The girl in the raincoat (not explicit)
Posted: October 20th, 2026, 9:51 pm
A diversion from all the Donna related stories, a sad tale…
Simon sat staring at his screen. He hated his job. He hated the work, the management, his colleagues, the awful coffee and the dreary view from his window onto a grey tin wall with the ever present sign for the builder’s merchant that he vowed new to use just because of the awful colours in their logo and use of Comic Sans typeface, which he was forced to see every bloody day. But more than all of that he hated himself because of her. That he could have got a job somewhere else but she would not have been there. It wasn’t as if he saw her very often, or even had the balls to speak to her, let alone ask her out. But on the few occasions he saw her, she was always wearing that fucking raincoat. That thing was evil. It was shiny and smooth and he just bet it would feel totally gorgeous. He thought it was PVC, he certainly hoped it was. It was jet black, sort of trench coat style but short, just below the bum. It always had itself buttoned up and belted around her.
He would go through the motions of work, always looking forward to going home time but more looking forward to seeing her. He caught himself watching the corridor, the meeting room where she last was, and always on edge in case she visited and he missed it.
Simon had it very bad. He knew he had seen her precisely four times in the eight months he had worked there. He could recall every single instance, exactly where she was, how she was smiling, and whether she had her hands planted deep in those luxurious PVC pockets, or if her bare hands hung down brushing against the shiny fabric.
It didn’t help that she was quite easily the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his whole miserable 26 years, but in that mackintosh she was like a mermaid dragging unsuspecting victims, Simon, to the depths of their own misery.
Today was different. Today was the day Simon was ridding himself of her grasp, not that she had any clue as to the effect that she and her mackintosh had on him.
“Why the fuck must you always wear it? And indoors? And on sunny days? Have you no clue what you are doing to me? Clearly not”.
His desk was empty just after 9am but was still going through the motions until 5:30pm. But even on this very last day he could not stop himself looking for her, the shine of her mac announcing her presence under the bright office lights.
But this was the day he hoped not to see her, because if he did he feared he may go crawling back to his manager to keep his miserable job.
The evening air smelt different as he stepped out with his box of belongings and the mandatory stationary, stolen over time as a way to relieve some of the tedium of the job. Finally free of that place, sad that he would never see her again but not at all sad about the workplace that killed all those months of his life he was never getting back and only an average wage to show for it.
Sharps were just a few miles away, a bit of a longer drive in the morning, but a totally different line of work he was actually looking forward to doing. The pay was a bit better and his interview had painted the place as being a fun place to work. After the formal greeting and being shown to his desk he settled down to read the mountain of information about the new role he was taking on. He felt so free. Free to work without looking over his shoulder to see if she was there. Free to enjoy the work. They even had decent coffee. What was not to like?
The first time Simon saw HER was the closest encounter. He nearly bumped into her as he rounded the corridor from the photocopier room all those months ago. He was close enough to smell her perfume. Close enough to hear the crackle of that raincoat. Close enough to say “sorry, excuse me” then move on when what he really wanted to do was to chat and fall in proper love, the sort where he was loved back, not this one-sided longing. He was glad she was gone. The second time was fleeting when he only saw her from behind in the same corridor - she seemed to be in a hurry, her shiny raincoat flapped seductively. He was glad she was gone. The third time cemented his fate, they were not physically close as she stood outside the conference room with a colleague. She was about to go into a meeting fully buttoned up, indoors, in that black shiny PVC mackintosh and what’s more their eyes met briefly and she smiled just enough to capture his heart and lock it away forever. He was glad she was gone. The fourth time he saw her she seemed to be moving with urgency and had a worried expression, it was the only time he had seen her raincoat unbelted and open to show her white satin blouse. He was, of course, glad she was gone. He often wondered what her life was like, did she ever take the raincoat off, did she like its look and feel or was there some sinister meaning in it? Was she married? A lesbian maybe? How how he wanted to know if only to get closure. She was not gone from his memories.
If it were even vaguely possible Simon would say to himself that he had moved on from the girl in the raincoat. After all Sharps had Susan and she was chatty, attractive, periodically prone to wearing shiny brown PVC leggings on dress-down Friday and he seemed close to asking her out on a date. Friday was a good day to ask as it meant Saturday would be ideal if only she said yes. Plus they were alone in the canteen and he had walked in to see her craning to get to a mug on the top shelf and in the process fallen head over heels for her faux leather covered arse.
“Susan”, he started, “I um wondered if, maybe, if you are free, possibly…”
Then disaster struck.
She walked in wearing that fucking raincoat. Bold as brass, as if she owned the place, just went over to the urn and started making herself a cup of tea.
She also bloody smiled at Simon the bitch. Had she no mercy for his poor soul? Susan didn’t stand a chance.
“…yes”, Susan turned and looked at Simon, “you were saying?”
He was confused, not sure what to do. His brain desperately wanted to go out with Susan but that bastard heart was sabotaging everything, and worse, SHE was so close he could have stroked her PVC covered arm if he wanted to, which of course he did want, but didn’t do.
He swore the PVC was even more crackly than it had been before, even shinier, even more evil.
She turned to leave with her mug, he couldn’t let her go like that, to invade his new world and put him into more misery only for the satisfaction of fleeting encounters very rarely as before.
“STOP”, Simon said in a voice that was more aggressive than he had intended.
She stopped and looked mildly angry at him, “yes?”
“Sorry, I er, didn’t mean”, he was close to losing it and allowing her to just walk off, “we, er, we met, at Stanley Wright, do you remember? No, of course not, silly me, sorry to have interrupted”. He wanted a hole to open up and swallow him.
Susan looked annoyed and left, but even the sight of her shiny butt swinging out of the room did not distract him from his gaze at the black PVC raincoat and its gorgeous wearer.
The girl smiled, “oh yes, I’ve been there a couple of times. Do I know you?”
“Simon, Simon Campbell, I worked in sales, we met, er, well…”, suddenly he realised they had not really met and she had no right to remember him in any way, “…look sorry, I just remembered seeing you there. Who could forget such pretty eyes?”
He shocked himself with that last part. Had he stepped over the line of sexual harassment at work? Was he about to get a visit from Hr? Who knows, she might be HR!
She smiled, “nice to meet you Simon”, then turned and left. Again.
Simon sat staring at his screen. He hated his job. He hated the work, the management, his colleagues, the awful coffee and the dreary view from his window. He hated that he blew it with Susan. He hated himself and that after three years he had not seen the girl again, and every day he looked with a hope that dwindled long ago. More than anything he loathed the Christmas party where Susan turned up wearing even shinier black PVC leggings and a gorgeous black PVC biker jacket then proceeded to hit it off with James.
He left that job and moved even further out. The money was good - it had to be to cover the additional travel costs. He actually enjoyed the work and was becoming very good at it. He met Liz and fell in love. She didn’t own any PVC leggings, plastic macs, shiny raincoats or even a nylon cagoule. She was no siren, she just adored Simon and he adored her. She even didn’t mind that sometimes, on occasion, he asked to wear a shiny black PVC raincoat when they made love, one that was like a trench coat, but shorter, just above the butt.
The End
Simon sat staring at his screen. He hated his job. He hated the work, the management, his colleagues, the awful coffee and the dreary view from his window onto a grey tin wall with the ever present sign for the builder’s merchant that he vowed new to use just because of the awful colours in their logo and use of Comic Sans typeface, which he was forced to see every bloody day. But more than all of that he hated himself because of her. That he could have got a job somewhere else but she would not have been there. It wasn’t as if he saw her very often, or even had the balls to speak to her, let alone ask her out. But on the few occasions he saw her, she was always wearing that fucking raincoat. That thing was evil. It was shiny and smooth and he just bet it would feel totally gorgeous. He thought it was PVC, he certainly hoped it was. It was jet black, sort of trench coat style but short, just below the bum. It always had itself buttoned up and belted around her.
He would go through the motions of work, always looking forward to going home time but more looking forward to seeing her. He caught himself watching the corridor, the meeting room where she last was, and always on edge in case she visited and he missed it.
Simon had it very bad. He knew he had seen her precisely four times in the eight months he had worked there. He could recall every single instance, exactly where she was, how she was smiling, and whether she had her hands planted deep in those luxurious PVC pockets, or if her bare hands hung down brushing against the shiny fabric.
It didn’t help that she was quite easily the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his whole miserable 26 years, but in that mackintosh she was like a mermaid dragging unsuspecting victims, Simon, to the depths of their own misery.
Today was different. Today was the day Simon was ridding himself of her grasp, not that she had any clue as to the effect that she and her mackintosh had on him.
“Why the fuck must you always wear it? And indoors? And on sunny days? Have you no clue what you are doing to me? Clearly not”.
His desk was empty just after 9am but was still going through the motions until 5:30pm. But even on this very last day he could not stop himself looking for her, the shine of her mac announcing her presence under the bright office lights.
But this was the day he hoped not to see her, because if he did he feared he may go crawling back to his manager to keep his miserable job.
The evening air smelt different as he stepped out with his box of belongings and the mandatory stationary, stolen over time as a way to relieve some of the tedium of the job. Finally free of that place, sad that he would never see her again but not at all sad about the workplace that killed all those months of his life he was never getting back and only an average wage to show for it.
Sharps were just a few miles away, a bit of a longer drive in the morning, but a totally different line of work he was actually looking forward to doing. The pay was a bit better and his interview had painted the place as being a fun place to work. After the formal greeting and being shown to his desk he settled down to read the mountain of information about the new role he was taking on. He felt so free. Free to work without looking over his shoulder to see if she was there. Free to enjoy the work. They even had decent coffee. What was not to like?
The first time Simon saw HER was the closest encounter. He nearly bumped into her as he rounded the corridor from the photocopier room all those months ago. He was close enough to smell her perfume. Close enough to hear the crackle of that raincoat. Close enough to say “sorry, excuse me” then move on when what he really wanted to do was to chat and fall in proper love, the sort where he was loved back, not this one-sided longing. He was glad she was gone. The second time was fleeting when he only saw her from behind in the same corridor - she seemed to be in a hurry, her shiny raincoat flapped seductively. He was glad she was gone. The third time cemented his fate, they were not physically close as she stood outside the conference room with a colleague. She was about to go into a meeting fully buttoned up, indoors, in that black shiny PVC mackintosh and what’s more their eyes met briefly and she smiled just enough to capture his heart and lock it away forever. He was glad she was gone. The fourth time he saw her she seemed to be moving with urgency and had a worried expression, it was the only time he had seen her raincoat unbelted and open to show her white satin blouse. He was, of course, glad she was gone. He often wondered what her life was like, did she ever take the raincoat off, did she like its look and feel or was there some sinister meaning in it? Was she married? A lesbian maybe? How how he wanted to know if only to get closure. She was not gone from his memories.
If it were even vaguely possible Simon would say to himself that he had moved on from the girl in the raincoat. After all Sharps had Susan and she was chatty, attractive, periodically prone to wearing shiny brown PVC leggings on dress-down Friday and he seemed close to asking her out on a date. Friday was a good day to ask as it meant Saturday would be ideal if only she said yes. Plus they were alone in the canteen and he had walked in to see her craning to get to a mug on the top shelf and in the process fallen head over heels for her faux leather covered arse.
“Susan”, he started, “I um wondered if, maybe, if you are free, possibly…”
Then disaster struck.
She walked in wearing that fucking raincoat. Bold as brass, as if she owned the place, just went over to the urn and started making herself a cup of tea.
She also bloody smiled at Simon the bitch. Had she no mercy for his poor soul? Susan didn’t stand a chance.
“…yes”, Susan turned and looked at Simon, “you were saying?”
He was confused, not sure what to do. His brain desperately wanted to go out with Susan but that bastard heart was sabotaging everything, and worse, SHE was so close he could have stroked her PVC covered arm if he wanted to, which of course he did want, but didn’t do.
He swore the PVC was even more crackly than it had been before, even shinier, even more evil.
She turned to leave with her mug, he couldn’t let her go like that, to invade his new world and put him into more misery only for the satisfaction of fleeting encounters very rarely as before.
“STOP”, Simon said in a voice that was more aggressive than he had intended.
She stopped and looked mildly angry at him, “yes?”
“Sorry, I er, didn’t mean”, he was close to losing it and allowing her to just walk off, “we, er, we met, at Stanley Wright, do you remember? No, of course not, silly me, sorry to have interrupted”. He wanted a hole to open up and swallow him.
Susan looked annoyed and left, but even the sight of her shiny butt swinging out of the room did not distract him from his gaze at the black PVC raincoat and its gorgeous wearer.
The girl smiled, “oh yes, I’ve been there a couple of times. Do I know you?”
“Simon, Simon Campbell, I worked in sales, we met, er, well…”, suddenly he realised they had not really met and she had no right to remember him in any way, “…look sorry, I just remembered seeing you there. Who could forget such pretty eyes?”
He shocked himself with that last part. Had he stepped over the line of sexual harassment at work? Was he about to get a visit from Hr? Who knows, she might be HR!
She smiled, “nice to meet you Simon”, then turned and left. Again.
Simon sat staring at his screen. He hated his job. He hated the work, the management, his colleagues, the awful coffee and the dreary view from his window. He hated that he blew it with Susan. He hated himself and that after three years he had not seen the girl again, and every day he looked with a hope that dwindled long ago. More than anything he loathed the Christmas party where Susan turned up wearing even shinier black PVC leggings and a gorgeous black PVC biker jacket then proceeded to hit it off with James.
He left that job and moved even further out. The money was good - it had to be to cover the additional travel costs. He actually enjoyed the work and was becoming very good at it. He met Liz and fell in love. She didn’t own any PVC leggings, plastic macs, shiny raincoats or even a nylon cagoule. She was no siren, she just adored Simon and he adored her. She even didn’t mind that sometimes, on occasion, he asked to wear a shiny black PVC raincoat when they made love, one that was like a trench coat, but shorter, just above the butt.
The End