Yeah, here I am, secretary in a big-ass law firm. First day. I never thought I'd be a secretary. But I was sick and tired of being a barmaid and dealing with drunken men making passes at me all night.

My skirt is navy blue and down past my knee. Crispy white blouse. Blue pumps to go with my shoes. I know I'm beautiful, but I think this is modest enough.

I reach into my purse to re-apply my lipstick, but when I look in my mirror, it already looks good. I'm bored. I want to do just enough work that they don't fire me. No one can see me, I'm the only one in my boss's outside office.

"Jennifer?"  – it's my boss, Mr Bernard. I start sliding my things back into my purse. Mr. Bernard is a creepy dweeb. He's boring, old – at least 45 – and he keeps staring at my breasts. I have to get a new boss.

"Yes, Mr. Bernard?" I give him my killer smile.

"There's an app on this memory stick." He holds out a memory stick to me. "Please run it and see if it makes sense."

"Okay." I take the memory stick from him, being careful not to let him touch my hand.

"Thank you." He turns around and walks back into his office, showing his saggy ass and wrinkled pants. Make that a creepy double dweeb.

I finally figure out where the memory stick goes. The app starts up right away, thank God. It's just blue sky and a sexy male voice saying to relax. I could listen to that voice all day. So the person watching this is supposed to relax. That makes sense. I think I will.

Stop worry? More advice I don't mind listening too. And pay attention to everything Mr. Sexy says. Glad to, plus I'm supposed to. And yes, I can imagine lying on the beach, with a warm breeze relaxing me.

I slowly shake my head. I feel like I'm waking up. Groggy.

Where am I?

I can't think right.

Sitting in a chair. At a desk. Okay. A computer screen in front of me, and it has a spiral.

A spiral. I stare at it, transfixed. I start sinking into it, growing foggy, losing –

Stop, stop, STOP! I close my eyes. I love that spiral. I could look at it all day. But I'm a secretary. I'm new at this job. I need this job. I don't want to get fired on my first day.

I reach out, eyes still closed, and blindly fumble for the off switch on my computer screen. Finally I find it, turn my screen off, and open my eyes.

I want to turn it back on.

Mr. Bernard walks in. I was supposed to be working. I have no idea what I was doing, but it wasn't work. Shit. I grab a piece of paper from my desk and pretend to be reading it. Then I look up to him, as if I just noticed he was there.

He says, "Did you get a chance to look at that app?"

I look at Mr. Bernard. He's kind of handsome. I love his kind face. I want to make him happy. I, I want to make him REALLY happy. I want to . . . I have this thought of pulling my skirt up and show Mr. Bernard all of my legs. It's the strangest urge I've ever had. And, obviously, it's totally inappropriate and I'm not doing it. Of course.

But I really want to.

What happened to me? I remember starting watching the app he gave me. Then . . . things got foggy. "Yes," I say, hoping he doesn't ask me about it. I know I saw some of it before . . . whatever happened to me.

"It all made sense," I say. At least the part I remember did. As subtly has I can – I pull my skirt up an inch. I almost have an orgasm, it's so exciting.

But when I look down at my leg, I feel like a fool. What am I doing?

Then Mr. Bernard looks at my leg. A thrill runs through my body and I start to get wet. That was SO exciting.

I'm momentarily confused – there's no reason that should be exciting. I'm not a tease. I'm not a exposer. I don't even like it when men stare at me, that creeps me out.

I can't . . . I'm not . . . Arggh, I want to show Mr. Bernard another inch. I look up at him. I love the way he combs his hair over his bald spot. My brain is screaming, "ONE MORE INCH! YOU'LL LOVE IT!"

Oh oh, he was talking to me. "Could you repeat that, Mr. Bernard?"

He smiles at me. "I was just wondering how you like working here so far."

"I . . . um . . ." God, I just want to show him one more inch of leg. Would that really hurt? Yes, I would look like a total slut. "It's been . . . um . . . really good." I look down at my leg. Yes, one more inch would show way too much. "Everyone's been really nice."

I feel my hand reaching down. I can't stop it. I don't WANT to stop it. I look up at Mr. Bernard. "So, like, really great." And I scoot my skirt up another inch. Showing an obscene amount of leg.

I am humiliated. I feel my face getting all red. Mr. Bernard looks down at my leg. I'm horrified by what he's going to think, but I'm so excited by his glance that I almost have an orgasm.

And I'm ashamed. So ashamed. Mr. Bernard instructs me, "Tell me about where you worked before."

I look up into his gorgeous eyes. I hadn't noticed how handsome he was. "There's not much to tell." I spread my legs a little. "I did temp work." During the day sometimes. I spread my legs a little more. I try to pull my knees back together, but they won't move together. "So I would work a few days at one job, and then a few at another." I clench the muscles in my legs like I'm a statue so they don't move any further apart. "I never really got to" -- my legs movie farther apart when I wasn't paying attention -- "know people."

I shrug. I want to explain how I was never a slut at those other jobs. That I'm not a slut, ever. He looks down at my open legs, no doubt seeing my bright yellow panties, and I have to close my eyes. I can feel my face starting to grimace. I try to relax all of my face muscles, but my vaginal muscles clench and I have a tiny orgasm.

I open my eyes and he's studying my face. Looking into my soul. I feel like he can see my desire. I try to make my face go passive, hide my feelings, hide my passion. I tell myself I'm just a secretary. This is my job. I try to close my legs. I can, but when they're closed, it's really painful. They want to be wide open. I just want to fling them open as far as I can and let Mr. Bernard see everything. That would feel SO GOOD.

I tug my skirt back to where it belongs. This is who I am. Proper. But I'm miserable. I have this crazy desire to be someone new. Someone happier.

So I am sitting proper. Looking proper. Smiling proper. Mr. Bernard says, "Does being a temp pay well?"

"It –" I get this sudden desire to scratch my breast. Which of course, is completely inappropriate. "Well . . ." What did he ask me? I feel my hand reaching up, and I make it fall to my lap and grab it with my other hand. Oh, he asked me about pay. "It paid almost as much as a regular job. But it wasn't consistent."

I try letting my hand scratch my stomach. I pretend like it's just an itch. I'm desperately hoping that my craving will go away, but it doesn't – I still want to scratch my breast, not my stomach.

I want to, I want to, I want to. It's all I can think about. It's all – he's looking at me. "What?" I ask helplessly.

He repeats, "Did you get to do what you wanted?"

Did I get to do what I wanted? Scratch my breast? At my temp jobs? My brain finally realizes he is talking about something else. "I . . . yes, of course . . ." That doesn't sound right. "I mean, it was fulfilling."

He smiles so kindly at me. I can tell he accepts me and whatever I will do. I don't need to worry, I can just relax. That feels so nice. He says, "You probably need to be fulfilled."

I do. My hand reaches up, and as discretely as I can, I scratch my breast. I feel fulfilled. I try to make this look as natural as possible. Which it isn't, but my breast could itch and need scratching, that's possible. Though I wouldn't actually do that in front of him, except I just did.

I smile at him, trying to pretend like nothing just happened. "This job is also --" and I realize my hand is still at my breast. And my fingers are fondling my nipple, and it feels so good, and I close my eyes, and enjoy the feeling so much, pure pleasure, flooding my brain, I never felt this good before, this is so --

FUCK FUCK FUCK! I'm at my job! I drop my hand to my lap and my eyes jerk open. Mr. Bernard is smiling at me, really kindly. But he's studying me too, like I'm an animal in the zoo, something for him to watch. I don't like being an object, but I like Mr. Bernard watching me. My hand wants to come up again. It wants to fondle my breast again. I want to be the object of his attention. I like him staring at me like I'm an animal in a zoo, or a performer in a dance, or pornography on his computer, or --

"Miss Halpin, you're doing a great job here. I'm really satisfied. I'd like you to look at another app." He holds out another memory stick. I take it. He adds "I would appreciate that."

"Yes, Mr. Bernard." I want to make him happy. Of course I'll look at the app. I'll be the best secretary he ever had.

He turns around and starts to walk back to his office. I am in agony waiting for him to leave -- as soon as I'm alone, I'm going to pull my skirt up to my waist, spread my legs as wide as they'll go, fondle my nipples, and go wild. I want the pleasure. I cannot bear another second pretending to be a calm, demure secretary.

I see his door close. I'm all alone. And . . . the feelings leave me. They're completely gone. It's the strangest thing. But now I'm calm. I'm proper. This is the real me. The secretary I want to be.

I turn back to my computer and turn the screen on. The spiral is gone. I take a calm breath and reaffirm myself. This is the real me. I don't know what came over me; I don't know why I acted that way. I will never act that way again!

I start viewing the second app. It's that same sexy male voice, and I immediate start to relax. Then I'm flooded with happiness at first but my mind gets sluggish. But I'm happy, I don't mind. Then there's a spiral. I pay attention.