quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,554
- Points
- 113
I thought I might be out of good true stories, but the thing about them is that they tend to pop up when you least expect them.
It looks like one might be popping up now.
Here's what I've got so far:
Part of my work keeps me close to the university setting. I do some occasional guest lecturing and sometimes get asked to consult on course development.
Beth has her PhD and is a clinical professor at a business school. I've known her casually for about a year. She recently took on a new role in her department that got her into curriculum development, and a couple of weeks ago she reached out to me with some questions.
We met for lunch last Friday.
Beth is about 50 and looks like Laura Linney. Straight blonde hair, parted down the middle. Dark framed glasses. Slim and fit for her age; tanned and lightly freckled like a gardener. She also has that kind of Laura Linney vibe: composed and elegant, but also sharp and funny with a quick wit and slightly sardonic smile.
And she's from Georgia, so mix in a hint of Southern belle. Man, that accent...
Anyway, when I got to the café for lunch she was waiting at a corner table wearing a sundress and sandals. The conversation was quick and easy, full of layered wit. She’s nuanced. Direct. Not flirty in the obvious sense, but sharp and curious, with a glint in her eye that makes you wonder what else she’s open to. You know the type.
My radar pinged.
I walked away thinking: Maybe, just maybe.
We needed another meeting to go over some finer points. Her summer schedule was light so she told me to pick a time and let her know. A while later, as I worded my follow-up email, I decided to throw out a line to the universe. I wrote this:
No wink. No emoji. Just a line—half joke, half bait.
She replied with only a time. Nothing more.
So I figured: no dice.
But when I walked into the conference room this morning, she looked up, smiled like she’d been waiting for this all weekend, and said:
“So… where’s your rope?”
Thank you universe. 🙂
I played dumb. She told me I should really re-read my email. I tried to act flustered. She teased me a little, not pushing too far, just circling it. The whole time, she kept that subtle, wicked little smile. Like maybe she wasn’t just teasing—maybe she was playing along.
The meeting went well. At the end, we both got up and started packing our stuff. At the door, I turned back, smiled, and said, “Next time we meet, I’ll be sure to bring that rope.”
She laughed, blushed pink, and looked right at me. “That meeting,” she said, deadpan, “would have to be at my place.”
I held her eye and dropped the casual voice. Told her to be careful, because if she was serious, I might be too.
Her face flushed a deeper red. Then she said—still grinning, but with a hint of accusation —“Your email was no mistake.”
I confessed that it was not.
We sat back down.
I told her I’ve been in the kink world a long time. That I’ve done this personally and sometimes professionally—bondage, sensation play, teasing games. Always consensual. Always respectful. I clarified that my wife was ok with me sessioning, but our open relationship stopped short of having sex outside the marriage.
Beth listened, nodding, biting her lip like she was processing. Her blush faded back to pink but didn't disappear. Her blue eyes had a wide, searching look that I associate with sensual curiosity. She told me she had a boyfriend years ago who introduced her to some of that. “You remind me of him,” she said. “I’ve missed it.”
I joked that all we needed now was a remote cabin in the woods.
She didn’t blink. “That’s exactly where I live.”
I laughed in surprise. "Well then," I said, "if you're open to the idea, I think it could be a lot of fun."
Her reply: "What are you doing Thursday night?"
She texted me her address as we sat there and said she had a million questions, but was already running late. I told her to just drop me another note when she was free and we could plan things out a little.
She gave me a lingering look with a touch of desperate anticipation in her smile and blew out a long, slow breath through puffed cheeks.
As she stood, she said, "I have no idea how I'm going to make it through my next meeting."
I wished her luck, we hugged, and I left.
That was 90 minutes ago. Just now I got her first text:
I wrote back:
Her reply came fast:
I smiled at the screen. Then sent:
Her:
Me:
She answered:
So, there it is. Looks like I might have another true story coming along by this weekend. I'll keep you posted.
-Q.
It looks like one might be popping up now.
Here's what I've got so far:
Part of my work keeps me close to the university setting. I do some occasional guest lecturing and sometimes get asked to consult on course development.
Beth has her PhD and is a clinical professor at a business school. I've known her casually for about a year. She recently took on a new role in her department that got her into curriculum development, and a couple of weeks ago she reached out to me with some questions.
We met for lunch last Friday.
Beth is about 50 and looks like Laura Linney. Straight blonde hair, parted down the middle. Dark framed glasses. Slim and fit for her age; tanned and lightly freckled like a gardener. She also has that kind of Laura Linney vibe: composed and elegant, but also sharp and funny with a quick wit and slightly sardonic smile.
And she's from Georgia, so mix in a hint of Southern belle. Man, that accent...
Anyway, when I got to the café for lunch she was waiting at a corner table wearing a sundress and sandals. The conversation was quick and easy, full of layered wit. She’s nuanced. Direct. Not flirty in the obvious sense, but sharp and curious, with a glint in her eye that makes you wonder what else she’s open to. You know the type.
My radar pinged.
I walked away thinking: Maybe, just maybe.
We needed another meeting to go over some finer points. Her summer schedule was light so she told me to pick a time and let her know. A while later, as I worded my follow-up email, I decided to throw out a line to the universe. I wrote this:
No wink. No emoji. Just a line—half joke, half bait.
She replied with only a time. Nothing more.
So I figured: no dice.
But when I walked into the conference room this morning, she looked up, smiled like she’d been waiting for this all weekend, and said:
“So… where’s your rope?”
Thank you universe. 🙂
I played dumb. She told me I should really re-read my email. I tried to act flustered. She teased me a little, not pushing too far, just circling it. The whole time, she kept that subtle, wicked little smile. Like maybe she wasn’t just teasing—maybe she was playing along.
The meeting went well. At the end, we both got up and started packing our stuff. At the door, I turned back, smiled, and said, “Next time we meet, I’ll be sure to bring that rope.”
She laughed, blushed pink, and looked right at me. “That meeting,” she said, deadpan, “would have to be at my place.”
I held her eye and dropped the casual voice. Told her to be careful, because if she was serious, I might be too.
Her face flushed a deeper red. Then she said—still grinning, but with a hint of accusation —“Your email was no mistake.”
I confessed that it was not.
We sat back down.
I told her I’ve been in the kink world a long time. That I’ve done this personally and sometimes professionally—bondage, sensation play, teasing games. Always consensual. Always respectful. I clarified that my wife was ok with me sessioning, but our open relationship stopped short of having sex outside the marriage.
Beth listened, nodding, biting her lip like she was processing. Her blush faded back to pink but didn't disappear. Her blue eyes had a wide, searching look that I associate with sensual curiosity. She told me she had a boyfriend years ago who introduced her to some of that. “You remind me of him,” she said. “I’ve missed it.”
I joked that all we needed now was a remote cabin in the woods.
She didn’t blink. “That’s exactly where I live.”
I laughed in surprise. "Well then," I said, "if you're open to the idea, I think it could be a lot of fun."
Her reply: "What are you doing Thursday night?"
She texted me her address as we sat there and said she had a million questions, but was already running late. I told her to just drop me another note when she was free and we could plan things out a little.
She gave me a lingering look with a touch of desperate anticipation in her smile and blew out a long, slow breath through puffed cheeks.
As she stood, she said, "I have no idea how I'm going to make it through my next meeting."
I wished her luck, we hugged, and I left.
That was 90 minutes ago. Just now I got her first text:
I wrote back:
Her reply came fast:
I smiled at the screen. Then sent:
Her:
Me:
She answered:
So, there it is. Looks like I might have another true story coming along by this weekend. I'll keep you posted.
-Q.
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