Okay, I guess I'll have to start this story by admitting I lied, not by intent but more by omission.  Yes, there's a difference.  A lie by omission is barely more than a fib while a lie by intent is wicked and has malicious overtones.  I'm not just playing with semantics here.

When I first met Jeffrey Wigand, I made it seem that it was more or less my first time coming here.  Not all together true.

I had discovered this quaint old pub quite some time ago.  I stumbled in one night after another lousy day at work.  I was in a pissy mood and frankly just wanted to get pissed to even things out.

Creeping up to the bar and keeping my head bowed, I ordered a Smirnoff Ice-in the bottle, no glass thank you.   So, it's a girly drink but I wasn't going to get hammered right off the bat by some foul-tasting brackish brew I wasn't that familiar with.  I had to work up to getting blitzed.

I didn't look at the bartender.  I did note she was female.  

The room was predictably crowded and the music was blaring.  One mission down; next up was to try and find a seat.  I definitely did not want to sit at the bar and present myself as a hopeful target, but neither did I want to look like a wallflower deliberately hiding myself away.  So I nonchalantly bided my time until a table for two was vacated at the very back, away from the band that was playing.

Throwing my jacket over the other empty seat to make it looked occupied, I slumped down.  Sucking back my drink as if I had just crossed the Sahara desert, I reviewed my day. 

Let me clarify my mindset at this point.  I used to have a life.  That means that I used to have a good job, friends, boyfriend...the whole shebang.  To cut a long story short, I burnt out at work, friends got tired of me being pessimistic and negative and baled...and the boyfriend?  He got a better offer from someone much younger, prettier and who fed his vastly overinflated ego.

So now I worked retail making minimum wage, lived in one room which squandered all of stated measly pay and became a recluse.  I got extremely tired of people making fun of me behind my back.  At least have the balls to do it to my face.   My fellow employees called me Sunshine and thought they were so clever that I wouldn't see it for the brazen insult it was.  No, I don't smile that often, and if do, it's usually because someone has made me laugh.  The morons at work are far too stupid to have the sardonic wit I appreciate. 

Without going into too great detail, these were some of the wonderful thoughts that were flying through my head that night at warp speed.  I hadn't eaten all day.  I was dieting...again.  Even the tame cooler was affecting me.  I felt my face flush with heat.  Glancing around the room furtively, I couldn't help but notice there was a lot and I mean a lot of good-looking men here. 

Immediately, I felt intimidated.  What was I doing here?  I probably looked like the biggest fool sitting here all alone.  Shit!  I was still wearing my glasses.  I ripped them off my head, almost taking my right ear with them.  I shoved them in my purse.

Great, now I couldn't see.  Vanity always wins out in the end though so I suffered.  

Mysteriously, another Smirnoff appeared before me on the table.

I looked up startled and saw a waitress point to a gentleman sitting at a table across from me. 

"His shout, Sweetie."

As she walked away, I studied my mysterious admirer.  Squinting to get the best look, I could only see that he had short dark hair and was wearing a white t-shirt.  He was calmly smoking a cigarette. 

It was the oddest thing.  I nodded at him in thanks and he didn't even acknowledge my acknowledgement.  But he did keep staring at me.  It was quite unnerving. 

I was too shy to boldly go over and thank him.  So I sat there like a lump on a log and downed my present, cursing my reserved nature.

Maybe about twenty minutes later, he got up from his table and walked out of the pub, never again looking my way.

So much for a wild sexually-charged encounter.  I sighed.  I felt so discouraged that I didn't even want to get drunk anymore.  I quietly finished my drink and exited stage right.

However, I did keep coming back.  

I became a people watcher.  I surreptitiously learned who the regulars were and for the most part who they were partnered with.  I remained a lurker though and often came in disguise.  You see, my red hair often gives me away so I either hid it in under hats, bandannas or wore wigs.  I wanted my identity to be anonymous.

Did I ever see again the man who sent me the drink?  Yes I did and I even know his name.  He came in alone and left alone...usually.  There were the occasional rare nights when he did leave with a woman.

He fascinated me.    I googled him shamelessly when I discovered his name and man, there was a lot on the net about him.

I never had seen somebody so attractive who really wasn't aware of it.  In fact, I don't think he gave a toss what anybody thought about his looks.  Frequently, he would be drinking a beer alone and his head would be buried in a book or he would be jotting who knows what in a notebook he always carried with him.

Did I ever see him on the prowl?  Yes, and it quite frankly made me jealous as hell.  I wondered how many other women he had sent drinks to.  No doubt, they were more affectionate and less timid than I in their responses. 

However, I digress.  The night I met Dr. Wigand started off like any other at the pub.  I came in with my hair stuffed under a black velvet hat, ordered a double screwdriver-not too girly anymore-and took a seat at the back.

Terry Thorne in yet another black tank top walked by, and I could have stretched out my arm and touched him.  Oh My God...that man is a walking heart attack!  Unfortunately, from what I gathered, he knows it too.  He is incredibly cocky, but he still leaves quite an impression with the ladies.  I would never in a million years try to come on to someone like him.  I'm sure I would be instantly rejected.  I tried to stay within my league.

I was feeling restless, bored and frustrated.  It had been 8 months, three weeks and who knows how many hours since I last had sex.  No one in this pub had ever approached me or made me an offer I couldn't refuse.  Does wonders for a girl's self-esteem let me tell you.  I guess I was a bit of a philistine.  I prefer a man to do the chasing.

What made me decide to act that night?  I couldn't really tell you.  I just knew unless I took matters into my own hands that nothing was ever going to happen.  So I looked for someone safe, someone who wouldn't refuse.

Now that sounds like I'm putting Jeffrey down or marking him as easy, and that's not what I mean at all.  I instinctively felt a kinship with the good doctor.  He was lonely and had a poor self-image too.  I recognized all the symptoms...the head lowered as if expecting defeat, the obsession to have your hands always occupied either by drinking or scratching at a spot on your face or running fingers through your hair, the eyes shifting around the room to see what was going on but all too quickly reverting down again.

I meant what I said to him...about being distinguished.  So the man has gray hair and has a few extra pounds on him, BFD.  That doesn't make him an automatic write-off, at least not in my book.  None of us are perfect. 

I had also googled the good doctor and him standing up the way he did for what he believed in left a lasting impression.  I admired that kind of courage, dedication and selflessness.

So I perused him as he sat at the bar.  The worst he could do was let me know he wasn't interested.  I didn't peg him as the sort who would embarrass me or burst out laughing if I attempted to just talk to him.

The decision was made.  I strode into the ladies room and into a cubicle.  I changed clothes, doffed the hat and shook my hair out.

At the mirror, I reapplied my makeup so I was wearing much more than usual.  My hair was quite long but thin.  I teased it to make it stand out more.  I know the 80s are gone, but I was always into big hair.  I would have a bad day for sure if my hair started off flat in the morning.

I pinched my cheeks.  It worked better than blush.  I assessed myself honestly.  I looked five to ten years younger than my actual age.  My eyes were one of my better features.  They were very dark blue and they stood out as the ring around the iris was another shade of blue altogether, at least I'd been told this by several people.  Who knows?

Affecting a breezy lilt to my walk, I pranced out of the bathroom.  Fuck, my hips didn't seem to want to cooperate.  How could you bloody forget how to wiggle?

Beginner's luck!  There actually was an empty seat right beside the genius.  I took a deep breath, held it for five seconds and then acted my ass off.

Without giving the poor man a chance to get a word in edgewise, I slid in next to him and started babbling about how I felt in general about bars.  I was talking a mile a minute and not even looking at him.

Then I realized I was sitting on his suit jacket.  What a brainless twit I was.

Did that stop old Motor mouth?  Oh no, I had to compound the situation by rambling on about PMS.  I wanted so badly to let the floor swallow me up.  It was like my lips were liquid and I had no control over shaping them and forming them so they could elicit any kind of sensible communication.

He still hadn't said a word to me.  I did tell the truth and let him know how much I respected him for being the ultimate insider on 60 Minutes against his former employer.  Maybe things would progress easier if I offered to buy him a drink.  So I did while introducing myself.

The man finally spoke.  I hadn't struck him deaf and dumb with my inane chatter.

He insisted that he would buy me a drink.  Well, I certainly couldn't turn down such a chivalrous gesture.  He also relayed that he himself didn't make a habit of dallying in such places.  Told you, I already knew that much.

While I was sipping a glass of white wine, I asked him what name he preferred to be called by, Jeff or Jeffrey.  He was pondering that, and I observed to him how many of the "beautiful people" frequented this place.  I let my inferiority complex show a little when I compared myself to a dandelion against all the other lilies of the valley that were here.  I mentally gave myself a little shake.  Don't go there.  Men like confident woman.  Cosmo says it, so it must be true!

Trying to recover from that slip, I turned the attention on him.  I said the line about him being distinguished and let him know that his intellect impressed me.  I also might have led him to believe in another little fib.  I said that the "sweet young things had appeal" but what on earth could you talk to them about.  However, the sweet young things in this bar you don't need to converse with.  They're so stunningly gorgeous that frankly conversation would be the last thing on my mind.  How long does it take to say, "Gees Louise, you're hot?  You want to fuck?"  Words aren't even necessary in the long run.  The eyes can say it all.

Sorry got sidetracked there.  Back to Jeffrey.  I had been staring at his eyes now that I was feeling a little more comfortable.  They were amazing, aquamarine in color.  I actually dared to take his glasses off so I could get a better gander at them.  I let him know in no uncertain terms that I thought they were pretty special.

His eyes shifted nervously away.  Blast it!  I had made him uncomfortable.  I felt awful.

But then he said the sweetest thing.  "Well, I'm hardly used to compliments from beautiful women."  I almost looked around then to see who he was referring to. 

Now it was my turn to blush.  He called me a "fiery rose," and I swear when he said this in his low baritone, a flood of moistness swept through my lower body.

He then flirted with me a little.  He said that I could either call him Jeffrey or Jeff or anything I liked as long as I called him.  Imagine that.  Dr. Wigand, you little silver-tongued devil!

I knew Jeff Mitchell was a regular at the bar, and I in no way wanted him to have the same appellation as someone else, so I flirted a little back and said, "I would never want you to be confused as to whom I was speaking to".

This was going better than I thought it would.  But I had had a large glass of wine and Jeffrey had signaled to the bartender to pour me another.  It was going right to my head on an empty stomach.

We talked some about his interests.  The golfing I knew about but I forgot he was fluent in Japanese.  He also likes jazz, which isn't my favorite I must admit but I'm very flexible especially if it's a prelude to sex.

Now you may be shocked at this point to find me actually considering after I had just met the man whether I would go to bed with him or not.  Normally, I don't...how shall we say this delicately...put out the first time.  I was feeling no pain at this point and getting little tingles up and down my spine.  He hadn't even touched me yet.  Although, I knew he would.  I could tell by the way he snuck a glance at me when he thought I was engrossed in my drink.  It seemed desire would go both ways tonight.

He made his move.  Shall we adjourn to a more appropriate place to continue our scintillating dialogue?

Jeffrey made the suggestion of a Japanese restaurant, and I was all for it.  Escorting me out, I grabbed hold of his arm.  I was quite tipsy by this point and needed support.  He didn't seem to mind.  In fact he patted my arm almost in approval.

On the way out, Clarity and John Biebe intercepted us and introduced themselves.  I was oddly touched.  She knew my name.  I was flabbergasted.  Maybe I hadn't been as good as I thought at disguising myself.  Needless to say, they were both fine examples of eye candy.

At the Japanese restaurant, Jeffrey said a tatami room was the best route to go for the "whole experience."  I readily agreed once I saw it.  It was just like the movies always show, a private room with papered windows, bamboo blinds and elaborately painted screens.  No chairs just cushions at a low-rise table.  We both took our shoes off.

I made a joke that this place was like an old apartment of mine, one where I hadn't any furniture.  Jeffrey didn't need to know that I was referring to my present living circumstances.

I practically fell down on to the cushions.  Jeffrey lowered himself a little more gracefully.

Never having eating Japanese cuisine, I felt over my head at the choices so I decided that Jeffrey could order for both of us.  He seemed pleased that I would allow him to do that for me.  Man, I almost fell over when he gave our order in the native tongue.  You wouldn't know he was American.  The  accent disappeared.  It was just like he had come over on the boat.

He laughed at my expression.  He said he had taught both of his daughters some rudimentary Japanese.  Well, maybe there was hope for me yet I countered. 

His eyes sparkled at that.

Fuck!  I got wet again...just like that.

Okay food.  We had a wide variety of sample dishes-tempura domburi (deep-fried pieces of battered seafood and vegetables with soya sauce), mushrooms which are called "kinoko" in Japanese, ramen (noodle dish served in a soup with pork), mochi rice cakes, sushi (of course), yakitori (grilled chicken speared on sticks), kare raisu (rice with a curry sauce) and shabu-shabu (thinly sliced meat, vegetables, mushrooms and tofu dipped into a hot soup and then into a sesame sauce).  Naturally, we had plenty of sake.

I think I tried Jeffrey's infinite patience as I managed to butcher the pronunciation of each item.

"So Jeffrey, we're all alone now and no one can over hear us.  Tell me about yourself."  I was enjoying myself immensely, and I genuinely wanted to learn more about this very entertaining and fascinating man.

"What would you like to know?  You already know all the boring stuff."  He reached out his finger and casually wiped away some sauce that had dribbled down from my mouth onto my chin.

It was an incredibly erotic gesture.  He then licked it.

I curled the ends of my hair around my finger nervously.  "You're into biochemistry, right?"

He nodded and then threw me a look as if to say, 'Is that what you really want to ask?'

"Tell me about that.  I'm not sure what that particular field is all about?"  My eyelashes flickered seductively.

Giving me a hard searching look, he began.  "There is one particular project that my department is working on.  It involves studying the pheromone production of insects."

An intense coughing fit suddenly erupted from my end of the table interrupting him.

As I sputtered into my napkin, Jeffrey asked in all seriousness.  "Are you all right?  You look rather ruffled."

I managed to calm down.  "Pheromone production in insects.  That's what you said?"

Jeffrey bobbed his head again.  "Yes, it's a fascinating topic.  It's not common knowledge but insects also secrete pheromones, and these are natural sexual attractants that wield a powerful influence on their mating habits."

My face surely must be matching my hair by now.  

I saw a wicked gleam in the doctor's eyes.

"Really," I enthused.  "Do tell me more."

"Well, I'm sure you've observed the way a male animal is irresistibly attracted to a female in heat.  Same with insects."

Time to turn the table on my teasing dinner partner.  "I've heard also that pheromones affect the mating habits of human beings, that pheromones are the perfect aphrodisiac."  I managed to say this with a perfectly dead pan expression.

Jeffrey sat up straighter on his cushion.  "Indeed.  Pheromones are chemicals secreted in our sweat and other bodily fluids."  Here he paused and his eyes swept down from my face to my breasts and then dropped even lower. 

I swear if there had not been a table blocking his view, I would have been well laid open before his eager eyes.

He continued.  "Pheromones affect the mating habits of human beings as they are behavior-altering chemicals that are the driving force behind all sexual attraction.  They influence how often we have sex and....with whom."

"You mean if I like the pheromones emanating off one particular man, I'm almost compelled to want to fuck him?"  I was deliberately coarse and crude.  I took another hefty gulp of sake.

He didn't bat an eye.  "Essentially, yes."  A slight turning up of his lips but he didn't miss a beat.  "The compound, copulin, has been identified as the female pheromone.  When optimized, copulins from a certain female bring about a testosterone surge in a certain man causing him to have a heightened sexual responsiveness to her."

I licked my lips salaciously.  "Testosterone surge?  Is this a proven theory?  Perhaps it needs to be tested."

"As a scientist, I'm all for experimentation."

He reached his arms out and cupped my face in his large but gentle hands.  

Then he kissed me, at first tentatively and then again with fierceness.

I could feel my nostrils begin to flare.

Jeffrey stood up and pulled the table away.

I laid myself down on the floor with my head down on the cushion.

He followed my lead propping himself up on one arm.  He started to play with the buttons on my blouse.

I could see small beads of sweat on his forehead.  His eyes were bright and hot.

Putting my hands on his, I undid one.  

He ripped the rest of them open baring my chest.

Jeffrey seemed to like the fact that I wasn't wearing any supportive device.  He leaned over me and began to touch my nipple, feeling the peak harden beneath his mouth.

My whole body began to shiver.  I could feel my pulse throb in my throat.

He suckled deeply.

I lifted his head and slowly with the tip of my tongue traced his lips.

Suddenly his tongue was in my mouth, driving...sweet and hard.  He pulled me roughly towards him, crushing me against his chest.

There was desperation in our efforts.  Our kisses were now ravenous with our mouths meeting, clinging and exploring. We were both now caught up in a tide of turbulent sensations.

I pushed him off me and started attacking his shirt.  

He tore it off him.

Lying back on top of me, we were now skin to skin.  Beneath him, my buttocks began to squirm.

Running my hands through the hair on his chest, I tweaked his nipple.

His lips bared slightly from his teeth as he sucked in his breath.

Nimble fingers unzipped my jeans, and I lifted my hips so he could drag them down and off.  The panties were history too in the next half second.

Lying fully naked under his gaze, my eyes glinted hotly at him through slits.  The warmth and softness of my body were now all his.

Ever so lightly, his one hand stroked down my belly to the short curls and then danced at my opening.  The other curled under my neck and drew me again to his parted sensual lips.

I screamed silently as he inserted a finger into my moist hot wetness.  He massaged my clit like a maestro with his thumb.

A moan escaped from me.

He lifted himself off, unbuckled his belt and disrobed completely.

I reached for him greedily already missing his heat and his weight pressed up against me.  A sheen of perspiration made our bodies weld together.

My tongue swept up to his earlobe, circling it and penetrating.

He nuzzled the hollow of my throat.

Profoundly staring into Jeffrey's eyes, I wiggled myself down so the tip of his penis was at the brink.

Thrusting into me swiftly, Jeffrey shuddered and grunted.  

Fuck, he was big.  There was a sharp stab of intense pain as he filled me so wholly.  

Rhythmically, we began to pace ourselves gradually increasing the tempo of our intimae tango.  We bucked and rode each other hard.  I felt my body become limpid and was soon overcome by the heady rush of my orgasm.  I bit his shoulder as I came.

He called out my name as he spurted into me.  The gush of his seed swept through me and I held on to him tightly wanting my body to take in every inch of it.

Not wanting to smother me with his full weight, he eased himself up on his arms.

"You are something else, my fiery rose," he rumbled softly.

The possessiveness in his voice thrilled me.  I can't explain to you how it made me feel after such a long time without a man's arms around me to know that somehow you have excited someone to such a depth.

I stole another thundering kiss from him.

He lightly brushed my cheek with his hand.  He suddenly seemed sad.

"What's wrong?" I asked in a gentle whisper.

Not answering, he lowered his head.

I tilted it up.  "Tell me."

"Karen, you're far too young and pretty a woman for me to hope to keep you by my side and get to know intimately, and I just don't mean sexually."

I cut him off.  "Jeffrey, don't put yourself down.  I wanted to be with you tonight, and I will want to be with you many other nights."

He searched my face trying to catch me in a tender lie.  He found no evidence of falsehood.

I decided it was time to lighten the mood.  "So I guess we proved the individual pheromone theory.  My copulin and your testosterone were a match."

Laughing, he rolled beside me and I scooted over so he could share the pillow.

"So is that the real project your department is working on?" I queried knowing already the answer.

"You've got to admit it was much more creative and imaginative than telling you I was working on chemical molecular architecture."

I giggled and pinched him.   

He retaliated by tickling me mercilessly.

After we had dressed and were ready to vacate the restaurant, I thought suddenly of the danger we were in of being caught in the act.  I mentioned this to Jeffrey.

"Taken care of.  I told our server not to disturb us after she brought the final bottle of sake," he said rather cheekily.

"You sneak!  I am going to have to learn Japanese so I can understand all the naughty things you are saying," I chided him.

He just grinned, took my arm and we left.

That in a nutshell was my first encounter with Jeffrey Wigand, but it was by no means my last.