In April a new director started, and to get to know us he decided to throw an Easter party with an animal theme. I found it childish and ridiculous. I’ve been successfully avoiding team-building with colleagues for years; at most I’ll show up to some Christmas party. Besides, I’m not very social… I mostly can’t stand people. I won’t go out on the street without headphones blasting music, and I carry two spares in my backpack in case the ones on my head die. I was determined not to go to the Easter party, so I didn’t bother putting together an animal costume.

Marta, my colleague, lives far away, so she works remotely and sends me articles that I proofread and adapt for publication on our website. She always meets deadlines, even if she often sends the articles at 11:59 p.m. on the day of the deadline. Her communication style is very formal. Dear Mrs. Skalická, I am sending you a new article “Bedroom Fun After Forty Through the Lens of the Latest Oxford Study.” Sincerely, Ing. Marta Tichá.

Because I’m busy, I usually reply with a simple OK. Only after about six months of working together did I write: OK, but I’m not married and I don’t have a title. Since then she addresses me as Dear Miss Skalická. I figured she was a real cold fish who can compile the latest research on sexuality and present it so academically that the reader feels like they’re reading about a cucumber harvest.

Except yesterday, along with the article sent at 11:58 p.m. (she pushed herself by a minute), she added: P.S.: I’m looking forward to meeting you at the Easter party.

She’s exactly the one I’d like to meet. She’s surely ugly and bitter. I imagined how this dear engineer lady would react to my frankly cheeky nature, and the thought amused me. And if the party is tonight, I’ve got work to do to get a costume together.

The cat ears are sorted; I happen to have headphones with glowing ears on top, but what about the tail? On my lunch break I popped into a shop where I hoped I’d find one, and I did. They had a rainbow Fluffy Tail that matches my headphones, since the ears on them change colors in a rainbow. I didn’t examine it in detail, I just grabbed it, paid, and left.

Work’s over, we’re heading to the bar in a bit, but right now I’m wrestling with the tail in the restroom because I don’t understand how to attach it. It doesn’t have a pin or a clip, but a weird bulb that looks like a pawn in chess. I don’t have time for this, so I end up tucking the pawn behind my belt from the back. It makes a lump above my butt, but I pull my hoodie down as low as possible and head out.

At the party it’s obvious everyone took the animal costumes very seriously. The director is all yellow like a chick, even Béďa is now a teddy bear, which makes me laugh. After a while I notice a slim, tanned lady who’s not really mingling with us. She has tall bunny ears like the Playboy girls and a sexy black, tight mini dress that arches over huge boobs. Are they fake? She doesn’t speak, just critically looks everyone over. She sips quality whisky and I’d guess she’s just over fifty, even though she has the body of a twenty-year-old, long nails, fresh highlights, and very expensive makeup. When she sits at the bar, I notice a pom-pom peeking out from under her miniskirt—a bunny tail. How is it attached?

But my thoughts shift to her legs. They’re unbelievably long and slim, with high-heeled pumps. It occurs to me she’s exactly like a Playboy girl; she only lacks the bow tie. Fairly tipsy, I sit down next to her. I don’t say hello, she doesn’t either; she just gives me a critical once-over.

“Another one?” the bartender asks her when she finishes her whisky.
“Two,” she replies curtly. To my surprise, she slides one glass in front of me. Did she just buy me a drink?
“I’m Jana,” I smile at her.
“I know,” she snaps. A real pain in the ass. She looks down at me like I’m a reckless teenager, which makes me act like one.
“How come your lipstick doesn’t leave a print on the glass?” I pry.
“We’re not on a first-name basis. And besides, I’m much older,” she primly reminds me of etiquette.
“Probably a lot older,” I grin. “How come your lipstick doesn’t leave a print on the glass?”
“It’s permanent makeup.”
“Why aren’t you hanging out with us?”
“And are you having fun?”
“Then why don’t you get lost?”
“Because I’d run into you there soon enough.”

“Hey bunny, wanna do a little hopping?” Béďa interrupts us.
“No!” she snaps, and I even feel sorry for Béďa as he walks away with his head down. “Stupid men. They only think about one thing,” she grumbles. “And they don’t have a shred of manners.”

“Like addressing an old lady with respect?” I raise an eyebrow.

She just frowns harder.

“Bad experiences? Probably lots, given your advanced age,” I prod her.
“Two exes, three kids, and a grandchild on the way.”

At least I got something out of her. I boldly look her over again. “I don’t believe you have that body after three kids.”
“I work hard for it, missy.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why try to look good if you’re mad at men? Apparently at the whole world, actually…”
“And why do you look like a stale lesbian?” she shoots back.
“Lesbian? I’m not gay!”
“No? And what about that LGBT tail?”
“It’s not LGBT, it’s rainbow… Oh, crap.” It dawns on me.
“So you screw guys like a bunny?” she can’t help herself.
“I don’t know who the real bunny is here!” I grin at her. “How did you attach yours?”
“Normally. How about you?”

I climb down from the barstool and show her how I have the pawn tucked behind my belt.

“You’ve done it wrong,” she notes wearily and gives her attention back to the glass.
“Then tell me how to do it right.”

Nothing. I feel like leaving, but something also makes me stay. This back-and-forth is kind of fun.

She drains her drink, sighs, and heads off without a word. I don’t even sit back down. I just stare at her as she leaves. But by the restrooms she turns to me and winks. What was that? Am I supposed to follow her? I’m probably reading it wrong; I’d only embarrass myself. But I can go take a pee…

When I walk into the restroom, she’s standing hands on hips by the mirror, obviously waiting for me to arrive.

“What is it?” I say.
“Friday,” she snaps. “Take off your pants and bend over,” she orders.

I’m taken aback. What is this supposed to be?

“I’ll attach it properly,” she says a bit more kindly and snatches the tail from me.

I unbuckle and slowly pull down my jeans.

“Panties too.”

I shake my head. Am I really supposed to bare myself to a stranger in a bar restroom? The strict look on her face kind of turns me on. I swallow dryly and pull my panties down too. I bend over and rest my elbows on the sink.

Smack!
She slaps my butt so hard I cry out. More from surprise than pain.

“That’s for taking so long.”

Smack! On the other cheek.

“What was that one for?” I ask, surprised.
“To make it symmetrical,” she says offhandedly and rummages a bottle of lube out of her purse.

I watch her spread it on the pawn. Oh fuck! Literally. How did that not occur to me before? I think it’s called an anal plug.

“No, not like that, I don’t want that,” I grumble, but my body acts in complete opposition to my head. I spread my legs, stick my butt out more, and I’m really curious.

She stands behind me. I can see her in the mirror. She has a strict, determined look on her face; there’s something arousing about it. She strokes herself. First her face, her neck, her nape, then her breasts. Her lips are slightly parted as she stares at my ass, where the prints of her hands must already be visible; she blinks those long lashes and her nipples are at full attention. As if fulfilling my odd wishes, she pulls both breasts out of her neckline. They’re beautifully firm, with dark areolae. How can I like tits? I’m not a lesbian! But I can’t tear my eyes away from them; they’re weirdly hypnotic, especially when she circles her fingers around her nipples.

I shift my hips. I want her to touch me.

She hears my nonverbal plea and puts her fingers to my ring. Her hot hands are so gentle, while her long nails lightly scratch as she circles, presses, and eases. I’m barely breathing.

With her other hand she starts massaging my clit from behind. I definitely didn’t expect putting on a tail to be an erotic affair, and yet a moan escapes me. She likes that; I can see the corners of her mouth twitch in the mirror, but she holds it back to keep a serious face. She circles her fingers around my little nub, presses on it, then gently circles again. I’m no longer resisting, and I’m moaning.

I feel the tip of the pawn tracing my ring while she keeps teasing my clit with her other hand. My lower belly pulses in anticipation.

She leans in—actually presses against me—until those melons land on my back. Her swollen nipples spear into me, sending another wave of arousal through me. I watch her serious, strict face and slowly reach the peak. With an exhale a powerful orgasm floods me. And at that moment she slides the pawn into my anus, which prolongs my climax by several endless seconds of bliss. I just make sure not to moan too loudly in the throes of it—we are, after all, in a bar restroom.

When I catch my breath, I go to pull my panties and pants back up, but she’s already dressed me without me noticing. She’s left the anal plug in me, of course. I turn and lean my back against the wall, accidentally setting off the hand dryer. I expect her to leave me there like a used tissue, but she presses against me, tits still out. My hands somehow automatically grab those two boobs and I settle the melons into my palms. She looks me right in the eyes. Even with the permanent makeup, her lips have reddened.

“Still not a lesbian?” she whispers.
“I guess I am now.”
“I’m just teasing you. A fling with a woman won’t change your orientation. But we can go to your place. I think you owe me something.”

I nod vigorously. I’m glad she suggested it, because I can’t imagine spending the next few hours at the Easter party with an anal plug and a colorful tail in me. And I want to return the favor. After all, she has a plug in too; that has to be put to use.

“By the way, I’m Marta,” she adds.