Coordination Meeting
This narrative is a piece of contribution to .
This narrates a tale of scientists who are fastidiously devoted to sex. In simpler terms, this is a narrative about scientists. And yes, it is yet another story from the author about a molecular biology convention, particularly chronicling how Emily met Richie.
This particular narration is a stand-alone account, but it is chronologically located between the first 'I Say Ass, You Say Arse' story and 'ISAYSA- Again'. This work hasn't been merged with the aforementioned series as this one doesn't comprise transatlantic miscommunication or anal intercourse (both of which can be read in other texts). Readers who prefer Emily and Richie and their companions would likely benefit from reading the 'ISAYSA' series.
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After completing her PhD, Emily emailed her former lab colleagues to affirm her attendance at a small professional gathering in Cambridge. She was acclimatizing to her new career in the south of France; nevertheless, she was still collaborating with her old teammates to draft an article for an esteemed Nature publication. Rejected manuscripts would still serve as a stepping stone for her career, at least. At 25, being a product of Essex and without academic antecedents, this was commendable.
She received a response, albeit unhelpful.
"Are you eager to reconnect with your Special Conference Friend?"
It was a stereotypical scenario that many scientists held "conference friends": people you regularly saw only every few months or years, barring those who operated on a different continent, during which time you would inevitably have mind-blowing sex. This was a prevalent situation in Emily's field, that of molecular biology, where being female might be beneficial. Undeniably, this was Emily's narrative of her experience during a meeting between labmates from the United States. Smiling sardonically, Marion scoffed at the perceived match.
"It is unfortunate that charming Bradley returned to the USA..."
"C'mon, Marion!"
Marion had actually prodded reserved exchange student Bradley to declare his feelings after Emily's heartbreak. He was a sweet chap, but not acclimatized for a formal relationship, representing an ideal candidate for a conference hook-up. He had efficiently proved himself apt in bed, effectively rendering their encounter exceptionally desired by Emily. However, he lacked the qualities necessary for any long-term alliances. She was relishing their reunion in Las Vegas that autumn and, thus, anticipated Bradley to satisfy her itinerant desires. These days, she wanted to relish singlehood and indulge in language proficiency, mastering French independence. As a consequence, her carnal musings needed to be stored away.
By the second evening of the convention, she longed for some clandestine pleasure. At her prior gathering, her advisor, Verity, and her university colleague, Marion, had vanished for dinner with someone. The assembly was principally dominated by Cambridge-based attendants, who discussed DNA sequencing and genetic sequences, devoid of molecular cellular interactions.
Emily made her apologies and infiltrated a new crowd in the bar. Opportunities for passionate encounters had been plentiful and, even though she was proudly nationless, she had donned a skirt comfortably over her knees. It was sufficiently alluring for men to recognize her inimitably.
The four novice chaps favored her with amusing glances. Emily had made an investment to create a strikingly feminine appearance and, while she cherished simplicity, her hair was sporting wavy cascades. The only cosmetic enhancement she cherished was a steady slather of lipstick.
The quartet introduced themselves. Afterwards, the long-haired fellow, who'd been perplexed, voiced his name, position, and research topic. One detail was faintly recognizable; however, she could not pinpoint a connection. In response, she provided her credentials. Within seconds, the first chap launched into a detailed explanation of his project.
Emily was bewildered. She asked, "How do you differentiate between these cadherins and the naturally-occurring ones (if any)?"
The fit man paused, processing her question, before realizing she was in tandem with his earlier comment. The bearded chap, with a mass of red locks, gloated. "She asked the same question just five minutes ago. Why didn't you raise your voice then?"
The first man grimaced. "We hadn't considered this angle."
The now-irate redhead, skewered the blond chap with his thumb towards Emily. "Why didn't you?!"
Emily earnestly posed her query, hoping for a satisfactory explanation. Before she could, the thin, bespectacled one responded, "Well, that's an intriguing conundrum we've ignored. We need to address it in the future."
An uneasy quietness prevailed for a moment, before the first fellow resumed talking. He did, in fact, listen to the next suggestion from Emily and, to a question from the dude with long hair, who wasn't content with the response. Emily tried to clear up the query, but it seemed like the chatty guy couldn't have cared less.
The guy with the long hair had already mentally disconnected. He scribbled on a business card, then got up. "Screw that. I'm not responsible when it doesn't work. I'm out of here." He stood up and exited, leaving the card on Emily's lap as he went.
She examined it. The name seemed recognizable: Richard Pardoe. Although she didn't know anyone at the renowned LMB, the Laboratory of Molecular Biology, positioned a few miles from Cambridge. On the back, a scrawled note read, 'You ask good questions. Happy to discuss your work any time. Richie.'
Pondering whether to accept the praise as genuine or just another scientific pick-up line, Emily put the card in her growing stack. Eventually, she shifted to finding a group more eager to talk to her.
Back in the main bar, she spotted Richie's recognizable pigtail. Now, he was animated, chatting with two older fellows and a woman. Almost a smile, even. The other guys appeared equally fascinated by the discussion. Emily went up to join them, wondering if they'd welcome a young stranger. Luckily, she was dressed in a way not to appear a student. Though she had been one two months ago.
Richie raised his eyebrows. "Hey, again. Emily, is it?" To his companions, he said, "She was asking smart questions of Mike Calcott and some of his pals, but they just ignored her! He's a jerk, I told you!"
"Easy, Rich." The curly-haired chap in his forties put his hand on Richie's arm in a fatherly manner. "Don't denigrate people in public, remember? You never know who you're slandering." To Emily, he whispered in a low voice, "You should say you're Mike Calcott's sister. Teach him a lesson!"
"Yeah. I'm Mike Calcott's sister!" Emily followed along.
Completely deadpan, Richie voiced, "I have deep sympathy. But he also doesn't have one. He's the reason there's a stereotype of the spoilt only child."
Surrendering and laughing, the man trying to teach Richie courtesy pretended to slap him. "And once again, you bulldoze breaches of etiquette by knowing something! Emily, I'm Dan Beddington, the head of a protein structure lab at the LMB. Richie operates for me. He grasps science quickly; his social skills need work. I did see that!" -- as Richie gave him the middle finger. "This is Heinz, and Gaby, from the Max Planck in Berlin. What are you investigating?"
Emily went through her thesis in brief and explained where she planned to take her new study.
She was nervous about being at an earlier stage in her career than them, but they all provided ideas about where she could take her new research. A few, she'd already ruled out, and explained why. Gaby nodded in agreement. "That's logical. I agree. So, maybe you could try..."
An hour later, she felt she'd made new pals, adding three more business cards to her collection. And learning about two more lab heads wouldn't hurt. She knew she needed allies to make a science career happen. Heinz treated the group to one round of drinks, while Dan bought the next. Both insisted it was just their responsibility. She suspected Richie might be socializing with the higher-ups partly to get free drinks, but without question, he could hold his own in science. Dan, a laid-back guy, treated Richie as an equal, possibly even a protégé, being groomed to surpass him.
"Back to your earlier work," Richie reminded Emily. "I gave a lecture at your institute last year, trying to manipulate the Structural Biology department." Emily questioned how that might have turned out, with some of the more formal types who worked there. "It worked. Dan was here for a while, arranging his spot here."
"Ah! I thought you looked familiar," she said to Dan.
"Yeah, I camped out in Sue Jenkins' lab until Karl Moyser finally agreed to retire and cleared space for me!" They all laughed, knowing that the Nobel Prize winner was nearing 80 and still reluctant to leave the lab to younger scientists. "He'll end up like D'Arcy Hart at Mill Hill -- still propping up the library at the age of 102!"
"Anyway," Richie brashly interrupted, "what happened with that work Verity was doing on those receptors? I haven't seen it published yet?"
Emily summarized her findings and those of her colleagues. "I'm combining mine with some of theirs. Verity suggested I should aim for NCG," - (Nature Cell Genetics), a reputable scientific publication - "but I'm not sure it's captivating enough for their journal."
Richie grinned. "There's some valuable content there. If you write it well, it could have a chance. They even published my PhD work, right?"
She nodded. "On my laptop, upstairs."
"I'd be happy to look at it if you wish. I'm eager to read it."
"Go ahead," Dan advised. "Just remember what the Nature editors told us last year."
Richie recited, "'First, is it enticing? Engaging. Second, is it authentic? Third - far from it - is it correct?' Yeah. It needs to appeal to what they value." He finished his drink. "Can I see? I want to discover why."
"Sure." She was relieved that neither Richie nor Dan seemed to be simply interested in her hotel room. They seemed solely focused on her work.
She was relieved the hotel provided desks in each room, sparing her laptop from ending up on the bed. She retrieved the text file and the assorted images she'd perfected over time, then welcomed Richie to sit down. Curious, she noticed he was significantly taller than she was. She watched him read. He sported various earrings in one ear, along with studs and a large wooden circle piercing his other lobe. She mused about what might've prompted him to select such unattractive adornments. He didn't seem part of any counterculture movement if his plain black t-shirt boasted no tattoos; just strong arms.
"Yeah, interesting." Richie continued reading with enthusiasm, she'd hoped for from a potential reviewer. She flipped through cards, reprints, and souvenirs she'd collected throughout the day. Ten minutes later, Richie turned round.
"What do you think?" Her nerves ranked as high as before her PhD viva.
"Excellent job. You've considered every possible angle. The results are revealing and clearly elucidated. The introduction's where you have to draw them in, explain the significance. You're too demure, and well-mannered!"
"Cute." She mused.
"Sorry, that wasn't calm or collected." Richie clarified. "You're undeniably calm and polite, but that doesn't count here! You want to sell it. Show off. Be a braggart, like I am."
"What?!"
"Haven't heard about me? 'That cocky redhead arse at the LMB'? No? You missed it." He gave a sardonic smile. "I feel confident about my science. I'm here to advance it. The rest of the time, I'm not bothersome, except for not tolerating idiots. But you're not a jerk, so we'll get along."
Emily chortled. "For a brief moment, I was concerned you merely wanted to be alone with me in my room. Only briefly, though."
Richie's eyes flitted from the bed to the computer screen to Emily. He tensed, visibly. "I didn't even consider that. However, I could, if you're interested..."
"Calm down!" She rushed to express, "But, about the paper! You believe the introduction requires a rewrite?"
He explained his suggestions. Emily attempted to concentrate.
The issue was, a thought had now occupied her mind. The 'If you want...'.
She wanted a career, too. If being with someone could help, she was open to it. But the men who'd courted her provided misplaced assistance. However, Richie's advice mattered. Maybe then, him?
"Hmmm." She attempted to present nonchalance, inquiring, "For the penultimate sentence, how about, 'We offer a new model for the specific update of...'?"
"Present." Richie firmly asserted the second syllable of the verb. "You're not only proposing how it could function; you're demonstrating how it works."
Unlike many professions, a prestigious education wasn't beneficial in the world of science. However, it was striking how many upper-class individuals held high-ranking positions. Primarily male, of course. It made her feel more self-conscious about being a woman, short, young, and from a rather ordinary background. Coming from Essex, where women were still commonly stereotyped as girls in white stilettos, covered in makeup and fake tans.
She dressed in a professional attire to stand out in a positive way. She'd always preferred a more natural appearance and hadn't had many opportunities to have fun. Until taking advantage of Bradley, the night before his return to America. Maybe creating another connection through sex wasn't a bad idea?
"It's rumored that there's Wi-Fi in the rooms here, but I haven't been able to access anything. Even when it connected, it was slower than an older slug with heavy groceries," she said.
"Senior citizen snail. Snails lay eggs." He uttered this as a joke. His face, with its sharp facial features, was attractive. She wouldn't have picked long hair or pierced earrings for herself, but it was his body, not hers. And his hands and forearms looked nice.
She paid more attention to the conversation. "That's a valid argument. Let's head to the Business Lounge. It's supposed to be open all night, right?"
"And socialize with businessmen? Yuck. If we're going out, let's just go to the library."
"Library? At this hour? It's almost eleven!"
"And I went to Cambridge," he bragged. "I still have some keys that should work. You can choose from Physiology, Genetics, Zoology..."
"Zoology? What were you doing there?"
He laughed sincerely for the first time. "For historical reasons - the eternal rivalry between academics that forced academia to split the department of Cellular and Molecular Biology from Zoology. It's weird but true. So yes, I have a degree in Zoology, despite never studying any animals in my entire three years!"
"That must be an interesting explanation on the CV..."
"Not really. Because Cambridge, being steeped in tradition from the 1600s or so, doesn't list your major or even your grade on your diploma. They just say 'Natural Sciences, Biological,' which is what I was admitted for. Done."
They left for Pembroke Street. "That's the Downing Site, for pharmacology and physiotherapy. Ah. That large metal gate's new. Any security nearby? No. Right, back across the street..."
"Hey there again, sir," she greeted a man in a bowler hat sitting in a booth by the black wrought-iron gate.
"Good evening, love. How're you, young lady?"
"Fine, thank you. How about yourself?"
They walked through the maze of narrow alleys, where an assortment of old and new buildings were crammed between each other. There was hardly anyone around. "Did you spend a lot of time here during your undergraduate studies? You were in America for five years, weren't you?"
"Yes." Emily realized that her answer applied to both questions. "Watch your head, don't hit the whale."
"What whale?" She nearly slammed into a rib bone on a massive whale skeleton hanging from an overhang. The whale would have benefited from some lighting, she thought.
"That's where my key cards don't work anymore," she said, frustrated. "Oh, no? Good! But the lift won't work either? It's only two floors."
"It's strangely quiet for a university campus. Surely there should be some diligent postgraduate students or employees around?"
"There are, dozens of them. But the lab end of the building has a separate entrance, just over there. This is next to the largest lecture hall. And the Museum - I can't get you in there, I'm afraid."
"You can't? You can't?" She asked, surprised.
"Mm. You could get in with a physical key, though. I copied my professor's, and now I have a legitimate key from the LMB because I've been roped into supervising a few third-year students. They're quite nice, really. I tell them the facts."
Emily contemplated how much of Richie's work ethic he had developed in himself.
"Here we are. Okay, you can flip through the most recent bound volume, and I'll go through these loose ones. What do all the cell biologists say?"
"'Membrane proteins make up about a third of all gene products in most organisms, and research is being transformed by the structural analysis of increasingly complex macromolecular systems,'" Emily paraphrased.
"Alright, let's see if we can refine your language a bit. 'Revolutionized' works nicely. Just make sure you've got specifics to back that claim up."
"I haven't actually revolutionized anything."
"Your work is a part of the ongoing revolution in the field. That sounds good - it's current and exciting. The time is now to publish. Perhaps something like: 'In this work, we report on a specific and reversible method of...'?"
"Hmm. How about 'modulated' instead of 'controlled'?"
"Perfect! That makes it sound more fluid and dynamic. 'Specifically and modulated control' - yes, that's good."
He thought over her suggestions. "Sounds great. So, how does the passage look now?"
"Well, I think it's ready for the reviewers. If they have any criticisms, it'll be good feedback."
"I've had two papers published with this group, and one in Nature last year. You might know my work on protein class X and Y."
"Yes, I recall. It was very interesting."
He blushed slightly. "Thanks. It led me down a different path, exploring mathematical biology and the interactions of proteins with ribosomes. It was a change of pace from the lab, but I'm finding my way back. Some of us just can't get enough of science!"
Emily couldn't help but giggle internally - how often did she wish for more hours in a day to channel her fascination with the subject? But she gained focus. "Your grant runs out in a couple of years, right?"
"Yes, almost two and a half more. It's amazing what I've learned in this time. It's like a dream come true for me, being surrounded by so many brilliant minds."
"You don't strike me as obnoxious."
"Many people disagree. But I'm grateful for that comment. I'll make sure to return those journals tomorrow."
For a moment, she considered leaning in slightly, placing her hand on his. But she shrugged off the distraction and shifted the conversation. "So, what are your plans now?"
"It's up to you. There's nothing in the immediate vicinity. The labs are off-limits for the public, so the museum would be next best. We could always visit some of the museum exhibits on our way out if you'd prefer."
Her heart thumped a little faster. She bit her lip. "Could we go back to the bar? I could grab more reading material while you browse."
"Maybe. I might buy something for later if you do." Pause. "You know what I mean."
She nodded, a little taken aback. "I'm impressed you said that so directly."
"Mm. You're telling me you want to, right?"
"Um, yes. I've realised how much I like learning about your research."
He ran his fingers through his hair, as if weighing the risk. "What if they find us?"
"We can always head back to the room. It's safer there."
"Ah. Okay." He stood, slowly unzipping his pants. "I'll meet you in the room, then."
Without another word, he walked away. Emily heaved a deep breath. Just seal the deal, Annie.
"I'm glad I didn't just try to get into your room. You're very considerate. But you mentioned you could help in more ways than one. And then you proposed helping me in bed. I trust you to leave the door unlocked?"
"Yes. I'll be back soon."
He left the bar. She felt a rush of excitement. She tucked her pad under her arm, strode toward her room. "Just think: one hour with you, and you can prove you're a worthy lay."
"I like that. Sure thing. Oh, we could do it here. No one can hear us scream, and I like it when you're in pain."
But she wanted to be sure. "Here, in the conference? Where people could see?"
"No problem. The chairs are very comfortable. Sit down."
She saw the potential risks, but it was too late to back out now. She spun the chair around, making it difficult for anyone to see. She sat in the chair and looked at him.
"Quickly, so the door doesn't cause issues."
Her blood boiled as he did so. God, he was hot. She let her mind wander. This could be the big day.
Emily sat down, and Richie cozied up between her feet, smirking at her. "We've finished our tasks, correct? Now it's time to have some fun. It's a bummer that I can't tell Dan - he's worried I work too hard." He said this with a sense of pride.
"Keep quiet and do something enjoyable," Emily told him.
"Alright, alright! I should warn you, I can be a jerk, though." But he ventured to trace his icy hands over her knees, cupping her thighs and inching upward. "Before I become too much of a jerk, I should mention something - are you with someone, or engaged in a secret affair? I'd prefer not to be the one at fault if you're in a relationship."
"I'm single. I finished a relationship two months ago. I had a fling with a nice American boy before completing my thesis. I'm hoping to meet him at Cell Sciences in Vegas. It wasn't anything serious. He's a bit too... Nice."
"Nobody has ever accused me of being nice," Richie said with some sadness. His demeanor changed to excitement. "Except when I make tea. I can do that."
"You mentioned doing more than that..."
"My apologies. Let's go back to that." He positioned his fingers above her knees, parted her thighs, and began to run them upwards. "Wow!"
Richie discovered that Emily disliked the texture of tights, instead opting for stockings held up by suspenders. He stroked the lace tops and then traced his fingers along the soft flesh above the stockings. "This is one of a kind. You don't find elaborate outfits like this every day!"
"No, not at all. Quite a shame."
"Mm." Richie lifted Emily's skirt and rested his cheek between her legs. "Oh, yes." He seemed to find delight in pressing his cheek against the supple skin of her thighs.
His nose couldn't quite reach the spot she craved to be touched for years. Her vibrators were fine, but in her mind, nothing could compare to intimate human contact if they put in some effort. Her ex had his flaws - distressingly repulsed by anal sex, making her a slut for liking it, which led to the split - but he delighted in demonstrating how he was a modern man, skilled in pleasuring his partner.
Richie rose up. He didn't say anything, but his expression conveyed that he wanted her to remove her pants, exposing her intimate parts. Emily couldn't recall the style of underwear she chose, but remembered she'd picked ones with a waist for her professional attire. And her breasts, showcased by a respectable suit. Tomorrow, she'd probably skip dressing up to make a good impression. Her cotton briefs Astonished, Richie withdrew them and placed them by his side.
He leaned towards her with a wicked glint in his eyes. "One hour to make an impression on you, right?"
He brought her towards him, spreading her legs wide. With a firm grip on her thighs, her blood beginning to rush. Then, without hesitation, he approached her crotch with his face.
His lips and tongue hungrily explored her private parts. Then, without the use of his fingers, he began to open up untouched folds, lovingly licking and kissing, and plunged his tongue deep inside, the moisture dripping from him to her. Usually, she'd desire more foreplay, but tonight... If she's honest, the entire evening, sharing her work with someone eager to improve it, had served as foreplay. And the present setup, spreading her legs in a renowned University library...
The library was built hundreds of years ago in Cambridge University. Surrounded by images of renowned scientists - Crick, Watson, and Attenborough.
Emily desperately tried to shrug off images of famous scientists from her brain, focusing on her current partner's efforts. As he pressured with more intensity, she realized he was following a methodical pattern, testing how she responded in various areas. He found a suitable spot. She gasped.
"Provide me with feedback, good or bad," he uttered.
"Get back to work!" she exhorted.
"Got it. I'll continue with what I'm doing," he replied. He resumed his tongue assault on her, and fellated her hard. But then, about 10 minutes later, inspired by the clock ticking in the background, he pulled her closer to him, her legs resting on his shoulders, exposing her most private areas. Before she voiced any protest, Richie shifted his head towards her clitoris and bathed it with saliva, then used his mouth to devour.
"Oh my God!" Emily groaned. I wrote this in the style of the males writing dirty steamy stories, hope you enjoy.
Richie raised his head once more. "Keep it down, will you? We're in a library!" His tone was friendly, but the twitch of his lips revealed his jest. Richie went back to focusing on his work, and Emily contemplated kicking him.
In the end, Emily gave in and proceeded to kick him, losing control of her body as strong emotions swept over her. Richie encircled her legs with his arms, attempting to use them in a more productive way.
Finally, Emily managed to hold back her screams and Richie released one of her legs to finger her while he sucked on her clit.
"Ahh, fuck," she moaned in spite of herself.
Richie sat up. "Watch the kicking in the kidneys, if you don't mind. You've had about half an hour."
Emily, returning from her state of pleasure to reality, growled, "You bastard! You stopped!"
"That's what women usually say," he observed in a laid-back tone. "Were you looking for more?"
Emily went to sit on the floor, attempting to regain her composure. "You. Back to my hotel room. Now!"
"Alright." He tried to appear casual, though the movement of his trousers gave away his true state. Thankfully, he wore baggy combats, Emily noted.
"Alright, you can." She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward her.
He swiftly flipped around to escape her embrace. Emily recognized the technique from her own martial arts classes and responded with an elbow and a series of punches, softening each one to avoid causing injury.
He raised his hand in surrender, chuckling, "I'm out of practice! Alright, I'll come with you!"
"Good! I'll need help navigating this maze."
"Maze, not labyrinth. A labyrinth has just one path and you eventually reach the center. Mazes, on the other hand, have multiple branches and you can get lost in them."
"Close enough," she responded. "And yes, even in a maze, you can keep one hand on the wall and find your way out eventually," she added, not noticing his reference to a topology theory. "I don't even care if you're an expert on that! Shut it! Which way?"
Back on the road, they were able to walk side by side. Emily allowed her hand to touch his. Richie held it firmly, as if he feared it might slip from his grasp, until they reached her hotel.
"I'll go up first, you follow in a few minutes," she dictated. She was grateful he didn't object to her course of action, probably understanding the importance of not portraying a woman as promiscuous.
She merely checked her vibrator wasn't visible, then used the restroom. There was a knock on the door. Emily let him in without a word.
As they entered the room, Richie stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. She attempted to convey reassurance with her smile. "Remember when we were in the library?" she inquired. "Go for it."
She extended her hand to grasp him, but he was already working to remove her top from her skirt. Taking the lead, she too pulled off his black T-shirt from his belt. They soon found themselves both topless, her bra now tossed somewhere across the room. He embraced her, her chest pressed against his face, a sensation she relished.
Emily caressed his face and his soft earlobes, observing that he enjoyed her touch on the upper lobes and his right ear with its decorative pieces. But when she caressed the wooden tunnel in his left, he whispered, "Careful! Don't want your finger getting stuck in there!"
"It's nowhere near that large! My pinky could never fit! Not that I'm doing that," she assured him. "I've never played with one of these before. But why do you have it if you don't want it touched?"
"I like fiddling with it. My finger wouldn't fit. Besides, it serves to deter fools who judge by appearances from approaching me, thus preventing unproductive conversations," he explained. "I'm glad I no longer have a pierced nipple, for others touching them!"
"You had?" Emily mused, somewhat envious. "Decent-looking men should be shirtless more often."
"I've given it a shot. Still not extremely sensitive, wasn't a big fan of people fiddling with it. No longer in my possession. I don't have a problem if you play with my ears, just be gentle, you know? I'm not your toy to chew on!"
"Go on, dear," she teased. "You don't like teeth when I suck your penis?"
"Perhaps not. I do like the word 'when'."
"Fantastic. What about a phrase? 'Fuck me, immediately!'?"
"Yes. Absolutely." He undid his belt quietly. She kicked his combat trousers out of the way, exposing his black shorts and a bulge. She unfastened her own skirt, being careful with the fastening. One push from Richie, and she lay on the bed in just her suspender belt and stockings. completes the transformation from scientist to sexual object.
She stroked his package with her foot, as a drop of moisture started to appear. He had also transformed.
"No, not a foot fetish. Mind your own." He pushed her away and took off his briefs, searching through the pockets of his trousers, then returned to lying on top of her. "You have beautiful breasts, by the way."
Emily giggled. "You trying to be polite? That's fine. But thank you. We can both be rough and crude at this point. I really like what you've got going on."
Admittedly, she couldn't see his penis anymore since he'd lowered himself down again, but his well-built back, reddish hair, and bare legs were quite a sight.
"Alright." He displayed the condom he found. "Want me to fuck you?"
"Of course, yes!"
"Thanks for that. I haven't leaked this much in a long time."
"How do you like it?" she inquired.
"Lying down, try it on your back, like this?"
"Ah..okay." He grinned at her playfully. "Here's the action."
With his fingers, he pushed her lips apart. She was already wet, but his penis was substantial, so he had to be gentle.
"Ooh! A bit more!" she begged. He moved his hips to spread her lubrication around inside and pushed in a little more. "Yeees! More!"
"Highly unfulfilled. I like."
"You're just getting started."
He leaned forward, gently pulling her legs and placing them on his shoulders. He remained in this position and began thrusting, making her lubrication spread further.
"Gosh... Not bad." He cultivated his best smile. "How's that?"
"Withholding back. Please, a bit more."
Steadily, he made small thrusts, holding her thighs in place. He slid deeper slowly and, with each movement, she indicated "more."
"Okay... Like that?"
"Yes!" Emily lifted her knees to allow him to go deeper. He used their positions to thrust harder. "God, yes! More!"
"Can you grip my cock with your vagina? I noticed it has been working against me because of how thick I am."
"Very good. It feels great." He pulled his pelvis forward and groaned with great effort.
Emily squeezed her vaginal muscles in response. He seemed to enjoy it. He raised his head and chest upward, rammed his cock deep into her, then climaxed.
"Fuck." He collapsed onto his forearms.
"What was that?" Emily asked, feeling a bit tired after engaging in this activity.
"I just didn't want this to end."
"I loved it, even if I hadn't technically come." She grinned. "Sometimes, sex works better when there are no orgasms."
"Agreed. I don't want to rub my ego." He got up next to her.
"Don't worry, you didn't rub your ego." Emily smirked. "Are you allowed to stay here?"
"Uh, are you allowed to have me stay?"
"Yeah. In the worst-case scenario, they'll add a few pounds to my bill for your breakfast."
"Interesting. Banquet can later. I'll stay."
"Great." She smiled at him, not wanting to make his ego bigger. "They have an excellent breakfast."
"Alright. In that case..."
"Okay then."
Emily weighed her craving for more intimate moments against her work schedule. The main event commenced at 9 am. "Alright, I'm setting my alarm for 7. That's enough time for a cup of tea and some action before our showers and breakfast. Let's aim to be there around 10 to 8 as the world seems to unravel around 8.
"Sensible decision." It was, in her opinion, a sincere and valuable remark.
Emily ambled back from the restroom and stretched. "Feel free to use my toothbrush if you need to."
Richie made an effort to conceal his revulsion, but ultimately failed. "I have my own for emergencies." He flashed an uncommon smile. "Like this one. Thank goodness M&S in the market square opens at 8:30."
"Why?"
"I'm going to need a fresh t-shirt. I wouldn't want to appear like a sleazy night-owl, now would I?"
"As long as it's alright to be one!" He grinned again. Soon, he retreated to the bathroom, combing out his long straight hair. As a woman, she admired the thickness and length of his hair but thought her own wavy locks just fine. "Which side do you prefer?"
She moved over. Richie slipped underneath the sheets next to her. He added, "I don't think I snore, but please alert me if I do. Turn me over if necessary."
"Yeah. Sure. The same goes for me." She was starting to admire Richie's attention to detail, such as ensuring everyone received equal sexual pleasure and maintaining a healthy sleeping pattern.
She gradually awoke before her alarm buzzed. Her alarm went off, and Richie handed her a steaming mug of tea. "Here, a cup of tea for you. It's not very good, unfortunately. It has two of those stupid pots of UHT milk in it — there are two leftover if you desire more."
"Thank you so much!" She observed him sitting in the armchair, engaged in her reprint articles he'd found the previous day, scribbling in the margins, and sipping his own tea. Naked.
It was his unfazed nudity that attracted her even more so than his body. Or was it the body that made him attractive? Emily was unsure, but after quenching her thirst with her tea, she cooed, "Fancy that tryst, before cleansing ourselves?"
Richie laid down his papers on the desk. "Sure. Let's." He sought out the packet of cigarettes he'd left on the nightstand, joining her in the bed, and ran his hand along her side, his face nestled in her neck.
"Mm. That's delightful," she affirmated, stroking down his taut back and curvaceous derriere, "but we don't have much time. Sadly."
"Position yourself in your favorite pose, darling." She caught hold of the sheets and shifted into an all-fours stance, heard him exhale. "Oh, what a sight to behold." He slowly stroked the saturated area with a slender fingertip, mulling over her back passage.
"Mm." She moaned, trying to exude as much invitingness as possible. A guy who genuinely enjoyed anal? This bloke was becoming more alluring with each passing moment. "Feel free to explore that region," she purred, motioning to his marker pen.
"Not with the time we possess, and without lubrication? Out of the question!" Yet, he suspected they'd cope. He switched to another finger and explored the already moist region. Her vagina was slick and primed. He was erect. He plunged into her, aiming to penetrate her more deeply than before.
"Oh, my god, yes..." She arched her back while he filled her, widening her. Upon fully entering her, their pelvises grazed one another, and she screamed "Yes!" followed by "Continue! Fuck me!"
"Demanding little thing, aren't you?" he mused. He partially withdrew, then forcefully rammed back in. No protest, no pain — just a gentle groan of satisfaction. "I like it."
"Good."
It appeared Richie relished thrusting into her with force, his hand clutching her waist. Emily gyrated her hips to imply her eagerness to be fucked rigorously, whispering into her pillow.
Richie gasped. He didn't want to climax — this would be over. Yet his following evening held a similar conference... He clenched his arms around Emily's waist and screwed her forcefully until he was spent.
Emily took a moment to regain her breath. Then she tapped his arm to regain his attention. "Rather wish you could stay there and repeat that, but we do need to bathe and nourish ourselves."
It looked like he was on the brink of a panic attack. Was it because he was physically drained? Emily shrugged her shoulders in response. "Whatever. You go ahead and grab a table first. If they question you about room 372, just wait for me. I'm fine with just eating and ignoring you, even if we have to share a table, if that's what you want."
Richie remained still for a moment, before finally nodding his head. "You take a shower first. Apparently, women take longer to prepare themselves, according to society's standards."
"I'm not planning on doing anything fancy with my hair or makeup for this group," she replied. But she made her way to the bathroom nonetheless. As she turned around, she almost stumbled upon Richie, who was sitting there and stroking himself. It had to be sticky, didn't it? In response, she decided to stay in the bathroom and dry herself using the en-suite towels so that she could watch him in turn while he had his shower.
Richie sat there patiently, immersed in his thoughts. As he tilted his head back to wet his hair under the showerhead, his long tawny hair almost reached his slim waist. He twined it into a rope and soaped the rest of his body efficiently, then washed his hair, swivelling his head from side to side while rinsing.
He brought the showerhead down to rinse more thoroughly over his genitals, lifting his penis to ensure all traces of soap were gone, then gently massaging his balls, making sure the surrounding hair was also clean. He pushed aside one of his butt cheeks to soap up his crack, and then rinsed vigorously there. Was it one of his fingers pressed against his anus? Emily couldn't tell. He rinsed his legs, and then, one final rinse of his hair which he rolled and squeezed when Emily tossed him another hand towel.
Emily left the bathroom and went back to the bedroom to dry her hair. She considered lingering to watch Richie's naked body, clean and glistening before her. A clean, naked body. A hygienic individual who wanted to thoroughly and slowly penetrate her rectum... Had it been her imagination, or had he enjoyed touching his own anus? She imagined him saying, "What's good for the goose is good for the gander."
Richie didn't bother with a towel wrapped around his waist when he emerged from the bathroom. Emily made an effort to hide her admiration, handing him the hairdryer in silence. Even with her hair pulled into a tousled ponytail, it still looked fabulous, slightly damp.
Richie bent over to dry the roots of his hair, then dried under his arms and between his legs. He then began combing through his hair with his fingers.
"You could have borrowed some of my conditioner," Emily remarked.
"Why would I do that? Then, I'd be smelling like you all day. Are you really worried about that?"
"It's not like anyone would notice."
"I would." He wound a small scrunchie around his hair, a long length confined nearly into a bun. Silently, he dressed, wearing only his old socks. Emily at least had fresh clothes, slipping into jeans and a stretchy T-shirt. The casual outfit highlighted her shape. Her breasts, in particular. She wasn't being conceited; she knew people enjoyed looking at them.
Richie gave her a small nod. He picked up his bag and left. Emily entered the large dining room that had a corporate grey color. It was crowded with people. Richie was standing by the walls, holding a cup of coffee in each hand. She sat at the table next to his and nodded at him. He made a tiny movement in response. After we had consumed plenty of dishes and even more coffee, the room filled up with more individuals. Emily moved closer to her table and signaled two people she recognized to join them. "Good morning!" She exclaimed, pretending to spot Richie for the first time.
He nodded his head in acknowledgment. "Bye! See you in the first session," she said, waving as he walked out. She continued chatting with the couple they joined her, "I met Richie yesterday."
"He's a bit of an asshole, but you can't deny he knows his stuff," one of them commented.
"His manner is probably worse than his actual actions."
"Richie?" Dan Beddington approached the table. "Oh, his bark is much worse than his bite, let me tell you." He gave Emily a once-over, as if guessing what happened the night before. "Yes, he's good with his knowledge. And he's working on some fascinating experiments for me. His brain can be as grumpy as he likes. Don't write him off!" He emphasized his statement by twisting a small hair accessory around his hair, and doubled it into a bun. Richie had a quiet demeanor, and despite having a tendency to be grumpy, he was still a good natured guy. She wouldn't judge him for it because he was an absolute genius at his job, and they had hired him for that reason.
Was Dan flirting with Emily? It wouldn't surprise anyone. He was an uncommonly faithful married man with young kids. As far as anyone knew, he didn't indulge in extramarital affairs - he attended conferences and checked into hotels for a good night's sleep!
Emily descended into the main hall to hear a session about gene chips and how they were transforming the scientific world. She saw the significance. If entire genomes of species were created... And made affordable, of course. Remaining cost-effective was always crucial. Thinking about her own grant budget for the first time now, she was more aware of the expenditure on consumables.
Shortly afterward, Richie snuck in and sat beside her.
"Doing okay?" He pointed at her new green top.
"I purchased two. An excursion, you see. It's true, I'm rarely present during regular store hours.
"Did you buy underwear as well?"
Richie stayed silent for a minute. Then, whispering into her ear, he asked, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Now that he mentioned it... yes, she would.
Later, Richie went to a session discussing certain DNA motifs. Emily found out about CRISPRs beforehand; she pondered their role in evolution and an early defensive mechanism. She remained to hear some groundbreaking discoveries in cell membranes, then to discuss financing for upcoming events. Her supervisor, Verity, had insisted that to secure a fantastic speaking slot at a conference and engage with many notable individuals there, she had to organize it.
It had been a rewarding day, Emily concluded, sorting through the countless business cards and pamphlets she had gathered at lunch. Beyond making acquaintances and connections, she had several ideas on how to further her work if her present efforts hit a wall. Late in the afternoon, the dinner discussions began. This prompted her to request Richie's advice on suitable restaurants.
"What kind? Curry, Italian or Chinese? Although, keep in mind, nobody wants to trek far on foot. Call this place."
Richie's phone in Emily's hand showed 'Eraina Taverna.' "How many people should I reserve spots for?"
Richie shrugged. "Twenty? Let them know there's a conference in town."
She discovered it was a Wednesday during student holidays. Not much would be crowded, with tourist season still a month or more away. Only later did she ponder why Richie hadn't booked himself.
Once crammed into a yellow-pine basement decorated in the '70s and munching on heaps of Greek mezze followed by a colossal pizza, she inquired.
"I detest telephones," he said. "Written communication is more dignified. Stop! Don't sip the ouzo or the retsina!"
Emily asked, "Why not?" As small glasses were being passed around, they were handed to her.
"One tastes like paint remover, and its hangover is intense." The other tasted of anise, undisguising the fact that it was worse. "Really, chaps, don't..."
The men nearby who had overlooked Emily the previous day - PhD students and junior scientists from the Lab of Molecular Biology - guzzled their glasses quickly.
"Hangover hell awaits these fine lads," Richie observed wryly. "Let's leave this tavern for a more refined bar."
Hours later, the inebriated lads reappeared, worse for wear. Not that Emily, Heinz, and others were entirely sober. With Richie, it was challenging to assess.
Mike, one of them, perched at a stool next to Emily. "Hi lovely, what do you study?"
Emily tried not to roll her eyes. "As I told you yesterday, I look at the role of cell structure molecules in..." He wasn't paying attention. "Instruction: let me know if you require help with manuscripts! I'm excellent at articulating myself!"
Mike smiled and shrugged. "I'd be much more proficient, my dear. Tell me, which of the results did you produce?"
Richie retorted, "Since when have you had a first author paper in any Nature journal?" A first author, and frequently second, had conducted the majority of the work. Others ranged from making noteworthy contributions to mere courtesy, with the study leader at the end. "With the exception of that second author piece in N. Microbiology, your past accomplishments are minimal." Richie couldn't - or wouldn't - conceal his disdain.
"Yesterday, Nature magazine!" Mike flaunted his marquee personal achievement.
"Lies," Richie countered. "Fifth author, Yi Li devoted most of the effort, with George Huang contributing the rest. That one snapshot the technician produced? Third author." A first author and often a second were those who had done the bulk of the work. The rest were smaller contributions or mere etiquettes, with the study's ringleader listed at the end. "Now, which of the results were yours, Mike?" Richie barely concealed his disdain.
"Ah, acclaimed my presentation to Nature last October!" This was apparently his favourite story.
"Bullshit," Richie bluntly declared. "Fifth author, Yi Li really did most of the work, with George Huang contributing significantly. That single photograph the technician produced? Third author. Disclose which results you got."
Mike never thought anyone would know the specific details; it was clear. "I... I prepared the samples for both the main results!"
So you're a skilled technician." Richie regained his monotone tone. "That's great, we need technicians." Emily sensed Richie didn't intend to sound quite so demeaning.
"Fuck you!" Mike certainly took it as an insult. "Like you're so amazing!"
Some of the group began shifting in their seats. A few were anxious, but a couple seemed amused. Emily pondered if Richie would attack Mike like certain inebriated scientists did. She readied herself to grab his arm if necessary.
Richie maintained his blank expression as he reached into his bag. Perhaps for his own papers, Emily presumed. "You published a paper of your own not long ago, didn't you, Rich?" she inquired, filling the silence.
Richie sat back, presenting the glossy sheets in his hand. "A few years ago, actually. Last year's was even published in Nature." He passed the reprints to Mike with deliberate extravagance. "Take one of each. And my bibliography; unfortunately, I don't have copies of the older ones."
"Can I have copies?" Emily inquired.
Before long, they and several others were discussing DNA folding mechanisms and their control by various proteins. And Mike slinked away.
"This is great!" exclaimed a Dutch lab head. "We should continue chatting, but these bar prices at the hotel are outrageous..."
"Let's move the party to Joost's room!" called someone.
"Okay, okay, but we need more drinks! I'm out..."
"It's past midnight." Emily checked her watch. "The stores can't sell anything."
"That's not a problem." Richie responded.
"No? Okay! Use your magic to get us some wine and beers, and I'll declare you a true genius!" Joost handed over cash, ensuring everyone observed him handing it to Richie, who shrugged.
"I'll be back in a while." Out in the rain, five minutes later, Richie stated, "I'm glad to have a short break from everyone. Especially the morons. He'll never get another grant," Richie predicted. "Alright, where's that small kiosk?"
They strolled through the dejected damp travelers at the bus station. In the corner, a typical kiosk sold snacks, cigarettes, newspapers, and magazines. Two high shelves displayed rows of wine bottles and spirits, partially concealed behind souvenir toys.
"Evening," Richie greeted. He displayed his wad of cash. "I want a large bottle of Bacardi, one big bottle of Coke, a dozen beers, and as much wine as you're willing to sell me at this hour."
"You're joking, man! We can't sell alcohol at this time of night!"
"I'm not joking." Richie insisted. "I understand there's a conference going on at the Arms Hotel. Know what I mean? Check out my conference pass and my various ID cards granting me lab access."
"What about her? She could be WPC." The vendor worried they were police.
"No! This is mine." Emily pointed at her own pass. "I'm Dr. Emily from France, here to chat with other scientists." To Richie, she said, "Did you use this place when you were a student?"
"Yes. Ibrahim often sold to us, whenever we needed something."
"Oh! Why didn't you mention you knew Ibs? I might have even offered you a drink." The vendor paused. "What would you prefer? Red or white?"
"Both." Richie declared.
"That's a ridiculous markup." Richie complained. "Give us an extra ten pounds."
"Okay. Two bottles of wine. That's my final offer." The vendor stuffed two bottles into Richie's haul.
"Fosters? Who'd drink that watery swill?"
"Rich, take it! It's not even your money! Besides, somebody will drink it..."
"Huh. Agreed." With their items double-bagged by the vendor to avoid suspicion, they returned to the hotel. They knocked on Joost's door.
"Drinks, anyone?"
"Yay! I'll acknowledge it to everyone! Richard Pardoe is a fucking genius!" Joost hoisted a bottle of beer high. "We have booze! There's no need for you to deplete my minibar anymore."
Emily whispered, "Disregard your Nature article -- I believe this may have just secured your career!"
Richie shrugged but settled in with Joost and others to listen to their discussions on their research. Two hours later, after scientific conversation had mostly devolved into discussions of various cities to live and work in, and various couples had slipped away, Richie stretched. "Enough talking. It's time to sleep. Before all the spare pillows get taken."
I didn't plan on asking, but...
She covered her mouth to hide her words from the others, "I secretly want you to come to my place!" Most were too drunk to lip-read anyway. "I'm going to bed now," she shouted loudly.
Did she really see the twist in Richie's eyes as she left?
A short while later, as she cursed him, she assumed she had.
Now's when she needed the vibrator, her consistent companion for lonely nights. Especially after several drinks. It was just plugged in when she heard a gentle knock on the door.
Emily quickly opened it, making sure to put the chain on first.
"Still welcome?" Richie entered the room. "I had to ditch this wasted Greek girl who thought I had a room she could join. Told her I had to cycle home."
"Cycled here?"
"Of course not! No tight corners in Hills Road when drunk. But if I'd said I was getting a cab or bus, she'd have insisted on coming with me."
"I see..." Emily nodded. "I thought you might have found someone better to hang out with, so I was about to go to sleep."
Richie raised an eyebrow, pointing at her magic wand. "Nope, you wanted my company tonight."
She blushed, "Not right away..."
"I could try to pleasure you myself, but I'm pretty wasted." He held up the rum bottle. "How about a nightcap?"
"No, I'll feel terrible in the morning as it is."
"Fair enough." He lay down on the bed, ready to watch.
It crossed Emily's mind she didn't mind putting on a show for him. He'd amused her in the mornings before, after all. She tossed her clothes onto the armchair, lay naked next to him on the bed, and turned the vibrator to low.
"Mm," Richie reached for her breast. "Do you like being stimulated while touching yourself? Hmm?" He squeezed her nipple gently, and she gasped. "Preferably with this, or just my hand?"
Emily lay back, her arms raised, legs apart. "Go for it," she murmured sleepily.
He held the vibrator at the base of her cleft, but not, where it would be most efficient. She tried to move, but he stopped her. "Higher?"
"Yes, please. Shift it up..."
He did just that, moving it to her clit, seemingly predicting she would kick him if he didn't. It lay on her clit with little power, however.
"I'm too tired for light-hearted play. Another time..."
"Alright." He followed her command, turning it up. And when her noise transformed from a purr to a demanding moan, he increased it further. Up it went, and earlier than expected.
He witnessed her climax within moments, witnessing her movements without any actual effort. He was turned on by this.
After unplugging the heated vibrator and both being naked in bed, he questioned, "Would you want another go?"
She realized he needed reassurance. "Yes. I would," she answered. "And you've already got one planned. Remember, we're in Montpellier next month for this conference. We need to take our time and be gentle. "
"Interesting..." He sounded intrigued. When she added, "It's in English! And most people there don't speak French."
"Huh. I've never been to France, though."
"Too bad. An educational experience would've been nice. But remember, the French have a difficult reputation, but it's because English individuals don't approach them properly." She continued, "Remember, they had a revolution?"
"That they did, but usually means someone gets their head chopped off," he joked.
"Or merely avoided by a snooty waiter in Paris, these days. The French are seriously dedicated to equalité ! No hierarchies, whatsoever. If you approach them with a firm 'Bonjour' in English, they tend to respond. You can even mime if English doesn't work."
"I've never been to France."
"You missed out on a trip!" She then added, "Keep in mind, they tend to get irritated by English speakers who seem clueless. If you act self-assured and friendly, you should be fine."
I can't stand tourists. I've spent three years studying here... He joked, "'What a delight, hand gestures!' 'Where's the cathedral?' - standing in front of King's Chapel! The nearest cathedral is twenty miles away in Ely, by the way." He yawned. "It's astounding how few accidentally fall into the Cam. No, I've never, thank you!"
"No?" I inquired. "I was a little concerned that you might beat up that Mike guy."
"God, no! Not worth the hassle. No, I never mess up things. Or people. That's my little brother. He's finally matured, for the most part."
"How old is he?"
Richie did a count on his fingers. "Twenty-five. Me, I just verbally harass people. Every so often, intentionally." He let out another sigh, almost a yawn. "Folks dislike the truth, and I'm lousy at lying."
"There's a significant deal to be said for honesty," Emily remarked, and recognized she meant it. She appreciated this man, not just because he fancied her.
"Mm. See you tomorrow, at the usual time?"
"I reckon we'll have to."
This time, both of them groaned when the alarm sounded, wordlessly consenting to shower then head straight for the coffee. No need to shield Richie from dialogue; the entire dining room was far less chatty.
Except for Dan Beddington, who joined his lab mate. "Good night, last night! Ah, I'm feeling amazing! I had nine hours of sleep, and no crying babies!"
Richie raised his head. "Fuck off." Emily concurred.
Dan perceived this as a simple greeting. "Morning, Emily. I'm sorry about my coworker. I was wondering..."
Emily needed a couple more cups of coffee, but managed to keep up her end of the discussion. Then, she mentioned the symposium in Montpellier.
"The Cell Biology one? Oh, wow." He spotted Emily's gaze on Richie. "I considered it was a bit premature for me to depart from the family once more, but now you mention it, it'd be great if one of us could go." He prodded Richie. "Oi, you. The two-day event in the south of France next month. You're going. Sort it out."
Later that day, Richie confirmed his participation. He merely needed to book transportation and lodging.
Emily recommended, "Arrive the Thursday morning and have a cab pick you up from the airport. You could return home on the Friday, but you could as well spend an additional day or two and have a relaxing weekend." She had to ask. "Apart from scanning and memorizing scientific literature, what do you do for enjoyment?"
Richie shrugged. "Long walks? Out in the wilderness? Anything quiet, devoid of crowds."
"Do you enjoy birdwatching? There are nature reserves nearby, and lots of empty places along the coast. Etruscan ruins, should archaeology pique your interest."
"I'll have a glance at anything once." He eyed her up and down. "Some I'll review more than once."
It was slightly better of a feeling to part, but Emily desired to believe they had at least established companionship. When she said goodbye, she disclosed, "I'm not anticipating romance, but come on! A hug, please."
She received her hug. It was strong and firm. Richie's palm clasped her bottom and pulled her onto his crotch. She kissed his neck, where she could reach; he kissed her forehead. Emily bridled for air, then smiled.
"Perfect. That's adequate. Let's see if we can celebrate my paper going up for review." She vowed to speak with Verity and send the package the next day.
The journal editors were efficient, for a change, sending it out within two days of the receipt.
On the Monday before the symposium, Emily received an email. With just a couple minor revisions, her paper had been accepted, with praises from both peer reviewers. She called her former colleagues in jubilation, and celebrated with her new comrades. Then she emailed Richie, to express her gratitude. He retorted, a couple hours later:
You're welcome. It was good work. See you on Thursday. Can you introduce me to Xavier? I'm keen to inquire about some antibodies of his.
R.
P.S. I dread the flight. I hope your backside is worth it.
Emily felt her behind tingle in anticipation. She responded, on her private phone rather than her work email, visible to all in the lab,
Certainly, Xavier wants to learn about your protein folding work. And have fun!
Hopefully the flight won't be too unbearable. At least you've got something to anticipate.
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