After the end-of-year office party

A week after the party, the office had returned to its orderly rhythm.
Sure, some colleagues had spent an unsavory amount of time in the bathrooms in the first few days after the party, and there was no shortage of comments and glances from their female colleagues, but things seemed to have returned to a certain normalcy.
Orderly boredom, perhaps.

Graziella, especially in her role as Human Resources, couldn't shake a nagging feeling: something had really happened that evening, but she couldn't pinpoint it.

The informal signals, the half-sentences, the glances that broke as she passed in the hallway... everything pointed to the fact that despite appearances, no one had forgotten.
And probably no one will forget anytime soon.

It couldn't have been mass hysteria.
Too many converging signals, too many tangible consequences. These weren't exaggerated stories or suggestions: something had had real, measurable, persistent effects.
Something that had affected bodies and dynamics, leaving in its wake a trail of awkwardness, forced complicity, and sudden silences.

She had narrowed her suspicions to a few names: Giulia, Serena, Cornelia, a vague suspicion about Marta, a very introverted colleague with few friends among her colleagues, and even a colleague close to retirement, suspected simply because he was statistically the most likely to possess medical supplies...
To be on the safe side, Graziella had sent a generic email to all employees. Institutional tones, measured words. But beneath the surface, there was a real investigation underway, proceeding with great caution.

Eugenio showed up at her office, without an appointment.
Determined, though somewhat embarrassed.
Graziella wasn't even determined.
She didn't even resist a handful of seconds after Eugenio opened the door before her eyes immediately fell to assessing the now famous package.
Incredulous of this automatic reaction, Graziella averted her eyes and shrugged, and, assuming a professional tone, invited her colleague to sit down.

Eugenio spoke in a low voice, as if naming the problem would make it more real.
He spoke of years of difficulty, of postponed attempts, of excuses that had become habitual.
He didn't use medical terms, but the meaning was clear: for some time, his body had no longer responded as he would have liked, and this had also created a silent distance in his relationship with his wife.

As she listened, Graziella noticed her mind drifting elsewhere, formulating cutting comments she would never have dared utter. All that untapped "potential," she thought with a surprising irony. Fragments of the party came back to her, blurry but insistent images, and the awareness that the contrast between that memory and the man sitting across from her was almost cruel.
She forced herself to push back those associations: they weren't truly hers, they were just a way of distancing herself from a story that made her more uncomfortable than she cared to admit.
She forced herself to remain professional, even though a part of her found it grotesque that she, HR, was fantasizing while listening to such an intimate confession in that sterile office.

Eugenio explained how that evening he literally banged his wife all night and woke up feeling as strong as a bull the next day, and on Sunday as well.
Graziella cleared her throat, a nonverbal warning.
Eugenio realized he had used inappropriate language.
But the situation has been back to its former levels for a week now, only now my wife's cravings have reignited.
"We've been trying several times a day for days without success."
"Not only does he not shoot, but I'm also fed up," Eugenio vents.
Adding insult to injury.

Graziella is taken aback for a few seconds by the vehemence of his confession.
"I swear that, given the circumstances, if I could give you some answers I would, but I have no idea what exactly happened or who is responsible."
"Not yet," he added in a challenging tone.

Eugenio left the HR office, with Graziella's promise that she would let him know as soon as she had news.
He hadn't gotten what he wanted, but he had stirred things up.

Giulia and Serena see Graziella and Eugenio arguing in the HR office.

"Do you think he came to complain... or to say thank you?" Giulia muttered.
Serena held back a laugh.
"Perhaps someone will be reprimanded for their... overflowing exuberance?"

Giulia tilted her head toward the HR office door.
"Do you know what's great about being in Human Resources?"
"Enlighten me."
"You can learn everything without saying anything. You can call anyone you want with a neutral email and have them tell you about their private life in a professional tone."

Serena smiled. "And you can decide what becomes an 'organizational issue' and what remains an 'informal conversation.'"
"Exactly. It's an elegant position of power," Giulia concluded. "No need to raise your voice. Just write the subject line: internal clarification."
Serena stifled a laugh. "And everyone enters that office a little shorter than they left the party."

The glances became mischievous, the conclusions hasty but inevitable.
"Maybe it's best to leave it at that," Serena murmured.
"Right. Better not to give the impression of knowing too much," Giulia agreed, returning to an innocuous expression.

Graziella decided that Cornelia was the first person she could speak to directly and discuss in secrecy and anonymity without openly mentioning Eugenio's problem.
She summoned her with the promise of absolute confidentiality.

"You must have noticed that the end-of-year party had some problems," Graziella said, skipping the pleasantries.
"Did anyone miss it?" Cornelia replied ironically.
Graziella didn't appreciate the dig, and she immediately got to the point.
"...could it be that by chance something circulated that evening that shouldn't have?"
Graziella weighed every word. "Something that had... long-lasting effects."

Cornelia reacted rudely.
“How dare you insinuate such things?!”
“Look, I’ve never had and have no need to ‘cheat’ to raise dicks.”
“I…”
Graziella replied, “It’s not a competition.”
Cornelia, “There’s no comparison.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Graziella sighed, understanding that Cornelia didn’t appreciate her reputation being questioned. “I got off on the wrong foot, forgive me.”

Graziella explained vaguely that she wasn’t investigating to find a culprit, but to help an unnamed colleague.
“Well, if we’re talking about that night… I think we all used a helping hand, at least once.”
Then she stopped, seeing as HR is always HR, and she didn’t seem to be in the mood for jokes.
“Okay, sorry. You don’t seem to be in the mood.”
“What are you asking me?”

Graziella chose her words as if she were walking on a wet floor.
“Imagine someone has… responded unexpectedly to an extraordinary situation. Now that response isn't repeated. And that's creating… frustration.”
She paused. “I'm not looking for responsibility. I'm just trying to understand if there's a way to restore balance to the private lives of a colleague and his wife.”
She added a few more vague details.
When Graziella hinted who the colleague involved was, Cornelia snorted softly.
“Eugenio?”
She shook her head. “It doesn't surprise me. He's always seemed… off. Someone who stopped expecting anything.”
“I'm willing to bet it's not a physical problem,” Cornelia continued. “It's habit. Routine. No risk, no fantasy.”
She gave a half-smile. “And when the mind sleeps, the rest follows.”

Graziella quickly clarified that her colleague's identity would never be brought to light.
"I won't name names. Not to anyone," she said firmly.
Then she added, meeting Cornelia's gaze: "And I expect the same from you. This conversation never happened."
Cornelia stared at her for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"Relax. It's not in my interest to spread rumors. And some things only work if they remain... confidential."

Reassured, Graziella continued, "...for now, they're just suppositions, coincidences, impressions. Nothing else."
She folded her hands on the desk. "I have nothing concrete in hand."
Cornelia raised an eyebrow.
Graziella immediately regretted the involuntary joke, then continued:
"Even if your analysis is correct." Graziella wasn't convinced. "Your reading explains an individual situation. But it doesn't justify what happened around her, the general 'reaction' of almost all of my male colleagues."
An image flashed through her mind, fleeting but eloquent.
You should have seen the men's room at the end of the night, she thought, but she was careful not to say it out loud.

Cornelia brought her back to the present: "An erection of a sort, my dear."
She knew full well that something was "in the air" at the party; she'd had clear evidence of it before her eyes all evening, but she'd savored the personal/professional conflict Graziella had gotten herself into and didn't want to miss the opportunity to push that HR square to the brink of disaster.
In that instant, Cornelia's eyes shone; something had flashed in her head.
"If you want tangible proof, I can get it for you."

Cornelia leaned back, watching her as if she were solving a practical problem.
"Then we need a jolt. Something that has nothing to do with routine."
She lowered her voice slightly. "But without pressure, without performance. It has to be intimate, yes... but anonymous. No expectations, no judgments."
She let a second pass, then concluded, almost lightly:
"A glory hole."

Graziella's eyes widened.
"No. Absolutely not. That's… completely out of the question." in a firm voice.

"I knew you weren't actually that worried about helping that idiot Eugenio, not if it means getting your hands dirty..."
She smiled slightly. "If you don't like my path, there are still pills. In that case, you don't need me at all, I'm sure you can handle it on your own."
She rose from her chair, without Graziella's cooperation; the discussion was clearly coming to an end.
"And consider something else," she added.
"The chemical solution keeps your conscience clear in the short term, but it brings with it the admission that someone drugged colleagues at a company event. There will be questions, questions that will need to be answered."
He looked her in the eye. "If, on the other hand, the response were natural, spontaneous... there would be no one to blame. No one responsible. No file to open."

Before leaving, Cornelia turned briefly.
"Let me know."
Then she disappeared into the corridor.

Graziella was left alone; if that solution had worked, it would have solved more than one problem.
And, she admitted to herself with a hint of guilt, the idea of ​​having the opportunity to come face to face with that beast didn't displease her at all.
But how could she convince Eugenio?
Not with promises, she realized.
But with the same thing that had betrayed him: the lack of expectations.
No test to pass. No look to hold.

The next day.
Graziella stared at the email already open on the screen for a few seconds before pressing send. A neutral, dry summons. No hint as to why.
When Eugenio knocked on the door, she was already standing, as if she needed to feel less trapped behind her desk.

He entered with an uncertain expression, the same mix of hope and resignation as the day before.
"Did you call me?"
"Yes. Come in."

For a few moments, no one spoke. Graziella realized she was measuring his breathing, the way Eugenio moved, as if his body spoke louder than words.

"I've been thinking," she began. "About what you told me. And about... that evening."
Eugenio stiffened slightly. "Did you find out anything?"
Graziella shook her head. "Not in the way you think."

“As you know, I’m a psychologist by training, but since the ‘problem’”—she couldn’t help but nod toward her colleague’s package—“isn’t exactly in my field of study, not to mention my professional one…”—short pause—
“I spoke to an old classmate who specialized in sexology.”
Graziella is lying, but in her mind she sees this as a simple fictional truth.

“It can’t be ruled out,” she explained cautiously, “that what you experienced was a natural ‘awakening’.”
Eugenio looked up, skeptical.
“There are recent studies,” she continued, maintaining a neutral tone, “that talk about sudden responses linked to context, group dynamics, hormones…”
“So nothing new.” Eugenio interrupted dejectedly.
The sentence wasn’t a question.

"My psychologist friend would have proposed a solution, something new. A transgression. Deliberately outside your... comfort zone."

A thick silence followed.
"Are you talking about betrayal?" he asked, in a low voice.

"No!"
The answer was immediate. "I'm talking about anonymous stimulation."

Eugenio swallowed.
He's confused and admits he's never been to a shrink.

He gave a half-smile, more tense than reassuring.
"Like something circumscribed. Faceless. Nameless. Without consequences."
Graziella felt a shiver rise, but maintained control.

Graziella inhaled slowly.
"There are experimental dynamics," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Structured situations in which identity is suspended. Where the mind isn't engaged in sustaining a gaze, a judgment, a performance."

Eugenio stared at her, confused.

"An anonymous context. Delimited. Safe. Where there is no emotional reciprocity, only stimulation and response. A physical barrier that eliminates embarrassment and leaves room only for reaction."

He didn't use the vulgar term Cornelia had used; there was no need, the message seemed to have been conveyed correctly.


Eugenio remained still.
"A physical barrier?" he repeated slowly.
His expression wavered between disbelief and embarrassment.
"Are you telling me I should stick it in a..." He paused, unable to complete the sentence.
He blushed slightly, something Graziella had never seen him do in years of work.
"I've never been... in places like that," he admitted. "It's not exactly my... world."
His tone wasn't moralistic. He was scared.
As if the very idea of ​​deviating from the predictable trajectory of his life was more destabilizing than the physical problem.

Graziella didn't press him.
She lowered her voice, making it more technical than provocative.
"We're not talking about transgression for transgression's sake. We're talking about interrupting a pattern."
"And obviously, the experiment will be conducted in complete privacy and professionalism, certainly involving... places like this."

He gave a nervous smile.
"And what if it doesn't work?"
"Then we would have ruled out one possibility. But if it did work... you would have proof that the problem isn't your body."

The words lingered, there was a long silence.

Eugenio took a deep breath.
For the first time since he'd entered, his posture changed: less closed, less defensive.
"Okay, what should I do?" he said finally.

"You don't need to know anything," Graziella replied calmly. "You just have to show up. No expectations. No obligations. No need to prove anything."
Eugenio simply nodded.

Graziella held back a look that might have given her away.
"Thursday, after office hours," she concluded.

They exchanged a look filled with suppressed tension.
Then they both returned to their desks, as if nothing had happened.