"Bollocks," I heard myself saying, as the A4 sized folder slipped from my under my arm and fell to the floor in the middle of the Starbucks. As I bent down, I quickly looked around, hoping no one had heard me, maybe I had said it under my breath, I rather ambitiously thought.
I heard a nicely modulated, male voice say.
"Hey, let me help?"
I didn't look at the owner of the voice.
"No, no it's ok," I said panicking a bit as I knelt down and tried picking everything up as quickly as I could.
"It's ok, I also do things like that", the voice went on.
I thought it was a bit condescending and replied in an off hand manner. "Really, well would you ever?" As I picked up some of the papers.
I felt, more than saw that someone was kneeling beside me. I glanced to one side and saw you on one knee. It was almost as if you were about to propose, I thought nearly giggling. You was reaching under one of the tables, helping to pick up the papers, folders, envelopes and other stuff.
"Oh fuck," I said to myself when I saw that several photos had come loose from the pack they had been in. "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck and fuck again", I breathed as I watched you pick them up.
You couldn't possibly avoid seeing they were photos, you probably couldn't avoid seeing they were photos of a scantily clad woman and I didn't think you could avoid seeing that she was wearing an all black outfit. By itself that might not have been a problem, but when the outfit was black stockings, suspender belt, bra and thong and nothing else, apart from black, shiny, high heels and a sultry, but slightly embarrassed smile, a slight problem did arise. I hoped like hell, though, that you did avoid seeing that I was that woman. But, on the other hand, my embarrassed mind rationalised, if you thought they were of someone else what would you think of me having photos of scantily clad women. That conundrum called for another salvo of fucks under my breath.
I looked at you and saw you staring, almost intently, at the woman in the photos, a wry, impish unbelieving, grin on her face. You didn't say anything, but handed them to me.
"Yours, I believe."
"Yes thank you," I replied feeling flustered and embarrassed, as we remained crouched looking at each other.
"I'm so clumsy, I must have had a really blonde moment there."
"Not surprising," you said flashing me a warm smile before adding somewhat flirtatiously. "With such gorgeous blonde hair."
"Well that doesn't make me an airhead," I snapped a little too fiercely.
"Not at," you smiled seemingly not a bit put out as you went on "Just momentarily clumsy, as we all are at times."
I suddenly realised that you probably couldn't avoid seeing that my low cut top was gaping. You could not also avoid noticing that the above the knee, tight, denim micro skirt had ridden up my legs. Moreover, due to the position we were in you could not probably avoid, even had you wanted to, looking down my top and up my skirt. That made me once more mutter under my breath. This time I tried both several bollocks and a few fuck, fuck, fucks; that made me feel a little better, so I added another couple of bollocks and two more fucks just for good measure. It didn't alter the fact, though, that unintentionally I was putting on a real display for you and then, I realised, it wasn't just for you, for I had a whole audience of the Starbuck customers and staff.
Still bent down, sort of sitting on the back of one foot with that knee almost touching the ground and with my other leg bent at ninety degrees or thereabouts, geometry was never my strong point, I glanced at this "helpful" stranger. You caught my eye and smiled.
"Hi" you said brightly as if meeting a girl bent over in Starbucks flashing her boobs and legs was the most natural thing in the world. It took me off guard.
"Oh hi," I said back, getting into the vernacular and almost putting my hand out to shake your hand.
Then it hit me, and with quite a jolt. It hit me that there were other things you and the audience most certainly could not have avoided seeing. It hit me that you would have seen my cleavage, for under the gaping top I wasn't wearing a bra; after all I hadn't intended to be groveling around on my knees in Starbucks?
It also hit me that you could not avoid noticing that I was wearing stockings just like the woman in the photos. Then, when I noticed the direction of your gaze, it also hit me that you probably saw that I was wearing similar coloured panties to the girl in the photos. I realised then, that most of fucking Starbucks had the same bloody view.
"What a fucking shambles," I thought.
"We all do such things," you said a sparkle, or was it a twinkle, I never know the difference, in your eyes as you got up and took my elbow helping me to stand. As I straightened up, you looked me up and down as I pulled the tee shirt back in place and smoothed the skirt back down my thighs.
I stared at you as well.
To say the least, you were mature, probably in your mid to late fifties I guessed. But then, as I looked at you I thought you could be older or younger, I'm hopeless with ages. Nevertheless, you certainly seemed old enough to be my father, even my granddad, but then, hey, so could Eric Clapton!
"Hey, lets have a coffee or something?" You asked in a nicely modulated, lilting, voice with an American or was it Canadian burr.
"No, no thanks, I'd better be going", I mumbled.
"In a rush to get somewhere?"
"Well no. not really."
"So why not just sit down, relax and have a latte or espresso, after all that is why you came in wasn't it?"
I realised that I had not got as far as ordering anything before making such an utter fool of myself.
"Er, I'd rather not, not in here," I stammered.
"Huh?" You said raising your eyebrows as our gazes met.
I smiled. "I think I've done enough damage here, I feel a little embarrassed." I said pulling the still gaping, top more tightly round me, and standing up almost ramrod-like, straight wishing I wasn't flashing quite so much cleavage. I could feel and see come to that, your eyes drifting to my chest. I realised then that my bastard nipples were betraying me again, the sods. Must be the friction I thought, assuming that nothing else was happening to me to make them become erect.
"Why?"
"Well you know."
"Oh that?"
"Yes that," I said looking around.
"What all of those lucky guys you mean."