Tamara

Ellen Joy had opened my eyes. I was called on to "assist" our freelance artist more than a few sweltering afternoons that summer. Random mornings I would be summoned to Sheldon's office and instructed to take this part of inventory or that piece of artwork to our "Company Bohemian" as Shelton liked to quip.

That was where my nineteen year old eyes were pried open wider and wider to the ways of a thirty something woman. As my eyes opened, so did more than a few office doors. It was my first job other than fast food or heavy duty factory work so this small business atmosphere was new to me. I did not realize the rarity of a business employing so many women. Other than Sheldon, the owner and top salesman, most of the business was women. One or two suits in sales, but mostly quality skirts. From Accountant to Office Manger, Shop foreman to billing clerk; all these women had job supervisory capacity over the bottom rung shipping clerk. Me. Some of those opened office doors would close behind me as well. After hours, or even during business hours, depending on the confidence Sheldon bestowed on these older, and may I say, attractive coworkers. Titles or not everyone was on a first name basis in this casual company.

I will say that the summer of learning had me looking at all women, from my classmates at Community College, to my steady girlfriend Rene differently. Lets just say that if the things going on in the heads of the more mature woman in the workplace were germinating in the newer models everywhere else I found myself; the possibilities had me positively twitterpated. Among the ranks of the more age appropriate possibilities my one fixation among the company office clerks was Tami.

She was barely over five feet tall. A big head of long curly shoulder length hair. She would, as we all could, wear blue jeans to work. My favorite pair that she wore often had stars on each bun of her tiny behind. They wiggled and winked and twinkled at me every morning as she passed through the warehouse from the parking lot to the front office. That’s where she worked.

I would make sure I was positioned where I could watch her well formed tiny tits bounce in their often braless state beneath sheer fabric in the summer. But the real treat was her tiny round be-starred behind. The way her long dark curly hair bounced in rhythm around her shoulders in her jaunty trek through the warehouse made mornings better than the somewhat nasty morning brew that came out of the coffee machine. But spending the rest of the day flinging boxes and filling out shipping forms was filled with visions of me ravishing that doll sized young woman in almost every corner and almost every office in the place.

Tiny Tami had tan lines. I knew that from a company lunch in the conference room where she leaned over to grasp a tasty fried tidbit. I could see down her blouse where the tan stopped and the perfect milky white breast began. It was like a beacon in it’s bra-less state. Not farmer tan lines. Full tilt nineteen seventies baked on the beach bikini tan lines. Such fair skin revealed on top only made me want to trace where the imagined bikini bottom tan would end. The land where the bikini stopped and the bliss began. Tamara did not notice where my eyes had violated. The other more mature women in the room did and gave me a knowing look. At nineteen I blushed at being caught peeking. That would not last long. Still discovering where those lines in the tan were drawn would be my quest while working at the warehouse. I was living the American Scheme.

Some of the older, predatory, and libidinous women in the shop were making plans of their own. They saw where my eyes had gone. They knew what that look meant. They knew how to channel that youthful energy to it’s telos. By the time I got to tanned tiny Tamara my bag of tricks would be stuffed and seeping with a dripping sensual repertoire. But for starters I would work, go to school, and on weekends my long time amour Rene would reap the energetic but in-artful thrusting to the tiny Tamara tune in my little reptile reproduction drive driven being.