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Part OneI don’t often get the chance to travel abroad in my job. Our clients are UK based, but one of them has a regional HQ near Amsterdam. And it’s here I have been sent with documents to sign and proposals to make and to be given a brief on my company’s next big project. My boss usually does this sort of thing, but this time it’s me, and I am determined to make it a success. And I am also determined to explore the city of Amsterdam and its famous amusements.I will be flying from one of London’s main airports, called Heathrow. And by coincidence, Heathrow is where Mina’s company operates.With me so far?Fast forward to the past >>>>>>>>I’d flown on business before, so I knew the routine. (If you are wondering, yes, I own a butt-plug, and YES, it was safe in my check-in bag.)For some reason, my booking entitled me to hang out in one of the Executive Lounges. In reality not as sexy as it sounded, but it was practically empty, so I settled there to wait for my flight.I was presented with a glass of Prosecco, or Lady-Petrol as we now call it.Some harrassed-looking ‘executives’ were fretting over their spreadsheets. There were two older women and, in the corner, a stunning-looking girl.She was sitting with two guys in uniform, with lots Eryaman Escort of stripes on their sleeves.The guys were deep in conversation, and the girl looked bored. I guess she was in uniform too, but she was undoubtedly no trolley-dolly!I quickly took in sheer black stockings, a black pencil skirt (just above the knee), a white silk shirt, a black jacket, and black heels.Yes, top-end private jet services.Our eyes met. Then un-met and then met again.I’m gay, so I am very aware of other women and their signals. This girl had a certain something, a certain poise, and I was reading those signals loud and clear.I touched my hair casually, just to tousle it a bit.Gamine has been my mildly androgynous signature look for a while now. A Pixie-cut is my hairdo of choice, and I am more than happy to hand wads of cash to Vidal Sassoon in Covent Garden to achieve my aim.Oh, FUCK, Black heels had responded… a straightening of the back, a drop of the shoulders. A minuscule narrowing of her ice-blue eyes.My inside bits were dissolving, and I screamed at myself not to blush. There were snacks and nibbles on display. The harassed executives seemed to see this offering as “Bottomless Sincan Escort Peanuts.”I leafed through my presentation notes, willing myself to behave. Then she stood up.Tall. I’m 5ft 7in, but she seemed taller than me, and it wasn’t just the heels. Slim, naturally slim, she would always be this way. Some women are like that.Blonde hair neatly tied back, I guessed long, when loose, very long.My inside bits were conducting a mutiny. She helped herself to some snacks, a glass of water and then…She looked directly at me and smiled. She was rightly proud of her shape. I took in the form of her breasts and her impossibly long legs.Then, turning away from me, she glanced back over her shoulder as if to confirm that I really existed.My flight was called, the moment was over, and I began the long walk to the departure gate. My inside bits were way out of control.Part TwoAmsterdam Airport Schiphol.Oh… ! The plane had landed, wandered around a bit, and finally let us all out down a long bouncy corridor. (I’m guessing here coz I have little recollection of any of this!)During the flight, The Girl played many roles in the steamy hothouse of my lustful imagination. It got so bad (good) Etlik Escort that I had to pull myself together (and wipe) and then concentrate on the presentation I would make later for my clients.Now… the next bit will be very boring. If you want to plough through it, that’s kind of you, but you are welcome to shoot through to the next bit, which is where it starts getting sexy.A taxi to the client’s offices. Complicated signing-in process. Waiting and then the summons to enter the inner sanctum. Japanese business people are incredibly polite, but the formality makes it hard to assess their reaction to my performance. PowerPoint, whiteboard and endless repetition.(I did warn you that this would be dull!)Ready to escape? Yessss… me too!The taxi ride to my hotel was fast and fun. The taxi used the tram tracks, and we whizzed along. Soon I was in a lovely leafy street by a canal, and I could become myself again. Don’t get me wrong, I am good at my job, and I genuinely enjoy getting my ideas accepted (and paid for!)But there was the no small matter of The Girl and what happened back at the airport.The door of my hotel room clicked shut behind me. (I love that sound. It that tells me I am truly alone at last.)It was a ’boutique hotel’, which means small but quirky. The room was lovely. Big bed, a nice view through the narrow windows and that crucial factor, the bathroom, which was compact but perfect for my solo needs.The shower was simple. It had one of those enormous drencher thingies, which was pretty much it. I just let it happen… for hours (not really).
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32