I pull in to the parking lot of the hotel, in town again for a conference. The place is familiar, well-known to me and comforting. My life has been so prosaic – I've been in a rut that feels as deep as a canyon. I feel as if I could die from ennui. I'm resigned to attending the conference, but can't help feel a slight breeze of optimism; with this welcome break in routine and typical of my nature, like a sailboat, I tack into it. Almost against my will, my spirits lift as I check in and get settled.
The next morning, I'm driving into the rising sun, fortified by a restful sleep, a continental breakfast and a large cup of coffee. I still can't help but feel this is the advent of better things. From where is this ridiculous optimism coming? It's like a premonition, but of what, I can't even explain to myself.
As I walk into the conference auditorium, I greet familiar faces and settle myself in one of the middle seats. Several minutes later, the conference coordinator comes in, followed by about a half a dozen of what I assume is her staff. After a brief welcome and introduction, I realize these are her instructors. My gaze rests on each as they are introduced, and my attention is caught by one man, who stands at her side.
He is tall and broad, has dark hair touched with gray, with arresting features and eyes that snap with intelligence and wry humour. There is a hint of arrogance around his mouth, which is full and sensual. As the conference coordinator introduces him, my pulse increases and my mouth goes dry. Why do I find this man so compelling? He doesn't seem to notice my regard at all, but I can't see anything or anyone else in front of me.
The conference has begun in earnest. I have no choice but to pull myself together, ask pertinent questions and take notes. The information that's being imparted is essential to my work at home, and I can't afford to miss a single detail.
When it's almost the end of the day, we've had several knowledgeable instructors for each topic on the agenda, and there's only one more topic left. The conference is three days long, but I can't help but wonder if the man who so drew me earlier would be instructing the class next.
Oh... and he is. He strides to the front of the room to the dais, introduces himself again and immediately confirms what I suspected at first glance: He is incredibly intelligent, articulate and is able to hold our attention with a solid knowledge of his material and a humourous delivery. He emphasizes main points, gesticulating with his hands, and with the quirk of an eyebrow, he has the entire class in the palm of his hand. I'm completely entranced. As he speaks, his gaze wanders between his presentation on the screen, to individuals sitting in the auditorium, keeping them engaged. I'm almost desperate for his eyes to catch mine. Then, for just a second, they do, and it almost seems like his eyes can see right into me. Both eyebrows slightly lift, almost as if asking me an unspoken question. Before I know it, his lecture is over, and he is swarmed by my colleagues, who have to ask him one more question or make one more point... but I know there are women in the class who are like me, and just wish for a few minutes more in his presence. A hot, swooping sensation is in my stomach. I can't stay another minute when we're finally dismissed for the day.
In agitation, I drive back to my hotel. I change into clothes that feel uncomfortably tight, and go for a drink in the hotel bar. I have a book with me, but I can't get past the first page. Colleagues arrive for supper and a drink, but I can't eat. I finish my drink, make my excuses, and head to my room.
After two hours of television shows I can't remember, even my skin is tight, and I can't sit still. I opt for a shower, and stay in the steamy wet heat for at least a half an hour, repeatedly stroking my body, when the soap and shampoo have long since been rinsed away. What is wrong with me?
When I've dried off, I step out with some determination, and snap off all the lamps but one in the far corner. The bed is enormous, with four pillows end to end, and I arrange them all to my satisfaction. I reach into my suitcase, and bring out my vibrator, resolved to get rid of this inexplicable craving. I try to start slow, to build the pressure and enjoy the final release, but I just can't. I touch my clit and find myself swollen and soaking wet, so with no preliminaries, I fuck myself with the dildo, with the attachment vibrating against my clit, and I come explosively in seconds. I've just made an incredible amount of noise, but as I lay there still panting, with a fine sheen of sweat on me, I'm all alone in my room and don't care. But my satisfaction is short-lived. In another minute, as I experimentally play with myself, I realize I need it again. This time, with the image of a big man with that piercing gaze in my mind's eye, I get there even faster, and there's no way I want to stop it, as I pluck my nipples with my other hand. Two more times throughout the night I reach for my vibrator, desperate for release, all the time, taunted by his image.
Now it's the next morning. Again, the sun is shining, and now I feel a different reason for my optimism. I'm so tired, but the anticipation is swelling. I return to my seat in the conference room, eagerly awaiting him. But like the day before, we have many lectures, with many instructors, and none have been him. With one more class again to go before the end of the day, he walks in. At his first word, I'm his again. Again, his gaze wanders to each of us, again, his gaze briefly locks on mine, and AGAIN, his eyes seem to ask a question. I so want to answer... but I'm so afraid this connection we seem to have is all in my head. But he's so completely knowledgeable about his topic, he's made it so absorbing and compelling, it would be impossible to not pay attention to him. He holds me prisoner with the timbre of his voice, those large, capable, expressive hands, that enticing hint of arrogance and those sharp, sharp eyes that seem to miss nothing. He can't possibly not notice the effect he's having on me. But perhaps he doesn't, as now his lecture is over, and we're done for another day.
But this time... he lingers, seeming to take longer than it should to pack up his briefcase, and again, I get that questioning glance that gives me tight little shivers inside. So I take my time packing up as well, wondering if this is all a product of my wishful reverie, or if we've somehow really forged this intimate connection that only I can see. Everyone has finally left, and it's only the two of us in the room.
"Where are you parked?" He asks me.
"Just across the street," I answer, not quite able to meet his eyes.
"I'll walk with you, then," He replies with a twinkle, amused, and seeming to sense how I'm feeling.
Arrogant man! Of course he's noticed the effect he's had on me. His self-confidence and obvious assumption that I want him so badly should have dampened the fires of my lust, but with the full impact of his charisma finally so close, I want to pull the very smell of him into my blood. I have no choice but to follow where he leads.
