Inter-Office Homo

The other day I had sex with a fuck buddy in his office overlooking Rockefeller center.

It was my favorite kind of sex: just plain fun. A blowjob is a blowjob, but when it happens sitting in an office chair or leaning against a desk full of work papers, it’s just somehow more enjoyable.

I’ve had office sex a few other times over the years, and stripping down with Rocka Fella reminded me of those experiences. Some were good, some were not.

Once, years ago, I met a guy online on gay.com. Though I usually meet guys in public before just going to hook up with them, I made an exception with this one because he wanted me to come have sex in his office, something I’d never done. Besides, I figured, an office is pretty public. At least, during the day.

I arrived at 10PM and met the guy, who of course was not as cute as his pictures. His face looked a bit worn, haggard for his age, which supposedly was 25. He led me through the large workplace, and after several twists and turns we ended up at his office, more of a cubicle but with 6 foot walls that gave it a private feel. Regardless, the building was empty. We chatted a bit, then started fooling around, but in the middle something happened. He opened a drawer, and pulled out cocaine.

“Look what I’ve got!”

I was surprised, confused and a little taken aback. Having never actually done coke, I didn’t recognize it or know at first exactly what he was doing. As he spread a line across the edge of his desk it dawned on me, and I felt a little uneasy, and then a little annoyed. I may not know much about drug culture, but is it normal to stop and do lines in the middle of sex? Finally, I realized the one thing I was most feeling: turned off. The whole experience, from first discovering he didn’t look like his pictures (worn haggard look no longer a mystery) to the unannounced appearance of the nose candy, had me totally unaroused.

“Hey you know what, I gotta go,” I said.

“What’s the matter, man, don’t you want some happy dust?”

“No thanks. That wasn’t the blow I had in mind tonight.”

The next time I had office sex, it was much better, though the title “Office Sex” is debatable. I was working for a free-lance theatre producer, who was just getting started and therefore running his business out of his apartment. He had gotten a big project, so he hired me, under the table of course, and every day I went to his apartment for a few hours to work. The work frequently consisted of me filling out forms and paperwork, while IWannaBeAProducer cruised on Manhunt, often commenting “Look at this one!”

At least it was a gay-friendly work place.

He hired a few other people on and off, one of whom was a cute blue-eyed boy with a smooth, solid body. One day BlueEyes was there, having just delivered some tickets, when IWannaBeAProducer announced that he had to run some errand for a few hours. He told me that he’d see me later, and told BueEyes that he would call when he needed him again. Twenty minutes after he walked out the door, BlueEyes and I were naked on the couch in the living room. Technically we were in an apartment, but it was also an office. And because neither of us lived there and because we could have been interrupted by the boss if he’d randomly came back early, I qualify it as Office Sex.

I did have one other experience in an office, which was fantastic. Several years ago I was briefly seeing a guy who was kind of a hipster back before everyone was trying to be a hipster. Tall and skinny, with long wavy hair and glasses, he was a laid back, Seattle-Grunge meets California-Surfer meets East-Village Art Fag. Cute and fun. MyFirstHipster worked for an advertising agency, and one night brought me to his office, an amazing loft on the edge of TriBeCa. It was total New York new-money chic: enormous open space, taking up half a city block. Hardwood floors, lots of floor-to-ceiling glass walls, trendy modern furniture. In the huge lobby area was a full size pool table, and near the door were leaning six silver scooters.

“C’mon, I’ll show you around,” he said, grabbing one of the scooters.

I looked at him blankly.

“What? We ride around the office on scooters!” He pushed off and glided down the hallway.

Office Sex with MyFirstHipster was really entertaining. We fooled around on his desk, in the kitchen, and in the lobby. And then we had sex on the pool table. It was really hot, but also the kind of fun, relaxed sex that you can laugh through. We did, the whole time making puns about sticks, balls, holes, felt, “in the pocket”, “breaking” him in, and things happening “right on cue.”

Last week, unfortunately, Rocka Fella did not have a pool table in his office. But we still had a great time.

When it was over, Rocka Fella walked me out of the building. As we parted ways on Fifth Avenue, he said, “You better not blog about this!”

I would never.