Class Reunion
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A Very Public Reunion free porn video
One early February evening, in the early 'noughties', I left my office in one of London Canary Wharf's more prominent buildings and headed to an old-fashioned style wine bar along the waterside. I was in my early forties, exhausted by a career that I had never really planned but which on the face of it was going quite well: I had to work harder than many because it didn't come naturally to me. I was married to a doctor with three children. Life managing this combination was another source of tension: our marriage was all about the practicalities and time management, and romance and bed for anything but exhausted sleep were vague memories.
I was headed to the wine bar to join the celebration hosted by Maggie, a long-time colleague, of both her fifteen years in the company and her promotion to a new role. We had joined the firm at about the same time and at first worked closely together, remaining good friends through several changes of departments. The best thing about the company was the friends I made (Okay, the money was helpful too), so I knew I would have an enjoyable evening.
By the time I arrived, the celebration was well under way and I only had time to pour a glass of wine before Maggie signalled she wanted to say a few words. As she began speaking, I looked around the crowd of about thirty people smiling hello to various colleagues. I received and gave a particularly warm smile to a woman similar in age to me. It was Cathy, who had been the department head's secretary when I joined the company in my early thirties, but who had since developed her career, against a lot of casual snobbery and had become a junior account officer.
Cathy and I had hit it off from the start, perhaps a little because we were both not quite suited to what we were doing but shared the determination to do it well. We also had a similar sense of humour and of what was right and wrong. And yes, there was an attraction that had one year got a little out of hand at a late after works' drinks - touching and kissing and expressions of desire, though nothing more. We started taking the occasional lunches together and the emotional bond grew as we shared our different problems. Cathy was divorced and having trouble with a newish relationship, and even then the strains of my marriage were evident.
There had been a risk of things getting out of hand: one evening we'd arranged to go out when my family was away visiting relatives. We both felt something momentous was possibly going to happen. But when it came to the evening, we pulled back and cancelled our plans.
Not long after I transferred to another department based in another part of the city and we rarely interacted. We did meet for a lunch a few years later when Cathy, in a new relationship, was pregnant with her first child. Although happy to be a mother, she admitted the relationship with her partner was not easy and the decisions to live together and start a family had been made somewhat unemotionally. We did enjoy our lunch, laughed over our brief near-fling and I told her she was even prettier than before - which at seven months' pregnant, had made her laugh loudly but happily.
Another few years later and we were back working in the same building in Canary Wharf. We ran into each other occasionally, and as I rose up the lower echelons of seniority, Cathy would sometimes seek me out to download her frustrations about her department colleagues and boss. She also shared that though she now had two children, her relationship remained stuck where it was. She was essentially a positive, warm-hearted and, from our brief flirtation, warm-bodied woman who was not getting the emotional or sensual benefits of a committed partnership. She knew I was in much the same situation.
So there was some history between us, an attraction that had occasionally flared up but also an emotional connection when we smiled at each other across the wine bar. We hadn't seen each other in a while, so with Maggie's speech over and the group mingling again, Cathy and I gravitated towards each other and greeted each other affectionately. After a few more glasses of wine and laughter with others in the group, the party was breaking up. I suggested to Cathy that we go to have something to eat. She readily accepted so we said our goodbyes and walked off to an Italian restaurant a few minutes away along the waterfront. Nobody would have commented on our leaving together: it is a big organisation and lots of friendships were formed across the sexes.
The night was a lot colder when we left the wine bar and the air misty around the tallest of the buildings with its pointed pyramid roof, Canary Wharf Tower. I remember Cathy, whose sometimes earthy sense of humour was one of the attractions for me, made some joke about the phallic symbol as we walked away from the building.
Over a good dinner and more wine, of course, our conversation flowed into the time-worn territory of two middle-aged colleagues of opposite sex bemoaning the lack of emotional connection in our respective relationships, coupled with some flirting and, in our case, memories of the brief times we did a little more than flirting. Cathy was very attractive: she had shoulder-length light brown hair, deep blue eyes and a sensual - and naughty - mouth. She had a slim figure and particularly attractive legs which, I had been disappointed to note earlier, where clothed in a business trouser suit. She was born and brought up in the East End of London, left school at sixteen and made a great deal of her life. I admired her determination to do well. Although my life had taken a different course, and I had been to university, my father worked on a factory assembly line, my mother in a newspaper chain, so our origins weren't that different. Again, as with my accidental career, I sometimes felt I was out of place in the middle-class, private school world I seemed to have ended up living in. And this I think was another reason why my relationship with Cathy felt a bit deeper than the usual office flirtation.
At one point towards the end of the meal Cathy told me that it was over a year since she and her partner had had sex. It sounded like he had some weird thing about Cathy now being the mother to his children. I said I could not understand how he could not want to make love to her all the time - a true expression of the desire I felt for Cathy, now fuelled by a good deal of wine, but also my own frustration: I told her I wasn't far behind her in the lack of sex.
It was time for the bill and we made some lower key comments about 'if only', making light of the situation after the waiter had delivered the bill with some insinuating words of his own, clearly suggesting he thought we were indeed the lovers we'd flirted with being. Cathy stood up and said she needed the bathroom so I stayed seated. As she passed by me, Cathy suddenly bent down and kissed me full on the mouth, her lips pushing mine open, her tongue probing inside. It lasted just a few seconds before she disappeared to the washroom. I sat there stunned. Even in the drunken encounter we'd had years before, Cathy had never kissed me so directly and passionately as she did in that moment. Given our respective situations, it was, of course, crazy - but extremely arousing.
When Cathy returned to the table we both smiled and I asked what had brought that on.
"Oh you know," Cathy laughed, "we fancy each other like fuck, so why not?"
I stood up laughing too and we walked out of the restaurant arm in arm. It was now after eleven pm and the night colder than before. We walked slowly along the riverside pathway passing various bars with noisy drinkers hanging around. I pulled Cathy to me and we kissed again, with even more passionate intensity. Some loud crude remarks came from the drinkers and we broke apart and walked on, but still arm in arm. We were in a different area from the wine bar where we'd met up earlier and I had the fleeting thought that we were unlikely to run into any of our other colleagues there: at the time there were about fifty thousand people working in Canary Wharf.
We kissed again and our hands slipped under each other's coats: we were now losing control and not caring where we were. Somebody drunkenly shouted: "Put her down!" at which we briefly again broke apart laughing before we once more found each other's mouths.
By now, we were standing under the overhead track of the monorail that serves the Docklands area and, at this point, runs through the central Canary Wharf development several floors up. I was leaning back against the balustrade running along the waterside, Cathy pressed up against me, our coats opened around us. We were now a little further away from the bars and the outside drinkers, but there were still people walking within a few yards making their way to the station.
Pressed up against each other, I knew Cathy could feel my hard cock through our clothes and as I used one hand to caress her very sweet arse, the other on a breast, I felt her hand move round to rub against my erection, and our kissing grew in intensity. I slipped the hand that had been on Cathy's breast down her office shirt to the top of her trousers. They weren't a tight fit but sat neatly on her hips. I could get the tips of my fingers down the front of the trousers.
Cathy was saying "yes, yes," in my ear before planting her mouth firmly back on mine. I needed no more encouragement as my fingers felt the lacy top of her panties. I fiddled briefly with a catch to open her trousers a little more and without any more tentative touches pushed my fingers between her panties and her flesh to feel her slippery wet pussy lips on my skin. Cathy broke away and moaned quite loudly. I pulled her back to me and kissed her mouth to silence her as my fingers started to caress and rub her sex, while she began thrusting her hips at my hand.
This was not going to stop. People continued to walk by just a few yards away and I had my left hand inside Cathy's panties caressing her slick wet cunt, while she was near-frantically rubbing my straining, leaking cock through my suit trousers.
"Oh, it's been so long!" Cathy broke off our kiss to say. Then: "Yes!"
At that, I now slipped two fingers inside her very wet cunt as she thrust hard against my touch. There was nothing now but the feel of her lips and tongue against mine, the press of her body against mine, the grip of her hand on my cock through my trousers, and my fingers pushing in and out of her sex. With a jolt, Cathy pulled away from our kiss, thrust hard against my hand, gave a slight moan and came hard, a gush of warm fluid covering my fingers, a few more thrusts, then she clung tightly to me as I wrapped my free arm around her.
The moment was broken by another drunken, laughing shout: "She's much too young for you!" This wasn't true and I rather ungallantly said so: "She's the same age as me!"
Fortunately, Cathy laughed and confirmed my words and we let go of each other, smiling, but still sheltered from view by our coats.
"That was fantastic," Cathy said. "Though I'm sorry about you."
"It's too cold to get me out!" I replied, and at that moment, snow started to fall.
"How romantic!" Cathy laughed.
I paraphrased a line from a favourite movie:
"We'll always have Canary Wharf," I said and we kissed an affectionate, rather than passionate kiss before heading to the station to make our way to our different homes.
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Nanette
- 29.04.2021
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