A couple months ago, when I accepted my current position, I nicknamed my new boss The BILF (The Boss I’d Like to Fuck). I have a habit of assigning monikers to my co-workers, there’s Barely Legal Claudia and Peacock Patrick the Annoying. The BILF became the BILF because he’s porcelain doll pretty, but unlike Boy Barbie, the BILF is not self-centered AND he possesses a brain. Now that I know the man, I wish I’d picked a different mental sign in for him. Would I fuck him? Nah! His stamina surpasses mine in the concrete fields, but my creativity knocks him back somewhere around Pet Boy mode. I feel the urge to pet him on the head, not boink him.

The BILF and I couldn’t be any more different. He’s an extra tall, barely 30-something black guy who lives at the gym. (I swear! The breadth of his shoulders has doubled since last Christmas.) And he stays immaculately dressed in fashion catalog clothes that carry brand names and such. — Me? I’m a short, fat white girl, barely into 40-something (cough, cough) who used to hang out at water aerobics with the little old lady population of Clayton County until my work schedule rerouted me. And my fashion sense? I love Old Navy maxi dresses, jeans, and camouflage. (I just checked and, yay, my socks match today!) The BILF is very social, getting constant texts from all his girl fans. I’m an introverted erotica writer with nose buried behind book and/or fingers on a pen. I despise my phone to the point of violence, so people call me at their own risk. He thinks Facebook is meant for him to play Words With Friends with his mother. On my Facebook page, I fight for pro-literacy and anti-bullying causes and the acceptance of all human beings, not just the religiously deemed acceptable ones…. Oh, and I naughty message the occasional soul who can keep up. (Poor boy! The BILF doesn’t know the serious fun he’s missing there.) His weekends are hanging out at his car club where he can buy lots of spiffy new gadgets for his fancy car. Mine? A Netflix marathon, or maybe a bike ride to the library in my 26″ cherry red adult trike with its fucked up wheel. (Schwinn has promised a new one will arrive via UPS on Wednesday.) The back basket on this bike is HUMONGOUS and can hold lots of books so I ain’t complaining.

At work, the BILF lives in his office and I live in mine and when we work together, despite being exact opposites, we have good synchronicity. And when our senses of humor line up, it’s always laugh out loud. Today’s text from me to him: “This is a ransom text. I’m holding the shed sheets hostage up here. How much are they worth to you?” and he texted back: “Burn them along with the village.”

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