She worked in the next cubicle over. I don’t usually pay attention to my co-workers, but I noticed her almost as soon as she moved into her cube. Space was an issue in the firm at the time and it was not unusual to see people show up in my end of the suite. After all, we had all of the open spaces where people got housed until there was room in their divisions.

I worked right next door for almost a month before I really even knew what her name was. It was a month after that before we said more than a cursory “hello” to each other in the morning. But, like I said, I noticed her early. She had big, blue eyes and a demure little mouth. And she wore great clothes. Tight without being revealing and skirts that sometimes accentuated her hips when she walked. Not that I stared or anything. That could be considered sexual harassment. Besides, we don’t dip our pens in the company inkwell. Not around here.

You have to understand that I wasn’t prying for her name. I just happened to be sitting idle at my desk when someone from her division came back to introduce her to someone another team member. Her name was Virginia Yorke. The man she was introduced to was Albert Buyton. See? Perfectly normal.

Our first conversation was about the printer, oddly enough. It was my job to keep our local printer happy, with toner and paper and regular maintenance. I guess I fell down on the job because she came around asking me where we kept the paper. I offered to show her and we walked back up to the printer area. She thanked me, we introduced ourselves and that was that. I was tempted to tell her that her smile was more than enough thanks, but I kept my mouth shut. I’m always conscious of how much of a dork I am.

After that, she’d stop by in the morning and say a little more than the “hello” we’d been limited to. We’d talk about the weather, the books we were reading and what we did over the weekend. One morning she sent me an email and asked if I had some kind of instant messenger installed on my work computer so she didn’t have to get up to talk to me. Of course, something like that would be against company policy; I sent my id right back to her and, five minutes later I got a message.

It was all downhill from there.

Like I said, I noticed that she was an attractive woman. And she was intelligent. But I’m not the kind of guy who would try and take a casual friendship and make into something sexual. Especially not a friendship with a co-worker. Evidently, she had no such compunctions.

The comments were casual to begin with. She noticed when I was wearing a tie for a meeting and said that it made me look good. Then she asked how I liked an especially tight skirt she’d worn. I’m a red-blooded male. How was I supposed to respond?

I flirted right back.

When you’re on instant messenger all day, you get the chance to have long, involved conversations that can last for most of a week – if you want to. And we wanted to. We talked about everything. Politics, literature, movies, music and sex. Like I said, she started that last topic. I followed, of course, but I made sure that I never broached the topic. Hell, I have the chat transcripts to prove it.

Funny thing about talking sex with someone, though – you tend to get a bit horny. It’s one thing if the other person is halfway across town, or even halfway across the planet. It’s something else entirely when that person is in the next cubicle over. There were a few awkward moments, let me tell you.

Over time, I discovered that she blushed crimson when she was aroused and her eyes got an even deeper blue. You tend to notice the little things like that when you’re trying not to notice nipples you could cut glass with.

I won’t lie to you. I thought about the fact that we were almost alone in that wing of the suite. I thought about that a lot. I’m sure Virginia did, too. She never mentioned it, though. Neither did I, for that matter. It would have been very easy for either of us to say something, though. It probably wouldn’t have been so easy for us to do something.

Check that. It would have been very easy for us to do something. It would have been very difficult for us to do something without getting caught. We both knew it, which is why we never really said anything. Occasionally, we’d make some joke or another about calling in sick on the same day or taking a long lunch, but we were never serious. At least, I don’t think she was.

There were plenty of times when I thought about staying late with her. In the cube farms we spent our days in, who would have known? There were even more times when I felt like being bold and just walking over to her cube and kissing her. Nothing more. Just a kiss. What’s wrong with a kiss? Especially when you want to do so much more.

Online, though, we were something else entirely. Passionate. Sexual. Athletic. Energetic. Innovative. Towards the end, I was having sex with her almost every day. Virtual sex, that is. Still no physical contact.

As you might imagine, the mood was frustrating and the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Hell, I could have pounded nails into oak with my erection, some nights. By her account, she was as hot for me as I was for her. One morning, she was horny by nine fifteen and I kept her on that edge for the rest of the day. Somehow, I don’t think she minded much. I know I didn’t.

It ended, of course. She got moved to another cubicle in her division. As soon as she was placed around her peers, she got much busier. At least, that’s the story she gave me. I don’t really know the truth of it, though. We haven’t spoken in months. I still think about her, though. I wonder if she ever thinks about me.

Lately, I’ve had this urge to ask her out for a drink. I don’t think she could object to a drink. Could she? And maybe, when we’re at the bar, I might touch her hand. Just a casual touch. But would the electricity still be there between us? I really don’t know.

And I don’t know if I really want to find out. Not just yet.