Posted by PK on October 08, 2001 at 16:39:34:
Paul watched Melanie's performance with undisguised appreciation. Kirsty wanted to be
miffed about it, but honesty compelled her to admit that was because she'd rather he stared
at her like that instead. Why couldn't she do that? She somehow knew that putting on a
politically correct display of feminist puritanism wouldn't fool or impress him.
"Enjoying the show?" She managed not to make it too waspish. Men will look, women know
that whether they like it or not.
"Hmm? Oh yes. Mel's always good for it, bless her. So?"
Kirsty thought about it. The thing was, he was still with her. He hadn't gone any closer to Mel
or tried to stuff a note in her underwear. "If you'd rather talk to her.." she said, a little pettishly
despite herself.
Paul shrugged. "Talk to Mel? Waste of time. She looks good enough to eat, but not one of
the world's great conversationalists. You won't be seeing her on Parkinson any time soon."
So he saw her as a nice, safe, nonsexual companion, did he? Kirsty grabbed his beer glass
and refilled it from a can. Good enough to eat, indeed. "What am I, dogmeat?" she muttered.
Paul smiled at her. "You? Caviare. I could eat you up any time. Cooked or raw."
Kirsty blushed. Was he mocking her? "Really?" She tried not to sound too pleased.
"Really." Paul thought about it. It was ridiculous, but what the hell. Maybe a discussion of
those Japanese girls who let people eat dinner off them, then...
Pete was out of the running, Ian noted. He had cornered Clara from accounting and now they
were sitting down and running through the finer points of the classic Fischer-Spassky games,
having drawn an chessboard on the table. They were visualising the pieces. The rest of the
world was dead space to them.
What the fuck, he thought. I'm probably going to be fired tomorrow. No, I can't, it's Christmas.
I could put something in Katrina's drink. I could talk Mel into a quick fuck except she hates
me. I could do something really stupid and try to come on to Andrea.
Not a good idea, on the face of it. Andrea was engaged in the age old pastime of discussing
what bastards men were with a female friend. The female friend, Kate, was happily married
and indulging her with the bored patience of an old campaigner. Looks like her boyfriend
ditched her, Ian thought. No point even trying it. Oh, what the hell...
"Hey, hate to cut in.." he said with blatant insincerity.
Kate gave him a grateful look.
"How's it going, Andy? Boyfriend ran out on you? Silly sod, but we're all bastards, take it as
read. Me and the guys thought of a great remedy for that. We've elected you as the woman
we'd most like to have for supper. I've got an oven ready and warmed up. Why don't you just
strip off and we'll all smear you with butter and pop you in? You'd look great on a plate."
Andrea stared at him in disbelief. Kate simply laughed, not taking it seriously, but Andrea
took her cue from that and bridled. She was the butt of some sort of joke. If Kate had just
ignored him, she'd have done the same, now she had to react. It was pack behaviour, Kate
was senior and Andrea couldn't lose face in front of her. Ian sensed that luck was on his side,
so he pushed it. He grinned.
"Want a piece of me, technogeek? Think again. I'm out of your class." Her eyes were blurry
but they still flashed.
Ian had an irrational feeling that this was quite true - a ridiculous idea really, she was just a
pretty girl - but she was off balance and she hadn't hit him yet. A coward dies a thousand
deaths, a hero only gets his balls bitten off once.
"Want to try it? Bet you daren't. We've got bets on Melanie winning it."
Kate had escaped. Andrea didn't really know what he was talking about. He was losing
momentum and direction but that last meaningless sally had got through her guard.
"Winning what?" she snarled.
Ian actually worked up the nerve to talk to Andrea? Paul was amazed.
"What's that about?" Kirsty wanted to know, seeing him watching them. "Have you got a bet
on or something?" She had heard of things like that.
All right. All the openings had played out. Paul explained it to her. All of it.
"You can't be serious," she said, suddenly feeling flushed.
"Oh, absolutely." Wry smile. "Ian has this crazy idea that we'll get one of you to let us cook
you."
"And you picked me?" She didn't know whether to be flattered or horrified.
"You were on my list." He gave a negligent, faintly apologetic shrug.
On his list. Was she first? He hadn't talked to anybody else. "And you'd like to eat me? I
mean really?"
It was just a fantasy. "Well..." Paul didn't really want to cook Kirsty. She seemed nice, he
didn't want her dead. Sure, eating her was a great idea to play with, but....
Kirsty's erect nipples were rubbing against her cotton blouse. It was almost painful. She
wanted to take her jacket off. She did, and threw it away. It fell into the punch bowl and
knocked over a few plates of vol au vents. Then she stripped off the rest of the way and
danced naked on a table to tumultuous applause..
No, she didn't. She shook her head to clear it. Have to stop watching Ally McBeal, she
thought. Is it me or is it hot in here?
"....just another looney idea of Ian's," Paul was saying. "Sort of a dare. Probably thought it
would liven things up, mad pillock."
Melanie, what was it about Melanie? Ian wondered suddenly. Got it! Steve had cheated. He
hadn't mentioned saying anything to Mel about getting cooked. That was part of the bet,
wasn't it? Steve had done him out of a fiver. Sneaky bastard! Where was he anyway?
"I SAID winning what?" Andrea demanded.
"Um? Oh, sorry Andrea. Back in a tick. Got to see somebody." Ian looked around. His eyes
didn't want to focus. There he was! Chatting Mel up, it looked like. He made his way over
determinedly. "Steve, got a minute?" He dragged his victim away from the object of his
charm offensive. Mel was dishevelled but more or less dressed again. "Sorry," he threw at
her.
"You were supposed to mention getting munched," he hissed at Steve. "You owe me one
fiver." Steve looked bemused.
"Oh right, sorry. Just a tick. Mel?" He turned back to her. "We're having a bit of an argument.
Who do you think would taste better, you or Andrea? Or one of the other girls. Just
wondered."
"Taste better?" Mel stared at him blankly. Was he proposing a demonstration of oral sex right
here? She frowned as she considered it. Well, what the fuck, why not. "Me," she said. She
was more than halfway prepared to prove it.
"Great," Steve said. "I suppose we'd have to cook you all to be sure, but.."
Mel's frown deepened. "Cook?"
"Explain about the sausage rolls and you keep the fiver," Ian whispered loudly enough to be
heard yards away. Things were improving, he was on a roll. Maybe he could salvage the
situation with Pete.
Pete and Clara were still staring at nothing on the table between them and talking in code. He
watched for a minute, trying to catch the chess fanatic's eye. He might as well have been on
Mars.
"P-QB4," Pete uttered at last. He still preferred the old descriptive notation.
"Ng5", Clara replied in terse algebraic.
"Fuck," Pete commented in Anglo-Saxon.
"Who's winning?" Ian interjected in drunken idiot.
"Spassky," said Clara. They both spared him a dismissive glance. Ian pantomimed
something to Pete, who stared back at him poker faced.
"Ask her, you prat," Ian said in English.
"Forget about it," Paul suggested. "Want a top up?. If you're hungry, the samosas aren't too
bad."
Kirsty opted for wine, but she couldn't forget about it, not at all. She tried to keep her end up
as Paul went into loquacious mode, something that occasionally happened to him after a few
beers. She couldn't get the image of being naked and good enough to eat out of her mind.
His barbs about Marxist-feminists were amusing enough, but she couldn't keep her mind on
politics enough t mount more than a token defence, she had a more imperative topic in mind.
Did he really fancy her? Would he prefer her on a hamburger bun or in bed?
"Penny for 'em?"
Her tits were too small. She wouldn't look as impressive naked as Mel, or Andrea, or even
the awesome Katrina. Nobody knew what her tits looked like, she slept in a business suit.
Aggressive feminine mystique carried to the limit. If she wanted to do that, she'd need a
better suit. Or a different personality.
"Fourpence?"
Pete nodded to Ian and gave him a thumbs up. Clara looked blank so he explained.
"Ian wants to eat one of you. I'm supposed to ask you if you'd like us to roast you in the oven
and slice you up."
"One of whom?"
"Any reasonably attractive woman here."
Clara blinked. "Is he serious?"
"Yes, but opinions differ as to whether it's curable."
Rog had regained his detachment. A joint always did that for him. The room took on a rosy
glow. With a sense of the supreme self confidence that comes from being smashed out of
your mind he waded in to the three-cornered debacle going on between Andrea, Melanie and
Steve. He offered them the joint. Blessed are the peacemakers. Look at those poor
fools, he thought loftily, watching two neanderthals arm-wrestling on a table laden with food.
'Contact tripping....' Paul said.
Bite my nipples, Kirsty thought. These shoes are really uncomfortable. She toed
them off. Blessed relief. Oh, shit, Andrea has finally done it. She's got into a 'who has the
better tits' contest with Melanie. Nobody is going to look at me now.
'..manic depressive. I suppose I should go home with him, or he'll end up dangling
from the rafters.'
'What?'
Paul looked at Kirsty. 'Ian. He's over the edge.'
Kirsty didn't give a shit. 'That's news?'
Paul nodded, taking the comment seriously. 'True enough. Still..'
Andrea had Rog's vote. Not as big as Mel's but so nicely shaped. A small crowd had
gathered and were egging the striptease competition on. Katrina came over to Paul looking
far too businesslike for a party.
"Phone call, can you take it?"
Paul suppressed a groan. On Christmas eve? Why me? "What's it about? Nobody from sales
or reception sober enough?"
"Probably not, but it's a technical query. That means you. How drunk are you?"
Not very. Paul's nickname amongst the programmers, at least the polite one, was Speaker to
Humans, for his ability to communicate with non-programmers. "All right, I suppose so.
Which phone?"
"Use my office, it'll be quieter."
Kirsty followed him in and hitched herself onto the desk as he fielded the call. She sat facing
him, bare feet on the desk top as he talked standing up. He could see she was wearing white
panties.
"How long ago did you order that? What? No, you can't just fold it, you need to get it copied
to another disc format to fit the 3½" slot." Kirsty leaned back with her hands behind her and
put her feet on his shoulders. I'm beginning to suspect she's interested in me, he thought.
There was a raucous cheer from across the hall. What were they doing in there? "No, don't
do that, just send the discs back and we'll recopy them. Yes, mark it for my attention..all
right. Yes. What other problem? Glmmph.." He covered the handset. "That's very nice but I'll
nibble your toes later...no, not you. Say again?"
It took a while, what with the distractions, and by the time he'd finished the party seemed to
have spread into the cafeteria and was getting out of hand. Somebody had set up a boom
box in there in competition with the stereo in the other room. Melanie and Andrea were both
naked, as was another blonde girl Paul didn't recognise. Several people were smearing them
with olive oil or butter, joints were being passed around. Ian was in the thick of it, like a
demented MC. Steve was watching with detached amusement.
"What's going on?" Paul asked him.
"Party games. Who's the tastiest looking woman, Ian's game. You know, I never thought it
would catch on. There must be something in the air."
Melanie was climbing into the roaster. Jesus wept, Paul thought. Somebody took a polaroid.
That would be all over the office when they reopened, probably all over the Internet by
morning.
Ian shut the door and turned the light on. Mel crouched in there, greased skin gleaming under
the lights.
"Who's next?" somebody asked. "Judy?"