tagRomanceMaryam

Maryam

byninefe2dg©

"Out the front of the hotel, take a left, go two blocks, cross the street, it curves around and changes its name, but the NGO building will be right in front of you. You can't miss it."

You can't miss it.

Sure I can. Especially now that you've placed the "You Can't Miss It" jinx on me. So here I trudge, laptop on my back and carryon dragging behind me, in the middle of Paris where I've never been before, wondering where my "it's so easy you don't need to take a cab just walk" destination is.

I think they moved it. I'm wandering around it what appears to be a somewhat residential section, figuring out whom to ask. Fortunately I'm sufficiently anal to have allowed the possibility of getting lost, and I'd already spent by "male ego I don't need to ask directions" time. So now I need some help. Fortunately, contrary to the "advice" I got before I came over, the French who do speak English (my only language, of course, being a typical American), are happy to speak it and DON'T pretend not to understand what you're saying when you come at them in English (so there, Yankee Doodle Boy, just take your "Freedom Fries" and shove 'em up your ass).

Sorry, I'm just a little pissed. I seriously need to find someone to help point me in the right direction.

Here are my options, there's an older gentleman walking down the street walking his dog and smoking a cigarette. Across the street is a pretty lady who looks like she's desperately fishing through her pocketbook standing by a bank of mailboxes. She looks as annoyed as I am. I think I'll take my chances with her as she stands a better chance of speaking English (OK, I'm willing to risk having her bite my head off 'cuz she's cute).

I cross the street, and walk up to Desperately Seeking Something Woman, and don't even pretend to speak French..."Uh, excuse me?"

"Uh yes, what is it?" Remarkably pleasant given she was a bit harried. She also was American, or at least sounded like one.

"Sorry to bug you, but I've got a meeting in about 20 minutes at 82 Rue de la Paix and I've managed to get myself completely turned around. You know where that is?"

She broke into a big smile. Why I don't know. "It's easy, you just..."

"Please don't say 'just', and PLEASE don't say I can't miss it."

"OK...you're only two blocks away, down the hill, take a right, you'll find yourself at the entrance."

"But I can still miss it, right?"

She got it. "I won't jinx you. Settle down. It's a five minute walk, you still have plenty of time. At least you have your keys, right?"

"So that's what you're searching for?"

"I'm not locked out of my house, but I can't find my mailbox key. I'm leaving on a trip tomorrow and I need to..."

"You'll be gone a few days, right?"

"Uhh, right."

"So what's an extra day's of mail?"

"You have a point."

"Unless you're expecting the Publishers Clearing House giveaway. But I think even then Ed McMahon comes to your house with some big ass check, so if that happens, you won't be here anyway. Besides I don't think he comes to Paris."

"So you're an expert."

"No, just a babbling moron."

She giggled. She was quite lovely. And nice not to have bitten my head off. Not that she could reach it anyway. I was several inches taller than she was. "Point is, it's not the end of the world, I'm sure you can get a duplicate when you get back."

"You're probably right, just a lot to take care of before I go. I was actually pretty annoyed, but now not so much, thanks."

"Thanks for what? I appreciate your giving me directions, and on that note, I'd better run." Not that I wanted to. I wanted to hang around, offer to take her to lunch, offer to find her mailbox key, pretty much anything she'd let me do (yeah, THAT, too!) But I'd come all this way not to come up two blocks short. "I'd better run."

"OK, bye."

So off I went, the NGO Building was right where she said it was. I signed in and waited for the admin of the person I was meeting to come get me. Nice to finally have an escort. I started fiddling with my laptop when I caught a glimpse of a familiar looking lady whizzing by, looking pretty fine in her blue blouse and skirt, but by the time I looked up I only saw the back of her head, and she was gone.

Pretty women here in Paris, that's for sure.

The admin came to get me, very warm, spoke English better than I did, and we rode the elevator up to the third floor. She gestured into the conference room where I'd be meeting my NGO contact.

I poured myself some coffee, even though I rarely drink the stuff. I was about to take a gulp when in walked my contact.

Mailbox Key Girl. I'm sure you're surprised.

My eyes rolled as I broke into a smile. "Why didn't you just tell me who you were? You had to know I was the person you were meeting. And how'd you get here so fast?"

"I wanted to size you up first. And I gave you the easy way, not the quickest way."

"Thanks." I was clearly taken offguard, not by the surprise, but just by how totally fine she was. I have to say she filled out that pretty blue blouse pretty nicely. I kept thinking to myself, dontlookatherboobs, dontlookatherboobs, dontlookatherboobs, dontlookatherboobs. "Well, as you probably know, I'm Michel Tylenis."

"Lithuanian name, right?"

How'd she know that? "Yeah," I said. "How did you..."

"Jimmy Tylenis. Went to undergrad with him."

"That's right...Jimmy's my cousin. Did you find your keys by the way?"

"Yeah, in a most unlikely place. I'm Maryam O'Malley, obviously. OK, now, what's your assessment of this company?"

"Pretty strong revenue growth, bleeding cash, they'll need some influx of capital pretty soon or they'll have some problems, and..."

"Tell me something we don't know..."

"It's all pretty straightforward, I get that. Nowhere did I see any type of strategic plan, and..."

"Let me give you an overview of the landscape in Algeria these days...there is no such thing as a strategic plan. You have to know how to play the game and right now, this company wants to do it the right way, and besides..."

Dontlookatherboobs, dontlookatherboobs, dontlookatherboobs, dontbeanasshole, lookherintheeye, paythefuckattentiontowhatshessaying...

."..make sense?"

I did actually catch most of what Maryam said, and she was right. I was pretty sharp with the financial piece, but admittedly weak on understanding the political side. I was a quick study and once I was up to speed I'd be able to turn around what analysis she'd need while she was in Algeria.

As the meeting drew to a close, we chatted a bit more. As she got up to leave, I figured I'd buck the odds and ask her to dinner.

Her reply was predictable and appropriate. "I'd love to, but I don't really mix business with pleasure."

"Oh, well then, I promise you'll have a really crappy time. That way it won't be the least bit pleasureable."

That drew a smirk. "All right. But not too late, I need to catch an early flight in the morning. I know where you're staying. I'll swing by there around six."

"Sounds great."

"And try not to get lost from your room to the lobby."

I saw where I was just helpless enough to have gotten her pity. "I won't, see you."

After catching up with emails back at the hotel, I found myself pacing around a bit. I went down for a workout, came up and took a shower, and then fretted over what to wear. I was trying for this evening not to matter so much, but what wasn't there to like about Maryam? Smart, witty, drop dead gorgeous. I dabbed a bit of Z14 on my neck, and changed one more time before heading on down.

Maryam had on a beautiful red evening dress with a conservative neckline, leaving much to my imagination, black heels, and that charming smile. I greeted her with a quick peck on the cheek. "You look fabulous."

"Not so bad yourself. Ready to go?"

We grabbed a cab over to a Mediterranean restaurant; after all, where ELSE would you go in Paris? Maryam did all the ordering on Arabic, and I just sat back and puffed out my chest with a "yep, that's MY date" look on my face.

As we waited for our drinks I asked her, "You know, I couldn't help but wonder, O'Malley's a pretty Irish name, and..."

"I'm Irish/Algerian/Turkish/French."

"Oh. Well that clears that up."

"How weird is that?"

"Well...sounds like you were conceived at the tail end of the United Nations Gone Wild Video filming."

"Very funny."

"Listen I really appreciate the overview this afternoon, I'm pretty sure we'll be able to give you what you need while you're out of town."

"So do I. You sure you caught everything we went over while you were staring at my tits?"

I about spit my water out. "I was not looking at....."

"Yeah you were. At the office AND at the mailbox."

"Seems you don't totally mind."

"So you were then?"

"Can't confirm or deny."

She dropped the subject, thankfully. We both knew I was guilty, no need to tell her blue was my favorite color. Besides, at the moment red pretty much was anyway.

We chatted all through dinner, about everything and nothing. After dessert and coffee we both kinda reached across the table and held hands, for no real reason at all. I had miserably failed in showing her a lousy time, thank goodness.

I felt a bit of a stir in my shorts. "I'm having a great time," I said. "You're very easy to talk to."

"So are you, listen, I really do need to cut it short tomorrow. If I leave now, by the time I pack, I'm going to get about three hours sleep."

"I understand. I'll walk you back."

We walked back to Maryam's place, and stopped in front of the mailbox where I first saw her. I put my arms around her and drew her near. I wanted to kiss her so badly and so I did. Her lips were soft and warm, and I felt my legs get bit weak as my tongue met hers. Nothing quite like a "Freedom Kiss."

"Good night, Mike, thanks for a crappy evening!"

"Pleasure's all mine...happy to mix that with business anytime."

I waited until she got through the door. I spun around, jumped up (six inches or so since that's the maximum vertical leap of a White American Male), and clicked my heels. You see, while girls are doing that "close the door, lean back against it, and stare upward with a smile," guys on the other side of the door are jumping up and clicking their heels. Recent studies, you see, verified that, like masturbation, 95% of all males do the heel clicking thing after an awesome date.

The other 5% are liars.

I got back to my hotel and, predictably, couldn't stop thinking about Maryam. I crawled into bed and fantasized about her creamy skin pressed against mine. I could only imagine taking her breasts into my hands, and kissing what I'm sure were her gorgeous dark nipples. They would get hard as I sucked on them, as she reached down to stroke my cock with one hand, and her own nether regions with the other. She would work me up into a frenzy, knowing how badly I'd want to be inside her. But she would tease me by pressing my cock up against the lips of her pussy, but give me that evil smile as if to say, "I want you to tell me how badly you want me."

Of course I'd tell her. I'd tell her with my hands, as I massaged every bit of her gorgeous body. I'd tell her with my tongue as I'd kiss her passionately on her beautiful mouth, and kiss her neck, her ears, and work my way down. I'd tell her as I licked her lovely pussy underneath the covers of the bed, where I'd hear her muffled screams of pleasure. Finally she'd tell me how much she wanted me too, as she'd grab my cock and tell me to fuck her hard. We'd rock together, we'd moan together, and we'd come together, I thought as I squirted cum all over my freshly made up hotel sheets.

As I drifted off to sleep, I thought about that pretty head nestled in my chest. What a fantasy.

A guy can always dream!

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