French tickle

She was lively and vivacious.   She was much younger than me.   She was a French speaker who worked in the same area as I did.  I was not the manager but one of the senior members of the staff who worked closely with the Assistant Deputy Minister.

The first time I met her, I was dumbstruck.  Her hair was long and lustrous, a shining light brown with hints of blonde and her eyes were blue.  She was wearing jeans and sandals and a loose blouse.

I shook her hand and as we were going to talk about the research I was interested in.  She was a recent graduate, working in our social research unit, and was just hired into a term position. 

Her oval face was slightly freckled, with very regular features but a mouth with lips which were a little on the thick side and when she laughed, her whole face lit up with her smile.

She was slender with noticeable hips and an informal offhand manner that was both challenging and teasing.

I held her hand a little longer than I should have, looking into her blue blue eyes.   She blushed and laughed and simply asked for her hand back.  

I felt the blood rush into my own cheeks and I felt warm both in my face and chest.  It was my turn to stumble and I mumbled something, like, “Excuse me, but I thought I knew you from somwhere else.”

Of course I did not.   She talked the whole time in a business like tone and when I questioned her, she defended every method she proposed.   When I suggested other methods that she did not agree with, she stated her position forcefully.

I felt completely blown away by her presence.   I kept stealing looks at her hair and shoulders, the light brown hair on her arms, that looked slender but well muscled.

We said good bye but I knew I would have the chance to see her again.

I met her often in the hallway after that.   She would often come to work on her bike, her hair done up in a bun, which she would let down once she was in the office.

She found out early on that I was married, but it did not seem to make any difference in the way she talked to me, open, direct and with an ear for humour.

It astonished me that she seemed to have lived so much even at the age of 23.   She had already lived with her boyfriend for a few years and now was in the process of breaking up with him.

I mentioned that it was too bad that she was breaking up and she laughed, “you don’t know my boyfriend.”

I asked if he was so terrible.  “Not really.  We’re just getting a little stale.   It’s time for me to move on.  Besides, who says I need to have a man in my life.   Maybe a little quiet will be good for me.  At least now I’ll get some sleep.”

She smiled as she said this last and gave me a wink.

I laughed and told her I would like to have lunch with her because I thought it was important for colleagues to get to know each other.

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“How well you want to get to know me and where you want to go.  I like good food.”

I told her I wanted to go to the French restaurant down the street from our office.

“Ah, an excellent choice.   I think we will get to know each other quite well.”

Again she winked at me.

So there we were after work, in the fine French restaurant, eating mussels in cream sauce and drinking white wine, which she selected.

The food was delicious and she was brilliant company.  I watched her lick the mussel shell as she used her tongue to and perfect teeth to pull its contents into her mouth.  

She had worn a halter that showed off her strong brown shoulders and a dress that was just long enough to fully reveal her strong tanned legs.

I was drunk not only with the wine but with her superb appearance.

I could not take my eyes off her the whole time we were there.  I asked her about how she had gotten involved with her boyfriend and she had told me they were classmates working on the same degree.

I noted that she seemed so mature for her age.  She seemed to know what she wanted from life and did not appear to be shy about telling people what it was.

“Oh, when you study sociology in a French university, you have to learn quickly how to use your knowledge of groups and social interaction to make your way in the world.”

“How does that work?”  I asked.

She explained, “when you work in a group, you have to identify who are the important players, who are opinion leaders and who will help shape your fate as a participant.”

“How did your boyfriend fit into the picture?”

She laughed.  “He was a distraction.   He was very good looking and well built.   Not quite as smart as me, which I preferred at the time.   Now I am looking for men who are older and wiser.”

I perked up at this and gave her my full smile and could not help but looking deeply into her blue eyes as I sipped my wine.   I took a calculated bite out of the garlic bread and chewed it in my mouth feeling its full toasted texture and moist after-taste.

“I think the combination of youthful energy and enthusiasm with wisdom and experience is one that attracts me as well.”

I leaned forward as I said this and put my hand on hers.  She gently dislodged her hand and used it to pick up her glass.

“Let’s drink to the union of age and youth, then,” she said and crossed her legs.

We crossed arms at the elbows, which drew our faces together and drank the toast.

I was feeling as high as a kite.

“What are your plans for the future?”  I asked.

“Oh, I might want to stay on in the government, depending on the kind of job I am offered.”

As she said this, she rounded her full lips into the shape she used when speaking French and leaned forward.

She ate another mussel looking into my eyes and licked her lips.

“But you can have some influence on that,” she whispered. 

I smiled uncertainly.  “Me?  How?”

“Come closer and I will tell you.”

I leaned forward expecting to be propositioned.

She whispered, “I have heard you have the ear of the Assistant Deputy Minister.  You have what we called in our sociology and politics course, influence but not power.”

Not exactly sweet nothings.

I drew back and pulled my hand away.

She reached for my hand again and laughed confidently.  “Oh I was just teasing you,” she said.   “This is such a lovely meal.  Why do we have spoil it by talking about work?”

And the rest of the evening, she avoided the subject.  Yet, I had been seized by a horrible suspicion that would not let go of me.   The blood and warmth left my cheeks and my chest and I stopped drinking the wine.

We kept on a banter about other things, very light, very light but it felt like a game of scrabble.   Interesting but not evoking any passion in me, just a clearer more objective assessment of her.

When the bill came, I took it and put it on my credit card.   We shook hands and I offered to give her a lift.   She declined and said she would take a taxi.   By that time I felt stone cold sober so in the cool evening, I walked to my car around the corner.  I usually parked in the garage at work but today I had parked by the restaurant because of our date.

I drove around the corner and as I passed the restaurant I saw her get into a car with a man who was old enough to be her father.   She gave him a strong embrace that did not look very daughterly.

As I sped home, all I could think of was her face, the light touch of her fingers and the cool judgment of her cool eyes whose test I had not passed.   In spite of the feeling that she was using me, I realized that I had not given in her to charms out of cold principle.   I still wanted her, to caress that body and kiss those lips.   No, I just knew any recommendation coming from me to my boss would not wash, especially since my attraction to her was so obvious.

I still wonder whether, if I had been more objective, more of a conman, I could not have tickled the tickler and found a way of having her.