Jessica had one ongoing problem, she couldn’t get young Jason to sleep with her.

Her treacly attempts at seduction had ranged in quality and imagination.  

When showing her physical assets through a deadly combination of short skirt and low-cut top had failed to impress, she had tried to reach to him on a more personal level, wasting evenings engrossed in the never-ending Netflix series he said he liked and joining him on his 3pm break, smoking her first cigarette in 20 years, nodding blankly at his awkward small talk while the daze brought by nicotine and lust had slowly enveloped her body.

One morning feeling particularly naughty, she attempted a more daring approach and, right in the middle of the staff meeting, proceeded to playfully run the tip of her Jimmy Choo alongside his leg, causing the poor sod to jump in surprise and spill his cup of coffee all over his one good suit. 

After that, she had left him in peace for a couple of weeks, embarrassment causing her to retreat and operate in safer zones; spending some quality time with Gary, much more her age and much less attractive. But that brief interlude ended as abruptly as it started the day Gary hugged her, holding her pressed against him for a few more seconds than entirely necessary. 

Rather depressed by the thought that the only physical contact she’d got that year was from that fateful hug, she had drunk large amounts at the office party, feeling the dreg ends of her inhibition and pride slowly dissolving, unable to stop from spilling her vodka-drenched desire into Jason’s ear, feeling her sticky red lips edging closer to his sweet young skin, prompting him to make a hasty departure. 

She left soon after him, the club’s bright lights suddenly too fierce, large blurry suns unveiling the ladder in her tight and the extent of her foolishness.

She arrived in the office late the next morning, where she could hear her antics being discussed in voracious hushed tones while she walked quickly across the open space, looking at no-one. She sat at her desk, turned her PC on, and started working. 

B F Jones is French and lives in the UK. She has stories published in various UK and US literary magazines: Ellipsis, The Cabinet of Heed, Rejection Letters, Spelk, Idle Ink and Storgy amongst others. Her debut collection, The Fabric of Tombstones, was released in April 2020.

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