Lingering in my office and replying to text messages, I find myself thinking about my son’s cock again, how the potential erection problem is Ferhana’s to deal with. I wonder how my assistant would react to such a circumstance, assuming the problem would arise at all.
I have no idea about Ferhana’s love life, if it even exists. I’m fine talking about love, relationship, and sex with close friends. Or even with colleagues if they want someone to confide in. I’ve never had those kinds of conversations with Ferhana, even after countless lunches and coffee breaks together.
Truth be told, I’ve always tip-toed around Ferhana because of her Islamic faith and that put a barrier on our friendship. I sometimes get the impression that she wants to be closer as friends, but again, that’s always been tricky. Do I invite her to my house for dinner? Do I invite her to the restaurant with my other friends who will order wine at the table?
I don’t want to sound ignorant, but she’s the first person from Afghanistan that I’ve ever met. It’s like peeling the petals of a rose. Getting to know her is a dream.
My thoughts turn darker and I wonder how she’d react seeing the bulge of a man’s erection. Has she ever seen an erect penis; ever touched one? The thought of my son’s cock near Ferhana’s face makes me aroused.
Checking the time, if the erection situation has returned, it would be at around this moment. I wonder if Ferhana is horrified or offended by this. Who knows. Maybe it’s the opposite? It would explain why Ferhana was so interested in having more responsibilities after seeing me touch my son’s dick.
I leave my office and walk down the hall to check on them. Through the window and open blinds, I should be able to see Ferhana in the room. But she isn’t there. I should be able to see her standing or sitting from my viewpoint.
The color of Ferhana’s pink hijab comes into view, from the place I least suspect. It appears in the center of where my son sleeps. Did she drop something and bent down to pick it up? Her head goes up and down. Is she inspecting my son’s penis? That seems like the most plausible scenario because of what a consummate professional she is.
My instincts tell me to approach slowly — for whatever reason — and as I walk with quiet footsteps, another scenario comes to mind. One that I couldn’t have prepared for. She’s sucking my son’s dick? As absurd as that seems, it would be in line with the sneaking suspicion I’ve had all day.
The lights in that room are dimmed and I see the pink hijab going up and down. Yes, that has to be it. It’s the only explanation. Ferhana is sucking my son’s dick. The thought drives me wild. The sight makes me flush. I can only imagine why Ferhana would be doing such a thing with my sleeping son. Is it because she’s sexually repressed? Has she always been attracted to my son? Or maybe she has a fetish for sleeping men.
I tell myself that Ferhana is being an overly dedicated employee. That she’s only doing what I did yesterday, but to a greater extreme. I tell myself that Ferhana has the purest intentions and that she wants to relieve my son of pain and discomfort.
As I step closer to the open door, the reality becomes clear that Ferhana is a sexual being like anyone else. Her lips are wrapped around Christopher’s erection while he’s still asleep with the blanket pulled down. Ferhana is in a kneeling position while her head bobs. The pink hijab around her head has never looked so elegant.
Ferhana’s green eyes look at me while I stand beside the door. She doesn’t stop sucking. She keeps going. With the tip of my son’s cock in her mouth, her eyes reveal her sexual complexity. She’s ashamed of this, yet she won’t stop.
Her brown lips release the erection and she holds the base in her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she says, looking at me. “I apologize.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m doing what you wanted to do last night.”
“Excuse me?”
Being accused of wanting to do this offends me. Anyone would be offended with an accusation of wanting to commit incest. But I can never discount Ferhana’s opinions. In the years that we’ve worked together, her private insights into people have always been gold. It’s her pure heart that allows her to see clearly.
She tilts the head of the cock in my direction. “Go ahead, try it.”
“What? I can’t.”
We’re whispering, as if we’re students gossiping in the middle of class, because we don’t want to wake my son. This fact is, this conversation is too important to ignore. I can’t walk away. My legs are frozen in place.
“Have a turn while he’s sleeping,” Ferhana says. “He’ll never know.”
“He’ll wake up.”
“I gave him an extra dose. That’s why his penis throbs. And if he does wake up, then I’ll explain that this is my fault.”
Her slender brown fingers are holding the base of my son’s glistening, saliva covered cock. She’s giving it short strokes while pointing it in my direction.
My legs come to life and I approach them. I’m not ready to kneel, but I’m close to doing it. What’s happening here is hypnotic. Ferhana looks at me, those green eyes have a spellbinding effect, while she pumps the cock in my direction.
“Please stop,” I say.
“If I stop, then you’ll have to provide the relief yourself. Otherwise your son will complain of soreness again.”