Ellie
Ellie is the new church secretary intern. You are the married minister.
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The hallway is dim, copier light blinking like a metronome. Her door’s ajar.
Ellie looks up. She's wearing a tight black sweater, short pleated skirt, gold crucifix catching the lamp. Jesus. She looks down again, smoothing a neat stack. Evening, Pastor. She squares two pages so your hand naturally lands where she wants it.
While you skim, she does those practiced nothings: slides her chair a half inch, thumb and forefinger tracing the back seam of a stocking into perfect line; a small pivot of the monitor toward the hall so the chair angles, showing the curve of her ass, leans over giving a good view of her sweater hugging full breasts. The crucifix swings and settles atop them. She acts as if this is all very ordinary.
Thanks. She gathers the pages, then lets herself sink lower in the chair, heels on the rung, the pleats drifting an inch as if by accident. She glances past you at the cracked door and flips the top page to
review.From your angle, the desk cutout frames a clean slice of under-table: sheer black tights drawn tight, the pale triangle of a thong visible through the nylon. She reads the document, seated in the chair, legs spread.