In October, last year, I was invited, by my company to attend an awards ceremony in Manchester. I travelled with Martin, one of our salesmen, who was going to receive a long service award.
As we were checking into the hotel, a voice boomed out, “Marty! Long time, no see!” A young man, dressed in shorts and vest, shouted.
Martin’s face lit up, “Ian, how are you?” He instantly recognised the young man, as a fellow salesman, from an office in the South -West. They shook hands, and Martin introduced me, “This is Victoria, from our London office”.
“Aha, the Ice-maiden!” The young man laughed, as he took my outstretched hand, and gently kissed it.
“I’m sorry?” I quizzed him.
“That is what they call you, isn’t it?” He laughed again.
At work, I had a reputation for not mixing with the other staff. I like to keep my personnel life private.
“A drink beckons,” Ian ushered us into the bar. As we sat down, I offered my cigarettes around, with no takers. I lit my mine, sucked in and exhaled a plume of smoke.
“You look like you needed that”; Ian quipped, as he made himself comfortable, stretching his muscular legs along the sofa.
“I did, Martin wouldn’t let me smoke in his car,” I pretended to whine, inhaling even more nicotine.
I watched Ian, intently, as he chatted to Martin. He had just been in the hotel gym, and his well toned- body was still glowing with sweat. He oozed confidence; in the way he sat, talked and surveyed the room.
As I finished my drink, we arranged to meet in the bar at 7.15.
I had a long soak in the bath, slowly got dressed and put my make-up on. These functions were, normally, as boring as Hell, so I didn’t make too much effort. My dress was quite fitted, and showed a little bit of cleavage, but could hardly be described as sexy.
When I arrived in the bar, Martin and Ian were already there. Martin looked very smart, in his Tuxedo, but Ian looked very suave, and incredibly sexy.
Ian bought the drinks, and guided us into Ballroom. At our table, Ian manoeuvred himself into the seat, next to mine.
During the evening, he kept everyone entertained, with some very dirty jokes and stories. I hadn’t laughed so much, for a long time. He kept my glass topped up and every time I picked up a cigarette he lit it, for me. At one stage his lips brushed against my ear. He whispered, “I love watching women smoke, it almost looks like they’re preparing for oral sex.”
I didn’t know how to reply, and was very self-conscious, as I continued puffing away.
Not only, did Martin receive his award, but he was also promoted to Regional Manager.
At 11.30, the lights came on, and the evening appeared to be coming to an end. Ian picked up two bottles of wine from our table, telling Martin to grab our glasses, “Let’s help Martin celebrate his new found success,” he announced as he made his way to the lift, as everyone else drifted into the bar.
“Let’s go to my room,” he said, as he pressed the button for the 8th floor. Inside, Ian ran his finger along my thigh, “You can even settle a couple of bets that we’ve had.”
” I’m sorry?” I replied. Ian laughed, but Martin hid his eyes and blushed.
Inside the room, Ian opened a bottle and poured it into the three glasses. I sat against the edge of the dressing table, Martin sank into an armchair and Martin lay on the bed.
“So what was this bet?” I asked.
“Well it’s three bets, actually,” he chuckled. I sipped my wine, and lit another cigarette, blowing smoke in Ian’s direction.
“Number one,” he looked at Martin, who was grinning like a five-year-old, “stockings or tights? Now I knew what they were upto. “How much is at stake?” I asked, “£10”