Radical PI
Sport Co

Just Because You Bought My Drink, Doesn’t Mean You Can Spill It On Me

Sitting alone at his desk, he could feel her gaze.
He’d caught her a few times already; staring at him, and then abruptly looking away when he looked up to match her eye. Why was she looking at him? Was she looking at him? Was there a clock, or some other object of interest, over his head that was attracting her attention? It was hard to say for sure, but he was tending to think that “he” was the object of her interest.
In the midst of working on a scheduled project, he looked up nonchalantly and their eyes met; she was staring at him. He got a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. She casually licked her lips and mouthed the word “hi.” He smiled slightly; gave her a sideway glance, and responded in kind. They went back to the tasks that called them from their computer screens.
“Hmmm,” he thought, “I wonder why she keeps staring at me.” He wasn’t that attractive. His style of dress was rather mundane. He never really paid much notice to his personal appearance; hair unkempt, face unshaved, body somewhat out of maintenance, but he never concluded that he was a “slouch,” either. Maybe she actually liked him. I mean, he had a steady job; drove himself to work; wore clothes that were almost in style; interacted with coworkers and maintained a certain level of confidence, and basically seemed to ‘almost’ thrive on a daily basis. It wasn’t impossible that she liked him. He decided to make a move.
Scrolling through an endless amount of information as presented by his computer terminal, he noticed her stand up from her work station. He watched from the corner of his eye as she strutted towards the water cooler; she tugged at her skirt as she pulled it down over her lower thighs. He resisted the temptation to blatantly stare.
Her gate was so cool and fluid; she was like water rippling in his bathtub. Once she was out of his peripheral, he counted to five; stood up while pushing his chair back, and pursued her to the watering hole. His heart rate elevated as he anticipated their encounter; his palms started to sweat.
“How’s your day going so far?” he asked as he filled his reusable water bottle with cold hydro.
She locked eyes with him and responded that everything was “good; getting better.” He wondered what she meant by that, but she didn’t waste any time on clarification.
“We should hang out after work,” she said, “I mean, if you can; like, if you don’t have any plans. Maybe we could get a drink?” His heart rate rocked up a notch and he thought about his commitment to his local gym--which he hadn’t truly embraced as of yet, but he was going to--and quickly responded: “hmmm...I probably do have some free time after work. Did you have some place in mind?”
They exchanged details and agreed to meet at a local spot after their shifts. They formed an immediate bond. She was into him and he was into her.They drank drinks; formed a relationship, and became a new workplace romance.
They started talking about moving in together. They believed they were in love. They interchanged gifts on a fairly regular basis; the exorbitance and exoticness of the offerings seemed to steadily increase. She enjoyed giving him tokens of her emotional, empathetic side--as she called it--thus giving him objects that seemed dark and painful. A small, glossy picture of a razor blade. A one-hundred-dollar coupon to a local tattoo and piercing salon. Stuffed in a manilla folder, the panties that she had worn that day.
He, on the other hand, enjoyed giving her gifts that he thought reflected her “feminicity.” He adored the ground that she walked on; she could do no wrong. Against the advice of people in the know, he bought her beautiful pieces of jewelry. Spent more than was justifiable. He was tapping into his meager savings, but the way she made him feel was non-transferable in terms of monetary value. Her body gave him pleasure that he never knew existed. A gentle touch. A gentle bite. A gentle tug on his balls. A gentle gouge of her fingernails. A gentle mistake when she accidentally cut him during intercourse. Her “gentleness” always left him wanting more. When he showed up for work with a black eye one day, questions and rumors began to circulate.
Today was his birthday. What a day. He showed up for work like every other day and did the work that was presented to him. She told him she had a surprise; she would give it to him after work. At his place. She casually pinched his nipple--hard--when she thought no one was looking; he let out a low-pitched squeal.
He wondered what she would present to him later. He went back to work and tried to focus, but her playful stares and lip licking kept him distracted. His dick kept getting hard as she would turn in her chair and open her legs, thus allowing him to see what looked like bright orange panties in her dark nether-regions; her body was beautiful.
Later that evening, they met at his place and proceeded to imbibe multiple alcoholic beverages; libations were in order.
They enjoyed each other’s company and eventually came to the task of presenting a birthday gift. She sat him on the sofa and presented him with a delicately wrapped small box; he admired its weight as he wondered what it could hold.
She looked deeply in his eyes and told him to open it; it was a symbol of their love.
She stopped his hand from lifting the lid off the box and told him how the gift represented a powerful force in their relationship. She had searched and searched, but was unsure that someone like him would ever come along. She knew that they had found each other for a reason; you might call it destiny. She released his hand and he removed the top.
The most elegant knife he had ever seen. The blade was pristine; it gleamed in the dim light. Its point seemed to be diamond hard as he admired the blade’s sleekness, but all paled in comparison to the instrument’s handle.
A luminescent pearl that twinkled in the glow; his eyes were glued to its beauty.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, “I love it.”
He couldn’t get over the opulence of the piece. He lifted it from its container and enjoyed the weapon’s heft; it was solidly put together.
He looked up from his bewilderment and was grabbed by her direct, intense stare. He had never seen such passion and intensity in a single gaze. She rubbed his hand as it held the knife; she let her fingernails glide over his knuckles as he gripped the handle. She slid her index finger over the blade, thus producing a fine incision that leaked no blood. She promptly squeezed the tip of her finger and coaxed the sticky fluid to the surface; she placed the finger in his mouth and allowed him to lick it clean. She reached down and overlapped his hand with hers as they both took control of the blade; she looked deep into his eyes.
As she guided his hand towards his chest, he began to wonder what the hell was going on. As she cut through the fabric of his shirt and exposed his bare chest, he started to get an erection that was like none before. As she pointed the blade directly into his chest--directly over his heart--and pierced the skin in order to draw blood, he consciously questioned all of his life’s choices. She found the division in the rib cage and gently pushed the razor-sharp blade into his chest cavity; the honed edges sliced through flesh like butter. As the tip of the blade pierced his heart, he let out a guttural moan and dove into her eyes. With his last breath he exclaimed: “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

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