It was a very long, very boring presentation, one of these corporate things full of buzzwords and signifying nothing. I heard the familiar chair scratching as everyone gradually came back to life in time for the questions at the end of the speech. I sat up straighter myself, glanced at the pompous suit giving the talk, who looked predictably delighted with his own performance, and gradually took stock of the people around me. Most were bleary-eyed and clearly trying to think of an intelligent question to ask. One woman, though, was looking at me with a mocking half-smile on her face. I blushed, and tried to work out how long I'd been in a daze.
For the last few seconds (or minutes? I hope not) I'd been staring across the horse-shoe of desks, looking under the table opposite at a single foot, encased in dark stockings, and with a heeled business shoe dangling from her big toe. I know some guys really get off on feet, but I've never really understood that. There was something remarkably graceful and beautiful about this particular foot though. Maybe it was partly the sense of the voyeurism; you can't normally see under tables, after all. Maybe it was the shapely legs that the foot was attached to. Maybe it was the suggestive nature of the leather shoe and nylon stockings. Maybe it was the fact that I quite fancied the woman. I don't know. Whatever it was, all manner of erotic thoughts were flooding through my dozey brain as I stared at her foot, captivated as she idly rotated her shoe in sweeping circles.
I hadn't met this woman before today, but we were introduced at the "ice-breaker", this time the old stand-by of lobbing a ball around in a circle, calling the name of the person you pass to. Her name was Lakshmi, and I can't remember which bit of the company she works in. I'd liked her immediately, though. She had a spiky sense of humour, and, unusually, she clearly wasn't using this training session for blatant self-promotion. I was also taken by the way she dressed, which was basically Western business dress, but with a subtle nod to her Indian (I assumed) roots -- a really striking design on her silver necklace, and her blouse was some made of some kind of silky material in royal blue that you would never see in Marks and Spencer's. I concentrated pointedly on the remainder of the afternoon's training, and then headed for an early supper.
The hotel we were staying in was typical for corporate training -- some kind of stately home, with the grounds sprouting blocks for syndicate blocks and functional hotel rooms. During a particularly dull afternoon the previous week, I'd checked the website and found, rather to my surprise, that it contained a hot tub. Needless to say, I'd kept this information to myself. As soon as I could politely leave, I shot back to my room, grabbed my swimming shorts and towel, and headed for the gym building. I was frustrated to find it filled with my colleagues, which I'd noticed leaving before desert, had found their way here before me. So much for a solitary soak. I smiled all around, and slipped into the tub, which was just big enough to comfortably hold the dozen or so of us.
I'd slipped into a lazy conversation with Tim, who I've known for years, when he broke off to join the cheering and applause that suddenly erupted. Looking round, I saw Lakshmi, who smiled and half-curtseyed at the adulation, as she waved a little bag full of those little hotel pots of liquid soaps, shampoos and other assorted gloops. With great ceremony, she poured the contents into the filter thing beside the tub, and then went over to the control panel. I felt the bubble jets come on, and remarkably quickly a thick layer of foam rose up around us. I forced myself not to gawp as she removed her hotel-issue bathrobe, to reveal a disappointingly sensible one-piece costume in bright pink. I moved around as she came down the steps, and to my delight she sat down beside me. It was getting quite crowded in the hot tub now, and we were almost close enough to be touching.
The next half hour or so passed lazily enough. Tim, who's always been a charmer, was chatting away with Lakshmi, and I joined in, mostly by laughing at the quick-fire banter flying between them. At this point, I was starting to relax a bit, and was convincing myself that sitting next to this beautiful girl (wearing next to nothing) was no big deal. It was then that I felt her fingernail run down the outside of my thigh, a little above my knee. I half-started, then moved away slightly, assuming it was nothing more than a mistake. If that were true, though, I wouldn't be telling this story.
