hard. I could tell this was new for her. We kissed for a while, our hands running down each other's backs and sides, our tongues just barely grazing, tasting. She tasted like sweet fruit, and I felt awkward and gangly before her. I was taller, skinnier, not curvy and well-proportioned.

Her phone buzzed. She pulled away with a shocking jerk. "Oh... that's my husband." Her brown skin was flushed - I could only imagine what my paler skin looked like. "I should go. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Can you lock up?"

I stayed there, leaning against her desk for a while, trying to slow my breath. "Fuck," I said, biting down on my lip. I slipped my hand down my pants. I was so, so, so wet. "Fuck!"

My fingers curled and stroked. I let out a soft hiss. I couldn't stop now. My slickness and warmth felt too good, my cunt was too hungry.

Of all the shameful masturbating I've done in my degenerate, slutty life, that's definitely up there. I felt so horrid journaling it that night, back home, freshly changed and showered, the filth of my illicit orgasm washed off.

I told myself that was it. One moment of passion, a mistake. She was married, with kids, nearly twenty years older than me. This wasn't meant to be.

But somehow, I knew this wasn't the end.

#

#

For a few days, it seemed like it was the end. We didn't talk about it. We spoke about work, and were perfectly friendly and cordial. She seemed to want to pretend it never happened, and I thought it was for the best. I was a bit disappointed, but it was too complicated. Too messy, and it was definitely the responsible thing to let it go.

On a Friday evening, as I was wrapping up work, preparing to go home, watch TV, masturbate and go to sleep like I usually did, she stopped by my desk. "Hey!" she said, smiling, though a bit strained. "Your new risk models are working. But I need to go let a client down hard today. My husband... he's traveling again. Would you watch my son for a couple hours? I can drop him at yours."

I was surprised, but agreed. I'd met her son now a few times, and Chetan was a pretty well-behaved kid. I had nothing else to do. We had a pretty good evening, actually. A lot of Mario Kart and then the Lion King before he fell asleep on my bed. Aditi was running late. I texted her back that it was fine. I opened a bottle of wine and watched some baseball on TV. My team was losing. Chetan was fast asleep.

She arrived around eleven PM. She had been crying. "Thank you," she said, rubbing her red eyes. She looked around the corner, towards my half-bedroom, just a wall cutting it off from the kitchen and living room. "Is he asleep?"

"Yes," I said. My heart ached to see her so sad. She was so beautiful, even now, dressed in a dark black dress, high boots, brown skin glowing. "Are you okay?"

"It was... hard. They're losing their house." She sighed and looked at my wine glass. "May I?"

I poured her a glass. "You're just doing your job."

"It's hard."

"I know."

I meant to just hug her, to comfort her. But our mouths met again, our tongues more forceful this time. We were hungrier, our hands searching each other's body. She let me push her onto the couch. I wanted her so bad. I kissed her neck and she bit down onto a couch pillow to muffle her moan.

"My son," she whispered, but not too forcefully. "I should..."

"I'll be quick." I said. "You need this." She flinched under the intensity of my gaze, my voice. She was older, but I was more experienced, and I knew it. She respected my knowledge, my lust. She turned her head, teeth clamped down on the pillow, letting me kiss and nuzzle her neck, fondle her bosom, slid my hand down her dress and hiked up her skirt.

Her panties were damp. "I... please," she said. "Not here."

I shushed her and slipped my finger down, under the plain black cotton things. She was hairy, and her jasmine smell rose in the air. Later on, another night, I would get to explore her cunt in all its beauty and delicate layers. Tonight, I was rough and economical. I fingered her with ruthless efficiency, feeling her inner labia give way, damp and easy. My palm rubbed her now exposed clitoris and her muffled shrieks into the pillow grew more breathy and frantic.

She was so tight. So much tighter than I'd ever expected. And she felt so good. I could tell no one pleasured her properly. Her husband ignored her. This pussy was needy, desperate. Her walls clenched around me.

"Next time," I said, nipping her earlobe, "I want to take my time. To know you. To explore you." This time, I curled my fingers inside and stroked desperately. She stiffened and gasped, clutching me and biting down on my shoulder now instead of the pillow. Her cunt squeezed my fingers so hard I thought they might break. Her wetness leaked through her panties and onto my couch.

She finished, and exhaled. Tears sparked in my eyes, at the wonder and joy reflected in hers. "I never... with a woman. I don't think... I've come like that in so... so long."

I kissed her. "Let me get you some of my panties. Then you should go home." She looked disappointed, but as I rose, I felt my awkwardness go away. I felt in control. I looked her shamelessly, and her disappointment turned to a heated blush. "Next time, I'm going to take my time."

She looked like she wanted to protest, say, "Oh, we can't do this again!" But something in my eyes must have shown her the futility of such a comment.

I gave her a pair of fresh panties. The ones I wore were too wet. She took her son home, and I went into my room and mercilessly humped my vibrator to one orgasm after another, until I finally passed out in a pool of my own wetness.

When I rose, I knew one thing only. I had to have Aditi. At least one more time. And I had to ravish her.

#

#

That was not to happen, apparently. She texted me the next day. Nothing complex.

Last night was great. Thank you so much. But it has to end. I'm married. Things are hard, but I have to make it work. It's part of my culture. Let's just keep it professional.

The words hurt. I blinked away tears. But I understood her.

It hurt more when I got to work on Monday and she was cordially distant. The entire week, she barely spoke to me. We didn't get lunch together like we used to. I was always in meetings with her and Carla and Maria together. I could feel her pushing me away. I tried to swallow the hurt and resentment. It was the right thing, I told myself.

Well, there was one problem. My journal for the study.

I'd written about our encounter, of course. I had to track all my sexual activity. But I felt wrong about submitting it to the research journal without telling Aditi. We would be anonymous, of course. But I felt she had to know. I thought of texting her... but it was too weird of a conversation to have over text.

So I stayed late on a Friday. Carla and Maria always left early. I waited for Aditi to leave her office, but she stayed. I had a feeling she was waiting for me to leave. I swallowed, summoned some courage, and marched into her office.

She was on her phone, leaning back into her chair. Plump, shining skin of her legs up on her desk, peeking out from her black skirt. She flushed as I entered, her eyes darting away shyly. How I wanted her to look at me with her liquid brown depths, to run them over my figure, the way she had before.

But I stuck to business. "Look, I know you don't want to talk about this, and I promise I'm not going to try and touch you again. But there's something you need to know." I laid my iPad down on the table. It was open to the electronic portal I journaled in. "I am part of a study on female sexuality. I have been in this study for a few months now. It's run by a really famous writer and researcher, named Roisin McCormick. It's very legit, but the thing is, as part of the study, I need to document my sexual experiences. And as of this week, that includes you."

She stared at me. Her lips parted slightly. It was my turn to blush furiously. I expected a scolding, judgment, castigation. But to my surprise, she smiled. "You're such a brave, proud girl. I wish I had half your courage. I never... I never give in to my desires. You see, I have to be the good Indian girl." Half a scowl touched her lips. "And then I got married, and I had to be the good Indian wife. And the good Indian daughter in law. And the good Indian mother." She sighed and rubbed her temples. "I'm sorry I pushed you away. I was scared. I did something wrong."

"Our feelings aren't wrong, Aditi," I said, quietly. "Anyway. If I don't include you in this journal, it compromises the research. You're anonymous and everything, but I didn't want to write about you without your consent."

"Can I read the journal first?" she said. I blinked, surprised. She looked a bit embarrassed by her own brazenness. "I trust you, but I need to know what this is about."

I picked up my iPad. "I'll send you an access link." I looked at her, and she deigned to meet my gaze. My heart jumped, and my cunt trembled. "I trust you."

"Thank you, Jessica." Her voice was soft. "And thank you for that night. You were right. I did need it. Now, go home! I need to get ready. We're going to a family wedding in Houston this weekend."

I gave her a rueful smile. I wished I was her date at the wedding, not her husband. But a good Indian mother wasn't going to bring a half Mexican, half Japanese girl who was also half her age as a date to a wedding.

"Have fun," I said, and left. I swear I could feel her eyes on my ass. I gave it a little mischievous shake as I left.

I had to try, didn't I?

#

#

She called me on Sunday. "I read your journal," she said. Her voice was heavy, breathless. "I can't believe how much you masturbate."

I turned off my vibrator and tugged sheepishly at my panties. I was back at it again. "I wish I wasn't so dependent on it, but I really need it."