FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Miss Bethany Roberts was a little too small for me to easily see her eyes, but I knew where she was looking anyway. She stood on my desk, fussing at the hem of her shirt. She was a canine, like me, a tiny little russet-colored thing – relative to micros, that is, of course she was tiny to me – with pretty, red hair that fell in gentle wavy locks down her cheeks. White fur splashed over her muzzle and up between her eyes, and I imagined it probably covered her bust and belly, too. Semi-floppy ears framed the sides of her head, making her cheeks look a little rounder alongside a somewhat fluffier fur than typical. Her bust was generous, and the sweater she wore was snug enough to accentuate it all the more. I've never given much thought about whether I preferred men or women, and described myself as bisexual at large, but if she were my size, I would have given it more serious consideration. She was gorgeous.

It was rare that a micro chose to be on a macro's desk, given the opportunity to do anything else, but she'd requested it anyway. She had looked at me from the catwalk at the opening; she'd waved, and we shared short pleasantries. Hello, I'd said, I'm Andrea Bowyer, make yourself comfortable, a pleasure to meet you, so on and so forth, and when I invited her to move to her sitting room to join me on the sofa, she had asked me if she could move to my desk. Well, yes, if you'd like, and I moved to prepare a carrier for her. I hadn't ever used it before, actually, but I kept it in good condition. It's a lunchbox-sized little thing for … Well, carrying micros. It's like a hand-held bus, and she seemed familiar enough with it. Micros typically are – one way they get around town where the tube-trains don't go is by riding with Transporters, a macro that wears carriers like these on their hips and walk them to and from their destination. It's a good side-gig for macros.

With the carrier prepared, I lifted it to the edge of the walkway, where small latches automatically secured the carrier. I could hear a small 'ding' like an elevator, assuring my little client that the connection was secure, and she stepped right in. The second 'ding' was a louder one, for my ears, to let me know it was safe to move it, and I did so. Funny, in spite of knowing how stabilized the interior of the carrier was, I still moved it as carefully as a sleeping child. I've seen transporters discuss how they can even jog and micros don't feel a thing, and yet here I was, like I was holding my breath before a house of cards. I didn't let that breath go again until I heard the 'ding' and my client stepped out of the carrier and onto my desk proper.

It was bizarre seeing her there. Why would she want to be standing on my desk? We want our own space as people. The desk is a barrier, it keeps a professional distance between yourself and the client. That didn't change just because we were drastically different in size, and it was especially odd considering the reason for her visit. My passion through life was therapy, and it was something I'd done for some decade now since I got out of college. Curiously, I'd somehow gotten a reputation with a micro clientele, which brought interesting, unique differences to the work, such as how to comfortably chat with a micro in my living space. Typically, I invite a client my size to have a seat, and I would sit across from them on the sofa, or on a chair opposite them in an open space, or perhaps a coffee table between us at most. A micro, however… That seemed too impersonal. After all, I could scarcely see her if she were sitting across a room from me. So, I'd set up a simple mounted room for it. The micro walkway entered my office at approximately eye level, and a small lift rode at an angle down towards a small room fastened to the wall near my sofa; we could talk, them in their semi-private space, and I in mine.

But she wanted to stand in the shadow of my upper body, on my desk, staring up at me at what surely wasn't a particularly comfortable angle to be looking up. I wondered how I looked to her. I wore a simple button-up blouse, done tastefully up with just a button or two undone at the top for comfort's sake, and to help avoid too rigid an environment. The sleeves were rolled up to just under my elbows, exposing my blonde-colored fur; I wondered if the wide bangle I wore on my wrist intimidated her more than my hand, since the large ring shifted and toppled a little whenever I moved my wrist. I'd never paid mind to that slight scrape sound it made against my desk when I moved, but she kept looking at it whenever I started writing. I realized she must be able to hear such a subtle motion fairly well.

I caught her staring at my bust, more than one time. I wouldn't have gone so far as to immediately flag her as interested in other women, but it wouldn't have surprised me. Then again, my bust is generous, too; a girl can be proud. She had complimented the glasses on my nose when she'd come in, saying she'd always liked those professional looking rectangular specs, which was flattering, though right now they were up on my head, along with dirty blonde hair that was tied in a loose ponytail behind my head. I must have been a mountain to her, I thought to myself. The sound of my breath, the warmth of my body, everything must have been magnified a thousand times for someone so miniscule in front of me.

The reason for her visit wasn't an uncommon one, though I'd never spoken with a micro about it. She'd developed an online relationship with someone, and they'd rather quickly fallen for one another. They played games, they talked, they sent one another pictures. Neither of them had ever found a meaningful relationship online, before, so they made a simple, rookie mistake. A simple one… But a monumental one.

They hadn't known that they lived on different sides of the Red Zone.

That by itself isn't a problem. It's not common, but it's not unheard of, either, and there's plenty of ways to make up for the… Various logistical problems that might entail. A macro and a micro fell in love, that's all. The problem in this case was that Bethany…

“I… I'm just terrified of macros," she admitted. I was a little impressed by it, actually. It was her idea to be this close to me, after all. I'd known we would be talking about some phobias, fears and anxieties, of course, but this was somewhat unexpected.

“Are you sure you want to be on my desk?" I said, closing one hand, pulling it somewhat away from her, but she was quick to dissuade me.

“No, no," she assured. “I wanted to… I thought… You know. Exposing myself to it might help." She laughed a little bit awkwardly, but my earbuds picked up her voice with perfect clarity, as if she were my size, speaking across from my desk in a normal tone.

“That's a pretty big step by itself," I said, crossing one leg over the other. “But why me? You could have asked your boyfriend, couldn't you?"

“…Not really," she said. The woman tugged anxiously at the hem of her sweater again, and then slipped down, sitting cross-legged on the writing mat. I stood from my desk carefully, stepping to where the micro sitting room was near one of my sofas. “You're a professional," she explained as I took hold of a small box within the room. To me, it was perhaps the size of a large six-sided die, or a ring box. I was careful with it as I moved back to my chair. “I'm still nervous," she continued, “but I don't really need to know you very well to know I'm going to be safe here, you know?" I gently set the box down beside her, but kept some polite distance away. She'd have to stand up and walk a few inches to get to it – what was probably some fifteen or twenty feet to her, to use her relative size, but mindful of her anxieties, I didn't want to get any closer than that.

“But your boyfriend isn't," I said, interlacing my fingers and resting them on the desk close to my edge. I watched her as she opened the thing. It was a pretty standard accommodation wherever mixed size meetings might be held. A miniature-scaled bar setting was there for her. A coffee machine, a minifridge (..Mini-mini-fridge? I shouldn't say that to her) stocked with chilled bottles of water, sodas, a little display of snacks. I noted that she seemed to be a coffee girl as she took up a cup and prepared one for herself. “So you're hoping that spending time with me might help that anxiety before you two meet?" She nodded, looking up at me again as she sipped at the mug. I heard the soft swallow of her throat through my earbuds. I became suddenly self-conscious that she might have been hearing every time I idly swallowed.

“We talked a lot about what we'd do when we met up," she said. “We want to have sex." My brows raised a little almost automatically. It wasn't a shocking thing to hear – I'd been doing this for years, now, and sex was a very common anxiety, especially for couples. I was well aware macros and micros would fuck, in whatever capacity they could manage, but nonetheless, her brashness caught me a little off guard. “But now that I know he's a macro, I… don't know. Obviously just climbing onto his lap and riding him is out of the question." Well, I thought, not necessarily, but we'll get to that later. There's a larger (heh) concern to confront, first.

I frowned a little. “…You want to end the relationship?" She rapidly shook her head, though.

“No! Not at all. I just… I want to be… Used to being in a macro's hand. Close to them." She lifted her mug to her lips again, to distract herself, or maybe to give herself a moment's thought. It gave me a moment to consider her words myself, and I frowned again.

“I'm not him, though," I said gently. “You might get used to me, and it would definitely do a lot for your anxiety, but sex might be… It's something you should take your time to explore with him specifically," I said. “There's as many ways for you two to be intimate as there are if you were both same size, but that's a personal element to explore. I can't exactly get you accustomed to sex with a macro." …. Not that I hadn't thought about it in the past. Everyone does. There's no shame in a sexual fetish, and while having sex with a micro wasn't the top of my list, that didn't mean I hadn't considered it. I was a little fascinated with the idea. It would be so surreal. A partner so small, that when they stood on my lap, they'd be utterly overshadowed by my-

“…Yes you could," she said, and my train of thought derailed immediately. She was looking up at me. I couldn't see a blush on her cheeks, but I could see her ears were back, and her tail was swishing low. She was embarrassed, but determined.

“I-… I'm flattered, Beth, but I don't think"-

“I'm not asking for us to go through the whole act," she said. “But there's…. I'd just…. This is somewhere safe." She looked around. “Just to be around you. Close to you. I want to get used to the feeling of being handled by a macro. So that when he and I meet up I'm less of a…. Of a mess. You know, like exposure therapy or something." She laughed a little awkwardly. I took in a breath, holding it for a moment. It wouldn't be the first time you did sex therapy, I reminded myself.

“… What, intimately…?" I said. I felt a bit silly just saying it, though. Her tail started to wag a little bit faster. She knew before I did that what I was saying was itself a sign that I was considering such a thing. The woman gave another awkward laugh, though, and to my relief, she shook her head.

“Just… Close. Touching me. Holding me. Being near you. If that's okay, I mean. This is the safest place I could do it, and I couldn't just ask anybody to stand over me, there's risks everywhere, you know? But someone like you, you'd be more careful than anyone else, and you've worked with micros before. Is it something we can do? Just to try?" She swallowed heavily. Her hands were together in front of her. She was pleading with her entire body alongside her words. And in truth, I wasn't against the idea. I hadn't been working with micros for very long, but she was far from the first, and among the clients I've had that wanted to discuss sex, none of them had been micros before now.

“We can see how you feel being so close to me," I said, a reassuring smile on my face. “I'm not offended that you asked, but intimacy is beyond what I can do. However, I'm more than happy to discuss those things. The bottom line is you won't feel at ease with your boyfriend until it's him you're this close to, but until then, we can work on that fear of yours with some… mild handling, if you're comfortable with that." If she was disappointed that I shut down intimacy, she didn't show it. Her tail wagged a little bit more.

“Thank you so much, Andrea," she said, bouncing a little bit on her toes. Her enthusiasm made me smile; I couldn't help it! Looking at such an animated little micro is just… It's cute. I shouldn't tell her I think that, though. She stood up straight, then held her arms out. “…How should we start?"

I slowly lifted my left hand. The bangle slid off my wrist and somewhat down my forearm. It was a wide one, with a characteristic few stripes; blue, then pink, then white, mirrored along the center of the bangle. “Tell me if you want me to stop, or move away, okay?" I said. I froze my hand in mid air until I saw her nod, then I let it move closer again, until it was resting right beside her, palm down. The small woman was standing between my index finger and my thumb. She was certainly frozen where she stood, her ears tipped back and her tail still and low, but she didn't look like she was panicking. After a moment or two, she even seemed to be marveling a little bit, and it made me smile. “I think I might be more nervous about this than you are," I said. I wasn't nervous, of course, but I hoped it might make her feel more at ease; that she isn't the only one here with her safety in mind.

“You're huge." Her hand rested on my index finger.

I only just managed not to say that's what she said. Which isn't, like, inaccurate.

I've worked with micros, studied with them, lived near them my whole life, but this was somehow a new experience. Sure, I've held a friend, or had a carrier in my hands while they were riding one, but never had I felt one touch me like this. 'Touching' might even be a little understated, she was exploring me with. Her hand brushed my fingertip. While I had such rapt attention on her, I was able to feel it… But I realized that if I wasn't paying her any attention, I wasn't sure I'd have noticed it at all. It felt surreal. I kept my hand still as stone, watching as she wandered her way along my hand, occasionally splaying her fingertips through the fur, then smoothing it back down again. Even the short fur of my hand must have been luxurious to her.

“Can I climb you?" she asked. I hesitated to answer for a short moment. 'No' was my instinct, but if she wanted to be able to climb her boyfriend comfortably, I suppose it made sense that she wanted to try it here, too. Not that it was out of discomfort that I hesitated, mind. It's just a needless and dangerous thing if she's never been around someone my size before. Still, it's very unlikely, either way. Why not?

“One second," I said. I moved my hand away from her carefully before standing up. My scarf hung from a coat rack behind my desk. I retrieved it, folded it once, and when I returned to the desk, I gently laid it out flat, then rested my hand there. “Okay," Ready or not, I thought to myself, making my arm still as stone once more.

“Clever," Beth said, sticking her tongue out at me a little bit. She approached my hand once more, and when she got to my index finger, she gripped her hands into my fur and lifted herself up. I felt it, this time. A slight tug at my fingers, then a disturbance along my knuckle, scrambling up 'til she was kneeling on the back of my hand. She seemed scared to stand up, at first, but when she realized I wasn't moving, she raised herself to her feet, and looked back up to me. I must have had an expression on my face, though, because she laughed a little. “I'm not that funny looking, am I?"

I shook my head quickly, and grinned down. “I've never had a micro girlfriend, so it's a bit of a new experience for both of us," I told her. Beth began to walk towards my wrist carefully, with her hands out at her sides. The back of my hand was probably wide as a street, to her, yet she walked as carefully as if it were a tightwire.

“You've had a girlfriend, though?" I couldn't help but feel like she was teasing me, but her statement was a more matter-of-fact inquiry than a teasing one. She didn't look up at me when she spoke, focused on looking up at my arm instead as she continued. “... Or would you have a girlfriend?" My cheeks reddened a touch, all the same.

“I don't have very much of a preference." I watched as Beth began walking back along my hand towards my fingers, then hopped off onto the scarf. She brushed her skirt down, then turned back to me.

“Would you hold me?" she said, and I nodded. My hand turned for her, exposing my palm, fingers outstretched, hand flat. It's the way I've held my hand out for micros any other time, making a sturdy surface they could stand on… But she didn't climb onto my hand again. She looked to me. I heard her clear her throat a little, heard her hesitation.

“…No, I mean… Hold me. Pick me up. You know….." She had her hands down at her waist, fingers lacing, squirming just a little bit. I took in a breath, holding it.

“Okay," I said. “If you're sure." I let my hand relax. Every motion I made was deliberately glacial. I wanted her to see how careful I was being as my hand lifted. It crossed in front of the lamp in my office, and while the room was lit enough by the open window, there was still a clear shadow that fell over her as my hand lifted, and moved over her.

“Whoa," I heard her say, but she wasn't trying to speak to me. She stepped back, and briefly looked like she was considering fleeing out. I stopped my hand for a second, letting her decide, but when she stood still again, I lowered my hand. Truth told, I wasn't sure how to approach this either, but what she wanted was to be handled. She wanted to understand what it would feel like if her new partner chose to pick her up like this, too. My fingers surrounded her, index and middle finger at her back, my thumb at her front. I took in a slow breath and held it, my mind picturing that typical scene at the end of an action film, where the protagonist has to defuse a bomb, and one wrong move or twitch and kablooey, it's all over for them, and I had the same delicacy as my fingers pinched her torso. I heard her 'mmph' as I gripped her, then lifted slowly. Her feet dangled with her tail. I could feel her trembling a tiny bit; I could feel her hands gripping tightly at my thumb. She looked over her shoulder down at the scarf, then back up at me. “Holy shit," she stammered out.

I began to tip my hand, turning slowly. When my palm was up again, I relaxed my fingers. I had never before considered that when I pick something up like this, I'm turning it upside-down into my palm. I briefly considered something else, but this is what she wanted, it seemed. She wanted to experience being with a macro. I resolved to stay the course… But I was all the more gentle for it. She slipped out from that grip, tumbling a little bit down against one finger. She squealed just a little bit as she rolled into my palm, bracing herself as she came to a stop on her back… Though her skirt had lifted rather high over her thighs. She seemed a little too overwhelmed by what had happened to notice, though. Her eyes were straight up on me. I felt her body heaving with her breaths. I didn't know if that was terror, or exhilaration, or what, but she seemed to be staring into my eyes like a deer into headlights. She was helpless to me. In that moment, we both seemed to know exactly what the other was thinking. I had full, total control over her. The only thing between me and squeezing my fist with a cruel finality was my own inclination not to, but it was within my power. It would not have been difficult. “You're huge," she murmured again. I laughed a little, and couldn't help myself, this time.

“That's what she said," I replied, sticking my tongue out at my little client, before my fingers slowly closed, wrapping about her. I heard her gasp, and then her words. “I—Wait, wait, hold on," and I stopped immediately. I let my fingers relax again, watching her there in the palm of my hand.

“Need a break?" I offered. My words were quick, but my hand was very slow to lower back down to the scarf. I didn't want to startle her, but she reassured me quickly, shaking her head.

“No, I'm okay," she said, swallowing. “I just wasn't ready. Sorry. God, this is so bizarre. But it's helping. I'm… Uh." She laughed, a little embarrassed. “It's kind of, um. Exciting."

I blinked a little bit; I squinted my eyes accusingly, and a smile cracked my lips. “….Are you getting turned on?"

“No!" she said sharply, ears tipping back right away, her tail quickly flagging up between her legs. She didn't move, though, and she hugged her arms around herself. She writhed just a little bit. “…..Maybe," she said, quieter. Her eyes were up on me again. My eyes were on her, too. Along that generous bust. Down to that sliver of fur exposed where the sweater had lifted. Down her skirt, where much of her thighs were exposed by the way that skirt had lifted. She still hadn't made any effort to straighten it. My pants were really starting to strain against my own body's ache. Fuck.

I smiled at her. Sure. On the one hand, she'd just made me party to… Some kind of sexual intimacy. I wasn't fucking her, obviously, but if she was getting turned on, that might be crossing some kind of line, wouldn't it? … But it was an innocent enough discovery. I wasn't made uncomfortable by it. In fact, I was a little flattered. She was gonna LOVE being with her boyfriend if this is how it was going to go for her. So, I let my fingers close again. This time, she didn't say anything, or squeak, or squirm. I heard her take and hold a breath as my fingers wrapped about her body. It was another first for me, and I marveled a little right alongside her. Her body was warm, and I could sense her with a much higher fidelity than I'd have imagined. I could feel her hands against me as she pressed them against my fingers. I felt her breath in the sensitive fur on my tips. Her tail was brush-brush-brushing against my palm. I could damn near feel her heartbeat through her chest.

I'm not really certain what compelled me to stand up. Maybe I felt like it was okay to do, now; she'd gotten turned on in my hand, but hadn't apologized or tried to stop it. Maybe that made me decide to lean more into it. To tease her, to let her feel that a little bit stronger. My motions were slow as I rose to my feet. It was only a few steps, rounding my desk to the sofa, but I moved in such slow motion that it felt far, far further. I sat as carefully as I had walked, crossing one leg over the other. Shit. I should've realized that my ache was gonna be mighty obvious. Simple black slacks ran down my legs, the blouse tucked into the hem… but a straining ridge ran down my left thigh. I hissed a little bit… Then lifted my left leg, crossing it over my right. Good enough.

My hand lowered once more, this time onto the couch cushion beside me, past where it began to slope down under my bottom – the last thing I needed was for her to slip beneath me like a slipped popcorn kernel – and opened my hand again. She emerged from beneath my fingertips, and this time she got up to her feet fairly quickly. Her breaths were a little heavier, even holding her hand to her chest, but she didn't seem angry or upset. In fact, she made only a cursory effort to see her new surroundings before her eyes caught me. My thigh, specifically. And she was staring like a teen catching sight of his lifeguard crush. That earned another smile from me. “How are you feeling?"

Beth took a moment to answer me, swallowing a mouthful of saliva, hands balled into fists, tugging at the hem of her sweater again. “...I… I think it's helping," she murmured down. I let a little giggle escape my lips, and that made her ears tip back again. She walked to the edge of my hand, and while she wasn't near the edge of the sofa, she was close enough that she could see the floor some distance away. I wondered what she was thinking about it, but she didn't leave me in suspense. “Could you put me on the floor?"

I felt the same little anxiety and hesitation as with the other requests, but it was easier for me to push past it this time. In fact, I didn't say anything whatsoever. I didn't need to. She was a micro, she knew what she was asking me for. When she's in my hand, the most she risked was a short fall, and even that was frightfully unlikely, and at the worst, she'd have fallen on a scarf on my desk, or onto my lap, or onto a leather sofa. By my foot, though? There was no safety net, there. If I stumbled while she was beneath me…. I didn't really want to think of the consequences. That's just how serious a request it was, and there was no need for me to remind her of the threat. I wondered if her heart was beating as fast as mine was in that moment.

I didn't answer with words, opting instead to simply act. Rolling her back into my palm just enough to get my thumb and fingers around her, pinching again at her torso only just as much as I needed, before releasing her again down by my left foot. I'd had hardwood installed a few years ago, and had always been mindful of its condition, not to mention the building's janitors doing their nightly work, but seeing a micro there, barely as tall of my toes, I instantly felt a surge of panic. What if I'd dropped a popcorn kernel? Had I spilled water or soda? Oh god, did my paws stink? I seriously did not think this through.

None of that was true, though, and my paws smell lovely, thank you very much… Or at least, if they didn't, she said nothing about it. I varied one day to the next whether I chose to go barefoot or with footwear, but today I'd opted not to, and she just… Stared again. My toes flexed slightly, entire paw shifting just a hair's breadth. I'd never noticed how much I moved with the tiniest of motions, but she seemed fascinated by it. Her eyes traveled from my paw to my ankles, up my calves to my knee…. And almost instinctively I lifted the foot furthest away from her, sliding right leg along my left, hooking them 'til my right leg was crossed over my left… And my free foot was high over her. It had exactly the reaction I thought it might, and her eyes glued up to the underside. I couldn't see her face beneath the eclipse of my paw, but I didn't need to. She was staring up at the soft pads of my foot, of each of those four toes, at the fur tufts jutting from between them. She wasn't speaking, but I could hear her breaths. A familiar throb reminded me what an awkward position I'd put myself in here, but I didn't let myself worry about it. Her actions, her motions, everything she did seemed intoxicating to me…. Nearly as much as it seemed my body had hypnotized her. I wondered if-

“Fuck," I uttered, as my leg buzzed, phone vibrating. I didn't move, of course. It startled me, but I didn't jump, nor would I have. I'd have let a fucking train run into me without moving while I knew a micro was so close to me. What startled me was how rapidly I'd been taken out of that reverie. I hadn't realized how lost I'd been in her reaction. Beth, on the other hand, seemed to have found it funny.

“Careful, you okay up there?" she said, to which I let out a little breath.

“Just fine," I said back as I dug my phone out of my pocket. I was a little nervous; the phone was muted, vibration and all, save for a few emergency contacts, which meant either my secretary or my mother. I woke the phone…

Your twelve o'clock is waiting

I blinked. Holy shit. These appointments were thirty minutes. The phone had a clock on it, of course, but in my own disbelief, I looked up to the clock over the door. It had gone by in a flash; I was already two minutes past.

Give me five I shot back, and leaned forwards. “I hadn't even realized it was so late," I said, and Beth seemed to come to the same realization. She took her own phone into her hand, and then laughed.

“Oh, god," she said, “I'm sorry, I got a little carried away."

“No worries, so did I," I said. I was more grateful than I let on. Nothing calms down embarrassing, gently throbbing excitement like a sudden text message jumpscare and the realization that you're late. “Don't move," I instructed her, keeping my eyes glued to her as I slowly stood up, maneuvering my foot away from her carefully. I collected the small carrier from my desk. I kneeled down a polite foot or two away, depressing its latch at the top that began the smooth, automatic sequence of the device adhering itself to the floor, the doors sliding open. “Hop on in, and"-

Beth interrupted me. “Can you carry me again?" she asked. Her tail was wagging this time. I considered it only for a moment before I smiled back.

“Hang on, then," I said. I left the carrier on the floor as I delicately picked her up between my fingers again, moving slowly, rolling her into my palm. I wasn't simply going back to my desk again, but across the office to the micro walkway. It felt like a mile, and it gave me just enough time to let a thought mulling in my head to ripen, and to become sure of just one last thing. When my fingers opened again, it was with her closer to my nose then to the walkway behind her. I wondered how it looked to her. My eyes like moons down towards her. My short muzzle just inches away – feet, for her - and a smile on my face. She was kneeling in my palm, and slowly rose up, but didn't get off of her knees. She just stared, until I finally moved my hand closer to the walkway. Only then did she finally stand up. I felt her feet shifting her weight from one leg to the other in my palm, her tail wagging again.

“Thanks for everything," she said. “It was, uh….. Helpful. And .. Enlightening." The bright blush and smile on her cheeks attested to that, I thought.

“It was my pleasure," I said, hoping it wasn't obvious how literally I meant that. “I see new clients every two weeks. My secretary will see you out." Beth nodded attentively, tapping away at her phone for a moment, no doubt recording the schedule, before she bowed.

“Thanks again," she said, before turning. She approached the walkway very carefully, but I hadn't chanced a gap for her to jump. She took hold of the sturdy banister, tugged herself up, and made her way along without any other dawdling. The moving walkway quietly whirred to life, and she was whisked out of the office.

I had a few precious moments to myself. Not nearly enough time to relieve myself, but enough to drink some cold water, to freshen myself up. I lifted a bottle to my lips and took a few mouthfuls, reclining slightly as I sat back in my chair, only to remember a client was waiting on me; I sat forwards again quickly, taking up my pen. The scarf was still on my desk, and my heart fluttered once more; I folded the scarf carefully and put it in a desk drawer. A moment later, my phone buzzed again. I took it up, and tapped my reply without looking.

Send him in I replied, and my secretary messaged me again immediately Then again. I looked at the phone once more, reading over it more carefully this time.

It's miss Roberts

She wants to know if there's any sooner appointments available

I stared at the words for a moment, reading over them. I understood them plenty, I wasn't confused, but for some reason, they made my heart beat faster anyway. I took another drink from my water bottle. The session rolled through my mind like a film. I looked down at my phone as a… punctual secretary sought my attention again. I didn't need any more time to think about my reply.

That's fine