Mistaken Identity

“Bob, go to the Hilton” I was told “and meet Sam Barraclough”
A lunchtime meeting at the Hilton sometimes life was tough
I was expecting a Yorkshire man with whippet on a lead you see
With a copy of the pigeon fanciers weekly laying on his knee
A dour Yorkshire man wearing cloth cap and dressed in tweed
So was not prepared for who it was to greet me I must concede
The whippet wealding Yorkshire man had turned out to be
A very pretty young woman who was called Samantha you see
She was actually a stunningly beautiful petite young blonde
The type of delicious creature it was impossible not to be fond
She introduced herself with a broad smile and a hearty hello
I stuttered out my own introduction by way of a quid pro quo
She offered her hand to me in greeting and I accepted it gladly
Her hand was soft and smooth like silk and gripped mine firmly
In my large paw her little hand was almost like that of a child
In silence we continued to shake hands and we both just smiled
We held each other’s gaze and hand perhaps too long slightly
We both laughed nervously and her cheeks blushed brightly
She then turned away and bade me follow which was no chore
I followed her exotic heady fragrance out thought the door
Silently she led me down a corridor in the lounge direction
I followed mesmerized by her form and admiring its perfection
Even wearing four-inch heels I marveled at her daintiness
Only reaching the dizzy height of five foot three more or less
The straight blonde hair cascaded onto her shoulders softly
A fitted silk blouse complemented her waif-ish frame perfectly 
She had the tiniest of waists and the slenderest of hips to swing
And pert round buttocks contained within the tailored skirting
Then the shapely legs clad in stockings unless I miss my guess
The overall effect was stunning and I was smitten I will confess
Then sunlight illuminated her form through silk and cotton
The sudden transparency left nothing at all to the imagination
Seemingly completely oblivious to the effect she had achieved
On the red-blooded men in her wake she’d never have believed
She stopped by a vacant seat and slowly turned towards me
This caused the illumination of her fine breasts for us to see
The vent on her skirt caught momentarily on a cushion pad
A glimpse of her stocking top confirmed the suspicion that I had
She effortlessly and elegantly slipped into the vacant place
And gestured for me to sit beside her in the neighboring space
Not coy she sat straight-backed upright confident and proud
Her voice was strangely hypnotic clear and soft but not loud
Once again I was completely enveloped in her intoxicating scent
Then she opened her briefcase and deftly removed the document
Like a precious work of art I had admired her from a distance
Now I could examine in detail every brushstroke every nuance
Her blonde hair cascaded onto her slim shoulders like fine rain
The sun was highlighting strands like spun gold again and again
The golden rain tumbled to caress the nape of her neck gently
Coming to rest on her soft silk covered shoulders diffidently   
I was transfixed by the vision of golden hair framing her face
Of pale alabaster like porcelain on a doll or like a Greek grace
Her eyes stunning and captivating were of translucent green
And her nose was small and angular sat perfectly in between
Her mouth was only narrow but the lips were full and luscious
As she spoke the pale pink lips glistened moistly and sensuous
I would blush to my roots if our eyes met however fleetingly
And then a smile would dance about her mouth provocatively
I turned my attention to her slim pale arms naked and bare
The suns illumination fringing like white gold the downy hair
Then her small delicate hands with fingers so elegant and slim
No bitten or false nails just naturally well cared for and prim  
Also no rings adorned her fingers in fact there was no jewelry
But then no jewelry could ever improve on this beauty before me
Suddenly she dropped her pen and leant forwards to retrieve it
Causing her blouse to gape revealing her breast well just a bit
Just the briefest glimpse of breast with a hint of lace and frill
Enough to quicken the pulse and excite the senses and thrill
Then she catches me letching and smiles as I avert my gaze
Now it’s her milky white flesh that blushes in a crimson blaze
All to soon our short business meeting was at a close and done
I felt her soft and delicate hand in mine and then she was gone
So blinded by her beauty and intoxicated by her sweet perfume
I could barely stammer out a sentence before she left the room
I was left with only the exotic fragrance lingering about me
Feeling quite despondent and in a strange way quite empty
In my hand I found her business card as you would expect
Then I turned it over like you would to more closely inspect
A hand written note and number is not what I thought to see
Here’s my number, call me soon, I’d like to see you socially

The Start of Something Big?

I'm not quite sure why I put Mistaken Identity in the exotic section, but its underplayed sensuality provides a welcome relief from all the bumping and grinding.


Erotic Poetry


Erotic Poems

Copyright © Paul Curtis. All Rights Reserved

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