Friday, finally. The end of another long week, punctuated by a gentle rainstorm that threatens to linger throughout the weekend. The work week is over, and relaxation is in order for Emma.

Emma's work is fast-moving, fluid, and demanding. She works as an editor, fixing errors and finding the right way to phrase complicated political issues to effectively communicate the meaning and implications intended. As she works in a political office, she is in contact with dozens of politicians, mostly old white men, and she loves the attention that affords her. Emma has a particular affinity for older, well dressed and well groomed gentlemen.

Tonight Emma is at her favorite after-work bar, The Chambers, enjoying her usual Long Island Ice Tea by herself at the bar. Some say the establishment is named for a judge's offices; others claim that it gets its name from a famous porn star. Either explanation helps to inform why there are so many lawyers and politicians who frequent the establishment. It is upscale, classy and expensive. Emma knows she's worth it.

At 26 years old, she has an air of maturity, and quiet sophistication mixed with youthful innocence. Her brunette hair, which is usually held up in a tight bun, falls to a length that tickles her 38D breasts when the mood strikes her. Emma sports a size 8 waist, so her figure is, in the right outfit, downright appetizing. For work, she often dresses conservatively, but configures her wardrobe to easily transition from mousy to molten when the work day is done. Today, she has removed a light sweater that she had buttoned all the way up to her neck; with it removed, her amazing cleavage is in full view. Her style of dress is best described at these times as sophisticated slutty.

At the far end of the bar, the typical scene is unfolding when she appears; a group of men are talking, laughing and sharing stories. One at a time, or in ad hoc groups, they stare at Emma, undressing her with their eyes. She is not, by personality, unapproachable, but she is aesthetically unreachable. The reaction of most men is akin to the cartoon wolf whose eyes pop out of his head when he sees the beautiful woman. Emma loves the attention, and the craven looks, but very few men screw up the courage to strike up a conversation with this angel.

On this night, almost at the end of her second drink, she spots a new face among the regulars. Emma is immediately captivated, but she has trained herself to not stare. She has practiced a look of indifference to ward off the creepy guys that try to hit on her; but she has no need for that with this man. Instead, she glances in his direction periodically, and although he is talking with the other men, his eyes are glued on her. He is tall, well groomed with silver hair and a twinkle in his eye that Emma can see from across the room. He appears to Emma to be about 55; this fact is important, as Emma has a soft spot for older men. More than a soft spot, really, as Emma immediately begins playing out sexy scenarios in her mind with this new man.

Breaking away from the others, he walks slowly toward Emma. Like a slow motion movie scene, their eyes make contact and hold on each other while he moves ever so slowly toward her. She is momentarily breathless when she turns slightly and sees his eyes up close; steely gray-blue, with a glint that catches the light and shines like a star. As he approaches, he stops suddenly and stares for a second at her now revealed cleavage; but being a gentleman he quickly pulls himself off the stare. His eyes move to hers, and he remains frozen in place. He has never seen eyes like hers; a green that seems to range from jade to emerald in color, with a glow that lights up the room.

“Hello,” he says as he stands beside her. “My name's John. I feel like I know you from somewhere.” At another time, from another man, Emma would have laughed at what she would regard as a poor pick up line. In John, however, she senses a sincerity that touches her deeply.

“I am in here regularly, perhaps you've seen me here before.” Emma senses that he may have visited her office, but she decides to leave work out of it.

John, for his part, looks intently at her as she is speaking. He had wondered, as he came across the room, what her voice would sound like. He smiles at the soft, sultry tone, and slow controlled manner of her speech; he is hearing a woman in charge of herself, with just a touch of innocence and perhaps naivete. He is mesmerized.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” John asks politely.

“Please do,” Emma motions to the stool beside her. Behind John, she can see the men he had been talking to; she witnesses a mix of emotions for them. Some have expressions of surprise, some are high-fiving or fist bumping, and several look disappointed. Emma has grown accustomed to figuring out a man's maturity level based in large part on his body language, and she sees a gathering of juveniles. She shifts her focus back to John, who has settled in.

John orders himself a Long Island Ice Tea and tells the bartender to “take care of the lady” as well. Emma smirks at his drink choice, thinking he must know that's what she is drinking.

“Is that a Jack and Coke?” he asks.

She just smiles as the bartender puts the drinks down, and says, “Two iced teas.”

John looks surprised and simply says, “Oh!”

Emma considers his innocence appealing.

Emma's mind races, and wraps itself around what John has said, “take care of the lady.” The expression burns into her mind, and in rapid succession she thinks of the various elements: “Take care of” sounds paternalistic, which makes her swoon; “take,” as in take me now, John; “care” as in hold, nurture, protect, and satisfy; and “lady,” a word she seldom hears men use to describe her, but causes her to become aroused, and makes her damp.

After some engaging small talk about their work, Emma finds that John is a lawyer who specializes in government law.

He isn't a lobbyist in the strictest sense, so he would not ordinarily come into the office where she works; but she is sure they must have crossed paths there before.

It is now about 6:30 pm, and John asks Emma if she will join him for dinner, in the dining area of the establishment. The Chambers has an excellent reputation for fine food, and he assures her he will have no trouble getting a table.

She agrees, and he reaches out his hand to help her off the bar stool. As their hands meet, so do their eyes. Emma looks longingly into John's eyes, and he returns a steamy gaze that makes Emma's nipples harden. There is electricity running through their touch; Emma envisions standing there with him, both of them naked, her head nuzzled into his soft white chest hair.

She is jolted back to reality when John releases his grip and lowers his hand. Emma realizes that this gentleman had helped her, and now is releasing her hand. Instead of letting him go, she squeezes his hand gently and says, “I like how this feels.”

Emma knows how to change the tone of her voice to get what she wants from a man. Her tone is low and sultry, and her simple statement, spoken softly, causes another ripple of electricity between them. John is hooked.

Over dinner, they talk and find they have a great deal of mutual interests; music, movies, and travel top the list. Emma feels a warm sense with John; and yet a sense of concern. She has one simple, inviolable rule with men: Never sleep with a man on the first date. Yet she understands that a man of John's age and experience will want to be with a woman who knows what she wants, and goes for it. John will want a woman who wants him.

As he pays the check, John looks at her and asks, “What now, fair lady?”

Emma finds herself flustered (the “l” word does that to her) and she blurts out, “I can't sleep with you!”

John looks hurt, confused and amused all at the same time. “Emma, I wasn't implying that, I apologize that you thought that. I respect you and I don't think you're easy. I was thinking that you want to go for a nightcap.”

Emma sighs and realizes she's overreacted; she apologizes for her outburst. She explains to John that she has this one rule she will never break; as she stares deeply into his eyes, she coos, “I won't even break it for the sexiest, smartest, kindest man I've ever met. No, sir, not even for someone just like you.”

John is now beyond amused, and laughs warmly at her sultry performance.

John stands up, takes her hand and they walk toward the door. “In light of your rule, let's say goodnight now.” Emma is about to gasp in disappointment when he adds, “Can we do this again next week, same time, same place?”

She knows he is not rejecting her, but allowing her space. She smiles, runs her fingers down his chest, and in her sweetest, sexiest voice says “next week, same time, same place.”

They part and Emma goes home to fantasize and masturbate to the thought of John ravishing her. She barely comes out of her bedroom all weekend, she is so wound up by her encounter with John.

Friday has now came around again and she eagerly leaves work to go to the Chambers. She is wearing a low cut dress, deep green in color to match her eyes, and the highest heels she could find. She wants to be closer to John's height the first time they kiss. She sits at her usual spot at the bar, and watches the same group of men she had seen the week before.

After a few minutes, John comes in and starts talking with the men. After some time has passed, Emma is a little annoyed that he has kept her waiting. He talks with them, same as last week, while staring at her as he had done. He then turns toward her and repeats the same slow motion walk toward her.

When he reaches her, she starts to ask him why he talked so long with those men; he puts a finger on Emma's lips and says, “This is a do-over. Last week I met a smart, beautiful, desirable woman, right here in this spot. She told me that she never slept with a man on the first date. I take that as a challenge; I am mustering all the animal magnetism and manliness I can to see if I have what it takes to get a woman like that to go home with me on the first date. I want to see if I can make her break her own rule.”

As Emma listens, her legs grow weak and she can tell that her pussy has begun to get wet; very wet. She looks up at him, slumps her shoulder a bit and mumbles, “We're going to my place, now.”

John helps her off the stool, this time putting one arm around her back, under her shoulder, and the other on her leg, fairly lifting her off her feet. They walk arm in arm, straight out the door.