Caramel skinned he is, tall, well built as a result of possible hours spent in the gym, breathtakingly cute and well-spoken, I always hear my heartbeat, whenever he talks to me.
Mr Johnson is my boss and he also fitted my specification for a dream man. The first day I met him was at my interview.
“You may seat”, he said. “May we know you?”
I was lost in my stir. I could see his face, and watched his beautiful lips move, but I couldn’t hear him.
“Miss Vivian, Miss Viviannnnnnn?” He called out.
“I’m sorry Sir. My name is Vivian Okeke. A graduate, of course, I’m 26 years old, I come fro…”
“Miss Vivian, We know all these”, he said. “They are clearly written here on your CV. Tell us something new. Something we don’t know.”
“Oh really?” I said.. “I’m unmarried, and currently not in a relationship. I like reading books and watching movies. My genre is romance. I like things that challenge my mind and I choke whenever I take in more than I can chew, I am…”
“That is enough. Thank you very much, Miss Vivian. We will get back to you”.
That was the most terrible interview of my life. All I kept hearing throughout that day was Mr Johnson’s “thank you very much, Miss Vivian, we will get back to you”.
Ooooh my world, such a cute thing. I thought I failed and was definitely not going to get the job, but here I am, working for this man. Why did he employ me after such a terrible interview? Maybe to torment me. To torment my life with his adorable looks. Such a demi-god.
Recently, I have started wearing tight gowns to work. Gowns that I made sure brought out all my God-given assets. Such real endowment. No filter, no enlargement cream and of course, no silicon. “Go, baby, shoot your shot”; Tina my friend would always tell me.
I started making new wigs every two weeks in other to look more ghen ghen to work just for Mr Johnson. He must notice me.
“You look good”, he said one Monday morning. I blushed throughout that day like a Sixteen-year-old who just got her first kiss from her crush. The more I tried, the less Mr Johnson noticed me. It was a case of the more you do, the less he sees.
On this faithful, bright Tuesday, I came before my boss as usual. At about 8:15 am, he walked into the office hall… Sweet Jesus, husband of reverend sisters, I felt and heard my ovaries move from its position to my kidneys. Mr Johnson was dressed to kill.
This son of Adam wore a white long sleeve shirt with ash-coloured beltless pants using a brown suspender to hold the trousers from dropping off his waist, accompanied by the same shades of brown shoes. I did not work for the whole day. All I did all day was imagine his suspender failing him and that trouser leaving his waist. Such a scene. I’m sure he was wearing white briefs. I starred at his zip region and imagined him having a boner. That would be a sight to behold as the suspender will drag the trousers upper and I will have a brighter, clear vision, Ammann…
“Viviannnnnnnnnn… Are you okay? I have been standing here for God knows how long, but you seem to be lost. I think you should get a grip on yourself, so you don’t choke on your thoughts”; Mr Johnson said as he turned and left.
Choke on my thought? What does that even mean? Who even says that? Did he know what I was thinking? Can anyone perceive I am having a crush on my Boss?
My name is Vivian Okeke, but I wish to be addressed as Vivian Johnson… Just wait. Very soon. Real soon. I have to work harder. Yes, I have to make my green light brighter…
Nice story. To what end?