It was a collegial drink at the bar; typical of most academic get-togethers at our annual engineering conference. Hal and I always tried to find time for a belt or two during the three day event, as this was often the only opportunity we had to see each other anymore. We'd been colleagues for six years in the nineties, but he had moved on to a position at Wisconsin and I had stayed at a state university in New England. Yet, here we were in Dallas, catching up once again.
Our conversations always followed the same pattern: we caught up on our latest research and engineering trends, compared notes on mutual friends and colleagues, and griped about our various departmental shortfalls. Inevitably, and usually after the second drink, the conversation always became more personal.
As a single man in my fifties, it was curious how interested my married colleagues were in my extra-curricular activities. After an early failed marriage, I had remained single while all my colleagues had gradually married and begun families. At fifty-five that was not likely going to change. I, of course, always inquired after my friends' wives and children. But, sooner or later, my married colleagues, and especially Hal, always brought the conversation around to my personal life. It was as if they wanted to live vicariously through any salacious details I was willing to share with them.
Now, I'm not going to lie. There are some considerable downsides to being a single man in your fifties. Some of the great things in life - a happy marriage and a loving family - were things that I was never going to experience. But, I suppose, at least in the eyes of my married friends, I had a pretty sweet gig. And, in some ways, that was quite true.
Sure, I had been lonely at times and old age was going to be experienced, unless things changed suddenly, alone. But my single status and position as a tenured professor at a large state university had certainly afforded me opportunities that were long lost to my married buddies. Hal, as I mentioned, loved to steer the conversation in this direction, as he did on this particular night.
As the 100 proof Old Forrester began to thaw the conversation, Hal initiated his subtle inquiry, asking if I was seeing anyone or had met any interesting women recently. I knew what he wanted to hear, and while I wasn't a blabbermouth - I respected the privacy of the various women I'd met over the years - I wasn't immune to Hal's thinly veiled desire to know details.
He took a good swig of the stiff bourbon as if he was girding up for another question. I waited.
"So, Matthew, tell me something." He swirled his drink a bit and asked me with a smile. "Who is the absolute best lover you've ever had? Is that a question you can even answer?"
"It is," I replied and answered his question without a moment's hesitation. "That would be Nora," I stated without reservation.
"Nora," Hal repeated, stating the name more for clarification than anything else.
"Yes," I replied. "Nora."
I knew the inquisition would not end there and was willing to give Hal a little taste of the most amazing woman I had ever been with. I kept it vague; I wasn't going to get carried away on too many details with Hal. But recounting my brief relationship with Nora got me thinking of her again and I thought it was worthy of telling the story in full detail, if the reader is interested. I only shared a sliver of the experience with Hal that evening. But the full story is, well, as I told Hal, the best sexual experience of my life. I may meet another like her someday, but I surely wouldn't bet on it. She was one of a kind.
Nora had walked into my life a few years back - September of 2012 to be exact - and walked out a few months later at the end of the fall semester. I had been assigned by the Chancellor to sit on an inter-departmental task force that was looking into interdisciplinary opportunities and the marketing of same, both within the university and without. It was a group of about a dozen department heads and administrators and we were to meet every two weeks for the fall semester to come up with a plan and implementation strategy. I perused the list of committee members when I agreed to join and saw mostly familiar names, but also a few folks I didn't know. It would at least be an opportunity to meet some new people, I thought, even if nothing came of it. One name was a mystery to me: Nora Perkins. I'd come to learn more about her soon enough.
Nora walked into our meeting that very first day and, literally, took my breath away. Actually, it was more like she sauntered into our meeting and I took in every step. She arrived just as we were kicking things off and smiled radiantly as she entered the room. I was not the only person around the table who noticed this breath of fresh air as she apologized for being late and took a seat across from me at the large conference table.
I immediately noticed a dichotomy about her. On one hand she was a petite delicate flower. She was blond, slender and very beautiful. Her hair was up in a casual twist and large dangly earrings were in constant movement. Her leather boots added at least three inches to a frame that I guessed to be five foot three, or so. Her complexion was pale and her skin looked smooth and translucent. She wore black glasses that framed her big blue eyes and had full sassy lips. All of her facial features were finely tuned and her body appeared to follow suit. Her skin tight jeans showed off lean legs and a very tight round butt. Her short black jacket hid any hint of her bust, but I guessed her to be slender and delicate from head to toe.
On the other hand, however, her demeanor as she entered the meeting that day, was one of a woman who was confident and determined, despite her diminutive presence. There was no doubt she could command a room if she so chose. But I also got the impression she was new around here and I was dying to hear her story. I do know that I found it hard to keep my eyes off of her.
The meeting was called to order, our chair greeted us warmly, and asked that we go around the room and introduce ourselves. I turned with great interest toward this fascinating woman when it was her turn, wondering where in the hell she had come from.
"Hi. My name is Nora Perkins. I'm here on loan for this semester from the UC system and am currently at Berkeley. I was a double major in Business and Art - MBA and MFA - and am currently pursuing a doctorate in business. My interests and focus in the UC system are in tying together business and art...or art and business, depending on your point of view. I'm here this semester consulting with the Art Department and helping them with marketing efforts and outreach to the business community at large. I think the Chancellor got wind of my presence and decided my skillset might be an asset to this particular task force. I look forward to working with and getting to know all of you," she said succinctly, looking about the room and making eye contact with each and every person at the table.
That was it. I was in love. This woman had a style and presence that just spoke to me, I don't know how else to put it. I didn't know what her personal situation was, but at that moment it didn't matter. I do know that she was not wearing a ring. And neither was I.
I could feel her eyes on me as I gave my own little intro and they seemed to be boring a hole right into my brain. Perhaps she gave the same laser attention to the others and they didn't notice or care. But I felt a connection with Nora from the get-go and I was suddenly much more interested in this task force.
Over the next month we met several times and began to coalesce as a group. Nora had a nice way about her: able to listen carefully, but not shy about speaking her mind. And she was eloquent, very intelligent, and sexy as hell.
I always appreciated what she wore to our meetings. She was not your typical New England coed. She had a distinctive personal style that definitely had a California flair. I always took the opportunity when she was speaking to check her out. She dressed in a way that accentuated her fine slender body. It was heading toward an early winter, so she was often bundled up under layers as the semester progressed. But I had seen enough early on to know she had modest breasts. Something, however, told me they were still quite spectacular.
She carried herself with a grace that I have seen in very few women, and had an attitude that clearly expressed that she was comfortable with her body. It was a subtle, but sassy, attitude that bordered on insouciance. She had captured my attention; that was for sure. And we always made eye contact at each meeting, sometimes more than once, and I usually detected the subtlest sense of interest in her smile.
It was getting on toward mid-semester and I figured that if I was going to make a move of some sort, I couldn't wait much longer. At our next meeting she sat down next to me at the large conference table and pulled back on the comfortable rolling chair with her legs crossed. She was wearing thick black leggings with an impossibly short denim skirt and black cashmere sweater, accompanied by her tall high-heeled leather boots. I guess you can get away with a super short skirt when you have leggings on, especially black ones. But as she sat there next to me, legs crossed and the skirt climbing high up her slender thighs, I couldn't help but wonder how amazing she'd look in that same skirt and no leggings.
It was a Friday and I had decided today was the day to find out what her story was. I hung back as our meeting broke up to try and speak to her. I felt like the high school kid waiting to leave class and maybe, accidentally on purpose, get to walk the hall with the pretty girl in study hall. My smooth move worked, amazingly enough, and we sauntered outside into the cool brisk autumn afternoon.
