I wanted to call Thomas and ask his opinion, but I knew he would tell me to
drop the class and take it next year. My schedule was mapped out. I didn’t want
to go off track already.
To ease my nervousness, I stopped at a drive-thru and ordered an iced tea. I
drove to his house and waited until ten minutes past the arranged time to knock
on the front door. Donald greeted me. He looked as if he had been running.
“I just got home,” he breathed heavily. “Come in.”
He lived in a normal-looking house. It was clean and well-furnished. No signs of a hatchet murderer were apparent. A fluffy grey cat rubbed against my
leg, and Donald picked it up.
Dangling the cat towards me, he cooed, “Mr. Cattington, meet Hillary.”
He thought I was Hillary because of the credit card I used. I smiled but didn’t
correct him.
“So, why did you ask me here?” I bluntly asked.
Donald rushed to the kitchen and returned with a bag. He opened it and showed me the books I needed.
“Thank you. How much?” I gushed, taking the bag.
He held it tight.
Now here is the payment time, I thought, forcing myself not to roll my eyes.
“Do you want me to buy you a coffee? Sit and have a chat?”
“No. Um, how about you make out with me?” he blurted.
“No!”
He was trying to bargain with me. “Let me feel you up?”
Feel me up? What, was he fifteen? “Dream on,” I pulled on the bag.
He puffed up. “No action. No books.” He tugged the bag out of my hand and
went for the door.
“Fine. Ten minutes.”
“Fifteen.”
“Ok, fifteen.” I set the alarm on my cell phone and held it out, showing him
the time ticking.
His bravado faded. He dropped the bag and took his pants off.
“No, the deal was to feel me up.” I glared.
He grunted trying to figure out his next move. Diving at me with both hands,
he began manhandling both my breasts.
“Can I at least see them?” he moaned.
“Feel,” I said, not hiding my boredom.
“Fine,” he grunted again. He squeezed and tugged at me before giving up with my breast.
I braced myself for his next move.
Roughly, he slid his hand down my sides and squeezed my butt. When I let
out a squeak of surprise, he smiled and slipped his hand under my skirt. I grabbed it, squeezing his fingers hard.
“You said I could feel,” he whined.
“Seven minutes left,” I relented, feeling repulsed.
