I like spooning.

There’s something sweet and personal about holding a lady in your arms whilst she sleeps; her tender breathing, her occasional snuffle, and the gentle merging of her shape with yours every time she relaxes a little more in her sleep.

I met her at work. We were having an offsite meeting, and through the course of the day we’d related well; our ideas meshing and our support for each other evident. There’s very little as seductive as a pretty and clever lady. And she was both; witty, perceptive, and humourous in her contribution.

It would be all too easy to look past her business contribution, and as much as I tried, it was impossible. Clearly fit, with long hair that she must have spent hours preparing each day. Firm. No bra; ever; and a preference for wearing singlets that would always indicate her level of arousal. And Lips! Sweet, lovely lips, full and perpetually curled in a smile than melted my heart.

But it was the eyes. Every time my eyes met hers, I lost my train of thought. I lost track of who I was, and where I was, and what I was doing. Nothing mattered except the fact that my eyes met hers.

The meeting dragged on; past dinner, and into the evening. Eventually, it became evident that we weren’t going to make it home, and the team leader declared it time for a couple of beers and available lounges at his place. After a fabulous day’s work, the beers went down easy.

The lounges were a different story. Well; actually; turns out it was a lounge, singular. It didn’t take much to agree that we were professionals, and it wouldn’t present a problem. After all, the lounge was right next to the boss’ bedroom – and his wife was a renowned light sleeper. We’re clever people, and whilst bedding was sparse, a second sheet interleaved between us cleared us of any possible impropriety.

Thus secured in our professionalism, it was lights out; and after a moment’s awkwardness, the darkness and professionalism gave way to our respect, and we hugged gently.