Chapter 1 - Chemical Attractors: Andrew's Story
Posted: October 31, 2003 - 04:30:52 pm
Updated: February 26, 2004 - 01:30:36 am

There can't be such a thing as love as first sight. That's certainly impossible, regardless of what you've heard. People are mistaking love for lust. I believe lust at first sight happens occasionally. I'm an eyewitness.

I talked to her long before I physically met her. The first time I talked to her on the phone I hoped her voice was reflective of her looks. I saw a movie recently where a guy got off of the phone with a woman he had never met and said that she was 'audibly blonde'. When I talked to Deirdre on the phone I thought she was audibly fuckable. I've never had that happen before. I made a simple business call, asked to talk to someone who had called my office requesting me while I was out. I was returning a call, for crying out loud. I wasn't expecting a life-altering experience with a simple phone call.

Deirdre was with a consulting firm that was supposed to tell my company how to do its business. Our company has only been in business for 55 years. Why should we know how to do our job? It was obvious we needed someone to come in to tell us what we were doing wrong. Deirdre was a consultant with Brown and Raymond Management Consultants. I was one of the liaison guys who were supposed to give BRMC the lowdown on how things worked. Then they were going to tell us what to downsize, who to downgrade, how to cut expenses and generally fuck up the atmosphere in a previously great place to work. I think I can safely say that only upper management in our firm thought kindly of BRMC.

I reluctantly returned Deirdre's call. It was my job, after all. I was to cooperate in everyway possible with the BRMC team. The lady called me. I called her back; simple as that. I hate those voice mail systems that a lot of companies have installed in the last decade. They are a major indicator of the decline of the quality of life in our country, generated in part by an over dependence on technology. Just because we can do it doesn't mean it should be done. Fuck voice mail.

After dealing with "please listen carefully because our menu options have changed" and blah, blah, blah, I finally reached a real person. She answered the phone "Deirdre Martin". I didn't know that I was about to be hit by a truck.

Our company is located in the mid-west. We aren't near to being a Fortune 500 company, but we are publicly traded and have over 5000 employees in three facilities, two in Ohio and one in Indiana. We're respectable.

I'm the fair-haired boy. I'm a department head, even if it is only a small department. I'm the youngest department head in the company. The next youngest department head is twenty years older than me. She's forty-five, so that makes me twenty-five. I'm in charge of software development for our process control division. I also have a hand in some web-site development and in supporting some people in our general area who don't have time to wait for the IT department to actually respond to their requests.

I have three arrogant little pricks working for me as software developers. They're all teenagers, right out of high school. Some jerk-off in Human Resources heard that in today's market you either farm your software development out to India or Israel or some such shit, or hire little dork-faced numbnuts who are so young they don't cost any money. They also have no experience other than playing around with other computer nerds with no life. And they don't know how to follow through. They get 90% through a project and they get bored. They keep giving me buggy programs and don't understand why I'm upset with them. I end up finishing up the programming myself, or the damn shit just wouldn't work. Yes, I learned how to do all this stuff when I was a kid, but at least I was never a dork-faced numbnut.

I have my own axe to grind. I'll admit it. These BRMC guys are coming in here to tell us how to do business, but I already know what it's going to take. We've got to get a real internet presence and start conducting eBusiness. We are in the Stone Age in computing terms. We have a "calling card" kind of internet presence. We don't have our customers on-line for purchasing and delivery info. We don't try to sell our products on the net. We could be targeting new markets. We could be moving into the 21st Century. Instead we're using the tried and true same old method of doing business, while everyone else is trying something new. Eventually we will be shit out of luck. At least that's my opinion.

So I'm one of the guys who are dealing with BRMC. I have nothing else on my plate except trying to clean up half a dozen almost completed projects that will not go live till I have debugged them and given them a professional look. These kids wouldn't know a professional look if it came up and bit them on the ass.

Deirdre Martin has the kind of voice that turns my knees to putty. She speaks with a Southern drawl, but she certainly has been influenced by her time in the North, because it's not as strong an accent as I've heard from other people from Georgia. I asked where she was from when I first heard her speak. It was a natural question. I guess she gets it all the time, being a transplanted Southerner. She's been in Ohio for three or four years working for BRMC, doing her business consulting thing.

Her voice was magic. It's a kind of little girl's voice, soft and charming. There was laughter in it, and sultry sexiness. My secretary walked into my office while I was on the phone with Ms. Martin. She stood waiting for me to finish.

When I hung up, I just shook my head and said, "Wow! That woman is audibly fuckable. She has the greatest voice I've ever heard. What a Southern accent! Maybe this assignment won't be as bad as I had thought."

My secretary, a very nice but rather dumpy 48 year old-mother of four shook her head at my language. "Drew, please don't use language like that unless you plan to back it up. Besides, she's probably an elderly black lady."

"Thanks, Carol, for bursting my bubble. Well I'll see it when I believe it; or vice versa. This woman is going to be a goddess. In a just universe, a voice like that would have to be attached to a heavenly body. Please, universe. Be just!"

Over the course of a week or two, Deirdre and I exchanged emails, faxes, databases, spreadsheets, all the paraphernalia that are the hallmark of the modern business world. I even slipped in some of my own ideas about developing an internet presence designed to keep us current with standard business practices. I figured it wouldn't hurt.

We became friendly over the phone. She had a great voice, but I never forgot that her voice belonged to a potential enemy. Maybe a potential ally, too, and you can never have too many allies, especially ones who are going to have a major say in how your company is going to be run. It was a sticky political situation. I was in a position to push my own agenda if I were able to catch Deirdre's ear. Sure, I would benefit from that, but I really believe that it's a good course for the company to follow.

We did all of this preliminary legwork, but the real work was to begin when Deirdre spent two to three weeks at our plant to learn first hand how things worked and what our methods and problems are. I was to spend two to three weeks in a room with Deirdre. The thought occurred to me that this could be heaven or this could be hell. What if she doesn't look like her voice? Well, I could live with that. That's only my wishful thinking at work. I really had no reason to believe that my relationship with Deirdre Martin was going to be anything but professional. She might be able to help me professionally. She might be able to emasculate me professionally. She wielded power over me. That was an uncomfortable thought.

It was a Monday morning. I was a few minutes late (a tractor trailer flipped over while making an exit off of the interstate and everything was a mess - that was the story I planned to tell). When I got in Carol told me that Deirdre was in the conference room waiting for me. I took a deep breath and marched to my potential fate.

Deirdre was sitting at the conference table when I entered, and rose to greet me. I was stunned. She had stolen Joanne Woodward's face: the young Joanne Woodward, the Joanne Woodward of "The Long Hot Summer". Her hair was short with curls: blonde. Of course she was blonde. She wore a business suit that concealed her body effectively except that she was obviously slim with curves, but I didn't care about her body. I couldn't see her body. All I could see were her eyes. She had these blue-green eyes: round, innocent eyes; eyes that beckoned, invited, questioned. But there was more. She smiled and reached out to shake my hand. Her eyes lit up as if she had turned on a switch. I was mesmerized! She was enchanting and I was enchanted. And then it happened.

Our hands touched. She shook my hand in a friendly business-like greeting, but I was suffering from sensory overload.

I need to interject a crackpot theory I've been working on. It's a theory I developed because my most sacredly held beliefs are now being challenged, and I need something to meet that challenge head-on or I may see the total destruction of my belief system.

It's a chemistry thing. That's what it is. It must be; chemistry and physics, too. Electricity comes in there somewhere. Our hands touched and it was like I had come home. A simple hand shake, but every point of contact seemed to be an energy source. Her skin is like velvet: soft, very soft, smooth and tanned: velvety. Something in her skins cells, some chemical, some DNA thing, some hormone or whatever, attracts like-minded somethings in my skin cells.

My theory is this: certain people are chemical attractors to certain other people. Their body's chemistries are meant for each other, attract each other like iron to a magnet: some kind of endorphin thing, maybe. Her endorphins fit into my receptors. Something fit into my receptors, because I was receiving big time.

That touch was the most exciting instant I had experienced in my life. I didn't know what had come over me. This was a simple damn business meeting with a person who might have life or death power over my job, and I was acting like a love struck teenager. I could feel myself flush. My breathing became a little labored. I was lost in her eyes, holding her hand. Worst of all, my erection went from 0 to 60 in five seconds. If she had been standing any closer to me it would have knocked her over. As it is, I think she had to jump to get out of the way.

I was in a situation here. I couldn't seem to let go of Deirdre's hand. I have no idea if I was saying anything to her or was merely making little gurgling noises in my throat. My ears were buzzing, so I couldn't hear much anyway.

Deirdre gently removed her hand from mine and sat back down. I came to my senses and took a seat opposite her at the conference table. Checking her out I could see that she was older. I couldn't guess her age. She could be a mature twenty-five or an extremely well-preserved forty. Somewhere between 25 and 40 was my guess. She got right down to business as if she weren't facing a semi-crazed stranger with an erect cock.

I could see instantly she was way out of my class. I had absolutely no hope of getting close to this woman. She was beautiful. She was smart. She had a big time job, probably making four times as much as I made. She had those eyes. But she was out of my class. I felt like the high school nerd looking at the head cheerleader with envious eyes, knowing that he had no chance to ever get close to that magnificent creature.

I knew she was unattainable and that helped me regain my self-control. Okay, I said to myself. Okay, enjoy being around her. That's all that can come of this. You can spend some time with the most magnificent thing you've ever been around. Just don't get involved, because no involvement is possible. Talk about whistling past the graveyard.

We talked. We talked business. I had trouble concentrating at first, but then I learned I could effectively focus on the business information we were trying to glean while at the same time keeping my total attention on Deirdre. We sat there all morning talking about this department or that, various reports that I had given her and the meaning of some of the trends those reports highlighted. And the whole time, through it all, I maintained a hard-on.

My face was stoic through it all. I never let my emotions show on my face. I've been studying Mr. Spock since I was a kid, and I know how to turn a Vulcan face to things. After my first indiscretion of acting like a child (well, a child with a hard dick) when we first met, I thought I had done a good job of staying on task, giving her the things she needed for her to do her job properly.

But it was hard. She was a continual distraction to my attention. I wanted to memorize everything about her. From her point of view, I was a little kid with a questionable education, and maybe she was thinking that I've risen as high on the corporate ladder as I was ever going to rise. It took me a while to integrate my logical cogitations of things into my emotional being. But I finally did it. I finally knew deep down that she was desirable, eminently desirable, but entirely unreachable. My entire body finally understood that. Well, all of my body understood it except one 8-inch tube of unquenchable lust. It just wanted to fuck her.

Two days passed. We were making progress, but I could tell she was getting uneasy with my distractibility. And I had maintained an erection for the entire time she was in the room with me. I couldn't help it. On Tuesday and Wednesday I wore looser fitting pants, just so it wasn't so obvious what was going on down there. It didn't make any difference. It was obvious anyway. I was hard. Nothing could change that.

Frankly I tried to mitigate Deirdre's effect on me by jacking off as much as possible. Well, actually, I just HAD to jack off or I was going to die of a terminal case of blue balls. I jacked off before I came to work, thinking it might take some time for me to rejuvenate. I rejuvenated in the time it took for my eyes to take in Deirdre's entire body.

I want to tell you this was not fun. I was in an agony of unfulfilled arousal. Wednesday morning was a replay of Tuesday and Monday. I was distractible, nervous, ill at ease, and generally doing a less than perfect job as an interface between the company and BRMC.

Deirdre had lunch with another BRMC person who was working in another area of our building. I sat at my desk with a sandwich and wished I was dead.

We met again in the conference room after Deirdre had come back from lunch. I was waiting for her when she entered the room, sitting at a laptop trying to get some numbers together while I was free to act outside the range of Deirdre's female pulchritude. She came into the conference room, gave me a wan little smile, and then closed and locked the door. Uh, oh, I thought. Here it comes. She's had the shits of me.

Deirdre looked at me, not unkindly and said, "Andrew, we have to talk."

Everyone calls me Drew. I guess the only person in the world that calls me Andrew is my mother. And now Deirdre calls me Andrew. It was one more distraction I didn't need. I tried to get my head together.

"What's the problem, Deirdre?"

"Andrew would you rather not work with me? You've been a bundle of nerves since Monday morning. I've been assured by your business associates that you are normally a calm and confident person. I enjoy working with you, but I get the feeling you would rather be anywhere in the world than here."

I quickly shook my head. "That's not true, Deirdre. I enjoy working with you!" Wait a minute. Maybe I said that a little too forcefully.

She gave another sad little smile. "We have to talk, Andrew. I need to know what the problem is between us. We've got a big job to do. There are a lot of people depending on us. We can't allow some small conflict between us interfere with the progress of our project. If you don't like me I can deal with that. I talked to Bob Simon over lunch, and he agreed to exchange liaison people if we feel it necessary. Melissa Thomas could work with me, and you could work with Bob."

I felt a surge of panic. I was screwing this thing up so badly that Deirdre couldn't even work with me anymore. That will look great on my record. Worse, it would mean I couldn't spend my days with Deirdre. Talk about a disaster of biblical proportions!

"Deirdre, it isn't like that at all. There is no one I would rather work with than you."

There. That didn't sound too bad. I wasn't falling all over myself slobbering on her like a schoolboy. I'd made a simple statement of fact, spoken with practically no inflection. I wasn't throwing myself at her. I merely was saying that I liked working with her and would prefer to keep it that way.

I could tell that Deirdre wasn't buying. "What's the problem, then? Either you are the most nervous person I've ever met, or something else is wrong. Little boy, I'm told that nervousness isn't your problem. So what is?"

I was in a corner, looking for a way out. Coming clean with this woman just wasn't an option. First, she's way out of my league. Second, we are business associates. Third, there is such a thing as sexual harassment. That's three strikes. All I could do was look unhappy and claim that everything was fine.

"Andrew, you've got to talk. I don't want to switch partners with Bob, but I will if I have to. This job is too important."

I guess I looked miserable. I said, "Deirdre, I'm afraid that my problems aren't work related. They have nothing to do with the work that we are doing. They certainly aren't caused because I don't enjoy working with you. It's just something I will have to deal with myself."

"Now Andrew, we've known each other for weeks. I know we only met in person the other day, but don't you feel enough confidence in me that you can let down your guard a little? I promise that whatever you say will be held in the strictest of confidences. I won't hold it against you."

I muttered "Yeah, sure." I knew better. But what could I do. I was damned if I did, and damned if I didn't. Nothing I could do or say or not do or not say would make this situation better. It's difficult to speak when you know that what you say is going to make you look like a complete jackass.

"Deirdre, I'll talk. But I'm holding you to your word. You said you wouldn't hold it against me, and I'm counting on you to mean it. I'm harmless. You've got to believe that I don't have a mean or aggressive bone in my body. I'm not the kind of person to become fixated on another person. I'm an easy going guy. That's my story and I'm sticking to it."

Deirdre again gave that little half smile of hers. "Okay, you're harmless. I never thought otherwise. So where is this leading?"

I guess the only option I had open was to tell her my theory. "It happened when we shook hands on Monday. Something magical happened to me. Only it wasn't magic. I theorize that it has something to do with your skin. I was predisposed to react to you favorably, I'll admit that.

"Your voice is like music. I'd been kidding around with my secretary for weeks, wondering what kind of body would be attached to such a voice. But I wasn't like obsessed with your voice or anything. I just thought it was a fabulous, fabulous voice.

"I was excited to meet you because of that, but otherwise I had no preconceptions about you, I had no contingency plans in case your person lived up to the impossibly high standards of your voice. Carol had me half convinced that you were a sixty year-old black woman.

"And then I met you and you were beautiful. Okay, I could deal with that, happily. It just meant that for the next three weeks I had someone very easy on the eyes and ears to work with. I was happy as a clam. But then you smiled. Deirdre, your smile is unfair to men. When your eyes lit up like they did, I was mesmerized. Don't try to tell me that you don't know what I'm talking about. Men would probably die for the opportunity to look into your eyes. I know I would. But I could have survived even that. It was your touch."

"When you touched me I was a lost cause. It has to do with your body chemistry, I think. Something in your physical makeup fits perfectly with something in my physical makeup, at least from my perspective."

"It's an addiction, I guess. Whenever I'm near you this chemical attraction seems to take over from my normal self. Suddenly you're all I can think about. I'm sorry, Deirdre. Don't be concerned. I'm not a stalker or anything. I may appear to be obsessed with you. I guess I am obsessed with you."

"But you never have to worry about me stepping outside of ethical boundaries. I'm telling you this because you insisted that I tell you. In a way I'm glad I told you, because someone like you deserves to hear every day of her life how incredible she is, how alluring, how attractive, how totally enchanting."

"I won't say another word about this. You don't have to worry about any trouble from me. I'm a feminist, would you believe? I'm strongly opposed to sexual harassment in the workplace."

"Please believe me; I never intended to make you uncomfortable. I have no expectations whatsoever of you. If it's okay with you, I would like to carry on our business as usual. I would consider it a real favor if we could just let this whole thing fade away", I finished desperately.

Deirdre had this enigmatic look on her face. I was resigned to my fate, regardless. I had thrown myself on the mercy of the court. It was out of my hands.

"Andrew, do you realize that I'm thirty-five years old? I'm ten years older than you."

"Deirdre, you might be a million years old. You're ageless, timeless. You're the Mona Lisa. You're Cleopatra. If you lived forty thousand years ago, some Cro-Magnon artisan would be carving your body into eternal stone. Plato would have considered you the perfect model of 'woman', the essence to which all other women must be compared and found wanting. Age means nothing with you."

I had opened my mouth and all these words came pouring out. I didn't think them through. These were the thoughts that had been running around my brain for three days. She asked me to say them and I said them. If nothing else ever came of it, at least I had my say.

I'm afraid that this wasn't what Deirdre was expecting. I guess maybe she thought I had a little crush on her, and she could defuse it with a few kind words. But now she could see that this was far more serious than she had previously thought.

"Andrew, I'm just some old lady who, let's be frank, could carry a lot of clout with your employers. Is that it? Do you think you can flatter me in order to improve your position? Well, buster, you better believe that isn't going to happen." I could see she was making herself angry.

"Hold on, Deirdre. You made me talk, remember? It never occurred to me that you could help me if I flattered you. I figured you could get me fired, though. That's part of the reason that I kept my mouth shut. The rest of the reason is just that you're way out of my league. You're a step way up in class from me. You're that unreachable star that people sing about. I know that to you I'm just a little kid. If you want me to be honest with you I will. I'm the best. I'm the best person working in this company. I'm the only one I know who sees where we could be going. Most of these other guys are just old farts with no vision. I like them, don't misunderstand me. I don't hold them in contempt, or anything. I just know that of the management group here, I'm at the top. But that is damning this company with faint praise. That's why you guys are here. If I'm the best, we're in trouble."

"I'll admit that I've tried to make you aware of some of my ideas about the company's future. But they're good ideas. And I would have told them to you regardless of my feelings for you. I would have told them to you even if you were a sixty year-old black woman. It was just business, not personal."

Deirdre seemed to be at a loss for words. She said, "Andrew, I'm a committed businesswoman. I took this job knowing that I would be working 80 to 100 hour weeks, traveling all over the country; staying in hotels; never having relationships. I don't have relationships. I don't have time for relationships. And I'm almost old enough to be your mother. You're a very sweet boy. I really like you. I do. But I don't have relationships."

"Deirdre I already told you I have no expectations of anything from you. I've known all along that nothing would develop between us. You're from an entirely different planet from me. I can't help my body's reaction to you. Believe me, if I could stop it I would. It's a chemical attraction that's beyond my ability to control. "

"It's no fun knowing that the woman of your dreams is totally beyond your reach. I know that in a few weeks you'll be gone. Maybe it will assuage your ego a bit knowing that somewhere there is a young man who loves you passionately and forever. But nothing is expected of you, nothing is required or requested. But let me say that there is no way you can hide behind this age thing. I know you're busy. I know you are married to your job. I know that you went to Duke and I went to East Podunk State. Tell me those things and I'll believe you. But don't use age as an excuse. It just doesn't wash."

Deirdre actually smiled; not a little half smile, but one of those smiles that turns on some kind of switch and suddenly her eyes sparkle. When she does that I'm helpless.

"I think that it would be wise for us to try to resolve the short term situation. Our first obligation is to finish this project on time and under budget. I'm a management consultant. You're a systems analyst, Andrew, between the two of us we should be able to come up with a solution that will make us both comfortable."

How women can change gears like that is a mystery to me. I'm here pouring my heart out to her and she wants to talk business. I guess it's her way of re-establishing boundaries.

I didn't know what the fuck she was thinking. I said, "I don't have a clue. If you can come up with some way that we can work more smoothly together, I'm all for it."

She nodded her head. "Good. Because I do have a possible solution we might try. I hope you don't find me too blunt, Andrew, but it is fairly obvious to anyone that you've spent the entire week in a state of shall I say tenseness. I don't think I've ever seen a man as tense as you; and certainly not for as long as you've been tense, if you know what I mean."

I'm afraid I did know what she meant. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to respond to that. I mean, how do you apologize for that sort of thing? Sorry, Ms. Martin that I've had a hard-on for you for three days in a row. I figure she has one of two possible responses to my constantly engorged dick. One: she might think I am a sex maniac who goes through life in a constant state of arousal no matter what. Two: maybe she realizes that my condition was directly caused by her. How would a woman respond, knowing a man finds her constantly arousing? She might be disgusted. But then again, a hard-on is the sincerest form of flattery. Maybe it doesn't hurt her ego to know that she has it in her to make a 25 year old man almost crazy with lust. This might have a certain appeal to her. I resolved that henceforth I was going to be totally honest with Deirdre. I wouldn't hold things back for fear of whatever. I probably will only get one shot at this, and damn it, I've got to go for it.

"Can I be open with you Andrew? You've been honest with me and I truly appreciate it. I can't be in a relationship. You know that. I never become involved, even a little involved, with my customers. That's just bad business practice. The possibilities for conflict of interest are endless. That's a major consideration. But at least as important, is that we need to get this project done. We can't be distracted by sexual tension. "

I could see where this was going. "So, what are you trying to tell me? You're saying that I should masturbate to relieve the tension? Well honey, I've jerked off ten times in the last two days. It doesn't do any good. As soon as you get close to me I have no control over how my body responds. It responds on its own. It doesn't ask me what I think of the situation. I'm only along for the ride."

"Don't get testy, sweetie. I wouldn't ask you to masturbate, and frankly I've already received more information on your masturbatory life than I care to know. I'll tell you some unpleasant truths about myself. I never date. Never! I haven't been with a man in almost three years. I miss it desperately, but I don't have time for relationships. It's true. I'm alone in strange motels more often than not. How hard would it be to walk down to the bar, pick up some lonely businessman, and work off some tension? That's not who I am. Perhaps you will consider it prudish, but I don't do one night stands. I've never had sex with a man I wasn't at least a little in love with. It's not prudery, really. I just don't enjoy sex without love. If I need to let off some of my tension, well I can do that very well for myself. "

"But now we're in this situation where you are suffering from this condition, and I feel obligated to help relieve your suffering. What I'm saying is: how would you feel about relieving that tension the old fashioned way?" Her face maintained that even keel smile as if she were asking me if I wanted a doughnut.

I on the other hand, knew that my mouth was wide open. I slammed it shut before flies flew in.

I finally found words. "Old fashioned way? Old fashioned way!! Yes, I would be more than willing to attempt to relieve the tension the old fashioned way. Did you just say that, or was I imaging things?"

Deirdre reached across the table and took my hand. God, her hand in mine was so hot it felt like a China syndrome meltdown. It could have burnt its way to the center of the earth. She began speaking softly, wistfully telling me about her feelings.

"Honey, I took this job and I never looked back. My eyes were open. I knew what I was getting in to. But I do miss a man. You've touched me somehow. It's been a long time since I felt attracted to a man. You seem to think this is all one sided. It isn't. I'm not offering myself as some sacrifice on the altar of good consulting in order to make our group effort improve. Frankly I could stand to get laid. And I like you. I like you a lot. So maybe we can give each other something. I've never made anyone an offer like this before. Are you willing, or are you still wallowing in your inferiority complex fantasy?"

What was I supposed to say? "Yes! Of course! I'll accept any scrap that falls from your table. I'll hate myself in the morning, but this thing is out of my control."

"Okay, then. Pick me up at my hotel tonight at 7 o'clock. We'll have dinner and then we'll attempt to relieve your tension. Are you okay with that, Andrew?"

"Absolutely. Whatever you want. Your every wish is my command."

Deirdre smiled and said, "In that case, my command is that you relax and we get back to work." As if.

After work I stopped at home, showered and changed, then made my way to Deirdre's hotel. I called her cell on the way and she was waiting in the lobby when I arrived. Deirdre is always lovely, but tonight was the first time I had seen her in something other than a business suit.

I stood with my mouth opened, taking in the beauty of the woman before I was able to croak out, "You look lovely tonight".

Deirdre smiled that smile that ignites a beacon in her eyes and stepped forward to take my arm. Her hotel was in the center of town so we strolled a couple of blocks to one of my favorite haunts, a small Japanese restaurant that served exquisite food in an atmosphere that suggested Japan but didn't hit you over the head with it. Deirdre had sushi and assured me it was very good. I'm not a sushi kind of guy, but was pleased she liked it. I prefer my food cooked. Whatever, we had a wonderful time, with an attentive but unobtrusive waiter. We drank sake and I reveled in the chance to sit quietly with Deirdre outside the office and just talk.

There was still tension there. When she reached out to take my arm when I met her at her hotel, my dick sprang to life and stayed that way through the entire evening. She does that to me. It's just something I've got to get used to, I guess.

I loved talking to her over dinner, but was getting very impatient by the time the waiter had asked if we were interested in desert. She looked over the desert menu for a second, then looked me in the eye as she said to the waiter, "No thank you. We have something else planned for desert tonight."

When the waiter brought the check I didn't give him a chance to leave me with the bill and then pick it up later. The money was flying from my pocket and Deirdre and I were flying down the sidewalk almost immediately. I was practically dragging her back to her hotel. I was desperate for her.

We were barely into her room when I pushed her against the wall and kissed her for the very first time. I wanted it to be a tender loving kiss; a kiss to convey the depth of my feelings for Deirdre. But I couldn't do it that way. My tongue plunged down her throat. My body pressed against hers, my hands roaming. I began to ravage her. I worked at removing her clothes. I couldn't get them off fast enough.

In my dreams my lovemaking with Deirdre was gentle, adoring, romantic. I would hold her lovely face in my hands and kiss those sweet lips. Reality changed everything.

I had her naked. I finally got a chance to see her lovely nudity. But I barely noticed. I was tearing my own clothes off so fast I'm lucky they are still intact. I had to have her. I had to have her right now!

I hurried her to her bed, laid her down. She reached to me with welcoming arms. I wanted to hold her and whisper sweet nothings into her ears. I wanted to slowly explore her body from top to bottom. I wanted this to be an experience she could never forget. That's what I wanted.

Instead I practically raped her. My cock found her center and forced itself into her. I was out of my mind. I fucked that beautiful woman. I was brutal. I pulled out, plunged in. Harder and harder I drove. She just laid there and took it. I could see I was overwhelming her. I wanted to slow down and take it easy. I wanted to. I couldn't. I hammered into her over and over again. It was a driving, plundering, thoughtless taking of her.

I was like the first australopithecine male who discovered pair bonding. I was possessing her with my cock, marking her with my seed. I was shouting from my soul that this woman belongs to me and nobody else!

I was hammering my cock into her helpless pussy, brutally assaulting this bewitching creature. She tried to protest initially. I heard her say, "No, wait. Ouch, it hurts. No. No. Oh my God! Oh my God. Oh God! Oh GOD!"

Soon she stopped talking and seemed to grunt each time my cock slammed into her. She seemed to be screaming from time to time, I'm not sure. Then she was just making noises that didn't seem to mean anything, little gurgling sounds coming from deep within her throat.

I have no idea how long this lasted. My penis was like a piece of steel. I fucked her and fucked her and fucked her; harder and harder and harder. Suddenly a bolt shot through me like an electrical shock. My dick swelled within me and I was hosing the inside of Deirdre's pussy with my seed, pumping time and again, deep within her. I was screaming. Deirdre was screaming. It was primal lust.

Then it was over. I slowly came to my senses. I was lying on top of Deirdre. She had her eyes open, looking off to the side of the room, saying nothing, appearing to be dazed. I suddenly realized that I had blown it. I had the opportunity of a lifetime handed to me and I let my raw lust overcome my common sense.

I was very upset. I tried to explain it to her. "Deirdre, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that to you. I dreamed of making love to you, tenderly, lovingly. I had no intention of fucking your brains out. I'm sorry, Deirdre. God, I hope I didn't hurt you. Are you all right?"

I think Deirdre suddenly realized that I was talking to her. "What? Am I all right? Certainly I'm all right. Why shouldn't I be?"

"Deirdre, I'm sorry for being so rough, for ignoring your needs. I've always been a considerate lover. Something came over me tonight. I'm not like that. Won't you tell me what you're thinking?"

"Why, Andrew, I'm not thinking anything. I have no brains."

And then she laughed.
Chapter 2
Andrew Wiggin