I was, I think they call it, "turned on.I was, I think they call it, "turned on." About what? When Walt passed through on his way to Chuck's office, I realized what it was. Before a conscious thought had caught on to what was happening, my "bottom" was fantasizing about this huge man. Well, maybe not huge to you, dear reader; but I'm only a little more than two inches over five feet. So lots of men are huge from my perspective. Walt is very tall, very handsome, wide-shouldered, and also very, very black. He's so dark he doesn't look African American, he looks Nubian--but all the Africans I've seen here are small men, not much bigger than me. Walt has long legs, and strides around majestically in nice wool sweater vests and smells like pipes--I'm sure he smokes a pipe, but when, I have no idea--so it must not be a habit. Anyway, I now understood in a flash, as he went by, that I'd observed him more than I'd realized, and was, in some hidden place inside (a place that ached to be touched), _thrilled_ to be heading for the Big City on the same plane with him. Something, I suddenly knew, was going to have to be done about this. Ten years of an almost totally sensationless marriage had to be made up for. Understand me, I'm not saying I think what I did next was right--not in most of my head, anyway--but all I can tell you is that I found myself going about coolly and deliberately packing NICE THINGS for the trip. At the convention I was well-behaved for two whole days, out of sheer shyness. I went to the meetings, and took notes, and collected handouts, and even stooped at every booth to ask polite questions. Walt was helpful about my inexperience without being at all obtrusive, and I could see that without some move on my part, nothing was going to happen--and something had to, or I'd die of shortness of breath or rapid pulse or something. So I invited myself to sit down with him at the luncheon, and it was then that I had my brilliant idea. OK, not brilliant I bet you've all tried it a dozen times, but remember I've had a kind of sheltered life all right? I spilled my entire glass of wine on him. Sweater, shirt, and lots and lots in his lap. Oh, he was so sweet about the whole thing (_knew_ he would be: our office has been lucky in its men), didn't even jump up out of his chair. |