Read Behind His Back for Free Online

to arrive. She’s barely old enough to order a cosmo, much less read Cosmo . I wonder whether her sexual experiences differ from mine when I was her age. Does she know what it’s like to beg a tired lover to fuck her? Or does every young stud she beds pound her relentlessly into a quivering ball of flesh in the crook of her pink futon?
    I picture a flip-haired twenty-year-old with broad shoulders and a narrow waist pummelling her bony pelvis into a bongwater-stained mattress, squeezing his swim-team glutes with each sweaty thrust. He pulls his long cock out of her, and I’m right there on my hands and knees beside them, ready to devour it. He shows me a pearly smile and then grabs the back of my head to pull my wet mouth closer. And right when I’m about to taste his throbbing tip, I’m jerked rudely out of the reverie.
    “Okay. Are we ready to start then?” a strange man says.
    I’ve never seen him before. He’s standing at the head of the table, projecting his laptop onto the screen behind him. Five or six more of my coworkers, including our publisher, Pamela, are seated around me, and one of them has dimmed the lights.
    I didn’t notice any of this happen. Do I need medication or something?
    “Right, Pamela’s asked me to present the latest mockups for your site redesign,” he says. “So I thought we could run through some of them today and get a few ideas finalized. I really think our designers have outdone themselves with some of these concepts.”
    Good lord, he’s hot. He can’t possibly be a designer—he must be a project manager, or maybe the sales guy who landed his firm the job. While he runs through his slides, lobbing jargony terms like responsive design , social integration , and platform agnostic at us, everyone else at the table listens politely and nods their heads while I assess his body like he’s on all fours on a table at a dog show.
    He’s wearing slim, dark jeans and a trim navy sports jacket. His brown leather shoes have showy blond soles, and his white dress shirt has one too many buttons rakishly undone. He’s fit. Not buffed out like the warriors at Rev, but in a slim, does-a-lot-of-pushups way that suggests he wouldn’t tire too quickly in bed. And he’s got just enough stubble to leave rug burns on my inner thighs.
    He could easily be on the cover of GQ .
    Once upon a time I’d have pictured us on a date at a nice restaurant. I’d think about the just-dangerous-enough black dress I’d wear, and I’d imagine myself walking gracefully on his arm in sexy heels. I’d see him ordering the perfect wine and not feeling the need to condescendingly explain it to me. Then I’d see us strolling through Hampshire Park by the waterfront, where he’d offer me his sport jacket to fend off the breeze. He’d wait until just the right moment to kiss me, and his mouth would taste like an After Eight mint.
    But right now I’m just picturing myself sucking his cock so rigorously that my eyes water. What the hell is wrong with me?
    I look at Nicole, who’s sitting across from me. She smiles at me and raises her hand like she’s clearing her throat, only she mimes a subtle blowjob with her fist. Does every woman at the table want to suck his cock?
    For the rest of the meeting, I dip in and out of lewd fantasies of intern Sophie and I kneeling in front of our sharply dressed presenter, unbuckling his tasteful jeans and taking turns slurping on his sloppy, wet cock.
    When the meeting’s done, the presenter, whose name I never even paid attention to, gathers his laptop and leaves, and I head back to my office. After picturing myself performing oral sex on a nameless man, I’m in no mood to perform a substantive edit on the knitting article I’ve been prepping, so naturally I go on Fräulein’s website.
    When I hit the homepage, it occurs to me that I could get fired for doing this at work. I try to estimate the amount of time I spend browsing Fräulein and a few other lingerie sites from