I'm the first to admit that, workwise, I'm a pretty small cog in a massive machine. My company is international, and current headcount stands around 15,000. I'm also well aware that it's more important to play the corporate game than actually be any good at my job. I've just never been able to stand out. Dave, my boss is an idiot. Simon, his boss is also an idiot. And I've only met Joan, his boss once before. An intimidating 60-something in a power suit that looked like it cost about as much to buy as I will probably earn in my lifetime. It was a passing, embarrassing two words at a large national get-together type of meeting. The only think she'd remember about me was my stuttered "You too" in answer to her asking me what division I worked in. Not exactly express elevator career building stuff on my part.
Roll on eighteen months and I'm feeling a little more secure in my job. Promotion has been at the company's leisurely standard pace. Business is good across the organization, so my job is fairly safe at the moment. I earn almost enough to both pay rent and eat. Other bills and student debt could wait.
I've obviously made enough of an impression locally to win a company lottery spot to the big national townhall in London, flights, accommodation, per diem, and all the bells and whistles included. Thankfully, I had time to order my very first passport.
Soon, I was discovering the joys of business class and ogling air hostesses, followed by the less joyful joys of jet lag. London, however, was fantastic. So full of life. Full of people who'd studiously ignored you while also being on a hair trigger to help if the slightest need arose. The women too were amazing. Funky and cute, sophisticated and cheap, girl next door and dominatrix. You could pass three of each on any street corner.
So, all proceeded as you may imagine at these dos. Once the preliminary red tape stuff was over, there were seated sessions where I tried not to yawn through company projections, goals and visions. There were awkward drinks where everyone tried to find the perfect balance between drinking enough to be relaxed but not sloshed (I failed, but not fatally). Posh dinners which were a crapshoot depending on who you drew as your seat mates.
Then the mind and body work.
Ugh.
I'm not a very touchy-feel person by nature. I am not in touch with my crystals and to me chakras sound like something I have with Asian food. But it was an 'essential' and mandatory part of the week, so I had to don my sweats and take part.
It all started off pretty straightforward. More bench seating. More blah blah blah talks. Then came the actual bodywork.
We broke out into small groups first and had to do excruciating exercises designed to make us feel closer and more open. Then we broke into smaller groups again and did written exercises based on physical questions. Then, and this was the mindfuck, we broke into pairs.
Can guess who I got drawn with?
Joan. My boss's boss's boss.
Shit.
So. I find myself trying desperately to follow instructions as the guy at the top of the room explained what was expected of us. Joan looked like she was totally concentrating -- she was paying for the whole thing, after all, I suppose. I kept one eye on the guy and one eye on her as we listened to instructions.
Joan was pretty well put together for a 60-something woman. In leisurewear, she was less intimidating and quite voluptuous but still old enough to be my grandmother. In other words, little me had not entered the equation in anyway. So far. That was before I took in the figure-hugging outfit that could probably be swapped for the equivalent of a small country's GDP. It was clinging for dear life to all the right places as far as I could see. What was I thinking? Do not get the hots for the top boss.
I lost track of the instructions for a moment and had to be dragged back to earth by Joan asking me was I ready.
So. Turned out the exercise was simply to sit cross-legged on the floor opposite each other, eyes open, and just let our minds go blank. Didn't sound too hard. Any embarrassment or giggles were to be allowed to happen and pass. Fair enough.
So, Joan and I set to in the corner along with the rest of the room. I figured she'd want to win (if that was possible) and decided to let her if I could figure out how exactly. We sat opposite each other, knees two inches from each other and looked at each other. I was not prepared for how such a simple sounding exercise could profoundly affect you.
Joan began with full eye contact which I found difficult but was not going to break. She had a sympathetic smile on her face, probably disappointed to have drawn a dweeb like me. Some anonymous grunt in his mid-twenties was probably not her idea of stimulating company.
After a couple of seconds, I felt the heat rise up both my cheeks. Joan's face had taken on a whole new meaning to me. Normally one I was used to seeing only on company emails, now it was a living, real, warts and all, beautiful one that I'd been oblivious of before. I reddened as my mind reeled at being attracted to someone I'd only ever seen as the uber-ogre. My eyes began to drift south of their own accord.
I took in her long blonde hair and slender neck as it disappeared into her sweat top. I watched her large breasts rise and fall beneath her top and was shocked to see she wasn't wearing a bra. My eyes became hypnotized by the faint hint of shadows where the protruded slightly through the fabric. I felt an uncomfortable stirring in my loins and shifted my position to ease the pressure.
Joan seemed happy as anything as she sat there as seconds dragged into minutes into hours. Apparently, the entire experience took ten minutes, but I would have happily admitted it was two days. Time worked in a very strange way.
I dragged my eyes away from Joan's nipples and my eyes moved over the rather attractive mini roundness of her tummy. She obviously worked out but couldn't quite shake the slight belly and love handles brought about by age. My mind was wandering all over, and my cock was tingling as I let it. My eyes settled on her crotch, and I saw her mound pushing the tight fabric out and the tiny crevasse crease where her vagina pushed its shape like a face in one of those pin art games. Not quite camel toe but with a little imagination...
My heart skipped and butterflies invaded my stomach. I felt myself growing very warm and dragged my eyes quickly upward. To lock with Joan's staring quizzically back at me, a slight furrow to her brow now. She had copped me checking her out. I felt a panic attack rolling in from the hills. Eighteen months down the drain because I couldn't keep my eyes off my elderly boss's snatch.
Then she smiled at me.
It began as a neutral, non-scowl and slowly lifted her face, taking ten years with it. Her skin flushed along with the smile as it became a goofy beam. I couldn't help but smile back. We both were bright red and grinning at each other like teenagers. She raised an eyebrow as if to say, 'this is weird, isn't it?'. I raised both mine in agreement. She shifted her weight on the floor and my eyes followed the movement.
The grey material of her leggings slid across her vagina, and I realized that what I had thought of as a shadow was in fact a slight damp patch. My eyes darted guiltily back to hers. She held my gaze and lifted her eyebrows again, this time with more intent and an extraordinary amount of hunger. I felt my cock twitch and grow. I wished the exercise would end and, at the same time, prayed it wouldn't happen, so I didn't have to stand up with an erection. Especially in front of my boss.
I was probably misreading the signs, anyway. Perhaps she was just mildly incontinent and had had a tiny pee. Maybe she was just embarrassed and hoped I hadn't noticed.
