Page 3 of Analysing Her Assets

“I... How do you...?” She heard Nir? What else was said there?

“I overheard you talking in the kitchen. About my fat thighs.”

“I’m sorry you heard that.” He actually thought her thighs were luscious, but it was beside the point. “I guess I should have said something. When it’s just guys, it’s hard to talk back. It’s so ingrained in our macho norms.”

Was it his imagination, or did her eyes just flick to his groin and linger there for a second? Gideon’s cock stirred. Her tongue licked her plush upper lip nervously.

“Thank you.”

He finally dropped his arm and sidestepped left as she moved to her right. Her slightly protruding eyes met his for a second, before both correcting at exactly the same time. Then again. Her hips swayed as they repeated this awkward dance.

“Okay. On the count of three,” he said, his voice hoarse. To avoid eye contact, he ended up staring down her shirt, where the enticing hint of a deep cleavage yawned.

He cleared his throat.

“One, two, three, now.” But they both plunged to the same side, and she stumbled into him. All of her. Her breasts squashed hard against his ribs. Her soft, rounded belly molded to his crotch, which in response was decidedly straining the seams of his pants. Shit! There was no way she couldn't feel that.

On the very first day of work, Gideon’s fellow analysts had pointed Tamar out to him. She was the best analyst, they’d told him, the only one whose recommendations—to buy or sell a certain company—were followed by the investment managers as soon as she released them. She was the in-house competition winner for the last two years.

Gideon beheld a serious, correct woman with a distinct ‘don’t even think of getting close to me’ vibe. He also heard, that first day, about her ‘no-dating-at-the-workplace’ rule.

There and then Gideon had decided two things: to win the competition, and, as a way to start a new, clean life, to follow Tamar’s no-shenanigans regime.

He’d yet to see her without her jacket, which was always clasped. Her shirt was always buttoned all the way up. If she had a waist, she did her best to conceal it. She couldn’t hide her round face, beautiful dark-brown eyes, and her full-lipped mouth.

He attended all the talks she’d given, read all her papers, asked her questions, engaged her in conversation. He’d done all that aware of her no-dating policy, telling himself his interest was purely intellectual.

And now here she was, jammed against him, achingly feminine, and he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Her long dark eyelashes created tiny shadows as they fluttered above her flushed cheeks. They stood, both panting, their bodies pressed together, yet neither of them moved. She would feel so sweet, his cock whispered, as hot blood burbled through his veins, rushing south. He lifted a hesitant hand and smoothed her silky hair, craving to free it, to sift his fingers through it. Tamar sighed at his touch. Her scent, flowery and exotic, wafted around him. He was rock hard, and she knew it. The desire to close the distance, to press his mouth to hers, to sink deep, was overwhelming.

“May I enter?” Marina stood at the entrance to the toilets, which they were both blocking.

Tamar jumped as if yanked from behind, her back hitting the doorpost. She darted a look at her team member, then ran away. Gideon straightened, praying his hard-on wasn’t too obvious. Marina’s smile disabused him of this hope.

In the toilets, he freed his cock and waited for the excitement to lessen so he could pee. Yet the poor thing had a point - Gideon had been without a woman for far too long.

Gideon’s phone sounded with his mother’s ringtone – “Erev Shel Shoshanim,” Evening of Roses. He didn’t answer. She wanted to beseech him, once again, to attend Shabbat dinner.

He wouldn’t.

But she would be happy and thrilled to learn that he was leading the competition. He would win it, too. It would show his family that he did right by choosing this path.

The analysts’ floor was empty, even Tamar’s station. It was rare that she would leave before him. She was usually there when he’d arrived and still there when he left. Would Danny and Nir have spoken about her in this way, had she been a man? Would they have made fun of a slightly padded male analyst who was nevertheless killing it? Not a chance.

His phone vibrated in his pocket again as he reached his cubicle, and he glanced at his phone.

“Call me it’s urgent.” The text message said. With a jolt, Gideon realized it wasn’t from his mother. The message came from his father’s oldest and closest friend.

3. Tamar

Tamar’s nostrils filled with the sharp aroma of bleach as she sprayed a small amount onto the rough green surface of a Scotch Brite. She scrubbed her bathroom walls, furiously attacking any black mold spot, real or imaginary.

Her brain remained dirty. She’d kept getting recurring images of Gideon’s cock tenting his work pants.

It had been so long since a real man, a living, breathing member of the male species, had touched her. Hands, thick thighs, hard torso. His chest hair was light brown like his eyes, centimeters from her nose. He smelled masculine but clean, like he used a really good fabric softener.

There was a tiny balcony attached to the living room. She sprayed water on her pots of nana and verbena, allotting most of it to the largest box which was given entirely to medicinal geranium. The drops hit the parched leaves, releasing their fragrance. The tight ball in her stomach, the one that lodged there for most of the day, most days, loosened up.

Gideon Sela wasn’t worth all this mental energy. A bit more time in her haven and she would recover. She had changed from her work suit and into her regular home ‘uniform’ consisting of a large T-shirt, comfy sweatpants, and her special slip-resistant Crocs.

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