Perfect Presentation

[Authors note: i is the set up. ii is the payoff.]

i

Laura's heels click-clacked, echoing across the station concourse as she put in a token sprint towards the train after persuading the guard at the barrier to let her onto the platform. He looked her up and down; he radioed his colleague to hold the door and told her to get a move on. His grinning mate was watching her boobs jumping under her white silk blouse as he beckoned her towards the last carriage. "Come on love, shake a leg, this one is late." Although not late enough to prevent him having a long look at her bum as he closed the door behind her. She wondered why women put up with this, but hadn't she just acted the little girl lost to get the guard to open the barrier for her? He'd have said, "Sorry, mate, you're too late," to a bloke.

The crowded train reached Watford by the time she found her reserved seat. The middle-aged woman plonked in it refused to meet Laura's eyes. Rather than get annoyed, she'd wondered what her boyfriend Ross, would do in this situation. She placed her reservation ticket on top of the woman's newspaper and stood; comfortable with the silence, waiting for the woman to acknowledge her.

Embarrassed by stares from the other passengers, she looked up. "Oh, sorry, I didn't see you there. Is this your seat?"

"Yes, it is. Thank you very much," Laura added, leaving the woman in no doubt she was claiming ownership. "I'm meeting some colleagues later in this carriage. I am sure I saw some empty seats further up." The woman gathered her belongings without too much huffing and puffing and made her way in the direction Laura pointed. She felt guilty lying, but the woman's sheer bloody rudeness annoyed her.

That was one of Ross's pet subjects; the emancipation of women in the workplace had given them the right to be as rude to each other as men were. 'Why does a successful woman think she has to be a clone of a bloke?' Ross said at a dinner party two weeks earlier. The conversation had been boring until his provocative bomb stirred a spirited discussion.

Laura took her seat and tried to relax. She'd was conflicted about their relationship. They'd only known each for a year and had been living together for the last six months, but she suspected Ross was getting bored. That morning though, he'd been a lifesaver. She sent him a quick text.

Made the train. Thanks for everything. Love Laura x.

Less than a minute later, she had his answer.

Knew you would. I have every faith in you, knock them out champ.

From nowhere sprang warm and contented feelings. Why were her feelings about Ross always at extremes? She never lived with anyone before and didn't know if this was normal. Maybe in time they would settle in the middle, but was that what she wanted?

Laura replayed the morning's events. Ross was working from home but got up with her and was watching TV breakfast news.

"I didn't know you were interested in the decline of the butterfly population," she said as she gulped her tea.

"I'm not. I just like to see what the girls are wearing." Ross's smile left Laura unsure if he was joking. She went into the bedroom to get dressed and heard him flicking through the channels.

"See anyone you fancy?" she joked.

"Oh yes, you can always rely on Sky Sports News to deliver the goods."

She could not resist putting her head around the door. A young woman about her age, wearing too much makeup and a party dress was reading football headlines. She might be a talented journalist, but Laura doubted her current job tested those skills.

Ross turned and interrupted her critique. "You've not got time eye up the presenters, get dressed." She snapped out of it and she darted back into the bedroom, glancing at the clock. Her nervousness at presenting later on seemed to slow her brain.

"What are you going to wear?" came Ross's voice from the couch.

"I haven't decided yet." Laura wished she had not left it to the last minute to choose her outfit.

"Who are the audience?"

She inspected her wardrobe and picked one. "A few doctors, nursing managers, but mainly hospital administrators."

"I see. People in the 30-50 age range. I'll tell you what not to wear. Don't wear a dark trouser suit with a formal business shirt."

Laura turned to make sure he was not standing behind her, then she looked back at the outfit bought from TM Lewin a few days earlier. She huffed. "What's wrong with an outfit like that, mister fashion expert?"

"Nothing, if you want to look like a stereotype business lesbian. You know, a late twenties woman with an MBA in a hurry to get on with her career. Dressing like a man won't earn their respect, plus you will alienate older people in the audience. The health service is not the City."

Laura was about to castigate Ross for his sexist views when she remembered how intimidated she was by how her boss dressed. Ross had never met her, but she could imagine him repeating his comments. Did she really want to model herself on Elizabeth?

She felt paralyzed with indecision. "What's your suggestion then, clever clogs?"

"What about that outfit I bought you in Paris? It's smart without being severe. Woman will be curious where you got it and the fit will charm the older men."

Laura opened the suit bag containing a calf length French blue pencil skirt in a clingy jersey material, matched with a white silk blouse and a grey waist-length jacket. The skirt zipped up the front and back, allowing the wearer to decide how much leg she wanted to show. It was an excellent choice. "I was just thinking of that," she said, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. She slipped it on and went into the living room where Ross appraised her with lustful looks.

"That's not the impression I want to make," Laura chided, hands on hips.

"Then you had better put the goods away," he replied, nodding towards the skirt, still unzipped to mid-thigh from when she first modelled it before they left for dinner. By the time he had finished with her, they ended up phoning for a take away.

Laura checked she had everything and glanced at her tickets again. Her stomach lurched. She was sure she had booked onto the 8.40 am train, but her tickets said the 8.20 am.

Ross recognised her panic. "Can I help?"

"I need a cab, or a magic carpet to get me to the station in time."

He smiled reassuringly. "No problem, you try one company, I'll try another." He started phoning. She was so glad he just got on with it without criticising her timekeeping. Sometimes, he could be the perfect boyfriend.

After getting no joy from two taxi companies, Laura's only option was stopping one in the street. She gave Ross a quick kiss, avoiding his last-minute molestation, grabbed her bag and set off.

She reached the corner when she heard a piercing whistle. Ross was on the balcony of their flat waving in the opposite direction. A minute later, a black cab headed towards her. The cabbie had his head out of the window, looking up and she caught Ross's voice. "The beautiful blond at the end," he shouted, pointing at her.

Laura gave thanks for living in central London and stepped into the road, waving. He pulled up, and she waved gratefully at Ross. As he waved back, his pyjama trousers fell down, attracting whistles from the by passers. With one hand covering his crown jewels, he bowed theatrically before backing into the room. "Your bloke's a bit of a showman," said the cabbie with a good-natured laugh.

"I guess he is," said Laura, not for the first time wondering where the performance ended and the person began. Ross could be kind, and sometimes she felt so right in his company. But in the back of her mind, an element of distrust nagged at her. The ticket inspector broke her reverie. 'Enough daydreaming girl, you've got other things to think about now', she cautioned herself.

As she checked her presentation on her laptop for the umpteenth time, a little note popped up on the screen.

'Laura, you need to choose. Safe or sensational. Ross x.'

A couple of days before, she'd asked him to comment on it as he did them every day. Tactfully, Ross tried to get her to rethink what she wanted to achieve. He suggested while she might feel more comfortable reading a deck of PowerPoint slides; he doubted the audience would enjoy having her do what they could do for themselves. 'Tell them the story of what you did using as few slides as possible. Make them listen. It's you they want to see, Laura. Not your slides.'

The scheme was her brain child and had come from her five years' experience of working in different departments, and her parents twenty-five years' experience as a maternity nurse and a medical technician. Laura's attention to detail had been the key to its success.

Elizabeth showed little interest in her work. `You are good at the detail. I prefer the strategy stuff,' she said pompously, the only time Laura asked for advice. Now the pilot was yielding excellent results and generating favourable comments from the bigwigs, Elizabeth was quick to talk up her role in `our' project and qualifying Laura's achievements under her supervision. Laura was livid when she discovered Elizabeth, in a burst of shameless self-publicity, offered to speak about the project at the big national health administrator's conference in Birmingham.

"Women may not be equipt but they can still shaft each other," said Ross, returning to his theme from the dinner party as he tried to calm her down. "See if you can go along on the gig. Put your face in with people and make contacts," he added. Laura did not have the inclination or schmoozing skills that Ross had in spades, but agreed she should be there in case anyone asked questions Elizabeth couldn't answer. When Elizabeth declined her kind offer, `because the travel budget was thin at the moment, ' Laura bit her tongue to stop calling her a bitch to her face.

Just when Laura was convinced you had to be a bastard to get ahead, God intervened to prove otherwise. Elizabeth phoned in sick the next day. She'd slipped on the stairs and dislocated her ankle. Laura barely kept a straight face on the phone as she danced around the office, making sympathetic noises. "We'll have to cope without you as best we can," she said with a hint of irony, which was lost on Elizabeth.

When she told Ross the news that evening, he said, 'Some people get what they deserve and others get what they need.' He added he was feeling a little feverish after spending so much mental effort putting a curse on Elizabeth and needed to lie down for a while. Would she check to see he did not get delirious. She rolled her eyes at his opportunism but felt like celebrating. Ross made a remarkable recovery once he got her between the sheets. Laura did not believe in two miracles in the same day.

She gave up looking blankly at her screen whist trying to get Ross out of her head and thought back to where they first met. A City wine bar, with her friend Carol bemoaning her fate loudly, because everyone talking at the top of their voices. For the past year, she'd been the secret girlfriend of a married man, a consultant at their hospital. He was charming, brilliant, full of his own self-importance and a magnet for unwary young woman. Laura knew her friend was not the first and wouldn't be the last to fall for his charms.

"I don't know how long I can go on being his mistress?" Carol confided dramatically.

Having listened sympathetically for the last half hour, it was time she gave Carol a reality check. "Are you sure you're his mistress?" Laura questioned.

"What you mean?" Carol was put out Laura doubted her.

"A proper mistress is someone the man sets up somewhere and spoils her with affection and treats. He makes her feel special. Tells her she gives him something he could never get from his wife. Simon doesn't spoil you like that, does he? He treats you like some young bird he is shagging on the side when he's got spare time." Laura took a sip of wine while her friend processed her harsh words.

Carol looked up, tears welling. "How could you say that Laura, I thought you were my best friend?"

She put a consoling arm around Carol's shoulder. "It's because I am your best friend, that I'm being honest with you. You've got these romantic notions in your head, but he's bad for you and I don't want to see you get hurt."

Carol sniffed and searched for a tissue. "No, maybe you're right. When I'm on my own, that's what it feels like. It's good to know I'm not being oversensitive."

They sat in silence, watching the scene on the other side of the glass partition doors where a private party was taking place. A group of younger men were welcoming their guests; mainly single elderly ladies, although a few were accompanied by their husbands. It was a while before they noticed one host was studying them in return. He winked and they looked away in embarrassment at being caught.

Later, at the bar, Laura was turning round with two glasses of white wine when she almost walked into the man from behind the glass partition. He was fit, about 6 feet tall, with brown curly hair, the sort that mothers try to pat down after licking their fingers. He had grey eyes and a welcoming smile.

"Hello, my name is Ross." He looked her in the eye.

"Hello, I'm Laura," she replied, feeling shy at his directness.

"Your friend seems to have cheered up."

"So, you were spying on us?" said Laura.

"No, I just recognised the scene."

She wanted to prick this know-it-all's balloon. "Are we such a cliché, two women getting drunk and weepy?"

Ross stepped back from her assault. "No, not at all. You're right to be concerned for your friend." Laura did not respond and went to move on. "You know he'll never leave his wife for her?"

Laura was shocked. She couldn't believe from that distance; he'd worked out what their conversation was about.

Ross explained. "My sister had an affair with a married man. I must have said the same things you did. I recognised the look on your friend's face. Not the same as when women complain about a husband or boyfriend, it's much more intense."

Laura didn't know what to say. Ross had got to the core of them from across the room. He unsettled her.

"What are the pair of you doing later?" Ross asked, trying to lighten the moment. She knew she should go, but had to listen to his offer. She was curious which one of them he was interested in. "Our client meet-and-greet session will wrap up in a couple of hours." He looked back at the gathering behind the glass.

She was intrigued to find an explanation, for Carol of course. "What do you do?"

He explained. "Wealth management. Our company advises high net worth individuals how to invest their money." She smiled. "What's so amusing?"

Laura wanted to shock him, like he shocked her with his perceptiveness. "We thought you were a bunch of gigolos entertaining old ladies, and the husbands had come along to supervise who their wives took home for the night."

Ross's eyes opened wide in amazement and he laughed. "Laura, you've made my evening. I wish the work was that easy, although with most of our clients it would be impossible and I'd be sacked in the morning. Tomorrow, I will share your joke with my colleagues."

"No, please don't." Laura's face turned red. "I don't want to embarrass anyone."

"Not at all, you've made us all heroes. But you haven't answered my question. What are you doing later?" he reminded her.

"I don't know, Ross. We have no plans, but we should get something to eat after all this drink."

He nodded. "Just what I was thinking. I would like you and your friend to be my guests for supper at the Savoy."

It sounded so quaint. Laura had never been there. She confirmed he was inviting both of them, although in reassuring her it was clear he was being polite by including her friend. "I'm sure Carol would enjoy a posh supper too. I should get back to her now."

"Off course, and I have a few more clients to service," Ross winked, making Laura blush again. "But I will save something for the two of you. See you later." He walked away, leaving her open-mouthed at his sauciness.

Carol had watched their flirtatious conversation. "Well, what did he say?" She shrieked when Laura said she told him they thought they were gigolos. When she explained his job and Carol added, "so he's just charming their money out of their knickers," they both had tears in their eyes from laughing so hard.

As the evening wore on and the bar emptied, Ross would glance over occasionally and smile. A bottle of champagne appeared at their table with a note, 'With compliments from the gigolos'. He raised his glass to them and two embarrassed red faces held theirs up in thanks. Laura wasn't the only one warming to his sense of humour.

"Maybe I'm wasting my time with Simon?" Carol had not taken her eyes from the partition for five minutes, and was checking Ross out as he bent over the table to fill the glass of an elderly lady.

Laura was suddenly competitive. It had taken Carol showing interest to confirm her feelings. "We had an interesting discussion at the bar," she teased.

"Oh, what did you talk about?"

"Current affairs. In particular, your situation with Simon."

Carol was annoyed. "Laura! How could you tell that to a stranger, for God's sake?"

"Seems like you told him yourself. Apparently, it's written all over your face."

"What do you mean?"

"He said tell your friend he will never leave his wife." Carol coughed into her glass mid sip. Laura explained. "Ross said his sister had an affair with a married man. When he looked at you, he remembered. Ross says it's not the same look as a woman who's unhappy with a boyfriend or husband. The look of an unhappy mistress is much more pained."

Carol sat stunned, then opened her handbag to check herself in the mirror of a small compact. "Well, I can't see mistress tattooed across my forehead. But if it's obvious to him, God knows how many other men it is clear to."

"Maybe you should get yourself out of that situation," said Laura, more sympathetically. "Then it will disappear of its own accord."

"Yes, you might be right." Carol took a big gulp of champagne for courage.

Ross's reception finished at 10.30 and he joined them afterwards. The wine and champagne had given the girls a rosy glow. "So, you don't have to work the night shift?" said Carol saucily. He was even better looking close up.

"No, someone else is doing my shift this evening," Ross joked back. "Besides, they like to get to bed by eleven."

A short cab ride later, they sat in the Savoy Gallery restaurant. The place had a sense of theatre that impressed both girls who ooh'd at the elegant black and white tiled foyer and aah'd at the luxurious carpet and white wrought iron bandstand in the restaurant, where a pianist was playing soft jazz standards to the late night clientele.

"I love this place," Ross said, "Memories of grand times are recorded in these walls. Supper at the Savoy used to be an after-dinner treat for couples who came to town for the theatre. But it's just as valid to come in hungry after a skin full."

Ross was a wonderful conversationalist, and the time flew by. He had a fund of witty stories about people from his tiny farming village in Ayrshire. Laura didn't know how many of them were true, but he conjured up a magical old fashion world that enchanted both of them. It was nearly 1 o'clock in the morning when they caught a cab home.

"Can we drop you somewhere?" Ross said, looking at Carol and making his intention of being alone with Laura clear.

"She's staying with me tonight," Laura answered quickly. She knew if she were alone with Ross, she would not resist his advances and she did not want to be just a one-night stand.

He noticed the surprise on Carol's face and her hasty confirmation. "In which case let me sort out the cab, I'll be getting out here." They were near Regent's Park a few miles from Shepherd's Bush, where both girls lived. Ross got out and paid their fare. "Laura, can I have a quick word with you, please?"

She got out of the cab, and he stood very close to her. "You're right, it's better we wait. Here's my number." He handed her his card. "What's yours?" She found a pen and wrote her number on one of his spare cards. "I don't play games Laura, I'll ring you tomorrow, thank you for a lovely evening." She was about to thank him back, but he took her face in both hands and kissed her tenderly, then as she responded, with passion. They broke away. He looked at her; his eyes dilated as were hers. "You were right, Laura. It would have been too quick. We should savour this moment. I'll speak to you tomorrow."

He put her back in the cab, and both girls' heads turned to the back window to watch as he waved them goodnight.

"I didn't stand a chance." said Carol. Then she noticed the dreamy expression on Laura's face. "Neither do you."

A year later, she was still under his spell.

The train passed Milton Keynes before Laura finally banished Ross from her thoughts. She concentrated of keeping calm for the rest of her journey, but got the jitters when she entered the crowded conference room. Now it was real and 500 people would be listening to her. She had never spoken to such a large group. Laura introduced herself to the chairman, who seemed a nice old stick. He noticed the terror in her eyes and took her by the hand and drew her aside.

"Don't worry my love, you'll be okay," he reassured.

"But there are so many people," Laura said. An outbreak of prickly heat had her flummoxed.

He smiled. "I'll give you a tip given to me long ago, first time I had to do this. Imagine it's just one person out there. Talk to one person, but look at them all, as if that person is moving around in the crowd. That way you won't be like a rabbit in the headlights. Oh, and another tip. Imagine they're sitting in their underwear. No one can frighten you in their undies." Laura was unconvinced. "Anyway, you're apprehensive, not frightened," he added.

"What's the difference?" Laura asked.

"When you're an 18-year-old medical orderly on the battlefield, with your hand inside a wounded man trying to stop him from bleeding out and mortars are dropping around you, you're not apprehensive." He said with a wry smile.

She nodded. "Yes, you're right, it's fear of embarrassment, not a matter of life or death." Laura drew confidence from his sense of perspective. He winked at her and moved on to greet another speaker.

He had put her at ease. The thought of all those people sat in their underwear was amusing.

She was unfortunate to bump into friends of Elizabeth. She endured polite small talk for five minutes as they were bound to report back. They were not interested in what she had to say. She was not one of them. Laura recognised their cloned outfits and hairstyles and made a mental note to ask Ross what was the collective noun for a group of business lesbians. Laura was glad she had taken his advice not to dress like them. One even complimented her outfit, and when she said she got it in Paris, they all stiffened. They were so shallow and superficial.

Laura's presentation followed the morning coffee break. She walked the foyer overhearing conversations to gauge the mood of the audience. Stood next to two older nursing managers, the same age as her mother, she heard one mutter, "I'm glad young women are getting ahead in this job, but why do they repeat the same balls we've been hearing from male managers? Her friend laughed. "It's equal opportunities, my love. Bullshitting isn't restricted to men these days." Laura picked up similar vibes from other seasoned NHS staff. A loudspeaker asked delegates to return for the next session.

Laura trembled at the lectern, stomach churning, as late comers retook their seats. It was the moment of truth. She looked at her two presentations on the computer. What was she going to do? Safe or sensational. As she was about to choose, a young waitress started clanking cups and saucers as she cleared up at the back of the room. It was off-putting and disrespectful. Laura felt a momentary panic and wondered if she should raise her voice to shout over the top. Then she became calm.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'll wait for the young woman at the back to finish her task." Five hundred pairs of eyes turned on the noisy waitress, who stopped cup and saucer in hand. A duty managers came in and whispered something harsh to her in Polish. They both left the room. "Sorry," said the chastised girl towards Laura on the stage.

"No problem. Thank for your consideration." Laura felt empowered by how she dealt with the situation. Her calm demeanour settled the audience who turned to face her. She chose.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to tell you the story of how we changed shift patterns to improve patient care and job satisfaction at St Edward's Hospital. It was difficult, and we had a few problems along the way, but I think you'll agree we got there in the end. I've been in the NHS all my life. Since before I was born. My mother is a nurse and my father was a hospital orderly, so I know what the health service is about, not because I studied it, but because I lived it." Delegates who had had their heads in their papers look up at her. "I won't bludgeon you with a huge PowerPoint presentation. I've only got six slides. So those of you who want the detail will need to listen and take notes." She'd saw the two women she had overheard earlier looking at her and smiling.

Her 20 minutes flew by and the 10 for questions became 15 before the chairman called a halt so they didn't get behind in the programme. He thanked Laura for speaking with honesty and passion. He said while there were still people like her coming through the ranks, the health service was in safe hands and not completely hijacked by business school graduates. Laura noticed the business lesbian clique shifting awkwardly in their seats. She left the stage to a long ovation, feeling euphoric. Several delegates said well done as she took her seat in the row with the other speakers.

Over lunch, she was in demand with thoughtful questions and invitations to follow up. Her papers were full of contact numbers. During a lull, the business lesbians sidled up to her. Laura noticed the change in their expressions; from condescension to respectful, even fearful. They were all show and no substance. She accepted their LinkedIn requests and promises for get-togethers she had no intention of going to. She wasn't in awe of them anymore.

Laura hoped to leave early, but just made her return train. She wanted to share her wonderful news with Ross and got through to him on the fourth attempt.

"Ross, it was great, it went really, really well. I took your advice and spoke off the cuff. It was much better than my original presentation. How did you know?"

"I'm glad it was a success, Laura. I knew you could do it. People want to connect with people and their stories, not cold analysis. Even in my job, where we are supposed to be dealing with money all the time, we are dealing with people."

"Oh, Ross, I'm so happy. When I get home, we will celebrate and I can show you my appreciation," she said in a thinly disguised promise of his reward.

"Really?" said Ross, the excitement clear in his voice. "Now that's something to look forward to. I've got two video conference calls to get through and then I can make myself beautiful for you," he joked. They chatted for a couple minutes. Laura felt thrilled, all her uncertainties about them were banished. As they were saying their farewells, she heard his computer ping with the video conference call sound. "I need to go now," said Ross. "I'll see you later, Laura".

Laura heard a woman's voice coming through his computer. "Bon jour Cherie, how are you today, my love?"

"Who the hell was that, Ross?" Laura shouted into her phone. "Ross, Ross, are you there?" There was a moment's pause before he broke the call. She phoned back straight away, but it went to his voicemail.

Her mood changed in an instant. Suspicion replaced her feeling of closeness. Ross travelled to their French affiliate each month for a European team meeting. Twice he took Laura along, and they stayed the night before at his hotel. But for the last three he'd gone alone, claiming the thought of her lying naked waiting for him made it impossible to concentrate.

Now Laura's radar was on red alert. Her ambivalent feelings weren't groundless; they were a sixth sense. She took her seat on the train, opened her computer and searched for details of his French affiliate company. Laura struggled through the short homepage before she translated it with Google. She found a staff list, but no pictures and put the female names through Facebook. Discounting by age or looks, it left a shortlist of three possibles; a dark-haired woman and two blondes like herself. She interrogated their Facebook pages and glanced at her reflection in the window while the countryside flashed by. Her worried expression, shoulders hunched over the keyboard. Being with Ross had changed her. Either she was ecstatic, or like this, edgy and insecure. Why couldn't they just be normal?

On the point of giving up her stupid obsession, a picture stopped Laura dead in her tracks. Muriel Devereux, wearing the same skirt she was wearing now. It could have been a coincidence. She went through her other photos and was sick to discover the same blouse and jacket. Had Ross had bought her the outfit to clone this woman? Or was it the other way around? Laura noticed the woman's hair was styled like hers in recent photos. That was no comfort.

She was certain Muriel Devereux was the voice on his video conference. Laura felt tearful. `You bastard Ross. Do you love me, or is this just some kinky game you enjoy? Does the image turn you on, more than the person?' Her mind was running away as she imagined their video calls, talking filth and telling each other what to do. She knew that would suit exhibitionist Ross a treat. Laura looked at the picture of bloody Muriel, sexy Devereux. Older than her, nearer Ross's age. She bet Muriel was not prudish. After all, French women must get their reputation from somewhere, mustn't they?

Laura closed her computer rather than continue to torture herself. She needed a stiff drink and came back from the bar with two double vodkas and a can of Coke. She'd finished the potent drink by the time the train pulled into the next station. Anaesthetised by alcohol, she hoped to spend the rest of the journey calmly preparing for a confrontation with Ross. But now the carriage was full and two obnoxious kids and their braying mother shared her table. After listening to four renditions of, 'The wheels on the bus', Laura wished she'd paid the extra to travel first class. Thankfully, the drink kicked in, mixing with her adrenaline comedown and she fell asleep.

ii

Laura dreamed she was back in the conference room, now a bizarre mixture of fact and fantasy. This time everyone was undressed to their underwear, like the old man suggested in his calming tips. Sexual tension pervaded the atmosphere as people looked at each other longingly. Every greeting involved a sexual embrace, the cupping of a breast, the fondling of a crotch. The chairman wore baggy Y-fronts and a white singlet, with sock suspenders holding up his woolly knee length hose. He sported an enormous erection, by which the matronly conference organiser towed him through the crowd. He smiled at Laura and his underpants stood out even further.

She was stripped to the white lace bodysuit under her outfit. It displayed her erect nipples and swollen pussy lips, which ate the slim crotch of the flimsy garment. Laura felt embarrassed at the audience seeing her like this, but their outfits were just as risqué.

The noise returned just as she was about to begin her presentation. This time the waitress was stripped down to black underwear and stockings and suspenders as she clanked the crockery. But now, instead of giving her a telling off, the manager bent her over, pulled the crotch of her knickers aside and fucked her hard from behind. "I_ told_ you_ not_ to_ make_ a_ noise," he said, punctuating each word with a thrust into the prostrate woman. She lifted her chest from the table and whimpered sorry to Laura again and again. The audience was not at all concerned by the scene. They watched the manager finish his punishment fuck by coming noisily, then they turned to face her again.

Now Laura delivered her presentation, one step removed. Words left her mouth, but her mind was free to wander and her eyes to take in the view. The business lesbians sat in the front row. The short-haired blonde between the other two, with her arms around their shoulders. Her companion's heads were on her breasts, sucking her nipples before coming up to exchange kisses. Her legs spread wide over of the knees of her lovers as one thrusted three soaked fingers in and out of her wet vagina, while the other masturbated her prominent clitoris between thumb and forefinger. The blonde swooned and shuddered to a noisy orgasm.

A few seats further along, a woman kneeled between two men, gripping an enormous erection in each hand. Her head bobbed back and forth as she alternated blow jobs. From their gritted teeth and pained expressions, the men were close to coming as she played Russian roulette with their cocks. She smiled at their agony. "The last one to come can fuck me in the arse," she promised. Both men gripped their chairs with white knuckles, trying to hold back.

The conference session became an orgy as men and woman, woman and woman, men and men all lost themselves in frantic copulation. People were getting up, moving around, and joining in with other couples in threesomes and groups as they pleased. On stage, Laura's head reeled from the erotic sights and sounds and the smell of sex as 500 people mated. It was a couple of seconds before she recognised his touch on her arm. The chairman was thanking her for a passionate and moving presentation. His matronly guide was naked on her knees with his substantial cock between her lips as she wanked him. Laura knew what would happen, but she couldn't get out the way because the old man clasped both her hands in his handshake. "You've done very well, my dear," he said with a smile. At that moment, the woman moved her mouth and grabbed his cock by the base. The old man strained and shot. His first spurt missed Laura, but his second hit her knee and the third landed on her calf.

Laura woke with a start. Things came into focus. She was still on the train and had woken from a vivid, erotic dream. She was moist and something was running down her leg, at the spot where the old boy came in her dream. The carriage was almost empty but for a young man sitting opposite her. He looked like a student.

He smiled at her and said in French accented English, "Oh pardon, I did not mean to disturb your sleep."

Laura was puzzled, then she noticed the spilled box of Ribena and the trickle of juice along the edge of the table and splashes on her leg.

He followed her gaze and found the reason for her waking. "Oh dear, the children make too much mess, no?" He moved the box and mopped the puddle with a few serviettes, but that only made it worse and more blackcurrant juice ran onto Laura's calf. "Pardon, pardon," he said now red with embarrassment, going to dab her with the serviettes until he realised what he was doing.

Laura sat up, raising her skirt to look at the mess on her leg. The young man's eyes were drawn to them. "I made it worse," he apologised, trying not to stare at her legs.

She scowled at him, but noticed his attractive face, curly black hair and shy smile of contrition. He had the longest eyelashes she had ever seen on a man. Too cute. A face that would have graced one of her teenage bedroom popstar posters. He could only be 19 or 20 years old, and if it wasn't for the two-day stubble on his chin, she would have thought him even younger. Laura relaxed and smiled. "Don't worry. You were only trying to help. Thank you."

He shrugged his shoulders in that clichéd French way that seems appropriate for every circumstance. He had the naivete and clumsiness many adolescents exhibit when speaking to women.

Laura felt very grown up, even though there were only a few years between them. "I have to sort out this mess. Will you keep an eye on my things while I am away?" She stood and grabbed her handbag, nodding at her laptop and papers.

"Off course," he said, sitting up in his seat as if starting guard duty.

Laura wanted to laugh at his attentiveness. He had a crush on her that made her feel good. She felt his eyes follow her down the corridor as she headed towards the loo, and was tempted to turn around and catch him out, but thought he would die of embarrassment.

The toilet was a big one that allowed wheelchair access via a semi-circular steel door operated by a press button. Laura was surprised how clean it was. Hot and bothered from the drink and her strange erotic sleep she undressed. As she peeled off the Ribena-stained tights, her mind returned to what she thought had landed on her leg in the dream. She looked at the size of the stain. "You wish, you dirty old bugger," she said to the chairman's ghost.

She'd lost one of her hair clips on her seat, so she removed the other and shook her hair free, flicking it back until it fell across her shoulders. Laura pulled a strand across her face and pouted at the mirror. The image reflected was straight out of a men's glamour magazines. Long legs, high heels, skimpy underwear, fuck me hair and that dreamy expression. Laura was annoyed. The Frenchwoman in the pictures could almost be her sister. Same blond hair, same build. Was Ross was so shallow he thought the two of them were interchangeable?

A simple plan came to her. She would work Ross to a frenzy and when he didn't know what he was doing, she'd hit him with her accusation. The shock would make him confess, or at least betray his genuine feelings for her. The only flaw was Ross knew how to get her going and after her sexy dreams she was already on a very short fuse and might fail before she started. Laura opened the poppers on the crotch of bodysuit and looked at her reflection. Her lips were thick, distended, and moist. At the sight of her like that, Ross wouldn't waste time on conversation and she would not care. She would have to take the edge off her desire if she wanted to control their confrontation.

Laura sat back on the toilet seat, resting her head against the cool wall, watching her fingers playing between her splayed lips. She sighed. 'I'm 25 years old and I've never seen myself come.' Her pussy throbbed as her probing made squelching noises that sent shivers through her. 'Listen to you, horny bitch,' she chided. A kaleidoscope of images drifted through her mind. Making love with Ross in the open air, the audience orgy at the conference, and even the face of the young man sitting opposite. She sped up now, as the pulsing in her groin became more urgent and the fluttery feelings in her stomach washed waves of pleasure over her. Her chest heaved as she panted, recalling the manager fucking the insolent waitress who winced every time his enormous cock stretched her. Her own pussy spasmed as she imagined his girth. The waves grew into one giant surge. She would come at any moment.

Loud men's voices broke through her fantasy and Laura realised a group of guys were standing outside the toilet door, discussing who would go to the bar to get their order. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a mixture of fear and excitement. She imagined the look on their faces if the door suddenly opened and they saw her, legs splayed, playing with herself like a cheap whore. The thought of being caught and used in their orgy of lust made her pussy convulse. She pinched her clitoris in her right hand between thumb and forefinger, and an electric shock ran the length of her body as she came. Laura brought her knees together, trapping her hand in her most sensitive place. She cried out, but the train was clattering over points and she hoped no one heard. Her nipples tingled, and her body trembled with aftershocks before she finally slumped breathlessly against the cool wall.

It was two minutes before she calmed enough to put her clothes on. Her bodysuit was soaked with perspiration and felt cloying. She took it off again and stood naked apart from her high heels. She used the hand heater with the swivelling nozzle to blow warm air to dry her perspiration, then she dressed. Just the silk blouse and skirt unzipped to the knee. She brushed her hair out and reapplied her lipstick and a dab of perfume behind each ear; then as a saucy afterthought to the inside of each thigh. She knew the effect it would have on Ross. She wore her jacket around her shoulders, noticing her nipples were visible where the silk blouse touched them. What the hell, she thought, give the French boy a treat. Laura made her way unsteadily back to her seat.

The young man stood up and reported, "Everything is okay." She thanked him and gave him a smile that caused him to blush. To save his further embarrassment, she put on her sun glasses against the strong rays coming through the window and pretended to sleep as she thought through the steps of her plan to make Ross confess.

Through half-closed eyes, Laura noticed the young man studying her openly, emboldened by the thought she was asleep. He admired her breasts, their fullness outlined against the white silk. He leaned back to admire her legs and feet under the table. He had the hungry look of a man who had not had a girlfriend for a long time. It flashed across her mind he might be a virgin, and that restarted the pulse in her pussy. `It would be fun to tease him while pretending to be asleep and then `wake up' and see the look on his face.' These sexual thoughts were coming to her unbidden.

She crossed one knee over the other. Within a minute, he leaned back to enjoy her bare legs exposed four inches above the knee. Laura made little stretching movements as if she was trying to get comfortable in her sleep and her jacket fell open, displaying her semi hard nipples pointing through the silk. He gasped, and she shivered, realising she was in control of him. Ross often had her in a state from skilful teasing and caressing. Now she understood the thrill of being in control. She recognised the perfect symmetry of their situations. If he was having a video conference affair with his French floozy, why shouldn't she have a bit of fun with this charming French boy?

The young man shifted, trying to move his uncomfortable erection. One hand stayed between his thighs. Laura hoped he might be bold enough to play with himself under the table. The idea of making him come without a word or touch was getting her very moist. Her lips felt sticky. She shuffled her feet to get comfortable in her sleep, then she stretched and put both on the seat opposite.

He leaned back, enjoying the sight of her feet in the black sling back stilettoes. They were a bedroom favourite of Ross's. He swallowed and reached out, daring himself to touch her exposed thigh. Laura didn't know if she wanted contact, so she moved a foot and he jumped back in place. With one foot on the seat and the other on the floor, Laura opened her thighs. She knew the skirt has ridden up almost to her waist. He only had to look under the table and he would see her wet pussy.

The boy's head crept down until it was resting on the seat opposite her. She knew he could see her trimmed hair; the lips pink, engorged and glistening with her juices. When he said `Mon Dieu', Laura tried to stifle a laugh and any pretence she was still asleep was up. Inflamed and emboldened, he sat up in his seat and touched her. The boy's hand on her ankle turned it from a theoretical exercise into a practical one.

Laura opened her eyes and looked straight at him. "It's okay. I want you to look." She didn't recognise the sound of her own voice. It sounded husky, and a bit slurred. Laura continued, "I want you to look and I want you to lick me." The boy's eyes opened wide. He couldn't believe his ears. She smiled. "You heard what I said. Are you going to do it?"

He looked at her for one long moment then scrambled under the table. He kissed the insides of her thighs, alternating as he moved upward from her knees. Laura spread them wider. She felt exquisitely vulnerable where his lips lingered. The tremors started in her toes and shot toward her pussy. She looked around, realising the crazy situation. She was on a train, lying legs spread while a stranger underneath the table, worked his way towards her bare pussy. At any moment, someone could walk by. She flushed with the same thrill she'd had minutes earlier as she sat masturbating in the toilet while the men were talking outside. Any qualms she had about going further were dispelled when his panting breath reached her short blond pubes.

"You are beautiful," he groaned, then his tongue was inside her. He licked up and down her sopping cleft. He spread her lips and Laura leaked into his grateful mouth. His tongue circled her clitoris tormenting it and Laura realised although he might look baby faced and inexperienced, this young man had the devil inside him. She thrust her hips forward, offering herself. His hands cupped the cheeks of her bum and he buried his face in her pussy, enjoying the taste and smell of her. His two-day stubble brushed her most sensitive places and Laura moaned. Although the table hid him, there was no reasonable explanation for her lying almost horizontal in the seat with a flushed face and erect nipples threatening to burst through her silk blouse.

Through half-closed eyes, Laura thought a shadow passed through the window outside the train. When she opened them, a man was standing at the end of the table. He looked like a professional athlete. Fit, in his late twenties, wearing a tracksuit with an official-looking emblem on the front. He had the same complexion as that Olympic hurdler.

He smiled. She was too far gone to do anything. The French student had her on the brink of orgasm and seemed unaware of what was going on above the table. His entire world began and ended between Laura's thighs.

The athlete took a quick look towards either end of the carriage. "We are the only passengers." He pushed down his tracksuit trousers and briefs and knelt on the seat next to Laura so he could keep a look out. His cock sprang up inches from her face. It was big and a lovely caramel colour. He pulled back the foreskin and a tear of juice fell from the eye onto her blouse. Overcome by lust, Laura she reached up, grasping it near the top. He felt like molten iron as she masturbated him to full hardness and then put the salty head in her mouth. He sighed. "Oh yes, baby. That's so good."

His deep voice, coupled with the actions of the student who inserted two fingers to accompany his tongue, took her over the edge. Laura removed his cock and came with a shriek. She shuddered for a good minute before slumping back in the seat as the two men withdrew. The French student reappeared above the table, miffed to find an interloper.

The athlete stood up, erect and unabashed. "I was sitting two rows back and got a superb reflection of your party. Laura and the student looked at the window on the other side of the carriage where they could see their reflections. He'd seen everything.

Despite coming only moments before, Laura was still aroused, and the thought of being taken roughly by these two men made her juices flow again. "Come with me," she ordered and made her way unsteadily down the carriage towards the toilet. Both men followed.

Once inside, they wasted no time stripping Laura. The door hadn't even closed before she stood naked but for her shoes. "Lock it," she ordered, and the Frenchman hit the button. There was a momentary pause as they anticipated what was going to happen. Then they were on her like animals. The athlete being taller and bigger took charge. He held Laura's face and neck in his hands while he kissed her passionately. The Frenchman stood behind; his hand moving her hair out of the way while he nibbled her shoulders and caressed her bare arse. She could feel both their erections. One pressing against her belly, the other between the cheeks of her bum. They tried to undress while not letting go of her.

She looked in the mirror as they hurriedly dispensed with their clothes. She saw a wild sexual animal. Nostrils flared, pupils dilated, and a red blush spread down her neck onto her chest. The men were trying to get their pants off over shoes before giving up and kicking them off. In her high heels, Laura now stood eye to eye. They looked at their naked reflections. She was trapped like the filling in a sandwich. The tanned Frenchman was toast; the athlete was Brown Hovis, and her pale skin made her the slice of chicken in the middle.

The athlete's mouth traced down her neck to her breasts, moving from one to the other. The student complained he was missing his share of the action and pulled Laura's head back and to the side so he could kiss her lips, whilst grinding his erection between the cheeks of her bum. The athlete's squatted as his tongue reached Laura's stomach and dipped into her belly button.

He looked in her eyes. "Now it's my turn." His face moved between her thighs. His tongue snaked into her with an urgent darting action before circling her clitoris. He nipped her lips, causing Laura to shiver with both fear and excitement. She didn't know there were different techniques in pussy sucking, but both guys could give Ross lessons in the art. Standing there paying Ross back for his infidelity made her feel very wanton. If he confessed, she would tell him what she'd done and he would have to deal with her actions as she had had to deal with his. Laura came again without warning, holding the athlete's head against her pulsing sex. That made it three times in half an hour. She didn't know whether that qualified her as a sex goddess or a filthy slut.

The athlete got to his feet again. He looked desperate. "I've got to have you baby." Laura nodded. He stopped the Frenchman. "I know how to make this work, do you understand?"

He grumbled in French at being ordered about, but he was also too desperate for release to object. The athlete sat on the toilet and spread his thighs. He pulled Laura back by her hips to rest on top of him. She felt his heat and hardness as the head of his thick cock stretched her lips. Ross had a big cock, but this one was equal to it and it took Laura a couple of tentative pushes and back strokes before she stretched enough to accommodate him. `Oh god, you are filling me up,' she panted and sank fully on his hardness until his wiry pubic hair tickled her obscenely splayed lips. She heard him sigh, and whisper in her ear, "Baby, you've got a sweet, sweet pussy. Best I've ever had." Laura knew he was bullshitting, but wasn't about to argue with his compliment. She leaned forward, and he grasped Laura's hips and used his powerful hands to guide her up and down his cock. He lifted her off until just the tip was inside, then pulled her down, impaling Laura and forcing a groan from her. He watched himself sliding in and out of her wetness the same way that Ross did when he thought she was not looking.

Hunched forward, Laura's face was only inches away from the Frenchman's cock. He was not as big as the athlete, but it was perfectly shaped. She took it in her hand. "Suck me," he commanded, echoing her earlier instruction to him. She felt his heat on her tongue as she fed him into her mouth until her gag reflex stopped her from taking anymore. His cock now slicked with her saliva, the Frenchman moved his hips back and forward as he fucked her face. He cupped her chin with one hand while the other held her hair back in a crude pony tail so he could admire his work. He established a rhythm with the athlete fucking Laura from the other end; they were communicating through her body.

For a couple of minutes, the only sounds were their sighs and moans punctuated by Laura's slurping mouth and the slap of her cheeks on the athletes thighs. The Frenchman insisted, "We change now." The athlete begrudgingly eased himself out of Laura and they swapped positions. Laura's pussy was now impaled on the young Frenchman. Somebody pressed the button and knocked on the toilet door. They froze silently in a pornographic tableau. "Must be out of order, I tried that one 10 minutes ago," said an old lady's voice outside. Someone replied, "You need to go into the next carriage like I did." They looked at each other. Guilt lasted only seconds, then they resumed fucking.

The athlete grunted. "I'm gonna come soon baby, I can't hold this much longer." "Moi aussi," said the Frenchman, clenching his cheeks to hold himself back.

Laura got off the Frenchman's cock, much to his disappointment. She pulled him off the seat and sat on it to rest her aching legs. With a slicked cock in each hand, she drew them in front of her and played her own Russian roulette. She wanked them hard and soon had both men groaning. Their hips bucked out of control and their legs wobbled. They gritted their teeth, trying to hold back, just like the two men in her dirty dream. It seemed to be a matter of national honour who came last. They put their arms around each other's shoulders and braced themselves against the walls with their spare hands to get stability against the rocking train.

Laura's mouth moved from one straining cock to the other, her hands cupping and fondling their heavy balls, her tongue teasing the soft underside and the weeping eye. She'd bring one to the brink, then stop and tease the other. Both men were panting, their hips jerking out of control. Laura looked at their pleading faces and felt a surge of triumph. "Please baby," said the athlete now beside himself. The Frenchman was in a similar state of swooning. Laura grasped each cock firmly and sped up her strokes. The Frenchman came first, the athlete moments later. Huge hot globs of cum plastered Laura's neck and breasts. Their supply seemed endless. Laura just kept her hair out of the way, although they both hit her in the face and mouth, which drew their grunts of appreciation. Then it was quiet. The calm after the storm. Just the sound of panting as they all came down.

They smiled like naughty school kids.

"I never believed I could do anything like this," said Laura, glad to be finally sated after half an hour of mad lust.

"Man, that was something else," said the athlete.

"Incroyable," said the Frenchman, rounding all the vowels like an Englishman speaking fake French.

They laughed at his language joke. The train decelerated. "We must be near London now," said the athlete. He leaned over and took a huge wad of paper towels from the dispenser and wet them, passing some to Laura and the Frenchman. They used the damp towels to remove their secretions from Laura's breasts and face. She did the same to their semi-hard cocks.

When they finished, both men held out a hand to help Laura up. They held her skirt and blouse and helped her dress. "What polite gentleman you are," Laura giggled.

The tannoy sounded. The steward apologised they would be held at Neasden while waiting for a clear platform at their destination. This spurred them to dress quickly.

"God, I hope there is no one standing outside the door," said Laura. "It's obvious what we're doing in here."

"We'll hide by the wall while you make a dash for it," said the athlete. "Give us a shout when it's okay." He pressed the button.

The door barely opened before Laura was through it, and she ran to the carriage before she shouted the all clear.

The two men came scurrying out of the loo shoulder-to-shoulder, almost knocking over the old lady who'd been banging on the door earlier. She looked at the pair of them and rolled her eyes. "I know it's a modern world, but can't you wait until you get home before you do those things?"

The Athlete and the Frenchman looked at each other, realising she'd taken them for a gay couple. They didn't know what to say, so they just mumbled sorry and shuffled towards the carriage. The old lady looked at Laura. "What is it about these gays, why can't they behave like normal people?"

Laura looked at the athlete and Frenchman both red faced, and almost burst out laughing. "I don't know," she smiled. "They can't help the way they are." The two men just shook their heads. They would get nowhere with this argument.

Moments later, the train pulled into Euston and they all got off. They stood for a moment on the emptying platform and the Frenchman said to Laura, "I don't even know your name."

"That's right," said the Athlete. "We don't even know your name."

She smiled. "What would you like it to be?".

"Michelle," said the Frenchman.

"Chloe," said the Athlete.

"Then that's who I am," said Laura. "I've got my names for the two of you, but that's my secret. Let's say goodbye now. It's been a once-in-a-lifetime experience."

"Au revoir Michelle," said the Frenchman.

"Chow Chloe," said the Athlete.

"Bye guys," said Laura, blowing them both a kiss.

They went in different directions. As Laura neared the ticket barrier her phone rang, it was Ross.

"Sorry we got cut off earlier. Something came up, and it threw me," he said tentatively.

"I'm sure it did. I think we need to talk Ross," said Laura, knowing those words put dread into most men's minds.

"Really. Are we that bad?" Ross sounded unnerved and Laura would let him sweat until she got home.

"You tell me, Ross. You tell me. I'll see you later. Au revoir, Cherie."

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