Checking my list…

Well, it’s taken twenty years, but I have finally managed to have sex on every desk and at every workstation at my weekend job.

I’m proud of these things. It’s the collector in me, I suppose.  Once you start, there’s no way you can stop.

It all started on the bookshop manager’s desk in 1992.  Then on the bookbuyer’s (now a defunct position) desk.  A few years later there would be an assistant manager’s desk, which I would use.  And, of course, both cashier positions.

Next door to the bookshop’s offices there’s the groundskeeper’s office. It’s a former half-bathroom and full of tools and equipment, so there’s no actual physical comfort. A difficult location that wasn’t added to my tally until 2003, because only a certain type of woman likes to have her face ground into a wall of hanging saws and screwdrivers. Prior to 1995, however, the groundskeeper’s office was in a large basement storage room.  A prime spot where you could rely on some privacy during the day and take advantage of a ratty couch tucked into a back corner.

Then there’s the education director’s desk, and the three desks for her minions.  The repurposed water conservation office that took over half the bookshop offices in 2000, so maybe those don’t count. But I took the repurposing seriously and had to hit those a second time.

There’s the little IT office, and the four desks in the newspaper office. There’s the membership director and two volunteer desks in the main office.  On Halloween this year, I finally got to crack the executive director’s office. Though the current ED has decided to stay in the office where he’s been for the last 25 years.  I hit that one in 2000.

There are four desks in accounting, which are heard to get to because accounting is split into two separate offices. There’s no natural flow if you’re with someone who wants to help you tally up workstations, and the big accounting boss is one of those guys who works all hours of the night and on weekends.  I hit his desk when his predecessor was gearing up for retirement in 2002.

The third floor has two offices for the Maryland, DC, and Virginia “naturalists.”  The office for the Maryland naturalist has always had a nice, big easy chair in it.  I’ve spent many nights there during double shifts, and have taken three women there in the past two decades.  It was my go-to spot until 2006 when the current naturalist’s paranoia led to the installation of a new lock.  Now I have to climb through the window from the roof (where, on summer nights, I often bring women to stargaze).

There’s the volunteer coordinator, and the five desks for the development team. During the weekends, it doubles as a prep room for brides, which is always a turn on.  There’s the office that used to be rented out to another company, which I couldn’t crack until that company moved out and they put in three more education staffers.  So I hit those three desks in 2008.

Then there’s the desk in the greeter’s room, and the kitchen countertops, and each of the five bathrooms, and, finally, the desk in the library – my supervisor’s station.

There’s really nothing like sex atop a supervisor’s desk late some night.  It makes meetings a whole lot easier.  Especially if they do things like pick crumbs off of their blotter.

But now that I’ve finished the rounds, I can’t decide what to do next. Am I done with the weekend job?  Were the last 20 years all about finishing my quest to have sex on every desk? What now?  I’m done with the inside, and the outside has been pretty well done, as well. I’ve had sex in the gazebo, and the woodland amphitheater, and at the pond… I’ve had sex in the parking lots, and in the grove where the weddings go on, and in the greenhouse (now torn down). There are two bird blinds, which were perfect for daytime sex, and the gatehouse, and the toolshed…

Maybe I should look at the bigger picture – get a weekend job at a similar place and start over again.  Or, maybe, I could just start over again at my current weekend job…but go in reverse order! Or from different angles.  Or switch out the girls.  Try a different one where once there was another.  There was the redhead… The three desks in this office were with a blonde.  The half Asian chick loved the basement and the bathrooms.  The tattooed girl loved the roof, and the heavily pierced one traveled with me through accounting. The much, much, much older woman in the library, and the barely legal girl at the cash registers in the IT office.  (At least, I hope she was barely legal.)  The mother in the bookshop offices and, a year later, her daughter in the Gazebo and at the pond.  The married woman in the parking lot, the fat girl on the third floor, and a hippie chick at various desks…

Some were relationships, but they tended not to understand my quest.  A couple did get into it and, foolishly, I didn’t take them up on the offer to hit every desk with them. I had some troubled years there. A smarter man would have leapt at the chance… But, then, I knew that we would quickly run out of desks.  Then what?  The same problem, except now trapped in a relationship.  If the foundation of our love is a quest to have sex on every desk at my weekend job, then what future do we have?  Unless, of course, we start working our way through my day job’s twelve storey building…