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The Art of Seduction

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How did it happen? I’m not really sure.

I’d been happily married for nearly 27 years. I met my husband when I was 16 and he was 19.

I’m not saying that I’d never looked at other men; after all I’m only flesh and blood. But I’d never had the urge to do anything about it. The idea of being found out was enough to scare the hell out of me. Besides, who on earth would be interested in me? That said; there were a couple of occasions in the past when the opportunity may have arisen. But I turned my back on those openings.

So, what was different this time? Well, I’ll try to explain.

First of all, I should probably describe myself. I’m 5′ 4″. I used to be around 120 pounds, but since I gave up smoking 5 years ago I’ve put on about a stone. As a result I’ve filled out a bit. However, I still walk a couple of miles a day and do a fair bit of physical exercise at the gym each week. I also help run a junior hockey team. I used to be thin, but now I have what are described as curves. I guess that nowadays I still look reasonably attractive and I’m lucky that my golden hair has retained its colour – with hardly a trace of grey.

I was approaching 46 at the time, but most people assumed that I was in my late thirties. I tend to come across as gentle and have a habit of flirting with all men (nothing sexual – just general chattiness).

Educationally speaking, my qualifications indicate that I’m a bit of a dunce. In reality, I’m an IT Manager, who gets embarrassed when I’m called a genius (which seems to happen a lot) and takes great pleasure in correcting people who ask what subject my degree is in. I have an IQ of around 140.

Bryn had an impossibly high IQ. He was accepted into MENSA at the age of 15. He was a natural blonde with green-grey/blue eyes (honest). A wicked sense of humour was very apparent. Currently 28, he’d been married for 18 months and his wife was nearly 40. He was 6′ 2″ and powerfully built. A genuinely tall, dark, handsome man.

He worked in a department with a lot of women, almost all of who tended to wear low cut tops. If I’d been a man I think I would sometimes find working up there very difficult. As a woman, I hardly knew where to look. Well I did, but I tried not to.

I always had a bit of a laugh and a chat with the women when I was up there and assumed that it was like this all of the time. I discovered later that it was only that way when I was around.

“We figure that you’ll probably disrupt anything that we’re trying to do, so we just join in,” I was told by a Manager!

Meanwhile Bryn was very unhappy. The people he worked with were back-stabbers and he was bored with the work. In fact, he had applied for another job and was about to be offered the post.

It all started pretty innocently. I’d made a change to the systems to try and prevent so much SPAM mail getting through and had sent out an e-mail to everybody to advise them of what I had done. To lighten the message up a bit I concluded by telling them that the phrase came from a Monty Python sketch.

Bryn sent a cheeky reply and said that he thought it was my duty to give chapter and verse on the sketch. I sent him a link to a website with the full script, saying, “Your wish is my command.”

He replied, “Ooooh! Three wishes! Can I have a Parker Pen, a Stella Artois and a Mickey Mouse pencil rubber please?”

I sent back, “Wish. Singular.”

“I’ll just have the Parker Pen then, please.”

I sent a link to a site selling pens.

That was the start. This sort of e-mail duelling went on for some time. It was a challenge to keep up with such a witty and fast moving mind. Then, one day, in an e-mail he said, “If I asked you out for a drink at lunchtime, would you say yes?”

I answered, “Probably.”

So he asked and we went out for a lunchtime drink. We did this a few times. I enjoyed his company, but I was so innocent that I didn’t read the signs that he fancied me.

I suppose I was to blame; one day I asked him where he stood on the thong question (I love getting men to talk about women’s underwear!). He answered that, of course, women had to wear them nowadays (meaning he liked them to – but I’d already guessed that). It led him on to the obvious return question; what did I wear?

“Guess,” I told him with a cheeky grin. “What about you?”

“It’s your turn to guess.”

I tried boxers, slips and Y-fronts without success. Then I said, “Oh I don’t know. I give up. A G-string?”

“Almost right,” he replied. “I wear a thong usually.”

“Go on. You’re winding me up!”

“Honest. I’ll prove it if you like.”

“What here? Now?”


And with that, he shifted round in his seat slightly, untucked his shirt and tugged up the waistband of his thong and proved it. This, mind you, was in the back of a pub, so it was a touch risky, especially as we were only two minutes from the office and there could have been anyone at all witnessing it.

Like I said, I had no idea of the effect I was having on him. Bycasino I should have guessed when we went back to work. As I went to get out of the lift he moved very close and showed signs of wanting to kiss me. I didn’t kiss him of course, but simply smiled and walked away.

Back at our desks we started to e-mail each other again. But now, possibly due to the alcohol, both our libidos were slightly raised. The messages got steamier and steamier, but it was OK. It was still innocent fun, using double-entendres. That was, until the message arrived at 5.30pm, in which he was actually asking me to tell him (in detail) what I would like to do with him. That was when panic set in. I didn’t respond and all the way home I felt sick. How had I gotten myself into this position?

I got in early the next morning. I had decided that I had to send him a message telling him that I was sorry for leading him on, but that I couldn’t offer anything more than friendship as my husband meant too much to me to risk losing him.

Call me an idiot, but I wasn’t sure how he was going to react, so I went straight into my boss’s office and told him what had happened (just in case of any backlash).

Callum’s response was, “That’s fantastic! Er. No. What I mean to say is that if it can happen to you it can happen to anyone!”

This will give you an idea of my reputation. Mrs. Clean. Mrs. Totally Honest. Mrs. Upright Citizen of the Community.

Well, actually I’d never claimed to be any of those things. It’s just how other people see me. Anyway, there wasn’t any fallout. Bryn apologised and said that he knew as soon as he had sent it that it was wrong. He asked if we could still be friends and I, naturally, said yes. We agreed to go out for a drink on Friday lunchtime to ‘bury the hatchet’, before I went away for most of the next week.

I’d been away in Europe with a lot of youngsters and was feeling a bit weary as I made my way to work the following Thursday. I’d come out of the tube station and was walking along the road, minding my own business, when I heard a commotion and saw two women fighting in a shop.

I didn’t even pause to consider what I should do (I was still in protect mode) and walked straight into the shop and using an authoritative voice said, “Stop that now!”

Close up, I could see that one of the women was a shop assistant and the other a slightly scruffy, unwashed (but youngish) person, who appeared to have been caught shop-lifting. She had hold of the assistant’s hair with her right hand and was probably trying to hit her with the other.

I simply put my right arm under hers and then brought my hand up behind her neck (what’s known as a Half-Nelson in wrestling) and then grabbed her left wrist with my other hand. In a locked position like this she instantly released her grip on the assistant.

She felt very light, so I just turned her around to face the shop doorway. At this point I realised that I had made a very silly mistake, her friend was standing outside of the shop. Fortunately, she wasn’t getting involved – but I had had my back to her!

I gave the thief a gentle shove and told her to go. She turned and gave me a bit of an ear-bashing, but was clearly too intimidated to show me any violence. I stood my ground and her friend managed to drag her away. The assistant was taken out to the back and I offered my details in case they wanted to call the police. The staff thanked me for my intervention and quite a few women who had been in the shop gave me a well done.

I relate this incident not to boast, but to explain what kind of person I am. Of course, the story soon got around the company and people were jokingly (at least I assumed so) calling me “hero”.

The effect on Bryn was that here was this (he thought) handsome woman, small yet strong and the female equivalent of a knight in shining armour. Not understanding how much he fancied me already, this side of my personality merely made matters worse.

Having been away I was really busy and unable to even see him during Thursday, so we agreed to pop out for a drink at lunchtime on Friday.

We went to the pub. I bought the first round and we sat down at a table near the back and I told her about my trip and the events of the previous morning. Pretty soon it was time for another drink and he went to get the round.

I couldn’t help but watch as he walked to the bar. He did so slowly, more slowly than you might expect and was giving me a good long look at his attractive backside in those tight jeans. He came back with a bottle in each hand and stood so close that his leg was touching mine (even I knew this was deliberate).

He casually put my drink down in front of me and then leant across me to put his own drink on the table. Not with his back to me mind, but facing me, so that his powerful chest was right in front of my face! Yes I know that it was all obvious and I should have heard the alarm bells ringing, but, being Mrs. Nice I’m also totally naïve.

We carried on talking Bycasino giriş and then an idea suddenly occurred to me. I whinged that I had to go home and cook a single meal tonight as my husband had gone away to visit his parents for the weekend. He asked why I didn’t go out and eat in a restaurant instead.

“What? On my own? You must be joking!”

See? I can’t be that nice because I’m so devious. I then looked at him and said, “Unless… how do you fancy going out for a meal this evening? My treat?”

He looked at me and leaned close to my ear and replied, “All right. But I warn you, if I go out with you tonight I will probably try to kiss you.”

I must deaf to alarm bells. I said, “Okay, I understand what you are saying.”

I suppose I thought that I could handle the situation when (and if) it came to it. Of course, to Bryn, this was a green light.

We went back to the office and got in the lift (we were on different floors). I went to get off and he took half a step towards me and stood real close. I know that he wanted a kiss there and then, but I told him I’d see him later and got out at my floor.

We decided to meet at a bar a little way from the office. I got there just before 6pm, He got there just after. We sat on barstools and chatted while we had a couple of drinks. It got a bit crowded, so we decided to see if we could find somewhere else (it was too early to think about eating yet).

We found a pub, went in and got a drink and then sat down at a table just next to a corner seat occupied by three older men. We had literally only just arrived when the men finished their drinks and left. So, we slid across into the corner seat.

We sat turned towards each other, so that our knees were touching. He was turned to his left which was a bit awkward as it turned out that he has a duff shoulder and can’t lean on it. But the back of the seat was relatively low, so he simply laid his arm along it, behind me. I didn’t miss this and assumed that it was a ‘move’ and commented accordingly. He tried to explain, but I’m not sure he reckoned I believed him.

Anyway, we finished our drink and went looking for a restaurant. We ended up at a nice little Italian joint that I had been to before and after asking for a table for two we were shown upstairs.

Bryn always showed a lot of nerve and as we walked past a corner table set for three, asked if we could have that, instead of the one we were being led to. The waiter considered and then agreed. We sat down at right-angles, meaning that our knees tended to touch quite often – something I was beginning to enjoy.

Once again I managed to get the subject onto women’s underwear (I seem to be quite skilled at this!). We were talking about stockings and suspenders and the fact that my husband likes me to wear them a lot and that he bought me lots of matching sets of underwear (it makes it simple – if expensive – to buy me Christmas, anniversary and birthday gifts).

“What is it that men like about stockings so much?” I asked.

This gave him the opening for one of the oldest jokes I’ve ever heard; “The giggle band,” he said.

“What’s that then?” I asked (trying to keep a straight face).

This was where we stepped over the line.

He said, “Well it’s that dark band at the top of the stocking,” and casually indicated with his thumb and forefinger on my leg whereabouts the stocking top would be.

I was totally aware that he was stroking the upper part of my thigh, but this was just a bit of daring on my part to underline the joke. I experienced a tingling sensation between my legs and I felt my nipples push out against my bra.

I enjoyed his touch and then asked, “Why is it called the giggle band?”

“Because once you’re past there, you’re laughing! Boom! Boom!”

I responded with laughter. He seemed to be able to make me laugh and I liked that. The meal continued and we drank a bottle of wine with it. We ordered different desserts and offered each other a taste – actually a seemingly innocent and yet somehow slightly erotic act.

Bryn was now trying to make something happen and asked me if I’d ever had the giggle band demonstrated like that before. I told him no – nobody would ever dare.

“But I thought you usually liked a dare?”

“True,” I answered. “But that’s when somebody actually dares me to do something. I find it hard to resist a challenge.”

“OK. So, I dare you to let me put my hand back on your leg.”

“That’s not fair!” I said.

But he realised that I had an absolutely clear invitation to put his hand on my leg. His whole hand this time and not just his fingertips.

“Alright,” I said and he put his hand on my mid thigh (and squeezed, just a little).

“Mmmm,” I purred. “Now move it lower.”

So he slid his hand down to my knee and fondled it.

“Now move it back up my leg.”

He began sliding it back up, but I started to get scared and stopped him as he reached the previously indicated giggle Bycasino deneme bonusu band area. Let’s be honest, a hand sliding up the inside of your leg would get anybody aroused. When my hand closed on his I had a terrible job to resist moving it higher myself. I think he knew this when afterwards he asked if I would like to put my hand on his leg in return.

“OK,” he told mer.

He was wearing denim as well and I stroked his leg, gradually getting higher. When I was younger, I probably would have knocked the table over to get at him, but as I’ve got older I’ve learned a little bit of self control.

I reached his crotch and squeezed gently. A combination of nerves, guilt and a considerable volume of alcohol meant that his dick stirred but did not become anywhere near fully erect. I, of course, could feel him and was enjoying what I felt.

That was as far as it went that night. We finished at the restaurant and walked together to the station. It was on the escalators, as he stood one step down and with my face on a level with his, that he tried to kiss me. Slightly taken unawares, our lips briefly touched, but then I turned my head and kissed him on the cheek instead. He tried one more time, with the same result.

The effect that this experience had on me was hard to explain. I think that it changed me, as suddenly I began to think a bit more of myself. Maybe some men find me attractive after all? I could never imagine how anybody could do so (including my husband). But it was about this time that the reactions of some men around me changed.

I can’t exactly explain it, but a lot of the older men that I came into contact with began to become a bit ‘touchy-feely’ with me. For example; I was sorting out a problem for somebody and we were talking while I worked. I said something, slightly in jest, to engender sympathy, at which point He said, “Ah you poor thing!” and promptly put an arm around me and cuddled me.

It May not sound too bad, but remember that I was a lot shorter than him and at our relative heights, when he pulled me to him, his head was pushed into my breast. I’m not kidding, I’d never had things like this happen to me before, but suddenly it happened a lot – particularly with the breast pressing thing. I couldn’t imagine that they didn’t know what they were doing simply because it happened again and again – with different people!

Getting back to my story, perhaps all of this made me a little bold.

A short time later, we were e-mailing each other and arranging to go shopping in the West End at lunchtime on Friday. It was getting near the end of the day and I had said that I had to go soon. He asked if I needed any stationary, as he had to go down to the basement and get some ‘yellow stickies’. I said that, alas I had to get away very promptly.

Two days afterwards, I’d been incredibly busy all of that week and, having got to Thursday; I literally hadn’t seen Bryn all week. I sent him my last e-mail of the day saying that I probably should go home now. Having hit the Send button, I sat for a few seconds and then typed a new message, which read, “Unless, of course, you need any stationary, as I think I need to get myself a notepad.”

He replied with, “I could always do with more yellow stickies. When are you going down?”

“Now, right this minute!” I sent.

Of course, nothing ever runs smoothly and I was cornered by my boss as I walked away from my desk. I told him I’d sort the issue when I got back. I took the lift, whereas Bryn had taken the stairs. He had entered the stores from the door at the other end and walked along looking for me. I saw him just walking past the door at this end when I got out of the lift.

“Hello,” he said innocently. “What are you doing here?”

I mumbled something like, “I’m not sure”.

We walked around the back of the storeroom, behind the shelves where we couldn’t easily be seen.

He asked, “So why did you want to see me?”

I took a deep breath and told him that I couldn’t bear the thought of going home, having not seen him for days. And with that I put my arms around him. I still couldn’t bring myself to kiss him on the lips, so I kissed his cheek. And he kissed my cheek in return. And my ear. And my neck. And my bare shoulder where my top was opened.

His hands had started at my waist, sliding around onto my back and then down to my bottom. He squeezed my cheeks gently and I didn’t resist or complain, so he held me closer to him.

Of course, his loins were stirring a bit and when I said, “Ooh. I can feel it!” He paused, brought his hands back to my waist and then moved them upwards, sliding around to cup my breasts and flick my nipples with his thumbs through the material of my bra and thin top. I gasped aloud. This was when I realised how sensuous my body was. By sensuous, I mean that I thrilled simply at his touch.

Friday lunchtime came and we got on the underground to Oxford Street. When we left the station it was drizzling a bit, but we actually didn’t really care and walked hand in hand to the first shop we wanted to visit.

We had arranged with our respective bosses to be away for a longer than usual lunch break and, having finished our shopping quickly, were left with plenty of time to go to a pub for a drink.

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