Never Mind The Face Pt. 01

"Some, but it never leads to anything." Non-committal; could mean anything: no second date, a lack of sparks, no sex.

The look in her eyes told me she had deduced that last option.

There was a pregnant pause, then we both laughed at the same unspoken thought. The awkwardness was dispelled. Her face was suddenly transformed. It looked far more interesting than before; her lips were fuller, her eyes sparkling. It was the first time I'd seen her relaxed and in good humour.

~*~*~

Over the coming weeks Sylvia found more reasons to send John out on longer visits. That allowed our conversations to develop and break new ground. Our respective domestic situations had similarities, although as an estranged husband, mine revolved mostly around our son, whom I adored. Sylvia was resolutely childless.

I also began to understand her mindset. She was frustrated by her lack of relevant qualifications, which prevented her advancement in an employment culture dominated by men. She also had a pits of a home life with Alfie.

When John was present, he would chip in to the conversations, in an attempt to find an angle on which to side with Sylvia against me. It was a direct challenge to my person management skills, because he continually tried to drive a wedge between us. But she resisted it more and more, diverting the conversation and deflecting the barb.

When I reflect now on those one-to-one conversations with her, and how my relationship with her subsequently developed, I'm struck by just how much general information we exchanged, yet never touched on emotions or feelings, or on the sensitive subject of sex.

Then one day our working relationship took a quantum leap. I mentioned to Sylvia that I played badminton. She promptly suggested a doubles match with her hubby, Alfie, if I could find a fourth. My wife had moved out and I had at last found a girlfriend of sorts, Ellie. The relationship was going nowhere, but we were both too lazy to look elsewhere.

~*~*~

A few days later, Ellie and I converged on the Sports Centre badminton court after work. Sylvia and Alfie were waiting on court. He was exhaling testosterone like a bull with a sore head and mean temper. It was my first direct acquaintance with the man, and I found him instantly obnoxious. The mind games began immediately, he extolling his sporting credentials, and seemingly politely asking after mine, which he already knew to be rudimentary. He had summed me up as a basic player, a no-hoper. I shrugged off his elitism at first. Ellie and I exchanged meaningful glances at having to play this obnoxious oaf.

We began the warm-up with easy shots across the net.

Alfie immediately delivered killer shots, the sort of thing players might do in the depths of an intensely competitive game, but never before it had started. For some reason, his aggression triggered an ache in my stomach and a feeling of nausea. I had taken little notice of Sylvia up to that point in the evening, due to his distracting and self-aggrandising antics. I was regretting agreeing to the match at all.

The match began, with Alfie inevitably the first to serve. His rejoinder to Ellie's return of serve was a hard smash of the shuttlecock against her chest. The pattern for the match was instantly set, hard and fast.

Alfie served again. My return went to Sylvia. I could have smashed it as well, but I didn't. I wanted to encourage a rally so as to make the game more enjoyable. She inexplicably sliced it onto the floor behind her. She turned her back to retrieve it, under the fiercely punishing gaze of Alfie.

My eyes were drawn to her body for the first time that evening. My mouth fell open as she bent over with straight legs to retrieve the shuttlecock.

I admit I'd noticed earlier that her shorts were tight, but I took no notice of that; tight clothes were her norm. But as she bent over from the waist this time, her bottom looked to be encased in what looked like painted-on shorts. The crotch seam had slipped up between her bottom cheeks to complete the illusion of a naked bottom, perfectly outlining her pert cheeks. Yet the hems did not cut into the flesh of her thighs. That bottom looked to me to be pert perfection.

She straightened up and turned to face me with an enigmatic smile on her face. My sudden interest must have been writ large on my face. It was then that I began to take notice of her snug white tennis shirt that did nothing to hide the outline shape of her bust within her bra. That top shouted allure which her striped office blouses had always concealed. Now, encased within a pure white tennis shirt, I realised for the first time that her breasts were outstanding and fabulously firm.

Before that moment, my imagination had never ventured much beyond her somewhat plain face. I was now beginning to appreciate her body as a whole. She was slim but with shapely hips, generous bust and long, shapely legs. How had I missed that package before?

Never mind the face...that Post Office driver, Bert, had said. I had previously dismissed Sylvia from my considerations because of her face and clothing. But away from the office she had an altogether more interesting persona. She was smiling and relaxed, as never before.

I glanced at Ellie for her reaction. She barely appeared to be taking any notice. She was sulking because of Alfie's boorish behaviour. Clearly, she did not regard Sylvia as competition, in any respect.

We played an excruciating match in which Alfie used every trick in the book to intimidate us. Sylvia also took every opportunity to attract my gaze, which unsettled my game a bit. This was not the same woman I knew from the office. This woman oozed sexuality, and with good reason. She had the smoking body to justify it.

In the end I let Alfie win, just to hasten a conclusion to the general unpleasantness. I left the court pre-occupied. How could I have missed before how good her body was? Her office outfits had done her no favours, even though they hinted at her enticing shape.

On the way back to my house Ellie commented on those shorts.

"She must think she's younger than she really is. Mutton dressed as lamb; what a sight!"

I said nothing, aware of the erection that formed in my pants just from being reminded of the oh so well-defined shape of Sylvia's bottom. Its shape had been on display every time she turned her back on me to bend down and retrieve the shuttlecock. In fact, I had the passing thought that perhaps she lost points deliberately to show off her bottom to me.

I dreamt of that perfect posterior in bed that night, and even managed surreptitiously to rub out a gentle ejaculation under the quilt and into a tissue. Ellie was soon to be history.