I arrived late, towards the end of the morning plenary, and found a seat near the back of the lecture theatre. On stage, the chair was just introducing the final speaker of the session - a woman currently playing "hunt the USB port" on the laptop beside the podium - so I took a quick look around the room: Attentive audience, the room more than two thirds full, mostly women as you would (sadly) expect in an Occupational Therapy conference. A fair number of familiar faces and an all too familiar room - I had been at University here, after all. I sat back to listen to the talk, technology now sorted.

An hour later, I was pretty much first out the room, ignoring the coffee and biscuits to join the growing huddle of smokers by the door - this really was just like being a student again. Conversation was desultory; I said a brief hello to a few of the people I knew, however vaguely, but kept out of the general discourse: They were mainly slagging off the morning speakers and as I was due to speak myself just after the break I didn't really want to get involved. So I stood back, had a look at my speakers notes - all three lines of them - and sort of drifted into a reverie of old memories, old times and old faces. There was a ChemSoc party in this building which was where I met ...
I was interrupted by a soft touch on my arm, and looked round to see a dark haired woman  smiling apologetically at me.
 
"Sorry to hassle you, but you don't have a cigarette I could borrow, do you? I seem to have left mine back in the theatre".

"Not good smoking behaviour, that. You could have points docked for lack of professionalism", I said, as I handed her the packet, "However, you 're welcome to *borrow* a fag, though only if I can be sure of getting it back in one piece?"

"Of course", she said, "maybe a bit charred, possibly pretty much incinerated, but I'll make sure its all there. Well, aside from the poisonous bits, I'll inhale those for you ... I'm a  *caring* professional. after all".
 
I grinned, and said "Why, I thank you for your consideration, and your dedication to caring - despite your apparent pyromanic tendencies" 

She shrugged, "Pyromania? Oh, that's me, for sure - I just have to walk into a room and it catches fire ..."
 
I was contemplating some sort of riposte to this when her phone rang and she turned away to answer it, giving me a half wave of acknowledgement as she did so. I lit another cigarette, had a quick glance at my notes again and found myself being hauled away by the conference chair, needing to discuss her introduction to my presentation, room arrangements for the workshop I was due to give the next day and such like. And then it was time to go back in, and get back to business

******

I survived. My fellow speakers were interesting and the general standard of delivery at these events does seem to have gone up recently - no more endless drones reading from copious text heavy slides. The guy who spoke before me even had people up on the podium dancing, and though I didn't really understand *why* it did at least take my mind off the nerves I always get immediately before speaking. And my own presentation went OK, given that I was talking about quantitative methods in OT research and, face it, people of a mathematical bent do not predominate in these circles. Still, they laughed at the jokes, nodded seriously in all the right places and actually asked interesting questions rather than delivering statophobe rants about "losing the human" and the "uniqueness of the individual". In fact, the only vaguely disconcerting moment came from my cigarette burning friend who asked an almost angry question, taking quite technical issue with my description of paired Student's *t*-tests, which threw me simply because it was so unexpected in the context. I did eventually answer it to her satisfaction, I think - she sat down with a distinctly sardonic look - and I doubt anyone else in the audience felt the tension. Well, hopefully. And anyway, I'd done my bit for today and if they chose not to come to the workshop tomorrow - well, I'd get back to London all the sooner.

I skipped lunch, having eaten more than enough curly sandwiches in my time, and instead wandered over to the village behind the campus and sat by the pond for a while, indulging in a bit more nostalgia and enjoying the sun. After a while I decided that I was enjoying myself enough to make going back into the afternoon session a lot less attractive than going for a wander on the Downs. Just like my students days, again. In fact, I decided that I'd really get back into the student way of doing things and drop into the village pub first, for a pint and a cheese roll. Though, I thought as I walked away from the pond, hopefully without the interminable conversation about Gramsci that ran on a loop there in "my day"...

I was just turning into the car park when I saw her, my smoking friend from earlier, sitting at one of the tables outside, mobile in hand, smoking and having what looked like a fairly animated conversation. I nodded as I went past but I wasn't really sure if she'd noticed, then went on into the bar, and ordered the usual from the same foul mouthed and misanthropic landlord who'd run the place when I was sort of a regular. I also noticed a group of my fellow conference types at a table in the corner, sipping at soft drinks and producing reams of notes and drawings on piles of paper spread out between them. They looked busy so I was preparing to go back out again, pint in hand, when one of them waved and called me over. 

"Excellent talk you gave this morning", she said, "What I understood of it, anyway. Will you join us? - I think we've about finished with this lot."
"Looks complex", I said, going over but not sitting down, "Actually a lot more complex than anything I was talking about... "

"Yeah, well, its team building, goal setting, that sort of stuff – never get the time to do it in the office and, as we're all here, its a good opportunity. Well, except that Cris is off outside having an emotional crisis by phone and Emily seems to be stuck in the loo."

"Didn't have the ham roll, did she? They can be pretty fast acting, I can tell you. Still, the beer's good", I said, taking a swig. "Incidentally, is Cris the dark haired woman in the garden?" A nod, "Yes, and as you might have noticed she's our team statistician. Not formally, of course, but her partner - probably her ex-partner the way things are going - is a mathematician so she gets to do all the stats stuff. She said she really enjoyed your talk this morning, by the way." Oh, really, I thought - wonder what sort of questions she asks when she *isn't* impressed? Politeness costs nothing, though, so I said I was glad to hear it and excused myself to take pint and roll outside to add some essential tobacco smoke to the mix.

I was half blinded as I emerged into the sudden brightness, but I saw the dark haired woman – no, Cris – sitting on the other side of the garden. She was still talking intently into her mobile, a fag burned right the way down in her hand. Didn't look a happy bunny, at all.

I went and sat in the opposite corner, ate the roll, sipped the pint and idly looked through the paper I'd brought to read on the train down. Nothing unusual going on – wars, famine, corruption in high places. Eventually, I put it down, just as I noticed the dark ... no, *Cris*, come over to my table.
"I think I owe you a fag," she said, sitting down. I told her not to worry, offered her another of mine. Had she been crying? Her cheeks looked shiny, eyes a bit pink. Ever the discrete one, I asked her if she was enjoying the 'team building and goal setting'.

"I could live without, but - and I quote - this is work, not a jolly. Personally, I'd prefer a pint. Or ten." There was an edge to her voice I recognised. The Professional Being Professional Despite It All. Do Not Cross Line. You Do Not Want To Know. Despite myself, I asked her if she was OK.
"I'll live." She paused, smiled slightly hesitantly. "But I guess I ought to go back to the team, gird the proverbial loins and face up to this afternoon. Why don't you walk back down onto campus with us?" I shrugged, "That's a nice idea but unfortunately nature calls - by which I mean I have evilly decided to skip this afternoon's delights in favour of going for a walk on the downs. Afternoon lectures used to have the same effect when I was a student here, I'm afraid." For a moment, I thought she looked disappointed, but she shrugged, gave me a tight sort of smile and excused herself to rejoin her colleagues. When I went back into the bar to return my empty glass, they had gone.

******

Later, I went back to my on campus accommodation for a shower and a change and found a note from the conference organisers inviting me to join them for a drink in one of the campus bars, the one we used to call the 'airport lounge' for its vibrant atmosphere and luxurious seating. Or not. However, there are times when one needs to show willing, so I decided to delay my night on the town and go make small talk with the great and the good. But, I promised myself, only for half an hour or so – its this sort of social situation I hate perhaps more than anything, which is another way of saying that I'm really bad at it.

Consequently, I wasn't surprised to find myself a little while later leaning against a brick pillar, half of tepid lager in hand, half listening to a conversation of which I understood about half the content. Professions do so love their jargon. I'd just got to the point when I realised that I had actually completely lost track of the subject and had no possibility of contributing should anyone bother to ask me to do so, when I felt a touch on my arm again. And, yes, it was the ... *Cris*, this time with a slightly younger, vaguely sort of geeky bloke in tow.

"Enjoy your walk?" she asked. 

"Yeah, a lot - I always loved the Downs. Interesting afternoon for you?" "Oh, you know, OK as conferences go." Geeky Bloke cut in, "Oh, come on Cris, your presentation was brilliant". Turning to me, he added, "I gather you weren't there, but she basically trashed four or five accepted paradigms of what we do and why we do it. It really made the whole event worthwhile." Ignoring this implicit slight to my own world shattering efforts, I looked back at Cris. "You were speaking? You should have said, I'd like to have been there". She looked dubious, "Doubt it. Second last talk on a hot afternoon: Trust me, people only liked it because it was short. Anyway, 'OT and the Inclusion Agenda' - hardly a title to appeal to an academic and meta-ontologist like you, is it?" 

"Well, you never know", I replied, "Actually I would have liked to be there because (i) it appears to have been pretty well received and (ii) ..." 
I felt myself drying up, took a sip of the vile beer and realised that I was pissed off with having missed it but couldn't work out why. Was it because I knew she'd been having a hard time and would have wanted to be supportive? Was it because I *liked* her? I really didn't know and I continued to stand there speechless, confused and looking more than a bit of a prat. For a change.

In return, I got another of her humourless smiles. "Well, well. Famous academic reduced to stunned silence by little old me. I *must* be having a good day. Sadly, I also have to go, though, so maybe you can think about it a bit more and hopefully I'll see you around at some point and ..."

And ... she was gone, again, sweeping off with Geek Bloke a pace or two behind her. As I came to my senses, I realised that I had been about to ask her if she'd be interested in going into town with me that evening. And had been thinking nasty thoughts about the Geek - well, he could lose the hair gel at his age - I was aware that had been used just once, in a review of my last book, and I'd never really worked out whether it was meant as a compliment or an insult. But why would she have read anything like that? I decided it was time to go into town and see the sights.

******

What with me being an academic and all, you might expect that I went and sat in a gloomy cafe somewhere and pondered the nature of life and the human condition. Actually, I went into town, met up with an old friend and got just as slaughtered as I could afford to and still function the next day. The soul searching and analysis had to wait till the next morning.

When, waking up in the inevitably depressing "visiting faculty accommodation" I was using, it all came back and hit me like the proverbial brick. I don't *do* casual chat ups, am careful not to objectify women (as colleagues or in any other context) and generally put a lot of effort into being a safe and trustworthy male of the species, again in and out of work situations. I acknowledge that this has not been particularly helpful viz a viz my recently pretty much non existent sex life, but all these things are givens, from my point of view. They are simply The Right Things To Do. And yet, here I was feeling a definite interest in a woman I hardly knew and had exchanged maybe twenty words with. Nonetheless, I had to be honest with myself and admit that my abject failure to construct a sentence the previous evening was probably caused by a sort of adolescent-standard angst in even talking to her. Worse, I was aware that I very much wanted to see her again and might even take the risk of having another go at actual dialogue. This was distinctly out of character. And it would probably end in tears.

So, obviously, I put the issue to one side and went to try and find a decent cup of coffee.

This turned out to be in what we always knew as the Goldfish Bowl, a plate glass cube just outside the main admin block. It had gone seriously up market at some point but was almost deserted given that it was still early and, of course, it wasn't term time. So, I got a coffee and a Guardian, went and sat in a corner and started on the crossword - pleased to see that it was by Paul, one of the better, more challenging setters. I was just beginning to enjoy myself with a complex anagram when I was interrupted by Geek Bloke, Cris's friend (?) from yesterday evening. He didn't wait for an invitation but sat down and took a slurp of what looked horribly like herbal tea: I mean, caffeine free drinks *in the morning*? I felt I could have problems with this guy. Even without the hair gunk ...

However, he obviously felt that our prior meeting had made us the best of friends so I reluctantly folded the paper into my bag and acknowledged his presence. "We looked for you at the conference meal yesterday", he said - I didn't like that *we* - "but I think you must have given it a miss. I guess you must have been preparing for your workshop, though?" I muttered something vaguely affirmative – thinking about six pints of Harvey's in about as many pubs – but he went on regardless, "It looks really interesting; I'd have wanted to go but the boss wants us to cover as many sessions as possible between us and I got another to go to. Probably just as well, really, I was never much good at the formal analytic stuff". I wondered how that made him interested in a workshop on formal analytical methods but stuck to platitudes for my reply, wondering, instantly, just who would be coming to my bit from his group. Would it, bluntly, be Cris? And if it was, would I be able to string together a sentence? I needn't have worried; seconds later we were joined by The Boss herself – the woman I'd first spoken to in the pub the previous lunchtime – who almost instantly told me how much she was looking forward to coming to my session. I felt a sort of bizarre mix of despair and relief for a second before getting a grip and pursuing small talk for a while, gaining a second cup of coffee from someone in the process. By this time, most of their team had converged around me, so I left them to their shop talk and strolled across to the Physics building where I would be working later on. No-one about, but I found the right room and shifted some furniture around to the way I like it. Then I finished the crossword, sitting on a desk until it was time to politely show my face for the morning session which would re-open proceedings for the day.

******

Once again I arrived late, deliberately entering the theatre by a front entrance, moving up the steep slope to a seat at the back. Yes, I was looking for Cris, maybe even hoping for some sort of recognition – a smile, a nod, whatever. Even as I realised that this was what I was doing I also realised how pathetic it was. And, it turned out, pointless: she wasn't there.
She didn't show up throughout the morning session - her team were all gathered in a huddle off to one side of the room, but definitely no Cris. Nor was she there for the coffee / smoking break that followed, so that I eventually assumed that she'd quit the conference early. Which was disappointing but at least meant that I could begin to concentrate on my imminent workshop.

Which went well, in so far as its possible to judge these things, and ran more or less to time. As usual, a few people hung around at the end to ask additional questions but I herded them out of the building so that I could smoke while we talked. Finally, everyone moved off but for the woman who'd spoken to me in the pub the day before: Cris's boss.

"I was wondering," she said, hesitantly, "I'm sorry, I expect you'll have to rush off, now that you've finished your sessions, but I was hoping that you might be able to talk to a colleague of mine about some problems we're having with an analysis we're doing. Its not a huge issue, but Cris told me that she thought you'd be just the person to help and ..."

I interrupted – and blatantly lied – quite swiftly. "As it happens, I was planning to hang around to hear Professor Bolton's thing after lunch - he's an old sparring partner - but I didn't think Cris was around today?"

"Oh, no, she just had some stuff to sort out earlier, I know she was planning to be at the Inclusion workshop at least. Hang on, I'll just give her a ring."
She pulled out a mobile, speed dialled and talked briefly. I couldn't help thinking that the workshop in question had also been held in the building we were standing outside of, so ... I got handed the phone.

"Dr Mitchell? Hi, look, the boss tells me that you're OK about meeting with me for a chat?" I agreed. "that's great, really great When would be convenient? And where?"

"Well I suspect that we're probably standing outside the same building at the moment so how about now. Meet me by the main lobby and we'll go and find somewhere quiet to talk."

Which we did, finally settling on the cafe at the top of the Arts Tower which had coffee, very few customers and exquisitely uncomfortable furniture.
It was a strange place to fall in love.

******

Actually, we had an engaging and enjoyable conversation over more than a single coffee. The analysis problem in question was superficially simple – so much so that most people wouldn't have recognised it *as* a problem - but Cris had actually thought it through and come up with some quite challenging questions. I wondered about the mathematician boyfriend but as talk flowed and we pursued the logic into areas I'd never previously considered I knew that these were her idea alone.

I also noticed the habit she had of tapping her pen on the very tip of her nose – a long, aquiline nose - when she was thinking, the way she played with a thin silver chain around her neck - a pale, gracile neck – when she was listening, the way she swept her hair - long, almost purple-black hair - out of the way when she was writing. I noticed the way her breasts ... 
I talked about analytic methodologies, statistical theorems, the limitations of quantitative evidence ... and so did she.

Eventually, we came up for air. No, we hadn't completely resolved the issue but I was fairly sure that Cris had some useful pointers to take back to her team - and that I's had my next research grant application pretty much written for me. It was lunchtime, I pointed out. Perhaps I could buy her lunch?

"Actually, after two hours like that I feel I should be the one buying," she said, "but to be honest what I feel like right now is a pint and a fag, not necessarily in that order"

"I have no problems with that - and the Duck in the village – you were there yesterday - does a good pint and a fine cheese roll if you're interested. You could probably share the fruits of your labours with your team if they're there and you feel so inclined ..."

She frowned slightly at this, looked at me for a moment, playing with the chain around her neck. "No, not at the moment, At the moment, actually, the person I want to talk to is you." She brightened, gave me a Force 10 smile and went on, "But the boss is unlikely to let the serfs into a pub two days running, so the Duck it is."

******

We walked up through the campus smoking in unison – strange how you don;t need one when your brains engaged – and found the Duck to be not only bereft of her team but actually completely deserted. Despite which the landlord was just as rude as ever and we escaped into the garden, with a couple of pints and a couple of rolls, with some relief.

It was bright, it was sunny. Bumble bees bumbled around the bedding plants. A lone dragonfly hawked overhead, tits cavorted on the bird feeder. We drank the beer, ate the rolls. Bought some more beer, some more rolls. Chatted. Relaxed. Had fun. Eventually she said, "Hang on a second - Professor Bolton - the boss said you wanted to catch his presentation - bugger - we'd better get back – we'll be late ..."

I looked at her for a long moment, loving the 'we', the inclusion, the togetherness of the word. "Actually," I said, "that was bullshit. I was due back in London some time ago - I had planned on leaving straight after the workshop. I stayed because I wanted to talk to you. Spend time with you, in fact." I paused, she was looking at me with a steady gaze, no emotion showing. Oh, well.

"The fact is, Cris, I know that this is going to make me sound like a prat, I know - OK, I think - that you've been having a bit of a hard time recently and that what I'm trying to say will probably be as welcome as a hole in the head, but ... well ... the thing is .... I may have only just met you, but ... bluntly ... I think I could be ever so slightly in love with you. More than slightly, actually."

Not one of the greatest romantic declarations in history, I admit. An overwhelming feeling of impending doom spread through me as she continued to gaze steadily at me. Then she leant forward, kissed me lightly on the lips and said,

"Good. Now lets go somewhere else."

******
We ended up walking - at random, really, I know I wasn't sure what was going on at that point - up the farm track behind the village, around the back of the campus and out onto the Downs. At some point, her arm came round my waist, mine hers. We walked in silence for a considerable time, companionably, closely. We came to the beacon, ahead of the long drop to the Weald.

I turned to her, put my hands on her shoulders and smiled at her. "OK, decision time. We can carry on ahead but its a long climb back up, we can turn along the ridge to quite a pleasant old town with a train back to the University or we could go back. Not that I want this to end, but what do you want to do?"

"Dead simple," she said, "I want to fuck."

******

It turned out that forward planning was another of Cris's virtues. I was about to point out that we were at a famous beauty spot, a very *exposed* beauty spot and one currently popular with dog walkers and joggers - thereby making her suggestion a tad immediately impracticable - when she grabbed my hand and pulled me along the path down the scarp ... and into a small clump of ash trees.

"Privacy!" she laughed, and turned to face me, hands on hips and eyes glowing, dropping her shoulder bag to the ground as she did so. "You think of everything", I said. But. "Are you sure about this? I mean ..." "Look, I'm sorry if this is going too fast for you, but, hell - you'll be going back to London this evening and I've got another day at that bloody conference and then another couple of days before I get back too. And -� well, we both know we're going to end up in bed very soon, anyway, so ... why not?"

I put my own bag down, reached towards her, pulled her into a hug that became a gentle collapse until we were lying on the grass, arms and legs entwined. I kissed her, my hand stroking her back and her hips through the black cotton dress she was wearing. Her hands were on my back under my t-shirt, nails just grazing my skin. She pulled away slightly, pushed me onto my back and knelt beside me.

"Sorry, but I really need this to happen *fast*", reaching into her bag for a condom which she handed to me as she stood up. "Just put that on, will you?", she said with mock exasperation, reaching up underneath her skirt and pulling off a pair of black lace panties as I sort of half shrugged out of my jeans – erection already almost vertical at the speed of events – and got on with rolling on the sheath, never taking my eyes off for a second. 
"Hey, I like a man who's had practice", she murmured, stepping over me so that I could see her bare legs ascending into her dress and then knelt forward, grasping me and guiding me inside her. She was already so wet that I penetrated her with almost no resistance and then she was riding me frantically, almost possessed. Within a minute she was gasping loudly, her motions ever more violent and then I felt her contract fiercely as she shuddered and moaned deeply as she came.

She collapsed on top of me, gasping for breath, me still inside her, and I held her tightly to me. I realised that she was crying, stroked her back, murmured reassuring things. After a short while, she fell asleep where we lay. I gently pulled out from inside her, and from underneath her, folding my t-shirt under her head as a pillow. Then I pulled my jeans back on and sat and watched her, stroking her hair and wondering as just how beautiful she looked.

It was a while later that she woke. She looked confused for an instant, then smiled slowly and started. "God, I'm sorry - you must think I'm some sort of animal - and a bloody selfish one at that. I hope you don't think that's how I behave all the time - I just really, really needed that orgasm and ..."
I shushed her, hugged her again. "Its OK, its OK. I'm glad I could help and it was certainly ... different." I laughed. "You know, I don't think I've ever had sex with a woman without ever seeing her breasts, before." "Well, that could be rectified," she said, going to pull the dress over her head but I stopped her. "You'll never believe how little I want to say this, but its getting late and we should be heading back onto the campus. And I think I can wait till to see more of your incredible charms until the next time, assuming that there will *be* a next time?"

"Oh yes", she said. "Your place or mine?"

ooo+++ooo+++ooo+++ooo

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