Chris

One of the advantages of having a job in Europe is the proximity of other European travel destinations. Things are quiet in offices across northern Europe from mid-December to the second week in January, so I typically take a ski vacation in Switzerland during that period, since the resorts have plenty of snow then but the number of skiers is lower than the subsequent eight weeks. Most people are busy with family at Christmastime and early in the new year. Once I get home, the slower pace of work when others are away skiing allows me to catch up with all the paperwork and emails that have built up while I was away. I head into the office early take my time over the ensuing week clearing up whatever has built up over my ten-day vacation.

I had forgotten that there had been notices about upgraded commuter-rail trains scheduled for the period I was going to be away, so when I stood on the Aarhus rail station and saw the new electric-blue locomotive approaching it seemed startling. If it had been grey, I would have thought it was a huge shark traveling the rails. The matching-blue cars lifted my spirits, even as I anticipated the pile of work awaiting me. I settled into the comfort of the new seats, looking forward to enjoying breakfast at the office.

Once I got off the train, bought my breakfast of warm mocha and a rye bread sandwich of cheese and jam, I was startled when I got to the office. Since I had come to work early to catch up on my backlog, the parking garage was almost empty, but the parking space for my supervisor was occupied. Facing the sign that designated the proper user of that space was a champagne-colored Porsche SUV hybrid with brown leather seats. Someone was new in town.

I headed upstairs and went into my office and turned on my computer. As it booted up, I started working on breakfast and then sorted the mail in my inbox; I’d only deal with the highest priority things before lunch. The number one thousand, six hundred and seventy-four at the bottom of the list of unread emails wasn’t a surprise, and I scrolled down to the bottom of that list to get started. I had learned over the years to set an alarm on my iPhone for each hour of the first morning back at work. The only way to maintain sanity was to take a break from addressing emails at the end of each hour I worked on them. That was the time for a trip to the staff lounge for a double-espresso from the coffee-pod machine. I had finally broken the habit of whitening my coffee by the end of my first year at the office and learned to drink it black.

The coffee lounge has packets of Swedish ginger-snaps, so I had slid into the European mold easily.

The ADO’s office door opened, and an Adonis came into the breakroom half my way through my second double-espresso, when I had finished the first of the two Swedish ginger-snaps in the packet I had picked up. I caught my breath seeing him. He had chestnut brown hair, cut longer at the back of his head, creating curls at the back of his head draping down his neck. I had heard the phrase, but I had never seen a man with a chinstrap beard before. It was a brown beard the width of about three centimeters going down from his sideburns and along the line of his jaw and then meeting a goatee at his chin that linked to a circle around his mouth and a mustache, all tightly trimmed. He looked right through me as he approached and extended his hand.

“Good morning. I’m Christian, but everyone calls me Chris.”

His handshake was tight. “I’m Peter. Welcome to the firm.”

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to working with everyone. I heard that you were away skiing.” 

“I was. I went to Nassfeld in Austria. It’s less expensive than Switzerland.”

“That sounds nice. I’ve never skied in Austria. I’ll have to try it.”

He smiled again and headed toward the coffee machine and chose two coffee pods for his large mug. Black coffee for him, for sure. 

I couldn’t help checking out his muscular back and firm butt in his slim slacks. My immediate fantasy was of having him straddling me on my back on a bed, with him hovering over my face as he leaned on outstretched arms. I felt a weakness in my body as I sat there, but somehow the Lord must have been holding me up, like a marionette held up by strings, and luckily I was sitting, not standing.

It was a long day, so I booked a massage with Henrik at The Retreat. It’s a gentlemen’s club I’ve visited since a friend first brought me there when I was in college. Guests have wristbands indicating their levels of membership, and I’ve gradually afforded to move up three levels.

I checked in with the concierge, got down to my briefs in the locker room and lay onto my stomach on Henrik’s massage table with its face-frame. We both knew he’d get me brass-hard before stripping me naked himself. 

Once the afterglow of my second orgasm finally abated, Henrik helped me off the massage table and I got back into my briefs. We hugged, and I headed back to the locker room. I was tightening my belt when the door to another massage room opened, and I looked over my shoulder. Chris stood there in bikini briefs matching the color of his Porsche. He had a lightly hairy chest  with a darker treasure trail leading to a hefty package barely outlining a tightly trimmed pubic bush. His eyes drilled through me after he saw me checking him out.

“So, I guess that American aphorism applies here in Aarhus too, right?   ‘What goes on in Vegans stays in Vegas,’ huh?”

I looked right back, smiled and called back the universal promise of the brotherhood of men who work together and are witnessing each other being sexually active outside of work. 

“Sure.”

I wondered if he realized that the gulp in my throat meant that I still wanted to break that other aphorism of gender-neutral sexuality. ‘Don’t fuck where you work.’ He certainly knew I wanted him taking me. I wonder if a ski trip to Austria would count as a trip to Vegas, with Vegas rules applying?

The End