Bill looked at the bank of screens in his office. Some had a newsfeed, one had a stock forum, some had live stock charts. He rocked back on his leather chair, dragged off his black-rimmed glasses and dropped them on the desk. Then raising his hands, grinding the palms into his closed eyes. He had made some good trades today, made money. Now the markets were closed, he could finish off the paperwork. It was Friday and his week had ended.
"Bugger me, what a fucking day!" he cursed to himself. Meaning his time had been busy but good. He is Australian, and while he had perfect manners, he also had a vibrant, colorful vocabulary when it was appropriate. Had it been a bad day he probably would have said words to the effect "Well fuck me, what a cunt of a day!"
He stretched his arms high and arched his back, holding the stretch for a time. Back to the computers, in turn, he switched them off, tidying the desk, so all things were in their correct place. Not that things got too far out of place with Bill, he is very well organized, in all ways.
He pushed back on his chair; it rolled across the dark timber flooring. He took a moment to gaze out at the tall gum trees and ferns; that was his view. The land fell away down to the valley below. It was a peaceful view. His eyes lingered on the trees for a few moments. It was a good way to wind down, for the intense focus, needed with his day trading of the markets. He dealt in big stocks, with big money and daydreaming during trading was not to be recommended.
Shaking himself away from his contemplations, he got up and meandered toward the bathroom. The master bathroom had an enormous window looking outside into ferns and bushland. The shower recess is against part of the window. As he showered, he could gaze at the view, until the heat of the water, steamed the view out of vision. He enjoyed his life, especially the sensual things.
The running water, flowing over his body relaxed him, sending him into a peaceful reverie as he contemplated what might be. He smiled a little as he was thinking about the redhead. The amazing color of hair, not carrot red but deep, dark red. His cock began to react slightly at the thought.
Recently, he had gone to a seminar about gold. He was given the ticket, VIP ticket for the front row. He had followed Marc Faber for years on his gold report. Not because he agreed with what he said, mostly he disagreed. It was a chance to get up close and personal as a 'vip' person to Faber. Mostly for no good reason, but because a bit of a heckle is fun and 'vip' people get questions answered.
After the show was over, he turned to go, when he noticed a face he recognized. Both saw each other at the same time, reaching out offering the other an enthusiastic handshake. "I'll be damned, John how are you mate?" They had been work colleagues, in another time and place, a few years earlier.
They resolved to have a drink together at the pub, next door to the lecture hall. It was still early even though Bill had a two-hour drive back to his home. They caught up with a little of each other's news and made another arrangement to have a longer session together. Bill suggested John come up one Friday night and spend a day or two in the bush and relax. There were a couple of spare rooms from which to choose.
Bill toweled himself dry and wandered back to his room. He had a large walk in wardrobe, all the clothing and shoes, organized neatly in order. He selected a dark blue pair of Armani jeans and fine wool navy polo top. As Bill looked at himself in the mirror, he was happy enough with what he saw.
Tall and slim with dark well-cut hair, slightly greying at the temples, bright blue eyes, clean shaven. Bill was careful with what he ate, as his job was mostly sedentary, it is easy to get a bit of weight on at his age. Thinking that John must be about 35 years old now, probably about 15 years his junior.
He pulled out some cologne and sprayed a light spray onto his chest, rubbing it off the chest hair onto his skin. Dressing and sliding into a pair of light leather house shoes, then combing back his hair.
Moving back to the kitchen, he checked the time, thinking about getting dinner started. He had prepared most of it earlier. In a large open baking dish, there was a long rack of lamb with foil covering the bones, to avoid burning them, a mass of cubed root vegetables, and some fresh rosemary from the garden sprinkled over the top.
He got out the honey and drizzled some over the meat and then squeezed the juice out of half an orange over the lot. Smelled great now and it will smell even better cooking. The beans were ready for a quick blanching later on, and the white chocolate panna cotta was in the fridge next to the hulled blackberries. He slapped his hands together and congratulated himself on having it all done.
John was due any time, but the meal would go into the oven a bit later. It would only take three-quarters of an hour to cook; there was time before hand for wine. He had selected a local Pinot Noir to start. As he was choosing the glasses, Bill heard the crunching of tyres on the driveway and went to greet his guest. It was still daylight which made finding the place, in among the thickly wooded trees and ferns, a little easier.
There was a warm greeting as the two men met again. Once inside, after the overnight bag had been stowed away, in the spare bedroom, they became deeply immersed in conversations, with things they had discovered of mutual interest.
