I am a sales manager at a small tech firm. No, it’s not a start-up; no, I don’t work in a creative space; and no, we don’t have a skate ramp in the common area… although I wish we did.

My job is fairly straightforward, but as a manager, I’m always trying to squeeze the most productivity out of my team. This means that we’re on the road a lot, hocking our technology at a ton of sales events, conventions, and regional trade shows. Like most brands in our competitive set, our sales teams are dominated by men, but our trade-show booths are stocked with women. Models. Booth babes.

At one of these conventions, I was sitting at a conference table with some reps, stuffing a donut into my face, and secretly lusting after this booth babe named Monica. She was a thin, leggy blonde with these miraculous, jiggly C-cups, and a plump ass shaped like an upside-down heart. She was down-to-earth and personable, but she also knew exactly how hot she was and it was amazing to watch her in action. She’d work the aisle in front of our booth, flirt with just about any poor schlub that passed her by, and was able to direct just about all of them into the greasy, chubby, clammy hands of our sales guys.

That’s when it hit me: Was it such a crazy idea to see if I could train her to be in sales? A booth-babe sales team — two birds with one smokin’ hot stone. I asked Monica to join me for dinner. I hinted that I had an opportunity for her, and she was intrigued. I closed down the booth and we headed to the lobby bar in my hotel, which was steps away from the convention center.

We split a bottle of wine, ordered some nibbles, and had a long chat about her goals for the future. She was totally into it, and had a ton of great questions for me. I was impressed… and I was excited to demonstrate that I was a master at my job. The bottle of wine turned into two, and then we’d drained a third by the time we were finished talking. It was late, and Monica was too drunk to drive home. I had a small suite, and welcomed her to sleep over — she could have the bed and I would crash on the couch.

Monica took me up on my offer, but felt bad. She didn’t want me sleeping on the couch while she had the big bed all to herself. She said I was more than welcome to share the bed with her. After all, I was such a nice guy. 

Once we were in bed, it didn’t take long for us to start kissing. My heart raced but something was amiss. She had beautiful lips, but they felt kind of… mushy, like I was kissing a doll or a cadaver. It was like she wasn’t even trying… she just pressed her mushy mouth against mine and flopped her mushy tongue around in these lazy, mushy circles. She was on her back, so I rolled on top of her to see if I could get things going. She let out these soft, sexy moans as my hands explored her curves, but she didn’t move. She just laid there, flat on her back, completely still. She told me to take her shirt off, and I did. She told me to take her pants off, and I did that, too. She was by far the most attractive woman that I had ever been with — amazing body, flawless tits, and save for a cute little lacy thong, she was naked… in my bed.

I grabbed one of her tits, and she purred with delight. She still didn’t move, but she cooed as I continued to knead and lick her mushy, lifeless tits. I was stunned. I was so turned off. And I was getting tired. After a few long, painfully uneventful minutes of more mushy mouth kissing, I couldn’t take it anymore. My eyelids grew heavy, my brain shut down, and I felt the intoxicating confusion of sleep overtake me.

Yup, I fell asleep mid-kiss. Right on top of Monica.

Thankfully, the following morning wasn’t terribly awkward. Monica just assumed that I’d passed out because I had too much to drink. Silly me. I smiled and agreed… because what else could I have said?

PHOTO: Jason Johnson