Embellished Meetings: A Scene Setter

Embellished Meetings: Scene setting.

She dashed out of the car and crossed the busy street; late again. How was it that she always mistimed the journey even though she knew she could not get there in twenty minutes flat, despite her determination to speed to the best of her car’s capability, forgetting of course, that it is not possible in this implausibly stationary city?

The tardiness was not going to deter her enlivened spirits. The day was bright. The sun was incredibly powerful and the summer holidays were but a few small hours away.
This was the last meeting that she would have before she could pack her bags and disappear in a week’s time, and she was thoroughly looking forward to a fortnight of sunshine (told you it was embellished!).

She ran along the street, crossing the road towards the river and skipped into the building as she watched the water rippling its way downstream, aiming to escape to the open seas, just as she was about to do.
The usual tedious crowd were not going to diminish her joie de vivre either. She was determined that this would be a focused and swift meeting and thankfully, as chair, she had the ability to control the conversations and keep things as orderly as possible.

With a natural and unrestrained smile on her face, she breezed into the meeting room, exclaiming profuse apologies for the ten minute delay and cheerfully placed her belongings on the table.
The smile remained, fixated and bordering on inane and she maintained this for fear of giving herself away. Her eyes twinkled and fleeted across the boardroom, pretending to flow around the entire room, yet firmly maintaining the newcomer in her sphere of vision.
Continuing to settle herself in, she arranged the glass of water and composed herself, trying again to ensure that her body language was not revealing the fascination she felt for this stranger that stood out so spectacularly amongst the usual suspects.

Introductions were done and she still didn’t manage to catch his name, so mesmerised was she by this weird, unfamiliar and indescribable fluttering in her stomach.
The inane grin remained and she professionally and logically pursued the purpose of the moment; to conduct the meeting quickly, carefully and take her leave as soon as was convenient and politic to do so.
But of course, the cronies wanted to talk. They wanted to strategise and meander around, justifying the enormous time and expense of sitting all day discussing and debating rather than getting any real actions to take place. They wanted to summarise and reflect, which is all very well if there is anything of any worth to reflect upon.

And the newcomer simply sat; his eyes focussed downwards as though he was disinterested in this office politics, as though he was indifferent to the entire proceedings.

She controlled the meeting, ignoring the mutterings of her inner wishes, and attempted to conclude the discussions once more. Another meeting was suggested, another meeting at the earliest opportunity. Next week, just before she was due to go on holiday.
Damn her bloody sense of duty. She’d have to attend. She had the most important contacts and the vital information.
Reluctantly, she agreed and a venue was discussed, stating for all to know that she was interrupting her holiday for the greater good.
Finally, the stranger raised his head and nonchalantly stated that his office in the city was available on the suggested date, and looking directly at her with glistening eyes and a solid stare, informed her that some people worked without the need for immediate vacations.
He then raised a smile that seeped into her and she wondered why. Smiling back, she acknowledged the virtue of the vocational and agreed that his office should be the place to conclude this meeting.

Collecting her belongings together, she relieved herself from her plastic seat and made her way towards the door. Brushing passed her as she said her goodbyes; he simply walked by, grinned and said, “Well chaired!”
And he was gone.

Of course you know all about him don’t you, said one of the cronies. A woman like you should tread very carefully there.
What on earth was that supposed to mean?
She walked towards the car slightly unsettled by the newcomer, his stare, his eyes and the comments from this colleague.
How could she know his “history”? She’d never set eyes on him before, and quite frankly, she wasn’t interested in knowing anything about his life. All she was interested in was why she was feeling so entranced by what had just happened. What indeed had happened? It was hardly a momentous meeting. He’d barely raised his head out of his papers and when he did, he had spoken so softly in such a non-committal way that she wasn’t really convinced that he was remotely interested in this area of work.

She drove away, winding the windows of the car right down so that she could be smothered by the freshness of the summer breeze, and the other thoughts in her mind could swiftly float out in the opposite direction.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The city was hot. When the city is like this, there is no escape from it. The buildings monopolise and crouch over you, robbing you of air, whereas in the winter months they create a passage way for violent, biting winds to sever the hairs from your neck.
People were milling around all over the city, darting into the anonymous offices, dashing to the perplexingly omnipresent corporate coffee houses that had bred in every orifice during the last few years.

She found the office with ease and walked into what could only be described as a perfect haven in this madness of the mundane. Care had been taken to consider the people who used this building; their needs, their enjoyment, their belonging. A sense of positivity, of warmth, of thought oozed out from every plant and every artefact. Someone cared. Someone had created this oasis and their very essence was embodied in the fabric of the building and its furnishings. Their very self was evident in the manoeuvrings of the clients and employees alike. Somebody cared.

She’d found out the newcomer’s name once she had arrived back at her office to say goodbye before she ventured off to her holiday destination. One of her colleagues had visited the City Dweller in these enlightened environs but she hadn’t asked about him. There was no need, no desire.
She’d dismissed the fluttering stomach and the irrational fascination as pre holiday excitement. That was all it was.

Until he smiled at her once more.

There was genuine warmth in his greeting, and she was shocked at how much that meant to her. You’re one of us, he said, still smiling, as she recognised the familiar accent of her childhood.
I thought I had taken the burr out. I thought it had died from twenty years away.
Not to one who lives there, lived there he said, again, smiling with every distinct feature on his face. Dialect and intonation are your giveaways.

The meeting surpassed expectations both in time and resourcefulness. Conclusions were swift. Agreements made and it was soon time to depart, and really set about that fortnight’s holiday.
Enjoy the break, he said. He too was taking some leave but later in the month. We all need down-time and a place to simply be.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

Some would say that her indulgent imagination was her nemesis. Some would argue that she drifted all too readily into a fantasy world that was far removed from reality and that her fondness for the fabricated was senseless. But she liked living there. She always had done.
Her childhood was written into the stones that formed her imaginary castles, her adolescence was reinforced with great escapes to the unknown territory of dark lovers in far off places, her classroom thoughts drifted into expanding real situations into absurd and exciting possibilities that were never, ever going to happen. Throughout her adult she had slipped into her wild imaginings whenever she felt the need. It was these thoughts that excited her more than reality. It was these indulgences that made her want to touch herself. It was these unreal happenings that made her cum.

She’d had many positive relationships with many pleasant blokes but the really horny, downright sexual, the totally liberating and sensual pleasures, well these had mainly come from the unreal.
She’d had sex in a terraced swimming pool with a hefty, blond, blue eyed lover, who didn’t give a damn if anyone was watching them. He had to fuck her there and then, and the invited guests simply smiled. She’d transferred herself into a known film or book, playing out the sexually explicit parts, and if they weren’t there, she’d make them up, embellishing the story, just as she was doing now.
For on that holiday, she had a few joyous cums thinking about the stranger and his suggestive smile.

But it was fantasy. It really was, and she left her thoughts behind as she packed her suitcase and returned to the City.

He fucked her rather well though.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Months passed, nearly three months in fact, and the stranger did not enter her head. She passed the office a few times, and smiled at the memory of her fantasising during the summer months. But the howling wind as it rushed through the gulley’s, void of warmth, brought her back to reality.

And talking of back to reality, she returned on a wet November day, with Christmas looming ever nearer, to the offices by the river for another meeting with the cronies that had gathered there on that hot summer’s day.
He’d missed the previous meeting and she had no expectation of him being there, and as she approached the room she felt at ease, indifferent to his presence.
She walked in, early for once, and set about convening the meeting. A few last minute arrivals and they would start in due course.

He walked into the room and grabbed a coffee from the machine. She approached him, asking for a document that had appealed to her, wondering if she could have a copy. He suggested that she should call in to his work and grab it from a colleague, maybe after this very meeting. He informed her that he would have to leave the meeting early as he had another appointment that could not be missed.
And as they took their drinks to the table, they sat down next to one another and got on with the task in hand.
Matter of fact; no fantasy, no musings and thoughts of kinky encounters, and that was fine.

The meeting was running smoothly. Discussions were to the point and she sat back, composed and assured that it did not need her interference or manipulation.
She picked up her pen to take note of a particularly important reference, and in the slightest of seconds, the merest movement, a miniscule moment of intimate touch had taken place.
She stared fixatedly at the paper in front of her, unable to move her hand away from the very spot where their little fingers had accidentally meshed for that incredibly short instance. She felt the redness rushing through her face and she was rigid with numbness, unable to look forward, unwilling to move her head towards the culprit yet simultaneously completely aware that he too was mirroring her thoughts and motions. Although their fingers had long since parted, the scolding sensitivity of the contact was still there, not painful yet paralysing, and a stillness had transcended.

The motley crew jabbered away but for that split second, there was nobody in the room other than these two people, this man and this woman who had just felt one another’s skin for the first time.
Still silent, still sensitised, still motionless, she was suddenly increasingly aware of the proximity – to his legs, his hands, his breath.
Without looking down, she felt his presence. Without any more touches, she felt his awareness of her thoughts and she didn’t know what to do.
She wasn’t panicked, she was just immensely aware that something had happened in the mere mishap of those colliding fingers.

On auto-manoeuvre, she gradually replaced her pen and slid her hand onto her thigh, trying to compose the irrationality of her imagination. Without looking, she knew he was mirroring her actions and then, with a determined force, he reached over and smothered her hand with his, crunching in into a fist, enveloping this cluster with his palm and squeezing it knowingly.
He moved away from this clutch and gracefully swept his hand across her thigh to resettle in his own lap, and still they stared at the papers in front of them.

In a daze, she continued about her task. She was chairing a meeting for goodness sake, and she emerged from this shock to ask a significant question that gave the impression her concentration had not been deterred.
He moved his hands and collected his papers together, writing a simple note as he rose from his chair.
“I have to go”, he whispered as he left his seat, leaving the small scrap of paper in front of her.

She smiled and thanked him for coming and returned to the meeting, unable to look at the note, unable to do anything other than work through the remainder of the agenda.
Again, on auto pilot she concluded the meeting, and imitated his last motion, collecting her papers together and taking her leave.

“Come to the office, straight away”.

That was what the note said. And there was absolutely no question as to whether this was feasible or indeed as to whether she would.
The magnetism of that miniscule moment had already paved the way for an immediate encounter, whatever shape it took.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Glad you could make it over……. I want you to meet someone”.
Meet someone, she thought. Was that why I dropped everything to wander over here?

“And I have that paper you were interested in. I hope you will find it useful”.

A bizarre meeting ensued with almost complete detachment from the previous encounter when a surge of energy had surrounded and engulfed them. Could he really have been oblivious to what had happened? Had she actually imagined his hand stretched out across her fist?

Professional business ensued, and with the third party present, they continued in a classic work mode that had hardly been present an hour or so ago.
On completion of the suddenly arranged meeting, he suggested a walk to the nearest coffee bar, and in a bewildered sense of dumbfoundedness, she obliged.
More small talk occurred, but with a greater sense of meaning. They wittered on, talking like people who have just met do; finding commonalities, asking knowing but not pervasive questions of one another.
He paid for the coffee and got up from his seat. There was determination in its conclusiveness. He needed to get back to work.
She still had the unasked question protruding from her mouth, but he was not giving cause for her to spit it out.
She was going to disappear not knowing whether her stupid imagination had spilled into a real setting. Perhaps she really had imagined everything.

At the exit, she turned away to walk back to her office. The rain was intermittently splattering them as they talked some more for a few minutes before the rain finally put paid to the encounter.
Bizarrely, her unease at the inconclusiveness of this meeting had disappeared, and she was happy to turn away.

In doing so, he gently caught her elbow and brought her closer to him, near enough to kiss her on the cheek but a mile or so away from doing just that.

With his other hand, he reached into his pocket, and gave her his card. She moved away and glanced at the small note in front of her. Quickly, he retracted it, taking a pen from his inner pocket and scrawling another number on the back of the card.

“ My home number….. safer than the office ones……. Phone me……….tonight”.

She looked up at him, as he replaced his hand on her inviting elbow. Again, he pulled her slightly towards him.

“For goodness sake, phone me, tonight. I need to fuck you!”