After a day of tiring lectures and tedious slides, I was bored, on my way to getting tipsy and antsyโantsy for something exciting to happen. As I studied the people at the milling around at the reception, though, I was pretty sure that
boredom
was the only item on the entertainment menu that night. I became increasingly convinced that the reason most people attended conferences was for the free finger food and liquor they would get on the first night. This reception crowd was taking maximum advantage of the appetizer tables, stuffing handfuls of salty, fatty little morsels into their mouths and washing them down with gulps of box wine Chardonnay.
Because I was in a playful mood, decided to wear a cute navy blue miniskirt and simple white silk blouse to the evening reception.
Not alluring
, you say? Well, consider the fact that I have large, dark nipples and consider also that a bra was
not
part of my outfit. This outfit was sure to attract a roving eye.
When the reception started, all I wanted was for someone to flirt with me, some poor guy I could make sweat by teasing him. Maybe I would let some crumbs fall on my blouse, I thought, so that when I brushed them away my breasts would jiggle. Of course, my nipples, just from being touched, would stiffen as well. In my imagination I saw some trembling man with a thinning hair line trying to make conversation with me and, when I flirted seriously with him, falling into a state of panic and scurrying away. I sighed when I realized that, after analyzing the crowd at the reception, the probability of an adventurous evening was quite miniscule. The people packing the reception room were mostly in the fifty to sixty range, mostly pale white, generally overweight and interested more in real candy than eye candy.
Convinced that my little head game was not going to happen, I peered over the rim of my wine glass looking someone-
anyone
- who might stand out from the grazing herd. Coincidentally, when I saw that person, he saw
me
. He smiled-
smirked
, actually-and headed straight toward me. I could tell by his gait that he was cocky and a tad obnoxious, a know-it-all guy who would undoubtedly find someone to have sex with that night. I decided that, if I wanted it to be,
I
would be that person. I wasn't sure at that point that I wanted to have sex, but I left the possibility open. It all depended on how he handled himself.
"I'm not even going to make an attempt at a pickup line," he said. "I'll just tell you what you know alreadyโyou're incredibly gorgeous."
I flinched at his clichรฉd clumsiness, but I smiled, took his hand and glanced at his wedding ring. "I see you're married," I said. "Does your wife know that you say those kinds of things to complete strangers?"
"Yeah," he said. "I'm married. And, no, my wife doesn't know. By the rings on your finger, I'd say that you are, too. Married, that is. Does your husband know that you...um...display your wares so magnificently at these conferences?"
I raised an eyebrow as though I didn't understand his comment. "My," I asked, "my
wares
?"
Ah ha! I sensed the first inkling of nervousness in him. "Your body," he said. "Your outfit...um...your slenderness is ideally suited for the type of outfit you're wearing."
My
slenderness
. Who was he kidding? But, I played along. I took a slow sip of my wine, letting the glass linger on my lips before I answered him. "Yes," I said. "My husband knows how I dress and it turns him on to know I turn other men on. Does it turn you on to know that your wife turns other men on?"
"I don't remember mentioning my wife," he said. "But...um...she would not look as good as you do in an outfit like yours. I guess it's just my good luck that you husband...um...appreciates your...um...
packaging
," he said.
I laughed. Whatever nervousness he had felt seemed to be fading and it seemed that he knew the rules of the game-flirt, don't push and don't become desperate. I smiled and held out my hand. "I'm Casey." No point in giving him my real name.