Friday, August 12, 2005

Fingerprinting turns me on...

Vanessa here...

I have three words to say about my day:

Oh. My. God.

Okay, three more:

I'm. In. Love.

His name is Hunter Langdon and he's an (get this...) FBI agent. A real life, bonafide, genuine (pronounced "genu-wine") FBI agent. He doesn't carry a gun (that I could tell), but he was definitely Fox Mulder yummy in every way, form and fashion.

Remember how I said the new CEO, Darth Vaddar, was bringing in the fingerprinting person to ink the whole company? Well, when I got called in for my session at 1:15 p.m. today, my heart fell to the floor, returned lickety-split and lodged in my throat when I saw the honey standing before me.

Hunter Langdon.

Say his name with me. Hunter Langdon. Flows like nectar from the lips, eh?

There he was, standing there in all his cuteness. Not wearing s stuffy suit, a la Men in Black, but rather he was wearing smartly fitted khakis and a (ready?) royal blue shirt with the sleeves turns up to his elbow. Golden, sun-kissed, strong and muscular forearms showed. like fresh grass on an April morning. And sandy brown hair to match his squared, chiseled features. (And yes, they were chiseled! I've read enough romance novels to know when someone's goddamned face is chiseled.)

There, on the front pocket of his shirt was an ID: Hunter Langdon. Even the picture on his ID was sizzling hot.

Admittedly, the first thing I did was not-so-coyly drop my eyes to his left hand. Oh come on, you wouldn't have done that first off too? It was remarkably bare (and no tan line from previous wear that might have gone wrong.) I have to say, he's probably in his early thirties and yummy as a Cookie Doughn't You Want Some from the Cold Stone Creamery.

He ran through this quick presentation about confidentiality and stuff and gave me this card to fill out (he actually wanted me to write my weight on it!) and I handed it over to him. Then our eyes locked. And it was like a string orchestra set their bows to their instruments...playing only for me as the light shone in and illuminated him and only him. Okay, kiss my ass...I know I'm getting all sappy on you and waxing poetic, but it was a magical moment for me.

Hunter explained the whole fingerprinting process as he inked up the pad with his little roller. Then, he turns to me and asks if he can take my hand. (Take my hand? Take my breath, more like.) I give him my right hand and I swear to God, there's like a little bit of massaging action as he loosens me up and dips and rolls my finger in the ink. Then together, like a fluid piece of orchestration (I know, I've used that metaphor already, so sue me), we roll my finger on the card. We do this with each finger, a slow, rhythmic seduction of his warm hand cradling mine and carefully inking and stamping.

Thoughts running through my head:
  • Does my breath stink?
  • Is his heart hammering as much as mine?
  • I wonder what kind of deodorant soap he uses ('cause he doesn't stink!)
  • What will we name our children? (Two girls...twins.)
  • How am I going to get the ink off my fingers?
  • Would it be inappropriate to shove him onto the conference table and have my way with him?
  • Am I sucking in enough for my "skinny" look?
  • What if my name comes up with some sort of criminal record that's falsely been attached to my identification?
  • Does he like breakfast in bed?
  • How can I see him again?!

I decide to turn on the flirt (although a recent article in Money magazine suggests that women who flirt in the office get passed up for promotions, but I don't care 'cause Hunter Langdon doesn't work here!) and tell him I grew up in the Washington, DC area and "always wanted to be in the FBI." This gets his attention and he starts telling me a little about the Academy as he's still nicely holding my paw and pressing my digits into the card stock.

When it's done, I swear, he releases my hand reluctantly. (Okay...maybe that was me.) Then, he whips out this bottle of Windex and asks for my hands again. He takes a few paper towels and the takes my hand in his, sprays the cleaning product and gently wipes away the ink. Flashes of our future blind me as I see him capable of cleaning boo-boos and placing bandages on our twin daughters (Samantha and Claire -- they're adorable, let me tell you.) There's some sort of jolt or something. I feel it. I think he feels it. It's like what you always read about in novels and it's fucking fantastic. Our eyes lock. And hold. I stop breathing. He smiles.

And in the millisecond of a moment, I decide, "Do it, Virtue," and say, "My friends and I are meeting up at The Rattlesnake around 9:30 tonight...if you're not doing anything."

Damn. That was bold.

Hunter Langdon's smile broadens and he says, "I'd like that...thanks."

So...I have to shut the hell up, take a shower, get dressed in my cutest of outfits and head back into town. I have a date with an FBI agent!!!!

Don't worry...I'll be sure to share the deets on Monday.

Happy weekend and hang loose!

Double Vee, aka The Future Mrs. Agent Langdon


Anonymous Stephanie K. said...

My heart just swooned for you reading that. Have fun!

Stephanie K.

7:44 PM  
Anonymous j said...

he sounds like a creep. picking up women on the job. you should report him to his superiors.

5:12 PM  
Blogger Gena Showalter said...

Oh, i love it! I want my fingerprint done now. And by Hunter. Only Hunter will do. Can't wait for all the details!!

9:24 AM  
Anonymous Sasha White said...

Delurking to say....Come on already! It's Monday! Where are the details???

6:42 AM  

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