I opened the door to my office and set my bag on the desk. It had been 3 days since I'd seen or spoken to you and I was beginning to get that 'Jane' itch again. I powered up my computer and opened my mail program as I do every morning. While pouring through the tens of pointless spams and messages from co-workers, there it was, a message from you. My heart skipped, as it always does when I see your name on my screen. My mind anticipated the possibilities of what you sent; another story, a possible rendezvous? Everything else took a back seat as I clicked on your name and the screen enlarged to your email. There was simply one line written. "Check the inside pocket of your bag." The inside of my bag? I pulled the flap open and peered inside where you said to look. Tucked in the far recesses of my satchel was a pair of your red lace panties. The same ones you wore the last time we were together. The memories of that tryst wash over me like a series of photographs in a gallery, flicking through my brain over and over. It makes me hard recalling the images of you in the hot tub, on the bed, feeling your body against mine. Holding you so close and tight, the line of where you end and I begin blur together in some erotic haze. I hold the shear fabric in my hands and inhale the scent still held captive in the fabric. Your perfume is mixed with the essence of your natural scents creating a powerful aphrodisiac and only serves to increase the waves of desire for you building inside me.
I shake my head, trying to clear the images of you and concentrate on my work. It's tough, and I struggle through the day. I recall the email you had sent early in the week telling me of yet another event you had to attend. This time it was some swanky dinner at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel honoring the pointless talents of a colleague who brought in more business than whatever. Being the Chameleon inherent in my persona, I arrange with the coordinator of the event to pose as a waiter.
About two dozen round tables fill the event room where the affair is being held. I flit about dressed in a white waiters coat appearing as if I am actually working. The room is dimly lit as everyone focuses on an elderly gentleman with white hair speaking from a spot lit dais in the front of the room. The crowd giggles as he spouts one-liners about business and selling, it's all very boring.
Then I spot you sitting at a table near the front of the room. I slink around to the edge so I can get a better view of you. You're wearing a royal blue dress that clings to your body, accentuating your breasts and enhancing your sparkling blue eyes. I grab a bottle of wine and begin to refill the glasses around your table. Your attention is still centered on Mister Funnybones as I work my way around the table to you. As I come around you, the spotlight somehow catches you from behind and silhouettes the exquisite outline of your body and face. I'm captivated.
I ask you if you would like some more wine. Without thinking, you say yes, and absentmindedly offer your glass to me. Your head turns to look into my eyes. The shock on your face is less one of surprise than it is of happiness. Without missing a beat, you get it. I place my hand gently over yours with the glass and tip the bottle filling it halfway. As you look into my eyes, the room disappears. There's only us.
My gaze breaks and I reach into my pocket, pulling out a slip of paper, sliding it under the edge of your plate. Your eyes glance over at the gesture noticing, as I move away from the table.
I move off into the shadows of the room and watch to see you read the note. I think of what must be going through your head as I see the smile on your face. Only a 3 digit number occupies the space on the page.
.... There is more of this story ...