He starts knocking softly on the door and now I am freaking out.
Maybe he will give up and go away.
“Curves, sweetheart, I know you’re concerned. I am too. You could be waiting to whack my penis into tiny pieces and feed it to your cats.”
I snort. “I don’t have a cat.” Shit! I clamp my hand over my mouth. I didn’t mean to say that aloud for him to discover I’m here. I don’t know if I can do this.
“You gonna let me in, I’m ready to raid, woman.”
I can’t help but snicker. I pad across the room to the door and squint at him through the peephole. He appears harmless, normal. He matches his pictures perfectly. At least what little morsel I can see of him.
Another deep breath. Unlocking the door, I force it open before I can change my mind and send him away.
“Curves,” he greets me with a grin. His eyes travel over my hips and up to my bosom. I have to avert my eyes from his overwhelming attention. I’m not used to being ogled, gawked at sure, but for remarkably different reasons than what the intensity in his eyes is giving away.
“Damn, sweetheart, you just transported me to when I was fifteen years old and reading hotrod mags just to jerkoff to the pinup queens.”
I shake my head. “You got here awful quick.”
“I actually live in building 12. I can’t believe I’ve not noticed you before.”
I step aside allowing him to come in. I’m not certain what to disclose. Will he assume it’s weird I chose to invite him over to another man’s residence?
“I don’t live here,” I admit.
“That’s cool. You invite strange men over to a stranger’s apartment regularly,” he teases.
“No. I’m pet sitting,” I say with a weak laugh. “You want to sit?” My eyes roam his frame, he’s tall but not so exceptionally big that he will tower over me. His chest is broad, but not overly thick.
He’s wearing a simple gray beanie; the same one he wears in his photos leaving me curious as to what he’s hiding beneath it.
His brown eyes are gentle and sincere as he slumps back on the sofa and takes control of the remote.
“Hey,” I gasp stealing it back. I feel somewhat uncomfortable and yet fairly comfortable being so close to this man. He’s a stranger but not. He knows my erotic fantasies and the noise I make when I get off.
His large hand spans over mine on my thigh. “I can’t believe I’m actually here, with you, face to face. It’s weird, right?” He questions and I nod chewing on my bottom lip.
“So, Vikings?” I ask in an attempt to fill the silence.
“Vikings,” he answers.
I flip to the channel with his hand still resting on mine, feeling highly intimate for two people who just met for the first time, but I feel like I have known him for years.
I know that he is a photographer for some blog and that he hates nuts, but will eat peanut butter. Every Friday he goes bowling with his younger sister. Not all our conversations have held a sexual context. “Are you hungry? Need a drink?”
“I’ll take a beer.”
Smiling, I get up to go to the kitchen. I open the fridge and scan the shelves. Luckily there is a six-pack of pony bottles in the back.
I locate a bottle opener and deliver both to Pineappleman. I don’t know what to call him. “Here you are.”
“Thanks. Uh, what should I call you?”
“Right, we haven’t discussed the rules.”
“We have rules, do we?” He grins as he pops the bottlecap off and takes a hearty swig.
“Well, you did say we would only meet for one night no strings. So…I guess I am still Curves and you are Pineappleman.” I laugh. “You never did tell me why your screenname is Pineappleman,” I inquire.