Closed for Sensualista
"Everything was clear, Mr. Idris," Miles declared, glancing up from his clipboard. He stepped forward and placed a small electronic device on my desk. "I'm assuming, of course, that this bug from the receptionist phone is yours."
I nodded." Yes, good catch." Not satisfied with mere assurances of my counter-surveillance team, I periodically installed monitoring devices of my own to test their thoroughness.
Miles smiled, pleased to have proven the quality of his work. "You money management guys," he chuckled. "Almost paranoid about information security. But hey, it keeps me in business." Miles handed me a copy of his report before departing. "See you next week, Mr. Idris."
I glanced through the report. Miles was partially right. My routine counter-surveillance practices would probably be regarded as overkill for most men in my profession. My fund managed a few billion in assets, which was hardly sizable in this day and age. That hardly made me a likely target for corporate espionage.
But most men in my profession didn't have my client list. Mixed in with the various trust fund babies, entrepreneurs, Wall Street fat cats, and other wealthy patrons was a much smaller list of clients known not for their wealth but for their association with crime and violence. Third world dictators, guerrilla rebels, crime syndicates -- if they had millions in funds and a need for financial management, I was one of a very small handful to whom they could turn.
Naturally such dealings made me a potential target for surveillance from other criminals as well as various governmental agencies. Consequently, I took my security measures very seriously. One did not achieve my level of success without caution and control.
My work day over, I took off the reading glasses I wore and contemplated other matters. My mind kept drifting to one in particular, so I withdrew my phone from my inner jacket pocket and opened up the photo album.
The woman in the photo had a mane of red hair that gleamed like the setting sun. Her right arm was extended for taking the selfie while her left held a midnight blue dress to her body. Virginia had texted it to me to show me the new dress she'd gotten for our attendance of La boheme two weeks ago.
I could recall her in that dress even now. Virginia generally did not like to call much attention to her bosom given its sheer size did that well enough on its own, but the midnight blue had shown just a trace of decolletage. I'd found the balance between sultry appeal and conservative grace to be utterly intoxicating.
Of course, I had come to find that true about many aspects of Virginia. Physically, she had a curvaceous form fit to take any man's -- and perhaps woman's -- breath away. Intellectually, I found her to be well versed in a vast array of subjects and a stimulating conversationalist.
But what particularly held my fascination at present was my growing sense that she held self-control in a regard similar to my own. Such a quality was rare in my experience. Moreover, it is an aspect of personality that is not readily revealed. One cannot merely proclaim to have it; rather, it must be demonstrated by one's actions -- or more often, by the actions not taken. One must watch for its signs over time.
With Virginia, it had been months. I'd first seen her at the Bach concerto almost half a year ago, though it wouldn't be till a fundraiser at the Met weeks later that we were first introduced. But when the VP of the Board of Trustees introduced her, I naturally recalled the stunning beauty from the symphony.
Our shared fondness for the arts resulted in subsequent meetings at the theater and opera in the following weeks. Our casual conversations at intermission eventually led to us meeting for a drink after a performance. That lead to a subsequent meeting over dinner. There had been nearly a dozen such encounters since.
Despite our protracted involvement, our physical intimacy remained curtailed. Virginia had subtly indicated more than once that she was amenable to greater physical intimacy, but I'd thusfar politely declined. "I want to take it slow," I'd explained.
Partly this was my preference. Anticipated pleasure is worth savoring. But partly I was testing Virginia. I suspected in her the possibility that she could be something more than a mere conquest. She might have the potential to be something far more -- if she shared my regard for control.
Thusfar, she had surpassed even my expectations. A less self-possessed individual might end the relationship in impatience or redouble her efforts to seduce me in desperation. Virginia showed no such weakness. Her repeated willingness to trust in my judgment these past weeks and months had provided me the foundation I required.
Yes, it was time. I swiped my phone to her contact and dialed. "Virginia? It's Simon. Yes, a pleasure to hear yours as well. Would you be available tomorrow evening? No, nothing fancy. There's something I want to discuss with you, so I thought I would come over and cook. How does Italian sound? Excellent. You can pick the wine. Excellent. See you at 8."
"Everything was clear, Mr. Idris," Miles declared, glancing up from his clipboard. He stepped forward and placed a small electronic device on my desk. "I'm assuming, of course, that this bug from the receptionist phone is yours."
I nodded." Yes, good catch." Not satisfied with mere assurances of my counter-surveillance team, I periodically installed monitoring devices of my own to test their thoroughness.
Miles smiled, pleased to have proven the quality of his work. "You money management guys," he chuckled. "Almost paranoid about information security. But hey, it keeps me in business." Miles handed me a copy of his report before departing. "See you next week, Mr. Idris."
I glanced through the report. Miles was partially right. My routine counter-surveillance practices would probably be regarded as overkill for most men in my profession. My fund managed a few billion in assets, which was hardly sizable in this day and age. That hardly made me a likely target for corporate espionage.
But most men in my profession didn't have my client list. Mixed in with the various trust fund babies, entrepreneurs, Wall Street fat cats, and other wealthy patrons was a much smaller list of clients known not for their wealth but for their association with crime and violence. Third world dictators, guerrilla rebels, crime syndicates -- if they had millions in funds and a need for financial management, I was one of a very small handful to whom they could turn.
Naturally such dealings made me a potential target for surveillance from other criminals as well as various governmental agencies. Consequently, I took my security measures very seriously. One did not achieve my level of success without caution and control.
My work day over, I took off the reading glasses I wore and contemplated other matters. My mind kept drifting to one in particular, so I withdrew my phone from my inner jacket pocket and opened up the photo album.
The woman in the photo had a mane of red hair that gleamed like the setting sun. Her right arm was extended for taking the selfie while her left held a midnight blue dress to her body. Virginia had texted it to me to show me the new dress she'd gotten for our attendance of La boheme two weeks ago.
I could recall her in that dress even now. Virginia generally did not like to call much attention to her bosom given its sheer size did that well enough on its own, but the midnight blue had shown just a trace of decolletage. I'd found the balance between sultry appeal and conservative grace to be utterly intoxicating.
Of course, I had come to find that true about many aspects of Virginia. Physically, she had a curvaceous form fit to take any man's -- and perhaps woman's -- breath away. Intellectually, I found her to be well versed in a vast array of subjects and a stimulating conversationalist.
But what particularly held my fascination at present was my growing sense that she held self-control in a regard similar to my own. Such a quality was rare in my experience. Moreover, it is an aspect of personality that is not readily revealed. One cannot merely proclaim to have it; rather, it must be demonstrated by one's actions -- or more often, by the actions not taken. One must watch for its signs over time.
With Virginia, it had been months. I'd first seen her at the Bach concerto almost half a year ago, though it wouldn't be till a fundraiser at the Met weeks later that we were first introduced. But when the VP of the Board of Trustees introduced her, I naturally recalled the stunning beauty from the symphony.
Our shared fondness for the arts resulted in subsequent meetings at the theater and opera in the following weeks. Our casual conversations at intermission eventually led to us meeting for a drink after a performance. That lead to a subsequent meeting over dinner. There had been nearly a dozen such encounters since.
Despite our protracted involvement, our physical intimacy remained curtailed. Virginia had subtly indicated more than once that she was amenable to greater physical intimacy, but I'd thusfar politely declined. "I want to take it slow," I'd explained.
Partly this was my preference. Anticipated pleasure is worth savoring. But partly I was testing Virginia. I suspected in her the possibility that she could be something more than a mere conquest. She might have the potential to be something far more -- if she shared my regard for control.
Thusfar, she had surpassed even my expectations. A less self-possessed individual might end the relationship in impatience or redouble her efforts to seduce me in desperation. Virginia showed no such weakness. Her repeated willingness to trust in my judgment these past weeks and months had provided me the foundation I required.
Yes, it was time. I swiped my phone to her contact and dialed. "Virginia? It's Simon. Yes, a pleasure to hear yours as well. Would you be available tomorrow evening? No, nothing fancy. There's something I want to discuss with you, so I thought I would come over and cook. How does Italian sound? Excellent. You can pick the wine. Excellent. See you at 8."
