The annual convention of sex therapists was held at the Ballymore Hotel Ocean Beach Recreation Centre and, as always, Friday evening was the shakedown function where everyone would mix, drink and yarn and set up room swaps for the duration of the two-nights at the hotel.
The cocktail party commenced at 7:30 and between four and seven was the period in which the convention organizers set delegates a mystery task based only on a two or three-word clue. As there was a $5000 prize to the winner, delegates made sure they were ready to try to compete in the mystery task.
As delegates booked in they were given a pair of bikini briefs and told they must wear them if competing in the contest and would be disqualified if competing without them or if wearing a swapped pair.
Delegates gathered in groups examining the knickers, search for clues. But they appeared to be normal – very cheap, very flexible so that one size fitted all (or almost). It was generally agreed that the answer would come in the clue words. So at 4 o'clock more than 95% of the 378 delegates were assembled as the clue words were read out: 'Get Her Panties'.
Baker Street, PhD, one of the keynote speakers smiled as he saw couples already together link arms jubilantly and congratulate one another for having accomplished their pick-up from whom they could get the panties so easily, now being eligible to win the big prize.
Baker knew such contests were never that easy. He had been told he was eligible to enter, and actually had put on his cotton brief, but he decided to go back to the hotel and perhaps take a nap. But in the elevator by error he pressed the button to the rooftop bar.
The room was almost empty as it was only early evening. As he was up here, Baker decided to have a drink. He saw a woman about his own age – knocking forty – and went over to her table and asked, "Do you mind if I sit here?"
He then recognized the woman's face from the convention brochure: she was Bliss Chapman (Miss), outgoing president of the Sex Therapists' Institute. Baker decided not to indicate he'd recognize her.
Surprised, Bliss looked around at the empty tables.
"There are empty tables galore for you to sit at undisturbed."
"Oooh, an expert ball-cracker," Baker grinned.
"Not at all, but it is a moment I have in which to enjoy solitude."
"Solitude rests uneasy with the human spirit."
"Oh, learned in that direction are we?" she smiled through her stunning mouth of perfectly restructured orthodontia.
"I have been known to delve down that pathway."
"Well, dammit, please sit down; at least you sound interesting. Are you a convention delegate?"
"No," he replied truthfully.
"Thank God for that" he heard her murmur. "Then you will be a bagman," she giggled.
"A traveling salesman? I'm no more that than I'm a gigolo."
She smiled and said both seemed to be a dying breed.
"May I refresh you drink?"
"Thank you," she said, "Iced water."
"I mean a real drink?"
"I'm expensive to keep in alcohol – iced water will be fine."
Baker beckoned the hovering wine waiter who obviously had kept away assuming that the lady alone would not welcome the intrusion of an opportunist.
"Two Bellinis – make sure they use Bollingers."
"Yes, sir!"
Baker noticed her eyebrow lift when he gave the order, which pleased him. He also thought she'd be comfortable to have in bed, so decided to make that happen.
"Hi," he said, offering his hand. "I'm Baker Street."
"Oh, Dr Street – you're our chief presenter. Forgive me for not recognizing you. I am the president of the institute, Bliss Chapman."
"Good god, I was expecting a dried up old prune as president, they usually are. But look at you – oh my!"
Bliss colored pink behind her dark sunglasses. Like Baker, she was beginning to show age lines but she looked reasonable attractive and he greatly admired her bosom – there was no escaping she had one – upscale 36 for sure.
"Excuse me, the restroom," she explained.
"A chance to escape?"
"Oh, you're too interesting to let go, Mr Street. I'll be back in three minutes."
Bliss arrived back just ahead of the cocktails.
Her figure was great for a forty-year-old and Baker was thinking she would probably have noted he still had plenty of hair, broad shoulders and the look of a guy who worked out; good to be in bed with, perhaps?
She slumped back in her chair, toasted him with her glass silently and took a sip.
"Beautiful."
A minion came scuttling up and handed Bliss four faxes.
"Give that one to Tom the accountant please Rose, file these next two and inform Michael on this one to call me at my office on Tuesday morning."
"Yes Miss Chapman. Enjoy your evening."
During the paper shuffling her cocktail dress had parted at the split and Bliss saw the direction of Baker's eyes, but said nothing.
Baker decided to push it.
"Do you always were stockings?"
"On formal occasions I usually do if it's any business of yours."
"I'm not prying you know."
"I know what you're doing."
"Any objections?"
She said nothing, pretending the jury was out while staring at him with a little frown. Baker knew in that moment she'd decided that she didn't have any objections but be damned if she was going to tell him that, at least not yet. It was his job to make an analysis like that and to take advantage of such knowledge.
Time to push a little more.
"You've decided you don't mind, haven't you?"
The smile came back with the pinkish skin tone.
"I did elementary psychology as part of my degree, and that's very elementary psychology your are using with no penalty accruing if you're wrong."
"And that's a calculated diversion to avoid answering the question."
"What would you like me to do?"
"Show me more leg."
She visibly jumped, saying definitely not.
"You are tempted."
Bliss stared at his green eyes with her green-gray eyes.
"If you're wrong about that you're wrong about many other things, right?"
"Yes."
She looked alarmed, knowing he wasn't meant to be so damn cocky. He was meant to say no or if not that, to change the subject. She opened her knees.
"Christ, what lovely thighs."
It was warm in the lounge and perhaps the champagne was going straight to her head, but Bliss felt a little faint, the old word for it being swooning. Hard nosed business women like her didn't swoon, but this Mr Baker was making her swoon. She realized the bastard was out to bed her!
"Are you all right, Bliss?" He was at her side, cradling her by the shoulders.
"Here, drink some water."
"Thank you," she said soberly and jumped as he splashed water from the glass on to her face, then dipped a serviette into the water and held it on the back of her neck.
"It's overheated in here – today's sun through all that glass, and you talking to me so sensually and intensely I just seemed to float away."
