Freudian Slip. Erica Orloff
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you go for happy hour.”
Eventually, after one more smack down of the snooze button, she rose and headed to the bathroom. As she undressed, Julian admired her naked form.
“Nice tits. Great ass, by the way. You must do squats at the gym. You know, you need to stop covering up.”
She turned on the shower until the tiny bathroom steamed up. She stepped into the stall and soaped up her body. He watched the way the water formed rivulets through the bubbles on her skin. Even without a scrap of makeup, her skin was perfectly clear.
He watched her and decided shower time might be his favorite part of the day in Neither Here Nor There. Oddly enough, he found himself erect.
“Okay…so, let me get this straight, I can still get a hard-on in Neither Here Nor There? But what am I supposed to do with it?”
Annoyed, he had to be content with watching her rinse her body and wash her hair. She emerged from the shower, cheeks rosy from the hot water, and proceeded to brush her teeth and towel-dry her hair.
“Now the clothes,” he said, following her to the closet.
As she slid hangers across the bar, he spoke, loudly and firmly, “No, no, not a chance, big fat no, what were you thinking? No, no, and no again.”
She put a hand on her hip and sighed. “What is it with me? I hate all of my clothes all of a sudden. Hate them!”
She reached way back in the closet for a skirt and flirty top. She held them up to her body in front of the full-length mirror.
“We can work with that,” Julian told her.
“Maybe since I’ve lost weight, this will fit better.” She scrunched up her mouth and wrinkled her nose. Julian thought she looked like a bunny.
“Put it on,” he commanded her, though he did like looking at her naked.
She padded to her dresser and pulled out a pair of panties.
“No!” he screamed. “No! No! No! Cotton briefs? No, Kate girl, no. Boy shorts, a thong, silk. Not that.”
He leaned over her shoulder and stared into her underwear drawer. Though he had seen lots of women’s underwear, he had never been privy to the mysteries of a woman’s underwear drawer before. He’d taken them off with his teeth, ripped off thongs and judged panty contests on his show. But a woman’s apartment—the way she actually kept her things—that he wasn’t familiar with. His underwear drawer was a laundry basket of clean—or semi-clean—clothes in his closet. Kate’s drawer was, he decided, without enough silk. There seemed to be a shortage of sexy. That would have to be remedied.
She sighed aloud. “Maybe these.”
She pulled out a cotton pair—but at least they were bikinis. Then a bra.
“We’re going shopping today,” Julian said. “I hope you have a high limit on your credit card.”
Kate dressed, fixed her hair, dabbed on makeup, grabbed a soft-sided briefcase and headed out the door with Julian close behind. He wondered if she took the subway. He loathed the subway. But, to his pleasant surprise, she walked to work.
Once in her office building, she made a beeline for the newsstand and coffee bar in one corner of the lobby. He said, “Buy a paper, buy a paper, buy a paper, buy a paper, buy a paper.”
Thankfully, she did. And as Julian soon discovered, he was front-page news: “Shock Jock Clings to Life.”
Well, he mused, at least he was alive. He hadn’t been shuttled down to Hell, or sent up to Heaven.
As Kate walked, Julian noticed more than one appreciative stare. So, apparently, did she. He saw her blush a little. The black skirt she wore fit her perfectly, about two inches above the knee, and she had on black heels with a strap around her ankle. Fuck-me pumps, he decided. The blouse was hot. It was colorful, sort of tropical, like a watercolor on silk. And she had her hair pulled up, but with some loose pieces around her face. He was ready for Leslie. And he hoped she was, too.
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