Well, the possible return trip to Europe was looking iffy, primarily because the talks with our potential acquisition in France were breaking down. If the French 'avocat' that we'd hired, who happened to be a close friend of the family that owned the business, was having difficulty, I couldn't see how my presence was going to make much of a difference.
Of course, a return to Paris and an opportunity to reacquaint myself with Danielle were very tempting, but I couldn't bring myself to suggest such a useless trip, even for the prospect of sliding between the spread legs of that lovely creature.
When I'd seen her last, she had obliquely suggested that she would be more than welcoming of a threesome with me and her husband Phillipe, but I was still mulling over that scenario in my brain. Maybe a threesome with two women, but another man? I wasn't sure that was on my to-do list.
So, without anything out there to 'save' myself for, I was a little surprised when I received word that I needed to go to Washington and meet someone at the Canadian Embassy. We had recently bought a U.S. company that had a small Canadian subsidiary. At the time of purchase, we were assured that because of the subsidiary's small size, we wouldn't need the approval of the Canadian government. That turned out to be bad advice.
The Canadian Embassy is located on perhaps the most beautiful plot of land in the District of Columbia. It sits on the first buildable lot on Pennsylvania Avenue outside the Capitol grounds and has an amazing view of that spectacular building. I was scheduled to see a bureaucrat by the name of Henri Reynaud, and as I waited in the lobby to be called for my appointment, I reviewed the facts about the company in question.
Soon, I heard my name and looked up to see an attractive blonde woman in her late thirties. She was dressed in a tasteful red dress, red heels, and a white silk blouse. It was as if she'd decided to wrap herself in the Canadian flag. I rose and introduced myself and she did likewise. Her name was Nancy or perhaps Nanci, I couldn't tell, but her accent was French. She asked me to follow her and she'd escort me to the conference room where I would meet Mr. Reynaud. As I followed her to a bank of elevators, I had a strange feeling that I'd seen her before, but no matter how hard I tried, that connection seemed irretrievable.
The meeting itself was as I predicted. The Foreign Investment Review Agency (FIRA) was a branch of the Canadian Government that, from what I could tell, was responsible for squeezing every last bit of concession out of foreign investors as they could manage. The stick was that they had the authority to refuse our acquisition and force a sale at their whim. I failed to see any carrots.
In truth, to us, the Canadian subsidiary wasn't strategically important. We already had the means to distribute our products in Canada and the little bit of additional distribution that the subsidiary would bring was negligible. As far as negotiations were concerned, Mr. Reynaud had a busted hand, but it took him a while to recognize that fact. Three hours and no concessions later, we shook hands and that was that.
It was only about four p.m. on a beautiful Spring day, so I decided to take a walk in the Mall. That morning, I'd peeled off a five-mile run in under thirty-eight minutes so a two-mile walk down the Mall was no big deal, but it was picturesque, and it would help my mood which suffers when I'm around government bureaucrats for long periods.
When I got to the Lincoln Memorial, I could see Georgetown just around the bend in the river and it occurred to me that in another 20 minutes or so, I could be at the Freyja Club. Of course, I had considered that possibility when I'd heard that I'd need to make this appointment, but other than general musing, I hadn't formulated a precise plan. Well here I was, and it was only a few blocks away.
It was still early and the club wouldn't be opening until six, so I continued my walk along the river until I got to Washington Harbor. If you've never been there, it isn't a harbor. It's just a fancy name for some attractive commercial buildings and pricy condos overlooking the Potomac River, but it's a nice spot to have a beer and watch the scullers and the geese.
Did I mention that it was a beautiful day? Warm with only a slight breeze. The kind of day that if you stopped and just enjoyed it, would make all your troubles seem trivial.
Later, when I thought about looking at my watch, I was surprised that it was almost six, and I wondered where the previous forty-five minutes had gone. I threw my jacket over my shoulder and tossed the beer can in the trash and walked the six blocks to the Freyja Club.
There was one man and a couple in front of me when I buzzed into the entrance lobby. The guard was someone I'd not seen before, but they all looked like clones. I had done my time in the Army and I was more than familiar with the type that gravitates to those kinds of jobs; steely eyes, small vocabularies, and no sense of humor. When I got to the chip reader, I extended my hand and heard the Viking Door click open. I nodded to the guard, but neither expected nor got anything in return.
I greeted Rachel at her accustomed spot at the hostess station and she replied, calling me by name, and welcoming me back. "You're on your way to becoming a regular," she smiled. I almost missed her cheery greeting because I was focusing on her wonderful full tits and pink edible nipples. In New York, the principal hostess was a black woman named Kyree, who'd given me a go as a welcome to the club, but as yet, I hadn't received such an offer from Rachel.
Since it was early and most people were arriving, there was a steady stream of naked women entering the club from the Swan Door which led to the women's undressing room. I gave a little chuckle when my mind made that slight modification to the usual name of such a room.
This was my sixth visit to a Freyja Club and one thing I'd noticed was the general fitness of the female members and staff. There were a few that I would describe as slightly chubby, but I had yet to see a woman that wasn't attractive. The men? Not so much. I'd seen quite a few male members who could afford to lose a few pounds, but not among the male staff.
There were some couches arranged in a U-shaped pattern near the Swan door. I knew they were placed there for gentlemen who were awaiting the emergence of their female companions, but it was a comfortable spot to watch what I was now calling in my mind, 'the early evening parade,' so I sat down to observe. 'Gwak' may have been a more appropriate word, but I'd stick with 'observe.'
Tall women, short women, big fleshy tits that bounced and swayed and tits that were flat and tiny, natural pussies, and shaved ones paraded by. All races were represented and some looked in my direction and smiled. Others stared straight ahead. Almost all seemed comfortable with the total nudity that the club demanded of its female members, but there were a couple that appeared either new at this or was just naturally shy. I chuckled inwardly at one redhead that looked like she wanted to cover herself before remembering and repeatedly jerked her hands back to her sides.
