December 2009
Conventions; trade shows; conferences. Call them what you like, you do get to meet some characters. Like the guy who's all talk, smattering TLAs throughout the conversation in the vain hope it covers up the fact he plainly doesn't know what he's talking about. At the other end of the scale is the nervous geek who should be locked away to do the coding and never allowed to meet the customer. And in the middle is me: a girl in a predominantly man's world who can appreciate the difference between HTML and XML but doesn't brag about it. Petite and unassuming on the surface; devious in the bedroom; wilder in hotel rooms after dark.
The annual shindig for hobnobbing with the doers, managers and wannabes was the generically-titled "Online Information" at London Olympia. I was there because my boss told me to go; apparently, he said, to keep my ear to the ground in the world of IT. Clearly he'd never been to the show and was simply wowed by the marketing propaganda as I'd have probably learnt more about IT from Ozzy Osbourne. But I had a few meetings lined up and it was a great excuse to be free of the office for a few days. And it was at the show, jammed on benches in front of a glitzy-looking stall awaiting the speaker, that I met her.
She shuffled along the row trying hard not to step on toes and sat down beside me. I caught her fragrance first but couldn't place it; light and airy, slightly floral. Not as heavy as Obsession yet more imposing than CK. She set down the black leather strappy bag by her pale calf and rearranged her skirt, brushing away an invisible thread.
Looking down at her hands resting in her lap, I noticed a gold wedding band and nails that were well manicured -- just long enough to peek over the pads of her fingers -- painted a subtle red. Her fingers were long and if she wasn't a pianist, probably should have been. She must have sensed my stare: when I glanced up our eyes met for a fleeting moment before I looked away.
A commotion the other side of me diverted my attention. A slender guy with small, metal-rimmed glasses was clambering over patrons to reach the space the other side of me. Was I Magneto-girl today or something? I inched towards the woman, our thighs touching briefly, as he plonked himself breathlessly to my right, wedging me between them. I didn't mind. He was cute and slightly nerdy. Had I not been spoken for I might have considered letting him buy me a drink later. He gave an apologetic grin just as the speaker began tapping the headset microphone and introduced his team.
The talk was interesting yet somehow uninspiring in equal measure. At least, the parts where I was concentrating. My mind kept inexplicably wandering; first to the woman on my left, and then to the man beside me. I found myself comparing and contrasting. She was a brunette, bordering on chestnut while I was darker. She had a dusting of tiny freckles on her fair cheeks, while I had none. And her lips -- in a soft red to complement her nails -- were full and pouting beneath a button nose. Overall she was taller and thinner than me, and where I had fairly large breasts for my frame, the way her delicate blouse hung indicated hers were smaller.
I glanced right as the speaker droned on. My boyfriend was usually clean shaven but this guy had slight stubble. Back home, a chiselled jaw line and prominent cheekbones gave Adam the appearance of an outdoor hiker; though to my knowledge he had only ever hiked to the corner shop and back. In contrast, the smoother curves and softer features of the man beside me belied much more of a penchant for indoors. He had paler skin than Adam and mousey blond hair. I caught myself imagining what it would be like to have his face gently scratching and tickling my neck as he kissed it. How would it feel if he traced his kisses along my collar bone, sliding my blouse and bra strap aside so he could concentrate on my shoulder?
I shook my head. Get a grip, woman! What was I thinking? What would Adam say if he found out? I scolded myself inwardly for being caught up in the cramped conditions. Truthfully I always preferred to be in close quarters with other people in public. It made my mind race with untold possibilities, despite my self-assurance that I'd never act on any of them. I especially enjoyed the forbidden touches of person against person as commuters jostled for position on the Underground or strangers brushed by me in bars.
Then I forgot all about him when the woman next to me raised her hand and spoke. Knocked me off guard with the soft, drawn-out vowels and lilting tone of an American. Perhaps from one of the Carolina states.
"Why would I use Silverlight instead of Flash? If you'll pardon my ignorance, hasn't Flash been around a lot longer and is more widely deployed?"
The speaker thanked her for the excellent question but was evidently a little riled about having to defend his company's product. He did a good job of deflecting the naysayers but I only half listened to the answer. I replayed her question over and over in my mind, focusing on her accent. Something about her voice appealed to me. No, it was more than that; it attracted me. There was a sharpness about her, but also an innocence conveyed in those few words. Perhaps it was the fact she was four thousand miles from home, feeling out of place in a foreign city surrounded by an up-tight nation of people. London is hardly the friendliest place on earth. No stranger to travel I knew the curious awkwardness of being that person, seemingly alone, having very little in common with the people bustling around me. But also the thrill of being able to stand out in the crowd; daring to be different, and expressing my individuality because nobody knew me. Anonymity and distinctiveness were a delicious mix.
Over the years I'd discovered nowhere demonstrated this conflict better than a hotel room. Lazing in front of the TV with Adam, hands wandering over each other's bodies, gradually raising the temperature, goose bumps forming on damp skin. Fingers walking tantalizingly over my erogenous zones, nipples hardening to his touch and then becoming rigid under his hot breath, as the tips of my breasts are rolled between lightly clenched teeth. Excitement mounting, ultimately finding myself unable to take any more and wordlessly climbing on top of him, riding his length furiously, feeling him split my raging pussy in two until I let go and cry out into the night space, not caring who may be listening in neighbouring rooms. And as I begin to come down from the high my audience in adjoining rooms would begin to... applaud? What the...
I became aware of clapping around me, petering out to be replaced with the hubbub of people moving. I focused on my hand which was slowly, almost imperceptibly rubbing my exposed thigh just above the knee and became suddenly self-conscious. Quickly standing, slightly flustered, I gathered my belongings and followed the woman along the row, admiring the way she glided away from the stall. I shook my head again. Something was definitely wrong with me: I feared I was turning into a nymphomaniac. Adam had unleashed some beastly desires inside me, and since the day he'd introduced me to anal sex I'd been utterly insatiable the past few months. I'd started fantasizing of office trysts, daydreaming of group sex and now what: another woman? I had to stop before my inner desires consumed me and made me do something I regretted. But that backside of hers wiggling in her pencil skirt made my heart leap to my throat. It took every ounce of self control to restrain my mind.
She looked back and stopped. Had she sensed me staring again? Could she tell what I was thinking? The briefest of pauses elapsed and I thought of darting away from her into the milling crowds. But before I could react she extended her hand and, in the inimitable way that Americans do, introduced herself.
"Jess. Or Jessica on Sundays. Didn't get a chance to say hi back there."
I took her soft hand in mine and shook it.
"Uh, Belle. No change on Sundays. Pleased to meet you."
"Belle, that's a pretty name."
"Pretty unusual, I'm told."
She smiled, freckled cheeks rising and catching the diffuse light. Our hands stayed together a few seconds longer than convention would dictate for people who had just met and I felt a faint tingle down my spine. I pulled my hand away, perhaps a little too quickly, and searched for something to say.
"So are you here just for the conference?" A short, sweaty man talking loudly into a mobile phone barged between us on his way to a nearby trade stand. "Or for all these hot specimens of mankind?" I concluded.
She laughed a little, eyes twinkling. "No. I'm on vacation and they said they'd pay me to take a few days here while I was in the country."
"That's good of them. And your family don't mind?"
"Left them in Birmingham." She pronounced each syllable separately: Bir-ming-ham and then added, "To explore."
"There's a lot to explore. I live near there. When I'm not here."
"Oh, really? You'll have to tell us what to see. Stuff we really shouldn't miss."
