"Alright, Richards. Nearly show time," I muttered to myself as I slid out of the car. I walked around to the passenger side to get my briefcase and hand-outs, my two-inch black heels crunching on the gravel drive of the community building. My knee-length wool coat kept most of me warm against the early autumn wind, but blasts of unwelcome chill smacked against my shapely, stocking-encased legs.
Indulging in a tired sigh, I stretched my neck in hopes of getting some circulation to my brain. Doing community education and outreach was normally a very enjoyable part of my job, but it was now quarter to seven, I hadn't had dinner, yet, and the salad and cottage cheese that I'd had for lunch was a distant memory by this point. I'd also been going strong since getting to my desk at 8:00 that morning, and I knew I wouldn't be seeing home again until around 9:00. Oh, well. No one to miss me there except for my cat; my only hope was that she'd be happy with my attention for a couple of hours before I went to bed and not demand more throughout the night.
Gathering my things, I flipped through the little pad of contacts I always carried with me which also served as my "cheat sheet" of names. I'm shamefully forgetful of names and have been embarrassed numerous times by a sudden block, despite the little tricks and shortcuts I've learned through the years. I thumbed through the past few pages. Ah, yes. There it was. "Lion's Club -- 3 October 2006 -- 7:00. Contact person: James Vincent."
I'd spoken to Mr. Vincent a few times by phone. He had a nice voice, a very smooth baritone, and unlike some businessmen I'd dealt with in setting up other speaking engagements, he actually took the time to talk to me, often making me feel like
I
was doing
him
the favor by talking to him, as opposed to the other way around. I pegged him to be middle-aged, obviously involved in his community, and likely to be happily married with the requisite 2.2 (nearly grown) kids, and maybe a dog or two. It's not like I was doing this job with the intent of finding a husband, but still, it'd be nice to meet a sweet, attractive man and see what progressed from there.
I made my way across the parking lot as confidently as I could, praying the whole way that my heel didn't find that one sadistic rock that would send me tumbling to the ground with a sprained ankle. The brisk October wind snaked around my ankles, creeping up my legs to raise goosebumps along the bare skin of my thighs between stockings and garter belt. I knew I looked sharp, confident, yet conservative in my eggplant suit with the sedate white silk blouse underneath. Under this professional attire were my own little secrets: A white lace bra cupped and lifted my full breasts, but did little to hide their dark tips. The lining of my skirt caressed my ass, left bare by my black lace thong, and garter straps stretched taut against my hips from my garter belt to the tops of my black stockings. It gave me a boost of confidence knowing what little wisps of nothing hid beneath the outer shell.
Reaching the door, I stepped inside the warmth, the air a delicious mosaic of scents -- men's cologne, grilled barbeque chicken, yeast rolls and the spicy earthiness of mums. I gave my head a quick shake in hopes of resettling my short reddish brown curls after their tumble in the wind. Several club members were congregating just inside the door and welcomed me. I gave them my brightest smile and held out my hand to shake theirs. "Good evening. I'm Arane Richards, your speaker for the evening. I'm looking for James Vincent. Can you point him out to me?"
"Sure. That's him over there in the burgundy golf shirt, drinking Mountain Dew."
"Thanks, Paul. I appreciate your help, and maybe I'll get to talk to you a bit later."
I strode over towards James, enjoying the freedom to peruse him at my leisure. He was a big guy, a little soft around the middle, though certainly not fat and still very neat looking. Thick salt-and-pepper hair topped a face that gave testimony to his maturity and intelligence while still appearing youthful. Silver-rimmed glasses did nothing to detract from warm brown eyes, currently crinkled at the corners as he laughed at something someone had said to him. His laugh was rich and full-bodied, and it sent tingles down my spine.
He must've felt my gaze on him, because he suddenly turned in my direction. His laughter stopped, only to be replaced by a warm smile as his own deliberately slow gaze raked me from curls to heels and back up, pausing almost imperceptibly at the curve of my breasts under my suit. Raw heat followed in the wake of his perusal, and it seemed as if, in that single moment, he had learned all my secrets. My heart skipped in my chest at his smile. My gosh! Like his eyes weren't incredible enough; his dimpled smile made my insides melt completely, and I felt warmth suffuse my cheeks.
I returned his smile with one of my own as I approached. "Mr. Vincent? Hello. I'm Arane Richards." I held out my hand for him to shake.
"Call me Jim. It's nice to meet you."
"It's great finally getting to meet you." The hand encasing mine was strong, yet gentle, his handshake confident without grinding my fingers together. From this close, I could detect the subtle scent of his after shave gel and see his tight nipples beading under his shirt. The only jewelry he wore was a class ring on his left hand, the large blue stone winking under the fluorescent lights. He held my hand a little longer than was the social norm, but neither of us seemed eager to break the contact.
"Let me introduce you around to some of the folks," Jim said, taking my elbow as he guided me towards the front of the room near the lectern. "First, you can put your stuff down here," as he motioned towards a seat. I noticed the chair next to mine at the table had been claimed, and the way Jim moved those things around indicated that they were his. Interesting, I thought as delight did a slow roll through my system. "After dinner, we'll have the business portion of the meeting, then you'll speak. I hope you don't mind sitting through that. It usually goes pretty quickly."
"No, not at all. That's fine. In fact, as I'm here telling you about my organization and what I do, this will also give me the chance to learn more about your group."
Our arms emptied, Jim led me around the room, pausing briefly to introduce me to several of the men there for the meeting. I smiled and shook hands, hoping that I'd remember these names later, but resigned to forgetting them. All the while, I was cognizant of Jim hovering at my elbow, sometimes holding it, other times leading me around the room with his hand on the small of my back. Shortly thereafter, dinner was announced, and he instructed me to go first. We got our plates and went back to our seats. Dinner afforded us the opportunity to talk, mostly about our organizations and our professional lives, though we lacked the privacy to speak on more personal things.
Throughout dinner, I felt Jim's leg pressed against mine, his actions hidden by the tablecloth. His heat spread through his khakis and through my stocking to my leg before traveling upward to lodge in my moist inner folds. Normally I find this invasion of my personal boundaries irritating, but there was something about him being there that felt right; I didn't shift away.
"Um, I know this may seem pretty forward," Jim started, obviously a bit nervous, "But I was wondering if you would be interested in going out for dinner Friday evening. Uh, if you don't have any plans already. I'm sure you probably do," he added in a rush. His look was still hopeful, though.
