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Amateur

It’s been a long evening. Twelve hour shifts are filled with boredom and routine. One more night on the compound is passing… slowly. I can’t help but notice you sitting at the computer that sits directly across my office. I know you don’t mean to, but it taunts me to see you there day after day putzing away.

I’ve never been attracted to a subordinate before and it has caused more than one mental conflict for me. Not to mention moral. Unlike the usual annoying pitch most female dispel, your playful banter with the guys, who are desperately trying to impress you, constantly distracts me from my work.

It’s a constant battle to stay in the office. I have always kept a strict line between myself and subordinates, but somehow I can’t keep that line with you; I’m drawn to you. When I’m honest with myself, I know the only thing keeping from unabashedly spending the evenings in conversation with you is that the guys would expect the same attention. That would be annoying. The last five months have been enjoyable, even watching from the shadows. My ears have become trained to hear your tone, I’ve listen to you talk with the others and picked up more information about you than I’d ever let on.

Tonight the conversation out there has been less than professional. Without visitors present I’ve seen little point in saying anything. In fact the guys probably haven’t considered that I might have heard their conversation topic of choice; Sex. The guys have been enjoying your willingness to talk about the subject but I’ve notice you glance back a couple time in my peripheral vision. None of their comments have been directed towards you, but they are pleasantly shocked by your responses to some of their thoughts.

It started when one of the guys found a Victory Secrets catalog. Where he found that it could not guess but there were some forward comments made about one of the bras. You, being the foremost expert on bras present, of course were asked your opinion and the guys were shocked when you not only agreed to the model having a nice “rack” but that you would enjoy them. Once that was out, the conversation went into a controlled spiral. I continued to watch you as they continue to ask you questions. It is easy to tell you’re enjoying not the conversation but twisting their simple minds into knots.

The conversation has left me riveted and I stare at my screen, incapable of doing any real work. I pretend to be doing things. You’re glances tell me that if you think I could hear the conversation you believe I would not approve. There have even been a couple times you have purposely steered the conversation away from treacherous waters unbeknownst to the children.

I’m looking at the screen and typing every once in a while but my focus is on your voice. Once in a while I purposely break my concentration on it and force myself to do something productive. When I catch MY mind being taken in, I feel like one of the apes, a simple male. I hate simple males. They’re mindless and weak with only one two real focuses in life; sex and food. I’ve made several attempts to not be taken in by your voice but it’s proven useless; the sound of it captivates me and your subject matter has only added more color to thoughts I’ve been having for weeks. I can feel my head spinning with the new information, the new details to past thoughts. As much as I hate the comparison between the apes and myself, I can’t help it, and I hate it. It’s stupidity to be taken in by any female like this and I can’t stand my own stupidity anymore. I have to do something to stop the downward spiral. Standing up abruptly I leave the office. You jerk up in your seat and are silent as soon as you see me move at my desk but the horde that is supposed to be “working” haven’t noticed yet.

As I enter the room they’re all started, all but you. You’ve been watching me since I stood up. “I’m going to do a security check. I’ll be back.” I’m not sure why I’m telling you this. The announcement is unneeded and I don’t usually keep you apprised of what I’m doing. I do what I need to and have no reason to explain myself to you. I can’t explain my impulse to tell you now. When I glance over I notice a few short, confused expressions cross your face then a slight look of worry. I manage the goings on, I don’t usually do the checks myself. You’re the only one smart enough to notice that this behavior is unusual for me. The simple males are already trying to draw your attention back to them, seeing this as a fine opportunity to continue the conversation without the boss present. As I move to the door I hear the chatter begin again.

Leaving the office, I make my way out into the compound. It’s a hodge podge of buildings, the only order is chaos. At its center is one main building surrounded by several permanent complex type offices that were meant for anything but to be permanent. The only other actual building is left of the center command building. I make my way left to start with a check of the fence. It’s mundane but the night’s brisk air niğde escort helps me regain my facilities and focus. Or so it does at first.

After only a few paces I can’t help but start thinking about you. Your uniform doesn’t do you justice. I’ve seen you at the gym. Your shirts fit but only in that they emphasis your figure and you make them look wonderful. Finding one that accommodates your bust line but doesn’t swallow you had to have been a challenge. Your work out pants fit snugly just below your waist, hugging your muscular thighs and ass which fill them out perfectly.

As I continue along the fence I chuckle at the thought of the annoyed look you often had as a result your build drew from the others in the gym; guys were gawking, girls glaring and spiteful because the guys were gawking, and you were the helpless victim. Funny, I normally wouldn’t think of a beautiful woman as a helpless victim. Most even slightly attractive women, especially in the military, cashed in on their looks every chance they got, using their looks and “sex appeal” to garner favors from the men. Not you though. It wasn’t your fault you were beautiful; call it the curse of the rose and sometimes I think you truly felt cursed. 😉 You’re beautiful and everyone wants to claim you as their own. My only hope was that you never caught me looking at you. I don’t want you to think the same of me. I’m always careful never to look at you, I catch glimpses of you in the mirrors, as you walked by with my peripheral vision, but never directly.

Somehow those thoughts have brought me back to the door leading to our building. I can’t remember even looking at the fence, though I was sure to keep my eyes facing it. I’m tempted to turn around and redo the check at first but am annoyed at my lack of attention and I leave it to do later.

Instead I start with the door checks. It’s something I’ve always found annoying. The doors have every type of lock available, from a simple key lock, to cipher locks, to biometric. The locks really don’t matter. There’s hardly a point in checking them as every office was manned 24 hours a day. It’s just another check on a checklist created by some dumb ass who had never worked in this kind of environment and thought it needed to be done.

Making my way through the maze of crooked buildings my thoughts aren’t on what I’m doing. Visions of you doing your work out fill my head. I can’t help but remember how heavenly it was to watch you work out. Unlike most of the people in the gym, you aren’t a drone. Most would pick a machine or a set of them and never deviate. You chose to use free weights and incorporated them into what I imagine was some sort of workout routine you learned some place. Watching you lay flat on your back and work your stomach is torture. Your form is alluring and hard to not stare at, watching you is unavoidable. Thinking about it brings back to mind the hope that you hadn’t seen me watching you.

The sand colored door on the building next to the command center was only distinguishable by the dull chrome handle standing out against the sand color. The creaking of the box holding the biometric keypad, painted in a matching brown color, fills the night air. A quick swipe of my bag and fingerprint read cause a dull lit red light to turn green before an audible click sounds from the magnetic lock as it gives way. Why I need to walk through a place that few can even access is beyond me. I can’t help but shake my head at the mute tasks I send you to do every day. As I step through the door, it creaks shut behind me and I focus on the hallway before me.

The solid gray walls form a corridor lined with staggered doors but barren of posters and signs. The air is cool and this place has a dispassionate atmosphere. Built for necessity and little more, each metal doors is painted to match the surrounding walls. The large cipher locks protruding from each door hints at the importance of the offices and conference rooms whose secrets they guard. The hallway is silent, abandon for now and the dark blue carpet silences my footsteps so as not to disturb my progress.

Part way up the hallway I am surprised to hear the unexpected sound of someone coming in the opposite door. The hallway is straight and I can see a bit of light filter in through the doorway before it closes. Peering down the hall, I squint slightly but can make out a welcome form beneath the dim light provided by the florescent bulbs.

“How does it feel to do actual work sergeant?” Your voice is clear and carries through the silence. I can tell by your sarcastic grin that you already know my thoughts on how pointless this task really is.

“You wouldn’t know actual work if it bit you in the ass, airman Clark.” The response is playful and I question my own motives in saying it as soon as the comment leaves my lips.

I can see your grin get bigger after my comment. You are undaunted and happy with the playful banter, coming back with a quick reply, “I might not know it, but if it ordu escort bites me, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

I can feel the energy in the hallway change. Before it was foreboding, empty and with your presence it’s become a pleasant place. We’ve drawn a bit closer to one and other and you’re clearer beneath the dim lights. Your hair’s light color brings out your facial features. I already knew you were beautiful but against this backdrop, beautiful pales by comparison to you. It isn’t until I’ve passed two more doors without checking them that I realize I haven’t taken my eyes from you. Your fluid movements down the hallway are natural and calm. The realization of my error comes too late, your raised eyebrow tells me you’ve caught me staring.

“What?” It’s a simple question and a deflection. I have been caught doing the one thing I didn’t want to ever be caught doing, gawking. Despite being caught, I’d never admit to it. I let my features relax into the cold, pondering scowl I wear when I have to be the boss in an attempt to dispel any thought you might have that I was doing anything besides making sure you didn’t fuck up one of the checks. I see a tinge of hurt cross your features but it’s quickly gone, making me wonder if it was ever really there; a trick of the lighting in this place? The awkward moment is lost as we both turn our focus back to the next door closest to us. Yours is open. A quick glance my way tells me you’ve found something unusual and the doors movement inward slightly makes the find obvious.

You only moved the door enough to identify it as being unsecured. I finish checking the doors leading up to your location, unconcerned with your find. If someone was in here they’d be as good as screwed anyway. It’s the first time one of the doors has been left open. The chances of it being caused by anything other than someone’s neglect is so slim it’s almost impossible. I watch you as I approach. You stay back away from the door but watch for any movement caused by someone on the other side. Looking at you, I can tell by your body and your face that you’re not nervous, there is no panic. What I do see is a childlike excitement I would expect from someone opening a present on Christmas morning. The curiosity is killing you. No one ever talks about what’s in these rooms and it’s hard for me to keep from smiling at your exuberance.

Reaching the opposite side of the door frame I start to give orders. “Better check it out. Never know, Bin Laden might be in there.” The orders are bullshit but you eagerly accept them, stepping into the doorway.

Still facing me, you reach through the slight gap, searching for the light switch. What’s in the room becomes insignificant. I watch your body twist slightly as you reach for the switch and the movement pulls your ABU’s tight to your body. I swallow quickly hoping the act goes unnoticed. The thought of how much I’d like to have you as more than a subordinate crosses my mind for the millionth time.

I hear a quiet click from inside the room and the soft flicker of fluorescent lights flood the room. I watch in amusement as the sudden change of lighting contrasting sharply with the murky hallway causes you to jerk slightly. Your mouth opens slightly like you want to say something and you shoot a quick glance my direction. The look tells me that you were caught off guard and you’re a little embarrassed that I was there to catch your surprise. I try but I can’t stop myself from giving a short chuckle which only draws another look of irritation from you. If I were anyone else you would have already told me to shut up or shove it somewhere foul but you bite your lip. You’re restraint keeps me from commenting on the incident further. Instead I redirect your thoughts back to the room. “Well, is he in there?”

Your attention affectively redirected, I watch you disappear through the doorway. As I follow, I wince slightly myself as my vision adjusts to the harsh lighting within. The room is brightly lit. Nothing more than a conference room; a large square with several tables placed in a large U shape. In the center there is a podium with two large, flat screens making up the back drop for presentations unknown. To the left and right of each screen are marker boards filled with random streaks where information that had been useful once was almost completely erased and written over again. Nothing left but a collection of random shapes and lines.

I watch you as you prowl around the room. I can tell you’re interested and you’re taking in every detail of this new find. I’m enjoying your attention being elsewhere. Letting my eyes wonder your form I wonder at how you can make the ACU’s you wear look inviting? Your hair is drawn back as regulation requires but a few hairs have come loose, softening your look. I can’t stop my mind from envisioning you with your hair down, lying beneath you. The reverie is cut short once more as I realize that you’re assessment of the room is complete and you’re watching me again. I’m busted.

“That’s rize escort twice” you say softly. Your expression is bashful and your tone is questioning You’re not scolding me.

I start to open my mouth to defend my actions only to realize there is nothing to say; you’re right. “Ah, you’re hot, like you didn’t know that.” It’s a far cry from an apology but something had to be said to play off the event after it happened not once but twice already tonight.

“But you’ve never looked before.” I can hear the hesitation in your voice, you’re asking if I approve. As you look at me I can see you searching for an answer, confirmation, some reason for my actions. I’m suddenly left in an impromptu battle I never expected. My instinct is to tell you what I really think; you’re gorgeous and I enjoy looking at you very much. Let you know that your voice catches my attention even at a distance. I want to admit that I’ve been listening, drinking in every word, every fact you’ve let slip in the office. But I’m your boss and you’re an asset, nothing more. At least you’re supposed to be.

I can’t deny what I want but I can’t completely succumb to it either so I compromise, “You look nice.” It’s a statement that falls horrifically short of what I really think but your shy smile tells me you can read between the lines. You can tell I’m uneasy and I don’t want to dwell on the topic. It’s strange that I’m happy that you can see what I’d desperately want to hide from others. I’m not used to feeling like this and so I want out of this awkward battle, “So, did you see Bid Laden?”

“No” you reply then give a soft chuckle, “Must have left before we got here.” I watch as you scan the room one more time, one last check to make sure.

“Probably best, you wouldn’t know what to do if he was here. Probably just get yourself hurt.” I mentally kick myself as soon as the words leave my mouth. I know better than to say something like that. It takes split second for the harsh glance to be cast my direction. I know you hate the assumption that most people make that you’re incapable of anything. I’ve watched you deal with countless people passing you over in the office for “the man in charge” and each time I can see the passionate distain you hide so carefully. You don’t care who it is who asks or suggests you unable. It’s only after I feel the cool daggers of your glance that I wonder if what I said would be taken as jest or if I just hit a nerve that will sting.

“Excuse me?” You ask moving slowly closer. It’s a sudden change, the bashful girl that was here a moment before has turned into a soldier again. It’s a welcome change. I know how to react to this.

I can’t take the words back. There is only one direction, forward. “You heard me. Did I stutter princess?”

As you get closer I can see your eyes dancing and know that your anger is playful. I thank whatever gods are on my side that I’ve lucked out. Maybe it was the ‘princess’ comment that made it obvious. This is a new side of you, one you’ve never shown in the office. With the guys, you joke but there is always a cool level of disconnection and a slight disdain for their antics. You know they don’t mean any harm in it, and most women welcome their behavior, but you’re not most women. I’ve always hated frail females, they are weak, whiny and you can’t be rough with them because they might chip a nail. You can’t be rough with them or wrestle because ‘It’s not fair, you’re a boy.” It didn’t take me long to realize the girl glaring at me now more asks for such actions rather than loathing them. I can’t help it, right or wrong, there is lust and undeniable desire.

“What?” I ask, giving you a somber look. It’s a joke that I’m trying to pass the obvious insult off as a fact you shouldn’t question. I can see a slight hesitation in your eyes as you consider this new side of me. The look passes quickly. You purse your lips together and you return to glaring at me. You’re disagreement with my ‘fact’ is obvious but no words come from you. They are unneeded as your reaction speaks more than words could. As you watch me I try to refrain from busting out with a massive shit eating grin. You can’t help but fight the urge yourself.

The idea is ludicrous and we both know it. You know I trust you more than the guys. You’re not trying to catch the nearest thing with breasts. I’ve seen you put all of the guys, at one time or another, on their knees with the use of compliance techniques and force. I have no reason to challenge your ability.

You’re not a shy girl. I can tell by your look that you’re pondering so you’re next announcement isn’t a complete surprise, “Are you flirting with me?”

Your smile is bright and sincere. I know that yes is more than an acceptable answer but I’m not willing to lose the game of chick again. You’re expecting an answer but I refuse to admit anything. “Ah, earlier I should have said ‘OTHERS think you’re hot.” You watch me as I struggle to keep my gaze impassive and fight to not stare, “I just didn’t want you to hurt yourself trying to catch a man.” I can’t even finish the statement without laughing. By now we have passed the point of no return. It takes a moment to get my laughter under control before I take a deep breath. “Kidding, you’re hot as hell.”

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