Sighing, I set the completed report aside after stapling it, and putting it on top of another set of reports that will likely get just as ignored, as the head honchos of our company make their billion dollar decisions.

Craning my neck and back, I grunt as I feel my back pop. I look around my office. . . . Well, I'm not really sure I can call this room an office. Five desks are arrayed around the room in a U-shape, each with another corporate lackey just like myself, looking just as dead eyed and soulless as I feel.

Well, except for Sheila at the bend in the U. Mrs. Lance is my boss, and while she isn't a strict task mistress, she isn't exactly warm either. I've definitely worked for worse bosses, and worse looking. Her long black hair is tied back into a tight bun, making her brown eyes and sharp nose that much more severe. The look is balanced by a softer chin, that all told, doesn't make her beautiful, but slightly attractive.

Crap! She's looking right at me, and even from this distance, I can see the disapproving look in her eyes. Well, back to the grind. Did I mention she wasn't strict? Yeah, well, I lied.

Burying my head back into my work, I pull up a couple spreadsheets and get back to compiling data.

If only this job didn't pay the bills, I'd happily be doing something else. Growing up, I never saw myself as a desk jockey, putting in the 9-5 grind, and collecting a paycheck every two weeks. I'd always seen myself with an exciting career in the Air Force, flying fighter jets, and shooting down the enemy. My near-shortsightedness and color blindness put an end to that dream.

Without military help in paying my tuition, my parents, rest their souls, couldn't afford to put me through college. I'd worked my way through fast food, until I became a manager. Then I found a job in the mail-room here, which paid a bit less than I was making, but I could hold the fast food management job at night, while working inside the dungeon, during the day. A couple years later, I crawled out of that abyss, and have slowly worked my way up to this dreary position of crunching numbers, and filing reports.

Yeah, yay me! A very exciting career indeed.

An odd noise sounds across from me, and it takes me a moment to recognize what it is. Not because the sound is unrecognizable, but because it is so alien in this white-washed, fluorescent-illuminated room.

It was a sigh of contentment.

Looking up, I'm greeted with an odd sight. Thomas Johnson, gray head of hair and normally tired eyes, looks slightly happy. He actually has a dreamy look on his face. Almost as if he's in la-la-land, and enjoying his fantasy. That's not the oddest thing though.

Bent over next to him is a very attractive young lady in a black and red summer dress, whispering into his ear. Her shoulder length blue hair is hanging down over her face, and whatever she's saying to Thomas, seems to be having an effect on his daydreaming.

A quick glance to Sheila shows that she isn't paying any attention to the two, but she is looking at me sternly.

Back to work I go.

Thomas clears his throat, and I glance up, and see the young lady start walking over to Debbie. I can now see the girl's face, and note that she's probably nineteen or twenty. Her nose is small, one of those cute button noses, and her eyes are wide and innocent looking. I can't make out much more detail at this distance, even with my glasses on, but I can easily make out the saucy sway in her slim hips as she walks over to Debbie, and starts whispering in her ear. What is that girl saying to them, and why do they look like they're a million miles away, mentally?

I have just enough time to see a dreamy look come over the slightly chubby woman's features, before Sheila loudly states, "Mr. Snow, if you can't seem to focus on your own work, maybe I should send you home."

Crap, crap, and double crap! Part of me is upset at the injustice of the situation. I mean, why am I getting into trouble, instead of that young woman?

"No, Mrs. Lance. Sorry I got distracted." Eyes back on my screen, I do my best to ignore what's happening on the other side of the room, and drudge through a report on current shipping costs, versus what they were a year ago.

This report is actually interesting, in a 'I want to bash my head against a wall, until I black out,' sort of way.

"Hmm, you're kinda cute; so much better than that religious bitch next to you. Too bad we can't get rid of those glasses." The softly whispered voice directly in my ear startles me enough that I fall right out of my chair.

"Mr. Snow!" Sheila nearly shouts, and I point open-mouthed at the very beautiful woman standing behind my desk and over me. "Don't try and blame your chair. Your reports have been less than stellar lately, and it's obvious you need to take the afternoon off. Perhaps tomorrow you will feel up to doing your job properly."

Speechless, I look from the young woman, to my boss, and back again. The blue-haired petite lady looks just as shocked and confused as I feel. My mouth moves wordlessly as I try to protest, but the look in my boss's brown eyes silences me. I've never been one to argue with an authority figure, and back down.

Picking myself up off the floor, I logout of my computer, grab my coat, and head to the elevator. The young woman follows right on my heels.

As soon as the doors close, the young lady speaks, and a shiver runs through me as her words conjure blurry thoughts that somehow seem lascivious and a pleasant feeling in my groin. "You can see and hear me, can't you?" There is still a note of surprise in her tone.

I glance at her, and her hazel eyes try to ensnare mine, but I look away quickly.

Maybe I do need a break. Is this babe for real? No one else seemed to be able to see or hear her. Sheila obviously hadn't, and everyone else in the office had only stared at him. Maybe a good nap will clear my head.

"You can!" the pert woman says excitedly. The doors to the elevator open, and I step out, having no doubt that my hallucination will follow me. "But why can you see and hear me?"

Walking through the parking garage, I try to ignore her, as I head to my car, a bright orange, old beat up, VW bug.

"You don't think I'm real!" the girl says, and I can't stop myself from nodding in response. Of course she's not real. She has to be entirely in my mind. No one else can see or hear her. Her voice has an almost physical effect on me. No woman of her obvious caliber would be spending this much time with me.

Okay, so it's been a long time since I've been on a date. I don't think I'm ugly, and I'm by no means fat. In fact, I may be a little on the skinny side, but I try to stay fit. My dark brown hair is cut close to my head, parted on the right, and I've been told that my gray eyes are eye-catching, if only I didn't have to wear glasses.

I'd thought my last date had gone well, until I'd invited the woman back to my place for coffee. She had quickly declined, and we went our separate ways. She never returned any of my phone calls after that. Maybe I just need to pull up some porn, and take care of myself. That ought to clear the cobwebs out of my head.

I use my key to unlock the driver's side, and get in, only to find my delusion already in the passenger seat. Of course. . . . I look to her door to see that the passenger side is still locked. Did I really expect anything else?

Wait a minute. She's my delusion. I should be able to think her away. I concentrate hard on picturing the passenger seat empty.

"That won't work," her soft voice states.

The engine in the rear cranks to life, and I put my Orange Bubble, as I call her, into gear, and start my drive home.

"You can ignore me all you want, but I'm really here." I find myself growing hard in my pants, and I wonder about that. "I can prove it, too!"

I feel her hands unzip my pants, and I do my best to ignore how soft her fingers feel as she pulls my hard member from my underwear. Wow! This delusion feels great, I think as she bends over, and teases the tip of my penis with her tongue. I can feel her mouth muscle playing with my pee hole, and I can't stop the slight moan that escapes my lips. Her hand squeezes the base of my penis, while her other hand gently fondles my nut-sack.

I have to concentrate hard on the road, and swerve back into my lane when her lips surround the head of my penis, and my pleasure increases tenfold. How can my imagination feel so good? I can actually feel her saliva dripping down my shaft, and getting massaged into my balls. Her technique is flawless. My legs keep twitching as she does something around the sensitive rim, and it's taking all of my effort to stay on the road.

This is just a dream, I tell myself, feeling doubt creep in at the assertion. None of this is real. I don't care how fantastic this is, it has to be an illusion.

I grunt loudly as I start to shoot off into what feels like a very warm wet vacuum, but know that it really has to be the inside of my underwear.

I hear screeching tires, and a horn honking, right before my poor car slams into something hard.

My head slamming into the steering wheel knocks me out.