The Meeting

The Meeting

Another Monday, another Zoom call. She hated the tight faced, interchangeable staff, the droning execs, the tense hesitancy of forced group conversation. She found new ways to distract herself from the tedium. Sometimes she doodled, or write grocery lists, or hummed songs in her head.

Lately, though, there was something she looked forward to. A new face on the other end of the call. Handsome, short dark hair, glasses framing bedroom eyes. No wedding ring. He rarely spoke, but when he did, it was with a wry wit that intrigued her. She found it hard not to stare but welcomed the new distraction.

Was he single? Was he straight? She knew nothing about him and didn't want to draw attention by asking around. Office workers love to gossip. She'd searched him on social media and found nothing. So every Monday, there he was, looking intently into the camera at her, while she wondered about him.

Soon she found herself wondering about other things about him. One Saturday afternoon while doing housework she found herself wondering what he smelled like, what his hair felt like in her fingers. She wondered how he would respond if she lightly caressed his thighs with her fingertips, or grazed his neck with her teeth. She imagined kissing him deeply, teasing his tongue with hers, tasting him, feeling his mouth crushing hers, running her hair down his chest between his legs, hearing his even breaths turn into ragged gasps when she slid his cock into her hungry mouth. She wondered what would make him forget himself, if he would moan like a wild trapped animal when she squeezed him inside her. Suddenly she remembered where she was. Vacuuming seemed ludicrous now.

The following Monday she felt horribly self conscious. During the meeting, she tried to avoid his gaze but weakened. One glance was all it took. Her fantasies came rushing back, unwelcome, and she felt her face flush with embarrassment, for everyone to see. What if he knows, oh god... even in her panic, her arousal threatened to liquefy her. She shifted uncomfortably and tried to tilt her hips to ease the pressure from the hard plastic chair against the swelling between her legs. She felt like she might burst.

She excused herself and retreated a bathroom stall. Her mind took her to a bedroom, white cotton sheets, dim candlelight. He lay on his back, staring up at her. This time she held his gaze as she slowly slid her body down on top of him, down his chest, letting him feel the wetness between her legs, down to his hips, sliding him inside her, working her hips gently, feeling the slippery friction of the movement, feeling every part of him moving inside her as she took her time.

Suddenly the bathroom door banged open, and the noise jolted her out of her trance. She realised she was panting. Get it together girl, you're at work. This is getting out of hand. Deep breaths. Regaining her composure, she left the stall and patted water on her face and throat. The meeting room seemed a million miles away. She forced herself to return and spent the rest of the call staring down at her notepad, not daring to look up.

That evening at home, he was in her head again. She tried watching a movie but couldn't follow the dialogue. Night came and desire made her dizzy. She tried yoga. Stretching and curling her body only aroused her more. Her need was unbearable. It was time to give in.

She climbed into bed and lay there, imagining him laying on his stomach, while she straddled his waist, gently massaging his shoulders and nuzzling his neck. Watching him squirm beneath her as she pressed her pubic mound against his ass, then sliding downward so he could feel her wetness.

She gently trailed her fingers down her breasts over her stomach, imagining his fingers there, there... the urgent pressure of his body, his warm breath and soft stubble brushing the tender skin at the hollow of her hip, his mouth sliding over the mound between her legs... and then her own fingers were there, doing what she wanted him to do until the fire between her legs was doused with her own sweat and juices and she was limp with exhaustion.

She stayed awake past midnight, thinking. Something had to give. Her obsession with a man she barely knew was taking over her life. The stakes felt so high now that the prospect of contacting him seemed impossible, but she didn't know what else to do. Maybe he had a partner. Or just wasn't interested. If so, that would quench the desire once and for all. She had to find out and end her infatuation one way or another.

Finally, sleep came.

The next day she emailed him on the pretext of introducing herself. Just a few minutes later he replied, thanking her for her message. And he just might take her up on her offer of assistance. And he was looking forward to meeting her at next month's conference.