Getting to know you

You insert yourself
Subtly
Into the synapses
          A flash here
                      Firing there

Erudite conversation pleases
    Discussions of a melange of topics
            A veritable cornucopia
                   Tantalizing my mind
Causing a bit of drool in the inner
                                 recesses to pool

What can I say to this but that I am a slut for knowledge? I am careful to always wear panties around you not wishing to inundate you with the scent I cannot help but exude.

The other issue arises
You also appeal to me
        In other ways

I find myself
Clutching
My fingers under
           Tables
                 Chairs
In my lap and hidden with strategically placed napkins
        Attempting to appear sophisticated and cool (for, after all, I DO work for whom I work - these meetings are FOR work)

But
No matter how I try
          Desire will not forsake me

And it comes in annihilating swells

 Your hands are a particular problem
But I have learned ways of deflecting their allure

     It is your forearms that I cannot defend against

And
Because these meetings often last for hours
Because they must

By the end
When my fortifications are lowest ebbed
     Is when you may decide to have done with
Your jacket, cufflinks, and, sleeves
Brazenly revealing forearms
       That turn my knees to water

The first time you did this,
I was wholly unprepared.

I had been called out of the meeting suddenly

Now
I cannot recall why
Irrelevant

What I recollect most clearly is what happened when I reentered

And how it was fortuitous that I was finishing notes on my phone as I entered and made my way to my seat

For when I looked and saw you arguing some point and gesturing as you are wont to do, all breath left me, and I sank into my chair, legs suddenly incapable of holding me.

Had I seen you earlier, I would have fallen
Ignominiously displaying for all the extent of my weakness

Fortunately,
I was spared that
But, barely.

Breath leaving lungs - limbs lax with the force of feeling coursing through me like volcanic lava

I was grateful beyond measure that I had chosen, for once, to wear trousers, something I wear infrequently, as my wardrobe primarily is comprised of dresses and skirts, for two barriers lay between my gushing need and aromatic display.

I saw also a way to hasten things to closure on that night without, I hope, appearing in unseemly haste.

True, my voice was more throaty and liquid than usual, prompting eyes to linger upon me when I spoke, which I did as little as possible in the remaining time, aware that I was beginning to cause thoughts to stray towards other things not germane to the weighty matters of public policy at hand.  

I dared not even venture to look upon your visage, knowing to do so would wreak complete devastation upon me for all to view.

Instead, as briskly as possible, I wrapped the meeting up, acutely aware of the sopping wetness betwixt my tightly clenched thighs.

Whilst everyone else rushed off eagerly, grateful for the unexpected boon of an early night, save you, of course, I lingered at the table gathering and placing files, revised statutes, notes in my case.

When next I looked up, we two were alone and you were offering me my trench, a fact for which I was immensely grateful.

I managed to stand thanking you for your courtesy, not meeting your eyes, not looking upon you, and you slipped the coat about me.

I clutched it to me, quickly belting it, hoping that little betraying whiff of desire I'd just inhaled had been my hyperawareness and not evident to you.



For one taut moment, I thought you had caught me, so rigid and still were you...



But, then, you stepped away and bid me good evening.

I picked up my things, bid you the same, still avoiding looking at you (knowing doing so could jeopardize all these oh-so-delicate negotiations), and fled.