I walked, bleary-eyes and sleep-deprived, into work this morning to find somebody had put a free-standing whiteboard in the corner of the room. Placed it in the corner... and seemingly just left it there. Roaming as I was through the rows upon rows of computers, I caught a sideways glance at the board... and something twinged in the back of my head.
Three hours later and I realised what it was.
Dial back a decade (and a bit). At the age of twenty-one, I worked with my mum. I had a part-time job following graduation, but with relatively little to do during the weekdays, I volunteered my time to help out my overworked mother, in a position which practically demanded the immediate proximity of free-standing whiteboards. I also had other commitments - to the (real) band in which I met (the fictional) Karolina, my fledgling (aborted) film career and the excitement of recommissioning my SNES and playing through Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy's King Quest for the umpteenth time - but I enjoyed this job. It was fun, rewarding, and more importantly, I got free food.
On this particular occasion, I was cleaning the whiteboard and soliloquising to myself (which I do a lot). I had plans that evening to see (read: shag) Alicia, and was narrating, under my breath, the relative merits of a sexual relationship with an older lady, when my mother emerged from the unfriendly side of the board. (I shifted positions at this point, handily hiding my erection.) She had noticed my absence, and needed help with a particularly troublesome client. I gave her a promise that I'd be there... once I'd finished wiping the board clean.
"You seem distracted," she observed. "Are you OK?"
"I'm fine," I replied honestly. "I just didn't sleep much last night," and I won't do so tonight, because I'll be spending most of it entwined between a beautiful pair of thighs. This is going to be a good night. "You OK?" I added, in an effort to sound politer in real life than I did in my head.
"Well, I did need help with..."
"Coming!" Which is what she's going to be doing. Last time, I brought her off using my tongue. Tonight I'll do that again. Make her warm and wet, and then I'll slide into her. I love my life! "Quick as I can!" I still can't believe I'm actually having sex!
"What are you muttering about?" came my mother's voice, interrupting my rêverie and handily reminding me where I was.
"Oh, nothing really," I lied. "Finished now. I'll be with you shortly."
And I went to join her, a silly grin on my face and lone "WTF?" left scrawled, unpurged, on the board. In my own handwriting, obviously.