Tuesday, 20 September 2016

Mixers

For a moment she felt frozen in time. Her mind flickered briefly to how this must look from the outside - a perfect cinematographic tableau (because even at times like this she feels the need to use words like that, chides the tiny voice in her mind) - before she is pulled firmly into focus.

She met him, the most beautiful man in the world, about two hours ago. She made a snide comment about an award winning presenter slash hard sell man for a lousy product under her breath and he heard. He laughed quietly and from that point had her full attention. The speaker had never been worth listening to, but now he stood no chance.

As soon as the barely polite smattering of applause had greeted the end of the dreary session, he had introduced himself - Simon. Since then they had retreated further and further from the conference, moving by stages into a bar where he drank a JD and coke and she had G and T.

They talked initially about the conference and their various experiences before moving by degrees into more personal subjects correlating to the intimacy of the space they were in. Now, with their second drinks they had retreated away from the bar to a sheltered table in the corner and she found herself after each sip of the G&T licking her lips slowly and then biting the lower one.

Hypnotised by the colour of his eyes, she couldn't look away and the inevitable moment came where she spilled her drink on herself. He moved nearer when he handed her the napkin and she dabbed herself on the cheek and shoulder where she had felt the droplets. Unsure if she had caught it all she turned to him and asked: "Did I miss any?"

He nodded slowly, and gestured on himself to indicate where some droplets had caught in her hair. She quickly dabbed at them and looked back to him. "All done?"

He reached out his hand. "May I?" his words were gentle and low, almost a caress and she leaned involuntarily towards him, handing over the napkin as she did so. He shuffled forwards and, moving slowly, took the napkin before raising it to her face. He hesitated for a moment only before touching the napkin to the side of her neck. His movements were so slow it felt more like a caress and her eyes, watchful on him, dilated as her lips parted slightly.

For a moment she felt frozen in time. In the shadowy corner, with the drinks, smart clothing and bar ambiance, she felt the shades of Casablanca in every moment. Her eyes dropped to his lips and she watched them move, shaping the words of  flattery she imagined Ilsa must have heard in Paris. "You're breathtaking." He reached out his hand, slowly and gently catching the line of her jaw in his long finger. "May I kiss you?"

Wordless, she smiled and met his eyes with her own before nodding fractionally. Attuned to the tiny motion he leaned forward and their lips met.

The softness of his thin lips was in sharp contrast to the five o'clock shadow surrounding them. Her own lips were plump and full and it was natural for him to open his own mouth to meet them. As his lips moved over hers, she felt the abrasive stubble intensifying the sensations of the moment and her lips began to tingle. Very soon she had parted her own lips and shortly after felt the contrasting coolness of his tongue from the ice in his drink.

She reveled in the sensation but they were not horny teenagers and both knew the value of suspense. After a few intense seconds they separated and returned to their drinks, several inches closer and several degrees more intimate.