Hot Guy at Work

That day I wore red lipstick (under my mask) with bomb ass smoky eyes. I looked so good that I wanted to fuck me.

At the office one of my coworkers had a super hot jujitsu playmate walking around with him. My girlfriend and I convened in convenient locations to gather glances of him and opine on his fine-ness.

Strong arms.

Kinda short though

Nah girl, it’s because he’s buff that he looks so short.

Yeah, I guess — oh my god, he’s taking off his mask!

Phew, it wasn’t just pretty eyes, he’s actually plenty hot under there!

I want him!

No, I want him!

Haha, fine we’ll share

We giggled to each other and kept on watching this beautiful man move through the world worry free and fine.

Once he left we pulled our coworker to get the scoop on his hot friend.

Is he single? I asked

Does he have any kids? Laura asked

Yes. No. Would you fuck him? Because all he does is fuck.

Yes please, I’d like to fuck him.

Laura was more reserved than I am.

So what kind of guy is he? She asked.

He’s the guy who I told the story about. With the n-word. Remember the story where I talk about someone saying it with an “a” instead of an “e” at the end and he couldn’t see the problem with saying it with an “a”?

Oh, he’s that racist friend; cool. I’m dry now.

He’s not a bad guy! He has black friends.

Both Laura and I shot him the same look.

Part of me thinks my co-worker was jealous of how into his friend we were. A more jaded part of me wonders why I even bother looking to other races, especially white men, in this climate where there’s a 50/50 percent chance that he’s a Trump supporting white terror sympathizer at worst or covertly racist in ways that I’ll have to educate him on correcting.

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