Monsters Never Get the Funny Guys excerpt

I pull the blinds all the way up, then allow them to fall down past the window sill. After adjusting them to again fit within the window frame, I run my hand across one at eye level.

“It’s very clean.”

“Yes.”

“Jason, are you embarrassed?”

“My obsessive cleanliness is not usually a topic of discussion for me.”

“Who has been here that has not noted it?”

“Everyone but you, actually.”

“Hmm…..”

“Not another woman, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s actually not relevant to me. I’m pleased with your cleanliness.”

I turn the wooden slats to permit the sun to access the farther corners of the room. Closing my eyes, I let the sun warm my skin, appraising the rare luxury of its rays.

Now I tilt the blinds enough to block visual access to the interior while asking the sun to spread a soft, golden glow around the room.

It’s time to play a new game.

“Jason, are you familiar with the Vitruvian Man?”

“Yes.” I can hear laughter in his voice.

“Please take that stance in the center of the room.”

“Alright, next request.”

“Remove your shirt.”

“Okay.”

Still facing the window, eyes no longer seeing the slats, I continue to instruct Jason in my requests for removal of his clothing, item by item, down to his underclothing. Anticipation causes my breathing to become audible. This does not concern me. I can hear my heart beating in my head, can feel it in my chest. I remain still.

When I at last turn, a work of art faces me, his arms outstretched.

“You may lower your arms when they tire.”

Standing behind him, I reach around with one hand and caress his toned torso, feeling a hint of ribs under my fingers. The warmth of him caresses me in return. With the other hand, I release my hair. Maintaining contact with his body, I duck under his left arm, my own left arm continuing to reach around him, softly fingering his back muscles. Such power in a mere man. I had no idea. Both of my hands are slowly circling his person now, brushing just enough to explore. The next revolution leaves my shoes behind him. This was a feat, with all those little buttons. How long it took me to find such boots to match my dresses. One more turn and my socks lay across my footwear. Jason lowers his arms, only to raise them with my passing, as though the game cannot proceed if I do not pass under them.

My beautiful stranger grins all the way to his blue eyes. On the next passing, I raise my skirts to expose my bare legs, then drop my skirt to face him, standing close enough to touch his nose with mine, but not touch his body with my own. He winks at me. As I again walk around him, he places his hands behind his head as though he’s relaxing. Sighs tumble from him.

I must walk a wider berth in front to avoid his erection. My, but it’s huge! I wish someone had told me about this business. I’m not sure I’m liking where that thing is supposed to fit. On the seventh turn, just after the skirt flies onto the bed, I remove my dress, sure that he will expect more than what I am still wearing, an under-dress that’s a bit more than a slip. His eyes confirm this when they narrow at my reappearance. This pleases me for some reason.

Once more around, bending at unusual angles to explore his legs, I straighten behind him to allow my under-dress to leave my person. I carelessly kick it onto the bed. Down to camisole and leggings, I allow him to view me once more, shocked that this layer breaks his silence.

“Other women don’t look nearly as good in that outfit. Is that why you cover it?”

He cannot get away with that. I circle without removing anything so that he may recognize his error.

The camisole.

The leggings.

The bra.

The panties.

Although I could explore him endlessly, I am loathe to move the game forward. The image in my mind now having morphed into reality with no exception, I at last relent.

“You may now touch me. We will only be touching today. I hope this is satisfactory to you. If not, I don’t know what to say.”

Goosebumps cover my arms from my nervousness as Jason reaches toward me. With relief, I watch him lift a great handful of hair to his face, closing his eyes and inhaling.

“So soft.”

I bravely walk into his person and find that I fit into the inviting space between his collarbone and shoulder. He drops my hair and rubs my back. His erection stands up past my bellybutton, across my stomach, leaning to the left. I don’t know why this makes me giggle.

It also inexplicably prompts me to inform him, “I am acutely aware of my navel.”

He snakes his hand in between us to find my navel.

“It doesn’t seem unusual to me.”

“No. But I am unusually aware of it.”

“Okay.”

I now permit him to touch me anywhere he wished. Nudity is so awkward. Oh, I see that his hands fit completely over my butt cheeks. That is less awkward. Even pleasant.

We move apart, Jason’s eyes roaming over my body, nearly as physical as his hands.

“Would you like music?”

“I would.”

He places a CD in the player. James Taylor sings to us of his life.

Jason holds his hand out to me and places the other on my waist. Keeping a slight distance, we dance slowly to Carolina on My Mind, through Sweet Baby James, melding into each other on You’ve Got a Friend. His hand on my back makes me feel secure. The other hand petting my hair makes me feel loved. How is this possible with a stranger?

He whispers in my ear, “I love your dresses. They’re like wrappings of a lovely gift, each layer more beautiful than the previous, well worth the wait of unwrapping.”

“You’re making me blush.”

“Is that what it takes?” He laughs softly.

“I suppose it is.”

We dance to the end of the CD, Jason twirling me a couple of times.

He dips me long and low, my hair’s weight settling on the floor. Returning upright, he pulls his arm out under my hair, stretching it out in the air.

“Gorgeous.”

He holds my face with both hands, looking into my eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I choose to be here.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

“May I re-wrap you, beautiful woman?”

“I don’t know.” He laughs, a hearty, full-throated laugh, and kisses my forehead. He retrieves my underwear. I stand while he places the bra on me and hooks it. I follow his lead, stepping into the panties, retracing my steps in reverse, but more directly.

He learns each layer as I instruct how to button the delicate pearl buttons on the under-dress and tie the sash on the dress. Then I watch him dress. Afterwards, he even places my socks and shoes on my feet before he puts on his own.

He walks me home. I can hear him whistling as he heads back to his own. When I can no longer hear him, I relinquish my hold on the front door and go to my room to document the date in my journal.