The Christmas Present
The train went over more points and jiggled and joggled, as did the breasts of my travelling companion.
It was December 15th, and we, me and Marianne, the office hottie, the unattainable office hottie, were off on a jaunt. She could have had almost anybody in the office – including several of the women. A body that cried out for use and misuse; long slender legs leading up to hips that moved in that mesmerising swing that some women just naturally have (and stick thin models over-emphasise by crossing their legs as they walk – its supposed to look sexy, just looks like the can't walk straight). From behind, her buttocks had just that hint of bounce that showed they weren't just bony protuberances at the top of her lower limbs (again, unlike those bony models). A stomach as flat as a pancake and a thin yet clearly human (ie, she ate more than lettuce) waist led up to a bust that was almost too big for her body, but not quite. A slender neck lead up to an oval, quite a strong chin with rosy lips and stunning blue eyes surrounding a nose, perhaps slightly too big? But no, that's just being too critical. All of this vision was finished off with long, flowing, blonde hair. It extended nearly to her waist. The 'lads' had decided her bosom was EE, the 'girls' had more realistically estimated DD but rather cat-ily suggested it was enhanced. The one conversation I'd had with her (more than 'hello' or 'have a good weekend' had been about Samantha Likula (stick thin model, the current face of La Senza – you must have seen her) having breast implants (headline in the Sun "I Likula Samantha's new Babulas"). She (Marianne) did not approve. She believed in entirely natural bodies, and believed we should all accept God's gifts as they come and not attempt to improve on them. I didn't share this information. I knew why she was unattainable, father was a minister (Church of Scotland? Free Church of Scotland? Something like that, who knows), she helped run the Sunday School, she was a good girl in the genuine old fashioned sense of the word. I figured it was up to her who she told and who she didn't.
Marianne had a bust and intellect to match. Which is to say they were both big. Naturally when she started (2 weeks after me) she was a target for all the would-be office lotharios. She was more than a match for them, using language like a very sharp razor she left them slashed and bleeding; and in typical arrogance and ignorance they labelled her with the 'L' word. She didn't seem worried. She even made friends with one of the lesbians in the office – Janey the ancient (39!) secretary to Mr Jackson our Finance Director. Janey lived with 3 cats and her long term girl friend. She never said she was lesbian but it was obvious; nobody cared. Odd that, generally we were a very tolerant, easy going crowd I found. There was Janey, Jackie, and Mica the lesbians (Mica was very out of the closet), Johan and Max the gays (Max declared. Johan assumed due to the way he walked, I know that's unfair but you have to gossip about something over coffee – there were other things too, like the flowery shirts. Okay so maybe we are Neanderthals, but the point is we didn't mind one way or the other), Tim, Sol, Jo and Paul were the blokey, God's gift to women, types. Me? I was one of the grey, background types, every office has them. They do the work, they are part of the group, but they never lead the pack. I'd learnt to get my ideas accepted by getting other to propose them. That's life. Anyway ... point is as I said, people really weren't fussed about other's private lives. Even Harry, who went hunting once a month. Harry was nearly blue blood, loved horses, shooting, fishing, anything that involved killing defenceless animals really. Well, that was him.
But suggesting Marianne was lesbian was unfair. It was a way of the 'dicks' (what they were called when they weren't around – even Janey called them that) saying 'obviously something wrong with her not to want us'. But it implied that that sexual choice was a lesser one. I knew they were wrong; Marianne had mentioned a past fiancé who converted to Catholicism (which put the kibosh on that relationship apparently); but I didn't argue. Marianne didn't seem to mind and I knew nobody would listen.
Humans still live partly in their past – that past of surviving in jungles where a movement at the corner of your vision meant you could be about to be a Sabre-toothed Tiger's tea, or that you miss out on the squirrel that you wanted for your dinner. It's automatic for humans to check out any sudden movements. Unfortunately every time the train shook Marianne's breasts my eyes shot across to them. And on at least two occasions she had seen me looking. It wasn't my fault, I wanted to explain. But how can you say "your unfettered breasts under a light t-shirt are stimulating my hunting instinct for tree lizard". I tried not to look; trouble was there was, yes, a temptation as well. Unfettered, un-bra-ed, the friction on the cotton t-shirt was causing her nipples to rise to the occasion. She must have realised. I don't think she dressed that way to be sexy, she came to work sometimes in very plain, reserved clothes, she never wore much makeup; I think she just dressed to be comfortable on the journey without a thought of the effect on other people.
By the time we got to conference therefore, it wasn't surprising that she wasn't really speaking to me. We'd been sent to the "Algorithmic Management – New Developments 2014" conference. She was to look at the admin side while I took in the IT specialisations. It wasn't looking too exciting so far, but then it was time out of the office, there were a couple of drinks receptions and, after all, how boring can a conference be?
I made a conscious decision not to sit opposite Marianne in the first session, then I wouldn't have to look at her, or be mistaken for looking at her. I'm really not that type of guy. I've had three long term relationships (at 14, 19, and 23) plus the requisite number of short term ones. I never cheated. I respected my girlfriends, made them dinner; helped wash up, put up with their cats, their dogs, their friends, their relations, and even their slovenly habits on occasions (pants on the floor, socks on the radiator, that sort of thing). So why am I still single? Could be lots of reasons; I don't know, maybe I've just been unlucky. I don't think I have bad breath or smelly feet or fart in bed (unlike 'P' but that's another story which I won't go into here, suffice to say she put me off).
The first introductory session actually went well. We had to explain our jobs and the reason for being there. A couple of braggarts (there are always some) went on about how great they were and how their employers relied on them, blah blah blah. Marianne went into wind-up mode and started asking one of them questions like "It must be hard for the company to let you come to things like this since they rely on you so much"
And he lapped it all up and dug a bigger and bigger hole. I looked round the table; even the other show-off could see she was taking the rise out of him (but clearly didn't realise how lucky he was to escape) and people were smiling in a smirky way. She does it very well, and, being a luscious blonde, idiots like that never realise there is a brain behind the bimbo. At the break he asked her out. She declined and, as I came over for a coffee, introduced me as "her friend" (left it open, what does that mean? Boyfriend? Acquaintance?), he went off to try on his charm with some other unlucky cow.
"Thanks for playing along"
"No problem, some people are just such dicks ... oh, sorry. I guess I shouldn't say that in front of you"
"It's my father that's the minister, not me, and I've heard lots worse. But really he just lacks security I think; he has to big himself up to persuade himself as much as anybody"
"If you feel sorry for him why make fun of him?"
"He needs to realise he makes it worse, maybe in a day or two he'll think what a fool he was. But I doubt it"
"Listen, I've got to say something, about the train journey, I..."
"I'm sorry, I was inappropriately dressed, and I should realise that all men, even the quiet ones who sit at the back, do their work and are no bother, even they think through their trousers. No harm done" She gave a fantastic smile and her perfect teeth, I swear they flashed in the sunlight. Then we were called back. This girl was amazing; the most self-aware and self-confident woman I'd ever met. "Damn, I think I'm falling in love" I thought. I found myself thinking through my trousers as I sat in the next session. But lets face it I stood as much chance as an ice cube in hell, a whale in the desert ... the speaker droned on and I got distracted by thinking of more and more stupid analogies - a cream cake at a slimming farm, a cat in a kennels, an idealist in parliament, a cobol programmer at a games convention, a vicar in a broth-"what do you think, Chris, isn't it? You must come across this all the time in your business"
They were all looking at me. Why? What were we talking about? I still have no idea what was being said. I started to waffle in the hope of saying something right. Then my phone rang. "Excuse me" I looked – number withheld – "Oh yes, I've got to take this, back in a minute". Smiles all round, every one of us pricks thought we were so important that we had to have a mobile phone on all the time to be available 24/7. No one is that important. This was probably PPI refunds or "have you had an accident recently..." Whatever, it got me off the hook.
Outside I pressed the green phone "Hello". No answer, "hello? Hello?". Well, how rude, they'd rung off, dragged me out of an important conference and then rung off! When I slid back in, the moment had passed and we were talking about biometrical security parameterisation using hypervalent intermedium protocols. Here was something I could make a useful contribution to!
That evening the ice definitely started to melt. "You got my phone call then?" she smiled. "Oh, it was you? Thanks that really saved my life. I hadn't been listening-" "I could see that" "-and I had no idea what we were talking about"
"I was listening and I had no idea what they were talking about. I meant to say, tomorrow is breakout sessions, we should work out which we each want to go to. I mean I know some of the audience are a bunch of losers – not unlike 'the lads' back at the office; salesmen who think a BMW gives them a bigger penis"
"I've got a BMW" I said sharply
"Really? Oh, look I'm sorry, I didn't mean you, I mean..."
I laughed "Nah, not really, just winding you up" Actually I do have a BMW, and it gets worse, it's a BMW M3; it even looks like a penis extension. I just thought it looked cool, honest." "I might have to sell it" I thought.
"But" she continued "What I was saying was that some of the sessions look quite good"
We sat down in a quiet corner of the bar over a glass of white wine (her) and a whiskey (me). She told me she couldn't tell a Merlot from a Madeleine Angevine; but given the comparison I wasn't sure I believed her. Perhaps it was a test, in which case hopefully I passed because I mentioned Leeds as a wine growing area. I admit insisting on Jameson is a little bit pose-y but I don't want some cheap blended muck, and I do actually like it. And then we went through the sessions tomorrow, putting C or M beside the sessions we'd visit.
By the end we were starting to talk about our likes and dislikes, passions and pleasures. We both liked skiing, looked like we both liked sailing but she meant cruising the Greek Islands in a 32 footer and I meant hanging your bum over the edge of a dinghy and hanging on for dear life. She hated Discworld – how can anybody hate Discworld? It's brilliant. I really can't get into Scandi-Noir, which she loved. Still, at least we both read books rather than preferring Eastenders or reality TV or something.
We went upstairs to "change for dinner". For me that meant washing my feet. For her, it turned out it meant, turning herself into a Nordic Goddess. Heads definitely turned. And she had opted to sit beside me "so you don't stare at my bust all night" she whispered. I went red, started to bluster and repeat my apology but she took my arm and we walked in for dinner together.
Dinner was what you expect at these events. A round table with a variety of people, some chatty, some not; food that was neither too exciting (detract from the speeches), nor too bland; speeches by people who think they are funnier than they are, more interesting than they are and better speakers than they are. The keynote speaker was Chris Hoyton the first man to windsurf the Sahara Desert – "You Can Do IT" (get it? You can do it or you can do IT as in computing. Laugh? I nearly ... did!). But his speech wasn't bad. He told us of the ups and downs, the sunburn that nearly removed his nose, the ear fly that made him deaf for a week, the dirty water he had to drink to survive; oh yes, he really sold us the idea of being an adventurer.
Then it hit me; I leant over to Marianne, who was clearly entranced by the idea of taking such risks for no reason but to be first.
"I know him"
"Yeah, right, you met up at windsurf school?"
"No, really. I was at Uni with him. He did, ummm ... Oh yes, physics and history"
At that moment he went into his background a little more, to show he was an ordinary lad and anybody could do it.
"I did Physics and History at MontBlanc University – now part of the Greater York Education Hub – and came out with a 2:2, no prospects, not an idea what to do and ... well as you see I found my niche"
Marianne : "You read that"
Me : "No, honestly, I'll introduce you"
God, I hope he remembers me I thought
So, 15 minutes and a Tiramisu and an Irish coffee later we slid over to the top table. Other wannabe acolytes were hanging around to tell him how they had nearly thrown it all in to sail a bread board to Mozambique or to be the first man (always men) to tunnel to the North Pole. A path cleared its way for the siren and her minder (me) to come through. Before I could speak he said:
"Steve, you old bugger, what are you doing here? I haven't seen you since you got blind drunk on Pimms and whisky" (a cocktail invented by me, one that has not found its way into the lexicon of drinks in well-heeled bars) "what did you call it? Oh what was it?"
I thought "Don't remember, don't remember"
"Oh yes, a virgin c ... oh, no maybe not" he'd seen Marianne, but it was obvious what the second word was and I knew I was finished.
"I was young and stupid" I said "and yet not stupid enough to windsurf across the Sahara!"
There was the briefest of caught breathes in the group, then Chris burst out laughing.
"Yeah, that's true. You got a First and a proper job"
"I think you got the fun though"
Marianne spoke now "would you, sorry, would you sign my program. I think what you did was fantastic; really silly, but gloriously wonderfully eccentrically silly."
Of course he signed. Recognising that we'd made a connection, the organisers included us in the smaller drinks party later. His wife was there and was totally relaxed about Marianne, not even a hint of jealousy or competition. I found out later why. Rachel-Sarah was from USA, a lesbian and rich. The marriage had got her residence in the UK (and hence access to Europe whenever, she liked travelling round, studying art. I do mean studying, she was apparently some kind of world expert on Caravaggio), away from her family, and into an acceptable relationship. Her preference for women was played out away from the disapproving eyes of her church elder father. Rachel-Sarah and Marianne found they could discuss theology! Life is weird. Chris is what some of my work colleagues would call a raging bender! It suited him too to be married. Does this sound old-fashioned? Well unfortunately even now apparently GlobeSys Foods would rather sponsor an explorer who's all man.
At 1am we wended our separate ways and I walked the most beautiful woman in the world across a campus lit by star light with a moon peaking over the horizon like it was looking out from under a bedspread. She took my arm, and at her door I kissed her cheek and walked away. Could I have fondled her breasts? Or coped a feel of her arse? I was pretty sure I'd never have made it over the threshold (human or structural). Well, I'm a gentleman; maybe that's why I'm still single; some women like to be dominated. They do. I want a friend first and then a bonking partner second. So you are asking yourself, if you didn't do her, why am I reading this? Read on.
Morning came and the conference droned on. Some talks, like the one on why HAL's latest security offerings are more full of holes than a vegetable draining thing, these were good and stimulating and interesting. Others offered different challenges, like how to stay awake.
Come lunchtime and I'd covered all the topics I was interested in that day. The one I'd wanted, actually the one we'd both wanted to hear, in the afternoon was cancelled due to Robert Feston ("Government Long Term Influence on Software Development") having to rush back to the BBC for an emergency in Government. We heard the next day the Minister for Technology had been sponsoring the companies of his old school chums.
So we had the afternoon free.
Marianne : "You were very polite last night, I expected to have to fend you off"
Me : "Even if you'd been willing I wouldn't have done anything. It isn't fair to take advantage of a girl who has been drinking"
Marianne : "And I might have screamed rape today?"
Me : "That as well I suppose. It does seem unfair that if I'm drunk and rape you (not just you, anyone), I'm guilty; and if you are too drunk to refuse then I'm still guilty"
Marianne : "I know what you mean, but then the consequences for a girl can be a whole lot more severe. Anyway, I've not been drinking now"
Me : "Sorry?"
"I've not been drinking, I'm not drunk, I am in possession of all my faculties. Oh ... You don't fancy me, I've got this wrong, I thought..."
"No, I mean yes, I mean no I DO fancy you, no you haven't got it wrong, Yes I do f..."
She stopped my by a finger to my lips.
"I want you to take me gently, take me roughly, take me hi and take me low"
"That song sums up what I feel. I know I'll get married one day, but what if my good Free Church soul mate is no good in bed? I just want to know what it's like to be ransacked from end to end"
"Why me? I'm not the experienced sex machine, don't get me wrong, I'm up for the challenge" We were walking towards her room "but, why me?"
"Because you are the quiet one, you'll not boast, you'll not tell lies. And if you do tell anyone they may well not believe you"
"I'd never tell lies about you, but I'll never tell anyway"
She opened her door and we fell in. Already I was kissing her lips, her neck, her ears, her eyes.
"Nothing is off limits"
Yet I was still worried I might take a liberty too far. I needn't have been concerned. As if to set me at ease she undressed me from the waist down. Well, she undid my trousers and just pulled the lot, trousers, underpants, down. Then she took my cock in her mouth. Ever so briefly, but long enough to show she meant what she said.
I pulled her jumper off, undid her blouse, yanked up her bra and finally got my hands on those two delicious breasts. Then I got my mouth on them and felt her nipples become the hard nuts I'd seen on the train. She pulled away and took off her upper clothing, picked up a squeezey honey jar and made her breasts even more tasty (I suppose I'd never liked honey that much, now I can get a hard-on from the smell).
After I took off my jumper and shirt, there was a lull, I could tell she was hesitating to expose her private spaces to a man for the first time. I could also tell that this was now or never situation. So it was now!
Kneeling I did for her what she did for me, but slower. I unzipped the stretch jeans and eased them over her tight, round, firm arse. Her pants were appropriately white, proper bottom covering ones, not a G-string thank goodness. I stroked her through them and I felt her shivering and the waves of feeling radiated out from that area. I was pretty sure she'd be unshaven. If I had the time and stamina I might try denuding her crotch to make what I was sure was a delicious and virginal entry more accessible. One of her hands came down, not sure if it was to stop or help me, but I opened the waist band of the knickers and pushed her hand in. Had she ever masturbated before? Oh yes, looks like she had; but not with an audience. My hands moved round to her buttocks and squeezed.
"Put a finger in" she said
The wish is the father of the deed, a finger went in to her little brown hole before I realised she meant her vagina; but no, the first entry to THAT hole would be a tumescent cock full of spunk ready to break down any barrier. My finger stayed in and she clearly, and unexpectedly found it a turn on. When a second finger opened her a little more she groaned luxuriantly and rubbed harder with my face inches from her pants. My other hand now pulled down the front, I had to see her pleasuring herself. Oh yeah, the hair between her legs glistened with her own juicy emanations and her fingers were spreading it round. I pulled my fingers out, smeared them round on the greasy hair patch to pick up some lubrication and pushed in 3 fingers.
"Oooohhhh! That's tight! Ohh, ohh!"