I don’t know your name, I don’t know where you work, where you live or how old you are. I have been watching you all evening, working the room, talking to people. The women all respond to you, some of them stand just that little bit too close, they flick their hair and their eyelashes at you. You smile back at them, you lean in just a tiny bit to give them the impression that they have your absolute undivided attention. They totally buy it, but I don’t. I have watched your type before, I think it would be fair to call you a smooth operator. Confident, assured, practised, intelligent and completely comfortable within your own skin. It is a heady combination indeed and despite the fact that I am most definitely not interested in you I find my mind drifting, imagining.
I wonder what you lips would feel like on my neck. I wonder if you are as confident in the bedroom as you are here, in your arena. I bet your trim your pubic hair, not shaved, just trimmed, neat and tidy like the rest of you. You just don’t look like the waxed and smooth type to me. I wonder if you are cut or uncut. If I had to bet I would pick cut, or maybe that is just wishful thinking on my part. I find myself smiling at that thought. I wonder what you taste like. I wonder if you could be one of the rare men who might have known how to consume me. It has been a long time since anyone has consumed me, or even expressed and interest in doing so.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. The message is from my husband, checking in with me. I assure him I am having a good time. The conference is not as dull as I thought it might be and yes my room is very lovely. He tells me the kids are fine, he is fine too. Home is all exactly as it should be. We have exchanged messages like these over the years on numerous occasions. They are as familiar to me as my children’s faces. Safe and calming they make me smile, they remind me of who I am.
The evening carries on, the drinks flow as does the schmoozing but gradually people start to drift away seeking food, quiet time or just an early night, ready for another day of the conference tomorrow. I check my phone again, there is another message. Something about one of the kids and a birthday party invite. I start to type my answer when I notice that someone is standing right in front of me awaiting my attention. I look up from my phone
“Hello?” I reply
There is a pause, longer than one would normally leave and in that moment I feel like you are looking right into my mind and all of a sudden I realise that I am blushing
“I see you still have some of your drink left.”
“Ummm indeed.” I reply as I tip my glass to one side and swirl the deep dark red liquid around in the ball of the glass
“Well, when you are done, with your phone, and your wine, then maybe you would like to join me. I am in room 579”
I am fairly sure my mouth drops open. I am utterly stunned by your arrogance, your confidence, your absolute assurance that what you have just said, just suggested is in any way ok.
Before I can reply though you smile at me and for a brief moment I think you are nodding, as if pleased with yourself and then you turn and walk away. Without a backward glance at me or the remaining few people in the room you are gone.
All of a sudden I feel very conspicuous in the room, as if everyone here must know what you just said to me and my failure to respond appropriately and again I can feel a hot blush rising to my cheeks. I drain the rest of my glass in one go, not how wine should be drunk but I don’t care. I want out of this space, away from this room and everything that just happened in it.
In the lift I reach for my phone again and tap out my reply to the message and then I tell my husband I am going to bed now, as I have another long day tomorrow. The elevator opens on the third floor. My floor. Not waiting for a reply I switch off my phone and slide it back into my pocket. The elevator doors close, I take a deep breath and press the button on the panel that says 5.
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