Chapter 4: Andrew's Story
We had spent an evening of love and sex, Dee Dee and I. It was time for me to be off. We both have work in the morning. Oh, boy. Wonder what that's going to be like?
She was lying partially under the cover, one arm thrown carelessly above her head, her eyes closed and a sensual, lazy smile on her face. I could see her semi-nude form looking so warm and inviting and could feel myself stirring once again.
I finished dressing and walked over to her bed, kneeled at the bedside and put my arms around her. I took her in my arms and gave her a gentle kiss.
"Thank you, Dee Dee, for a wonderful evening. You know that if you ever need anything from me, all you have to do is ask."
She never opened her eyes. She seemed like a sleepy kitten. "Thank you Andrew. That was lovely!"
And just like that, she was asleep. I can take a hint. I kissed her cheek once more, and then made my way out and home.
I figured if this wouldn't change the dynamic in our relationship, nothing would. I was more than a little apprehensive that Thursday morning as I entered the conference room. I saw that I was the first to arrive. Well, there are only two of us, so I could only be first or last.
The previous three days of meetings with the lovely Ms. Martin had been tense, to use her word. Mostly I was in a constant state of arousal whenever she was near me. I split my time between worrying about a sexual harassment lawsuit and wondering about how I could get her to bed.
Well I don't have to worry or wonder anymore. But I know Deirdre well enough to know that she is going to be all business. She's probably already had second and third thoughts about last night. She's worried about the appearance of impropriety. She may be worried about my respect for her as a business associate after I fucked her senseless and had her begging for mercy.
Yes, this morning would be interesting.
She came breezing into the conference room looking business-casual stunning.
She said "Oh, hello Andrew. I'm glad you're here already. We have a lot of work to catch up on. Now that the tension is, ahem… broken, if you know what I mean." And then she laughed.
I had to laugh myself. The woman is funny in a cute, up-front sort of way. She doesn't avoid problems. She confronts them. But she confronts them with her little throw-away jokes that seem to defuse the problem as she confronts it.
Actually this joke didn't exactly defuse my problem. Yes, I was glad to see Deirdre's reaction to our night before. But I thought she would be cool about it. She's always cool.
But if I thought that a little tension relieving would alleviate my natural physical reaction to her presence, I was sadly (or happily as the case may be) mistaken. There was an stirring at my midsection and suddenly my pants were again pointing towards Deirdre.
If she noticed, she only showed it by allowing her smile to broaden a bit. Her whole being seemed to emanate contentedness, kind of like a warm, well-fed kitten.
Deirdre could have acted a number of ways when she came to work. She could have been nervous and self-conscious; acting like the whole thing had been a terrible mistake. She could have acted like a love sick teenager, allowing our mutual attraction to interfere with the jobs we both had to do. Instead she was all business with just this veneer of relaxed, happy sexuality. She was for all the world like a competent businesswoman, but one who had been thoroughly and pleasantly fucked and was basking luxuriously in the afterglow.
This beautiful girl seemed incapable of being anything but desirable. Every aspect of her personality as it was revealed showed her to be sexy, warm, and fully comfortable with herself.
Deirdre and I spent the morning actually working and making great progress. I don't know if I mentioned it, but Deirdre is a brain. If she has an idea that I disagree with, with just a little explanation on her part I can be brought around to her point of view. I'm a logical kind of guy, and I succumb to impeccable logic.
Yeah, right. I'll admit that it's difficult to be objective while staring into Deirdre's eyes. Generally speaking, if she wants something, I'll agree to it.
Let me rephrase that. It's to the point that I'll do anything she wants. If she wants it, I'll do it. All she needs do is ask, and I'll give it to her. Anything; anything at all, I'll do.
This places me in a somewhat weakened negotiating position.
I'm into theories. I like to translate the happenings of the world and of my life into logical wholes to understand the meaning behind the facts, the 'why' of the 'what'. I often have insights, flashes of inspiration that reveal the mysterious workings of the world. Well, most of the time I have such insights it's when I'm high. The next morning I can never remember what they were. But I'm pretty certain they were insightful.
Man thinks with his dick. Okay, you're saying that you may have heard this theory before and it's not exactly original, and by the way buddy, where's your proof? To the simple statement that 'man thinks with his dick' I add the codicil that 'dick-thinking' if you care to call it that, dovetails nicely with my theory of chemical attractors. As I work with this theory, I realize I am approaching a kind of 'unified theory', marrying the various theories into a single, workable whole.
My 'chemical attractors' theory has it that very occasionally two people's body chemistries are so compatible that the people become almost like a drug to each other. It's something to do with receptors within one person that perfectly fit the pheromones or chemical secretions or skin or something of the other person. Well I'll admit that this aspect of my theory needs a little work.
So we can use my 'chemical attractors' theory as the mechanism that drives my 'man thinks with his dick' theory. The likelihood of two people who are chemical attractors actually meeting each other is so small that it rarely ever happens.
But when it does, it answers another universal question. You can look back in history; you sometimes see it manifested by people in your own life, sometimes even people in your own family, sometimes even yourself. Someone does something just crazy. And you say to yourself, "What the fuck was he thinking?"
We have the answer. He was thinking with his dick; the fatal result of his being intellectually in thrall to his chemical attractor.
This is a good theory! I'm not expecting the Nobel Prize or anything, but maybe the Pulitzer would be in order.
This is all in explanation of the fact that I will do whatever Deirdre wants me to do, and gladly. I'm living proof of the 'man thinks with his dick' theory.
We had been at it for about an hour. I was sitting to Deirdre's left at the conference table since we were both looking at numbers being displayed on her laptop. Suddenly out of the blue I felt a hand on my dick. It went from three-quarters hard to full extension so fast I thought it was going to tear a whole in my pants. I must have jumped two feet in the air.
I said, "Deirdre! What are you doing?"
