She walked up to the cube, a slight feeling of dread tingled in her spine. He was sitting there, hunched over his keyboard. His shirt was too big and hung loosely on his overweight frame. The bottom of his shirt was hitched up, stuck against the chair. The waistband of his underwear was showing. She supressed a shudder.

She knocked hesitantly on the edge of the cubicle. He spun around on his chair. His hair was stringy and plastered to his skull. His glasses were slipping down his pimply nose and he pushed them back up with a finger.

She shuddered again as his eyes moved up and down her body. It felt like centipedes crawling around in her cloths checking her out. Unconsciously she adjusted her clothing, making sure enough buttons were done up on her blouse and smoothing her skirt to make sure as much skin as possible was covered.

Gathering herself together she asked, “I was wondering if you’d help me plug my iPod into my computer?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I would,” he leared at her suggestively.