Collection Blonde – The Office Intern by NightWish1910

It’s said that the truth will set you free. I hope that’s at least somewhat accurate because I’ve carried this story with me for far too long. My tale is mostly true, with some edits to dates and names to ensure privacy, and with dialog reconstructed from memory. Even after all these decades, some would still remember what happened that year, especially those events which occurred after the conclusion of the story you are about to read. It was nineteen seventy-three, and I’d just landed my first real job as a computer programmer with a small company on the East Coast. I’d skipped college, much to my parent’s dismay, and headed off to backpack through Europe and Asia. My grandmother’s estate had established a trust fund for me, which I was able to access once I turned eighteen. And a small piece of that nest egg sustained me for my four years of exploring the world. Now, at age twenty-two, I was ready to get serious and chase my piece of the American dream.

These were heady days for anyone with any computer knowledge. Small computers were at the forefront of development, but colleges and universities were not yet up to speed cranking out large numbers of computer science degrees. This provided opportunities for guys like me who lacked education beyond a diploma. My new company was very progressive and happy to let me improve my programming and design skills in-house.

My new position was very straightforward. Convert the owner’s ideas into reality via computer code so that he could get rich selling to other small businesses. It was a decent gig and I enjoyed working in a small company where everyone pretty much knew each other. Though it was nearly a decade before the explosion of Silicon Valley’s employee incentives, this company was ahead of the curve as far as perks. The owner bought us all lunch on Fridays and always kept a fridge stocked with snacks and drinks. We had a room with pinball machines, Foosball, and a pool table, and we were working on convincing him to buy us one of those newfangled Pong video game machines. He even granted his employees stock options based on performance. As I said, a nice place to work.

But from the viewpoint of the twenty-first century, my first job was in an era of stone knives and bear skins. No desktop computers, no Internet, no cell phones, hell not even email. Back then, if you wanted to send a document to someone, the only option besides the post office was the FAX machine! But of course at the time we were ignorant of what we didn’t have, and yet somehow we still managed to make it all work. And oh yeah, it was also the era of disco…

So, why am I relating all this ancient history? Partly to set the atmosphere for when events occurred, but also to show that this was an era when employees were not self-sustaining entities. Today, any employee can send emails, create documents, research everything online, etc. But back in the seventies, offices needed clerical staff to type letters, run the photocopier, fax documents, and generally do a lot of the mundane administrative work necessary to keep a company running. These people were the backbone of the office.

It was for this reason the owner decided to expand his clerical staff to help support his expensive programmers. He managed to hire two secretaries, yes, back then we still called these wonderful women secretaries, and a receptionist to answer the phone. He also put out a request to the local high schools for an office intern. You know, someone to make coffee, keep the fridge stocked, run errands, etc. On the surface, it seemed like a crap job, but he was flooded with applications for the summer gig.

It took him about two weeks to hire what turned out to be the perfect candidate. Her name was Lisa and while she had zero office experience, she more than made up for it in enthusiasm and curiosity. She was eager to learn, openly friendly, and made a point on day one to introduce herself to everyone. Unfortunately, she had one big disadvantage; she was drop-dead beautiful.

Lisa was, that girl. The untouchable one we all knew in high school. She was about five foot five with shoulder-length blonde hair and the most amazing cobalt blue eyes. She was a cheerleader, of course, and had the kind of figure you don’t see as much anymore. She was very curvy, with nicely rounded hips and ass, and her firm breasts looked to easily be C-cups. This was the girl found in every high school that every hormonal teenage boy lusted after. And probably the reason her ultra-religious parents sent her to a private, all-girls school.

So why was being beautiful a disadvantage? I believe it was a combination of jealousy from the other women in the office who were much older, and an idiotic belief that pretty girls couldn’t also be smart. So most of the office treated her like a handmaiden, only useful for the simplest, most mundane tasks. For weeks it was, ‘you made the coffee too strong, Lisa’, or ‘go pick up my lunch order, Lisa’, and ‘the dishes need washing in the kitchen, Lisa’. Hearing this every day just pissed me off.

I imagine a bit of my sympathy was due to our ages. Until she arrived, I’d been the baby of the office, with everyone else at least five years older than me. Now she was the youngest, though only a few years separated us. So in a way, we were contemporaries. I made a point of sitting with her during our lunch breaks where I found her to be funny, intelligent, and even a bit nerdy. She had an intense interest in computers and was very current with the latest technology. And I was perfectly content to talk this cute blonde’s ear off at every opportunity.

She eventually became comfortable enough with me to speak about her oppressive home life. She was an only child living in a strict, conservative household. She had to attend church every Sunday, plus two mid-week services. Normal dating was strictly prohibited, and she shyly admitted she’d never even held a boy’s hand before. She said the only reason she was allowed to apply for the intern job was that her school counselor begged her parents to let her get some exposure to the business world. Lisa’s parents didn’t believe in girls going to college, so the counselor rightly argued that their daughter needed some work experience. And since she’d be starting her senior year in the fall, time was running out to get any office exposure before graduation.

Hearing all this, I made it my mission to assist her whenever I could. We used lunch and after-work hours to review the kind of programming work I was doing. She was an eager learner and had a real aptitude for logic and reasoning. Within weeks we’d reached the point where I could review flow diagrams with her, and she could help me figure out ways to streamline the logic. It was a very exciting time, and probably when I began developing real feelings for her.

But feelings or not, I had to put that nonsense aside. First, she was a bit too young, second, I was in no hurry to tie myself down, and third, shit like this never happened to me. I had no idea if she felt the same way, and there was no way I was going to ruin our friendship by hitting on her. So I put a lid on my feelings and planned just to keep her at arm’s length. But as the old saying predicts, man plans and God laughs. Though in my case I believe it was Satan himself who was laughing.

My first step in fucking up my ‘arm’s length’ plan was the motorcycle. I had a sporty bike that I rode to work when the weather allowed. One day at lunch, Lisa asked me what it was like to ride.

“Isn’t riding a motorcycle scary?” she asked. “I mean, you’re all exposed with nothing to protect you.”

“It can be scary at times,” I agreed, “but mostly it’s just exhilarating. It’s very hard to describe to someone who’s never ridden. I find that people either love it or hate it. There seems to be very little middle ground.”

“Well, if I wanted to try it, how difficult would it be?

“Not difficult at all. I always carry a spare helmet, so we could take a quick spin around the block now if you’d like.”

I could see she looked both curious and frightened at the idea. For someone so cloistered, this had to be a pretty big step.

“Okay, let’s try it!” she said more excitedly than I felt the simple activity deserved.

I grabbed my spare helmet and we headed out to the parking lot. The bike was large, a 1,000cc canyon rocket, and she had a hard time getting on the elevated rear seat. Being gallant, I helped her lift her leg over the bike, being mindful of the skirt she was wearing. Even though it was a modest length, it rode up quite high as she lifted her leg and I got my first glimpse of her underwear. I tried to do the right thing and look away, after all, she deserved her modesty. But my muscles seemed frozen, and my brain just had to take a peek. Not surprisingly, her panties were plain white, but I did see a sweet indentation where the fabric pressed into her pussy. It made me think of the old tagline for a certain motorcycle brand, ‘excitement between your legs.’ Lord, truer words were never written.

I got on and fired up the bike. I checked all the controls and gauges and felt we were good to go.

Over the engine noise, I hollered, “Hold on to my hips for stability. When I lean left or right into a turn, you can lean with me. You weigh so little, it won’t impact handling very much.”

I heard her yell back, “Remind me to kiss you when we get back for telling me I’m not fat. My dad is always nagging me about my weight, even though the doctor says I’m fine.”

Fuck your father for saying that, I thought.

“Okay, hold on, here we go.”

I started very slowly and cruised around the parking lot, letting her get a feel for the ride. I made a few swooping turns, so she could sense how the balance shifted. Then we headed out to the main road for the real ride. Traffic was light, so we were able to ride smoothly without a lot of stopping and starting. On one stretch I managed to hit a speed of sixty miles per hour and I heard her whoop with joy. She must have been a little scared because she was holding on to me with a death grip and I could feel her breasts pressed into my back.