Joan's Birthday Wish

"Happy Birthday, Joan! From, The Team at Resource Assets International."

An automated email was the only wish that Joan Whisham received on her forty-ninth birthday. She worked the same position as a project coordinator for the past twelve years. Never promoted, Joan did the same work day in and day out: responding to incoming requests and routing to managers for approval. She talked to coworkers but never made any friends.

Joan stood out in her department. She believed in "dress for the job you want, not the job you have." At one point, her office wardrobe looked sharp. She wore starched button down shirts, pencil skirts, sheer black pantyhose, and three-inch heels. But she had been wearing the same clothes for years. The shirts were stiff, the buttons straining to hold back her chest which had grown larger over the last few years. Joan also gained weight in her midsection. The skirts that used to created a flattering silhouette struggled to fit over her hips. She had to do a dance each morning to squeeze them on. The hem used to sit below the knee but now, when she sat and crossed her legs, showed a great deal of nylon thigh. More than she realized. Her heels were scuffed on the bottom, occasionally making ugly noises when she walked on harder surfaces.

Rumors filled the office but they were never about her. Joan heard all the gossip about who was hooking up with who. New girls were frequently added to her team. She would train them, and they would swiftly be promoted up the ranks above her.

'Why did this keep happening?' Joan wondered. 'Those young girls don't behave professionally at all! Their presentations are missing data. Their speech is filled with "umm" and "like." And they dress like they're at home! T-shirts, jeans, and sneakers were never considered office attire or even business casual when I started working.'

At noon, Joan walked to the cafeteria to grab her lunch. She packed a turkey and cheese sandwich with an iced coffee. When her heels hit the linoleum, two younger girls looked up from their phones. Once they saw who it was, they immediately returned to their phones. Joan sat a few tables away. By herself. As she ate, she overheard the conversation between the two.

"So you're just going to ghost him?!" said Chrissy, a blonde in baggy jeans and black boots.

"I mean...what? Why not? I already have two other guys I'm texting." said Mandi, a brunette in a knit vest and denim miniskirt.

"So was it...bad?"

"Well, it wasn't good or bad. Or, maybe, kind of both? I dunno. He's young so he's desperate. It was kind of cute in a pathetic sort of way. I message younger guys on the apps when I haven't been fucked in a while and just need something quick and easy. Swipe on everything and you'll get a match in a minute."

"Oh my god that's crazy!"

Joan got up to throw out her trash. The two girls looked and stopped their conversation. When Joan left the cafeteria, she heard them break out into laughter.

Both the girls were now project managers. Chrissy was rumored to be hooking up with Jeff, a supply chain executive. Mandi was apparently involved with Kyle, another project manager.

Joan wondered why nobody had ever approached her in all her years of working there. Was it her age? Her weight? She knew she was shy, but tried her best to appear charismatic. She thought men found nylons and heels attractive and made her look like manager material. That's why she squeezed her flabby legs into old pantyhose day after day. Year after year. Apparently there were other steps she had to take.

***

Even on dating apps she was unsuccessful. Joan had been on one date in the last 4 years. It was with the general manager of a local fast food place. Joan dressed up in a nice dress, put on makeup, did her hair, and wore stockings and high heels. The man, Bill, had her come to his restaurant: Chick In Legs. He wore a polo with the store's logo on it, khaki shorts, and running sneakers. He spent the whole time bragging about his accomplishments like it was a job interview. All while Joan tried to make eating chicken wings look cute. Several times, Bill told her to wipe sauce off her face.

At the end of the meal, Bill told her to clear the table and meet him in his office. He wanted to show her his awards. Joan put the trash on a tray and dumped it. She returned with some napkins and wiped down the table. When she leaned over, her dress rode up a little showing the tops of her stockings. The sheer fabric stretched over her thick thighs. She saw a family at another table look at her then quietly talk to each other.

Joan walked past the counter where staff took orders and filled bags with chicken. She knocked on the open door and walked into the office smiling. It was filled with papers, office supplies, and had a small computer screen with shift schedules on it.

"Close the door and lock it," said Bill.

"Sorry. I'm not comfortable doing that," said Joan. She closed the door.

"Suit yourself." Bill got up and put his arm around her waist. He pointed to frames on the wall.

"That one's for Excellence in Customer Satisfaction." He slid his hand lower. "That one's for Outstanding Leadership." He started getting handsy, rubbing and grabbing Joan's ass. "And this one's for you." Bill stuck his tongue down her throat.

Joan felt the sharp hairs of his mustache prick her lips. The smell and taste of barbecue sauce made her want to pull away. His hand went up her dress and squeezed her ass cheek. She could feel that he hadn't washed his hands, the grease leaving streaks on her cotton panties and skin. He moved his fingers inside her panties. Joan let out an involuntary moan. It had been so long since another man had pleased her. This was not what she had in mind, but she decide to take what she could get.

"Jesus Christ, are you going to go down or what?" said Bill.

"Sorry," said Joan. She got down on her knees. She could feel her right stocking tear all the way down to her ankle. She undid his belt and rolled down his shorts. The man was semi-erect and had not shaved in a long time, possibly ever. Joan slowly slid her mouth up and down his shaft. He put a hand on the top of her head. She kept the same motion up for half a minute and he gripped her hair tighter. She looked up and his eyes were closed. His mouth hung open. Joan repositioned her sore knees, taking her mouth away for a moment.

"Oh what the f-" said Bill, upset at the interruption. He sat down in his old computer chair. "Just get under here."

Joan crawled under the computer desk. It hurt her back and neck to contort in a way that fit. She was on her hands and knees. Twisting her head sideways to reach his dick. She heard a clicking computer mouse and felt a hand reach down and roughly grab the back of her head.

Bill pushed and pulled her head at the speed he wanted. Joan's mouth became a tool for his pleasure. She felt a couple hairs in the back of her throat and gagged once. Bill got fully hard. He stood up, pulling her with him. Her hands left the floor so that she was kneeling with her arms at her sides and her mouth filled with cock.

Just then, the door slammed open. "There's a customer asking about-" A shift manager walked in and stopped at the scene before him.

"Fuck!" Bill lost his balance and took a step back. Joan fell back down on her hands and knees.

"Aaagghhh!" Bill groaned and flailed one arm for balance. In his other hand he held his dick as he pumped out load after load. They landed on Joan's hair, her face, her dress. She put a hand up to block it and it hit hand her hand too, dripping down onto the floor.

"Get out!" yelled Bill.

"You gotta stop doing this, Mr. D," said the shift manager. His nametag read Carl.

Joan was on the verge of tears. The humiliation was too much to bear. Dressed for a fancy dinner but covered in cum in the back of a fast food joint. And apparently she was just another in a series of women he did this with. The men continued the conversation as if she wasn't even there.

"What did they want?" asked Bill. He pulled his shorts back up and did his belt.

"They wanted to know if a milkshake counts as a drink in a combo."

"That's fine. You don't need to run that by me next time just do it."

"Got it." Carl left.

Bill turned to Joan, remembering she existed. "Clean yourself up in the staff bathroom. I don't need my customers seeing this."

"Sorry," said Joan. She got up and caught a glimpse of the computer screen. It was the employee profile of a pretty blonde shift manager named Alissa. Joan held her tears long enough to make it out of the office and let them go. She wandered the back of the building and found the bathroom. She tried the handle but it was locked. Joan stifled her tears. She waited and heard a flush, then the sink.

A young woman walked out. The same pretty blonde on the computer screen. Even in her Chick In Legs uniform she was prettier than Joan's fancy dress.

"Hey what's wrong?" Alissa asked.

Joan shook her head but the tears came back.

"Hey-" Alissa took a step forward and stopped.

Joan had almost forgot. She was still covered in streaks of cum. Now two shift managers had seen her completely humiliated. One of them the object of desire that her date used instead of her.

"I have to go...My shift is starting soon," said Alissa. She walked away.

Joan entered the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. This made her cry even more. She ran the water over paper towels and wiped the cum off her. It was at this moment she swore off dating forever. Joan went out the emergency exit in the back. It set off the alarm. She had to take one final walk of shame out the front of the restaurant as the staff and customers stared and whispered amongst themselves.

***

Four years later, after overhearing all the rumors and conversation between Mandi and Chrissy at work, Joan was starting to feel a little different. Years of emotional and physical neglect had built up.

'Maybe Mandi had a point,' thought Joan. 'I could match with a desperate young guy and not have to deal with all the ego, attitude, and drama of trying to find love or marriage. Just some hot action for the night.'

Joan opened Matchy for the first time in years. She reset her age range to only filter for men in their twenties. After it reloaded, she spammed the green button on every profile that showed up and returned to work.

By six, most employees had already left. Some even said 'Bye' to Joan as they passed her desk. Joan always stayed a little extra to maintain the image of a model employee. While packing up her thing she heard a DING! from her phone. Joan had a Matchy.

He was a twenty-three year-old "Gamer" named Ricardo with tattoos from his neck to his feet.

At least there are no tattoos on his face, thought Joan.

She flipped through his photos: playing beer pong in a basement party, hiking on a mountain with two guys, one where he posed with his arms around two other girls.

'He seems like a popular guy. I wonder what he's doing matching with me?' she thought.

'Heyyyyy.' Ricardo sent a message.

Joan tapped her foot nervously. She looked at the empty office lobby. She typed. 'Hi! I'm Joan :)'

Three dots as he typed. 'Wat u doin tonight? Anythign special?'

'Not really. It's my birthday. Probably going to order a pizza and watch TV.'

'Ur bday???? Fck that we gotta celebrate!! Come over tn.'

Joan looked around the entire office. She was officially the last one there. Through the glass windows, she saw the sun outside was setting. She picked up her phone.

'Ok.'