Anyway, pick one, these always go the same: fun flirty dance to one song that turns, grimly, three songs later into this sort of low, ominous, very sweaty grind; Fully Making Out in the middle of the dance floor while everyone sees, which quickly segues to Fully Making Out in the corner where everyone also sees; hand stuff in a corridor; bundling into a toilet cubicle to do something that leaves you both breathless and pulling up your pants. There. Do you feel better now? Was that worth every single awkward encounter you’ll have in meetings and kitchen bump-ins with them for the next six months or until one of you leaves? Do you really think everyone at the party isn’t talking about your junk and the satiated state of it right actual now? You horny, horny, horny little dog. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?i. That really fit one who is engaged so out of bounds on two counts, but you really did have a laugh together down the phone that time when you were making jokes about them sorting your late payslip out and you have had about eight drinks now so you reckon you could give it a shot;
ii. The inevitable Tim-and-Dawn dynamic one you’ve referred to as “office wife” on more than one occasion now, to the point that it’s actually quite weird and HR have discretely started a file about it in case things kick off;
iii. New office hire who does not know a single person here and as such will be very amenable to you trapping them in a corner and stroking their arm with increasing intensity because they literally don’t know anyone else here’s name, so you and your almost palpable horny energy are the best shot they’ve got at making friends;
