"Oh my God ... Oh my God ... Oh my God!" Trevor burst through the office door without knocking, as he usually did, bouncing from one foot to the other so rapidly he seemed to be running in place. His hands fluttered about his shoulders. "Tell me it isn't true!"
"What isn't true?" Lynne replied calmly. She was the occupant of the office, and though she'd worked at this company only a few months, she was long since used to Trevor's drama.
"That you just scheduled a meeting with 'The Mountie'?"
"Who's The Mountie?"
"Only the biggest dyke in the company!"
Lynne exhaled slowly and, for a moment, considered objecting to Trevor's choice of words. She was sure he didn't mean it maliciously. After all, he constantly referred to himself as an "old fag". At 32, he was a year younger than her.
Instead, she said, "Not real helpful."
That was helpful, and as it turned out, it was true. She's accepted the meeting invitation through Outlook not 10 minutes earlier.
"How did you know?"
"Doris told me," Lynne's secretary. Trevor continued, "You have no idea what you are getting yourself into."
"I don't see how it's any of your business..."
"She's going to try to get you into bed..."
"Then you don't have anything to worry about because I don't..."
"That's what they all say!"
"All the others she's slept with."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Trevor leered. For someone supposedly horrified, he seemed to be enjoying himself, "She likes straight girls ... hot straight girls and she's very persuasive. They all end up doing her, eventually."
"Yeahhhhh ... I'm calling shenanigans," Lynne snorted. "If she was so awful she would have been fired for harassment, or something."
"I'm sure she would have, "Trevor continued, "if she wasn't already fucking the Director of HR."
"Again, bullshit. Andrea's married."
Trevor laughed in her face, "Please ... it isn't like I haven't slept with married men!"
"Well, good on you," Lynne grumbled, "but don't worry. I can take care of myself."
"We'll see," Trevor was obviously skeptical, and made to leave.
"One sec," Lynne called after him. "Why do you call her The Mountie?"
Trevor leered again, "Because she always gets her girl."
Based on her conversation with Trevor, Meechele Richman was not at all what Lynne expected. A little on the short side, with a fit, athletic build, Meechele had wide shoulders, rounded hips and graceful legs. Her short brown hair was stylishly tousled. Olive skinned to the point of perma-tanned, it was impossible to determine her ethnicity ... she could pass for black, white, Hispanic, Arab ... Lynne guessed there was probably a little bit of everything in there. Meechele wore a white blouse (an extra button undone to accent the globes of her cleavage) and black pants, both elegantly tailored to show off her curves. Lynne had assumed Meechele would be a lot more butchy.
Another thing about Meechele Lynne hadn't expected ... she was completely professional. After introductions and some polite small talk, Meechele had gone straight to the point ... ways for their respective departments to work together more efficiently. Meechele's insights were thoughtful and insightful, and she was refreshingly open to Lynne's ideas as well. All in all, it was the most productive 30 minutes Lynne had spent at her new company.
And at precisely the 30 minute mark, Meechele stood and stuck out her hand, "Well, I have to get moving. I appreciate your time and it was great meeting you."
"Same here," Lynne said earnestly as they shook hands. "Drop by anytime if you have questions or ideas or whatever."
"And I have to ask you something," Lynne spoke in a conspiratorial tone.
"I love your perfume. What is it?"
Meechele smiled proudly, "Thanks. Actually, I made it myself!"
"Yeah, it's a hobby of mine ... You know, I'm mixing up a new batch. I'd be happy to give you some."
"Oh, I don't want to bother you..."
"It's no bother at all, I promise."
Lynne thought it over, "Okay then. Thanks."
After Meechele left, Lynne called Trevor into her office, "Well, I seem to still have all my clothes on ... I told you there was nothing to worry about."
She made a point of not telling him about the perfume.
"We'll see," he sniffed.
Lynne and Meechele met on a semi-weekly basis to talk about their departments, commiserate about work and gradually got to know each other. Meechele was an army brat, had lived all over the world and spoke a few languages, yes, she was named after The Beetles song, she liked rock climbing and hated ferrets. Lynne's graduating class in high school had 80 kids in it, she'd gone to Notre Dame, she was a very distant relative of Kaiser Wilhelm.
Their meetings were focused and efficient, but usually ended with 10-15 minutes of chit chat. Lynne quickly came to think of Meechele not so much as a co-worker, but as a friend.
And never once, in those initial few weeks, did Meechele display an interest that was anything other than friendly or professional. Lynne had no idea if Meechele was gay or not. She eventually concluded, in this case, Trevor's love for the dramatic had overtaken his otherwise good sense.
Those meetings almost always ended the same way, with Lynne asking if Meechele had finished with her latest batch of perfume.
"Not yet," Meechele always said. "It takes a while to get things just right."
Trevor eyed Lynne critically.
"You have another meeting with The Mountie today, don't you?" Trevor sounded quite smug.
"As a matter of fact, I do," Lynne replied coolly.
"Little over dressed, aren't you?"
She was. Today, she wore a sleeveless black dress with a plunging neckline and a hem that stopped just short of her knees. The outfit showed off much of her smooth, alabaster skin. A dangling necklace drew attention to her round, up swept breasts. He long, blond hair and make-up were done just so.
"I have a date after work," she replied.
It was clear Trevor didn't believe her. But he had no proof, other than his suspicions. He just walked away.
For the first time, Lynne suspected Meechele might actually be gay. Her eyes absolutely drank in Lynne's perfectly put together self.
"You look terrific," Meechele breathed. She sounded like she really meant it.
"That dress looks amazing on you."
Lynne smiled, "Thanks."
And that was it. As Lynne suspected, the rest of their meeting was a model of propriety.
Lynne was on her date, a few hours later, wondering what else she had to do. She'd been sending Timothy every signal she could think of to let him know that all he had to do was say the word and she's go back to his place and fuck his brains out.
She couldn't decide if he just wasn't getting it or if he was playing it cool. Normally it wouldn't be a problem if it was the latter; she liked being teased a little. But she was desperately horny tonight and wasn't in the mood for the usual mating rituals.
Lynne wished she had some of Meechele's perfume. It had such a wonderful, sexy zing to it. No doubt it would have gotten Timothy pointed in the right direction.
As usual, Trevor blew into Lynne's office unannounced
"Nancy Wu quit yesterday," he said.
Lynne knew her face reflected the shock she felt. She'd spoken with Nancy yesterday and the woman offered no hint of what was coming.
"When's her last day?"
"She didn't give any notice," Trevor answered.
"Yesterday was her last day."
Lynne couldn't believe it, "What happened?"
"I hear she's been spending quite a bit of time with The Mountie."
"Is that what Nancy said?"
Trevor didn't say anything. His look indicated anyone should be able to put 2 and 2 together.
"Sounds like a coincidence to me," Lynne finally said.
Trevor shook his head and walked out.
Lynne and Meechele continued to meet. The temptation to ask Meechele about Nancy was constant, but Lynne resisted. It was irrelevant, not to mention unprofessional.
A month after Nancy Wu's mysterious departure, Lynne and Meechele were wrapping up another fruitful meeting. Meechele reached into her pocket.
"I have something for you," Meechele handed Lynne a glass jar topped with a spritzer.
"Is it your perfume?"
"Yup," Meechele smiled. "Try it out."
Lynne sprayed the back of her hand and took a sniff.
The scent filled her, making her feel weak and invigorated all at once. Her everything tingled. She took another, deep sniff. If anything, the sensation was even more powerful. Lynne sprayed her neck and throat. It was bliss.
Meechele chuckled, then took a yellow sticky pad and pen off Lynne's desk.
"I'm having some friends over at my place tonight, around 8p," she said as she wrote. "I want you to come."
Lynne nearly did, right there. She shuddered, her eyes clenched shut. When she regained her senses, Meechele was gone. The sticky pad was on her desk. Meechele's address was on the top sheet.
At 8p that night, Lynne rang the doorbell to Meechele's home. The unreasoning arousal she'd felt on her date with Timothy was back with a vengeance; Trevor's warnings about Meechele rang in her ears. She alternately tried to screw up the courage to stay or run away. The sound of approaching footsteps foiled her. The door swung open.
.... There is more of this story ...