I had the most amazing business trip a few years ago. My name's Chris, I was 28 years old at the time and I work for a City of London firm specialising in business financing. We'd been looking to diversify into new and developing markets, and we'd identified a manufacturing company in -- let's just say a state in Eastern Europe -- which was seeking to expand and needed the capital to do it. I wasn't wild about being the one to go there to negotiate the deal -- I prefer the likes of Paris, Frankfurt, Copenhagen for my trips -- but our CEO, Malcolm, gave me some flattering bullshit about it requiring my special abilities and sent me on my way.
It was pissing down with rain when I arrived at the airport of the country's second city, and I was less than impressed. From my taxi the area around the airport looked like the worst kind of industrial wasteland, and the route to the city centre seemed to be lined with scores of grey Communist era apartment blocks, matching the grey day and my grey mood. The one good thing was that everyone there seemed to speak at least passable English -- in fact the taxi driver and I chatted about an upcoming match between Tottenham Hotspur and one of their teams.
I was only planning to stay for one night so I checked into my hotel, grabbed a quick latté and Panini in the American chain coffee bar across the street (you know the one, but I was surprised to see a branch there), then took another taxi to my afternoon meeting with the corporate finance director of our potential business partners. The office wasn't part of their manufacturing plant, just a suite on the second floor of a slightly dilapidated looking office block on the edge of the city. I was met in the ground floor reception area by a pretty secretary called Marta. I guessed she was about 22, maybe five-feet-two tall (I'm six feet by the way), green-eyed with white-blonde hair as short as a man's, a buzz cut at the sides, not much in the way of boobs but wearing a short denim skirt which emphasised nice, muscular bare legs and a pert bum.
Marta took me straight into the office of her boss, Ana. She was a tall (as tall as me in her three-inch heels) well-preserved early 50s, with the deep throaty voice of the long-term smoker and almost a Scandinavian look -- long flowing blonde hair, half over one eye Veronica Lake style, a deep tan, blue eyed with pouting lips, considerably better stacked up front than Marta, dressed in a crisp white blouse, black tight knee-length skirt and sheer black tights. She gave me a pleasant enough smile and a surprisingly firm handshake, Marta poured us fresh coffee, then we sat side by side at a table beside Ana's desk and went over a file she'd had drawn up for me giving a profile of their business. As we worked on the figures I couldn't help my eyes straying a couple of times down the open neck of Ana's blouse, and the impressive pair of brown tits that were threatening to overflow from a little white bra.
After a couple of hours we'd more or less agreed things, apart from the percentage if her company's profits that we were going to take in return for our investment. We reached a bit of an impasse there: Ana had one figure in mind, I had another. To be honest I had more than enough leeway to come down to her level, but every percentage point I knocked off my price also cut a bit off the bonus I was due for this job. After a few minutes of negotiation, with things beginning to get just a little tense, Ana sat back and gave a big sigh, her bosom rising and falling impressively. Then she spread her hands and said, "Look Chris, I can't afford your figure -- we just can't do it. How about if I add half a percent to mine and give you a blow job?"
For a moment I thought I'd fantasised what I'd just heard her say, then I wondered if it was some form of local humour, or perhaps a euphemism for a financial bribe; but she looked me straight in the eye and said, "It's simple enough, you get most of what you want, and I suck your cock".
