Physical Proximity

I wear a prison issue belt to work that holds a pouch for my keys which are attached to a very long chain, with a whistle attached to another chain. The whistle slightly confuses me: I worry that faced with a difficult situation I will play a jaunty tune and lead the prisoners away like the Pied Piper of Hamelin. It feels strange to be wearing all this stuff at my waist. I have already managed to get the chain of my whistle caught on a shelf as I was talking to someone and nearly pulled the shelf off the wall as I started walking away.

Today, I got part of the chain wedged onto the end of one of my important keys and was unable to pull it off. The Library Officer had to lock the door and then asked about the problem with my keys, staring at the knotty bundle of chains at my waist.

"I don't know what's happened," I admitted. "It's all a big mess and I can't work out what's supposed to go where."

He unwedged the chain from my key and then began unntangling the rest of the chains. He was standing over me, closer than someone would normally stand, his fingers on the belt at my waist. I held my breath, unnerved by our physical proximity and conscious of a frisson of attraction on my part.

"This reminds me of getting my daughters ready for school when they were little," he said, slightly ruining the moment.

Blushing, I felt like a child.