From: lindsay@kingston.ac.uk (John Lindsay) Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica Subject: Business Objects Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Date: 19 Nov 1995 08:08:02 GMT Organization: rec.arts.erotica immoderation Lines: 78 Message-ID: <48mol2$9je@netaxs.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: unix2.netaxs.com Keywords: mm sexless romance X-Moderator-Review: 9: absolutely charming. Sequel! Sequel! X-Ava-Review: 8: adorable; "When Harry Met Harry". Not long enough, though! X-Approved-By: handler@sub-rosa.com (Michael Handler) Originator: grendel@unix2.netaxs.com Archive-name: business-obj Business objects He walked across the room towards me. I was the only one wearing a leather jacket, he the only one wearing demin. My clothing style is simple: 30 t shirts, two pairs of black jeans, 30 pairs of white socks and 30 white boxer shorts, laundry once a month, and a leather jacket. The most complex part is the sock sorting algorithm, but I think I've cracked that one - longest to shortest ranking then with or without ribbing. Everyone else was suits, including the few women. He said something which sounded like Shipwright's Arms, but I couldn't make a link. We went into the presentation, he asked if he could sit next to me and I replied "Of course". What I should have said was "No, fuck off, the last thing I need is a beautiful man who I want to run my hands all over sitting next to me while I'm supposed to be paying attention to object oriented databases!" but I didn't, I just said "of course". The lights were dimmed so the presentation slides could be seen more than the speakers. Our shoulders were touching and he didn't pull away and immediately break physical contact as usually happens On the other hand he didn't make firmer contact either, or begin to rub his fingers along my bare forearm. But that didn't stop my heart from pumping. It must be twenty years since I felt it last. Being near a man in which the fantasy that something might be possible and desirable. If I push too hard he'll recognise the contact and break away. Even if he just accidently moves, to re-establish contact is harassment if he doesn't want it. But to not indicate at all is to deny the possibility. The first few times it happened the result was beating, broken jaw, police. Then for the next few years it was "I like your mind but I'm not interested in your body" then for years the possibility hasn't even occurred. Stretched out my leg so my boner could grow down it without discomfort. Didn't think til later that when I took off my jacket I should have put it on my lap rather than the floor. Damn. Coffee break and we are still standing together. Conversation on wherebots and ambots, the object taxonomy of a bus stop and a railway station, and how to put postcodes for London into a database, to which he replies the std would be easier. This is true within a pareto boundary. For a conversation to move at such a speed indicates that the whole of object orientation must have been invented by gay men: all that polymorphism, encapsulation, message passing. Back into the seminar for some case studies. We both know enough to be able to tell jokes backwards and forwards as they unravel. Each time he leans over to speak into my ear, his nose touching. Each time I lean over I put my hand on his. Does he lean over to say something more frequently than I do? Is that a step forward? His nose touching my ear makes my heart pump again, fleeting though it is. Why don't I just whisper in his ear "I love the way your nose caresses my ear" instead of "the health service has an interesting problem with who owns patient information - for example if someone is HIV". Why don't I next time I whisper something run my tongue lightly along his lobe? Because that might break the link and the link is binary. It is better for it to be in place even if he is unaware of the suspension of disbelief as long as it can be suspended. The speaker uses words like tool and member and enlarging and we begin to laugh, increasingly loudly, and the line laughs with us. Why didn't I put my jacket over my lap, then stroking my cock could turn into a complete wank? Would he join in, or have I completely misread the situation? Why doesn't he make more contact? Our shoulders are touching permanently, but he is not taking any initiative, not pushing the boundary forward. But leaning against him, just feeling him, is lovely, much better than nothing, the spirit of fire and life for which I fought. If it comes to nought, I prefer not to know. To be not informed is richer, for the imagination is much richer than the reality. Out into the hall for lunch. Then for a piss and out into Convent Garden. I wonder whether he'll turn up at the Anvil. The penny dropped - its name is the Shipwright's Arms. -- rec.arts.erotica, a moderated Usenet newsgroup for erotic fiction and verse submissions: <erotica@sub-rosa.com> * admin: <erotica-request@sub-rosa.com>