She could feel his eyes burning into her. Burning away her clothes. Leaving her firmly, roundly, openly naked. Wanted to be ashamed, but shame was too complex a thought. Tried to cast her eyes down but could not. Locked instead. Locked and blushed. Dimly remembered that there were people. Church people. On either side of the table. Between the ends. Was more and more aware of her breathing. Of the round firm swell of her breasts against her bra. Against her shirt. Against the table.

Lost in him she became him. Admired her own round face and shoulder-length fluffy brown hair, her big round eyes, her smile. Were her eyes really that big? Was there a promise in her smile? A promise of kisses. A promise of buttons unbuttoned hurriedly. A promise of nakedness. A promise of wanton abandonment. A promise of kneeling. A promise of a round ass thrust skyward. A promise of immense breasts swinging free.

Seeing herself in that position of pure sexuality she Realized. Realized suddenly. Realized suddenly that she was not fat. Realized suddenly that she was beautiful. Thought of herself as beautiful. Thought of herself as sexual. Embraced the idea, embraced herself, embraced the idea of him embracing her from behind, his arms wrapped around her, his palms on her nipples, his mouth on her neck.

Returning into herself she could feel the smile. Risen uncontrolled from the depths of inattention. She was wet. Wet with anticipation. Yet she squirmed only slightly. Loving the feel of movement against the chair, of movement against the table. Needed to come. Needed to wait. Needed to wait for the meeting to end, for the people to leave their empty chairs along either side of the table, leaving only the two of them in the chairs on the end, to rise from the chairs at the same time, to walk at the same pace, toward the middle, to meet in the middle, to kiss deeply, to unbutton, to remove, to turn, to present, to be fucked, to remember, to feel, to remember the feeling of being fucked again and again and again.