Business Objects
 mm sexless romance

He walked across the room towards me. I was the only one wearing a leather
jacket, he the only one wearing demin. My clothing style is simple: 30 t
shirts, two pairs of black jeans, 30 pairs of white socks and 30 white boxer
shorts, laundry once a month, and a leather jacket. The most complex part is
the sock sorting algorithm, but I think I've cracked that one - longest to
shortest ranking then with or without ribbing. Everyone else was suits,
including the few women. He said something which sounded like Shipwright's
Arms, but I couldn't make a link.

We went into the presentation, he asked if he could sit next to me and I
replied "Of course". What I should have said was "No, fuck off, the last
thing I need is a beautiful man who I want to run my hands all over sitting
next to me while I'm supposed to be paying attention to object oriented
databases!" but I didn't, I just said "of course".

The lights were dimmed so the presentation slides could be seen more than
the speakers. Our shoulders were touching and he didn't pull away and
immediately break physical contact as usually happens On the other hand he
didn't make firmer contact either, or begin to rub his fingers along my bare
forearm. But that didn't stop my heart from pumping.

It must be twenty years since I felt it last. Being near a man in which the
fantasy that something might be possible and desirable. If I push too hard
he'll recognise the contact and break away. Even if he just accidently
moves, to re-establish contact is harassment if he doesn't want it. But to
not indicate at all is to deny the possibility. The first few times it
happened the result was beating, broken jaw, police. Then for the next few
years it was "I like your mind but I'm not interested in your body" then for
years the possibility hasn't even occurred. Stretched out my leg so my boner
could grow down it without discomfort. Didn't think til later that when I
took off my jacket I should have put it on my lap rather than the floor.
Damn.

Coffee break and we are still standing together. Conversation on wherebots
and ambots, the object taxonomy of a bus stop and a railway station, and how
to put postcodes for London into a database, to which he replies the std
would be easier. This is true within a pareto boundary. For a conversation
to move at such a speed indicates that the whole of object orientation must
have been invented by gay men: all that polymorphism, encapsulation, message
passing.

Back into the seminar for some case studies. We both know enough to be able
to tell jokes backwards and forwards as they unravel. Each time he leans
over to speak into my ear, his nose touching. Each time I lean over I put my
hand on his. Does he lean over to say something more frequently than I do?
Is that a step forward? His nose touching my ear makes my heart pump again,
fleeting though it is.

Why don't I just whisper in his ear "I love the way your nose caresses my
ear" instead of "the health service has an interesting problem with who owns
patient information - for example if someone is HIV". Why don't I next time
I whisper something run my tongue lightly along his lobe? Because that might
break the link and the link is binary. It is better for it to be in place
even if he is unaware of the suspension of disbelief as long as it can be
suspended. The speaker uses words like tool and member and enlarging and we
begin to laugh, increasingly loudly, and the line laughs with us.

Why didn't I put my jacket over my lap, then stroking my cock could turn
into a complete wank? Would he join in, or have I completely misread the
situation? Why doesn't he make more contact? Our shoulders are touching
permanently, but he is not taking any initiative, not pushing the boundary
forward. But leaning against him, just feeling him, is lovely, much better
than nothing, the spirit of fire and life for which I fought. If it comes to
nought, I prefer not to know. To be not informed is richer, for the
imagination is much richer than the reality.

Out into the hall for lunch. Then for a piss and out into Convent Garden. I
wonder whether he'll turn up at the Anvil. The penny dropped - its name is
the Shipwright's Arms.