I felt his hands untangle the skirt from my feet. I looked back at him as he discarded the skirt behind him, his belt loose and working his zipper do...n. I turned and continued up with my fingers working the clasp of my bra, then discarding that at the top of the stairs. I turned around to walk backwards into my bedroom. He had shed his slacks, stopped to remove his socks. Somewhere he had kicked off his shoes, too. He was standing three feet from in his boxers. I looked at him. I really. I guess... I don’t actually know. I mean, I don’t really get asked out by a lot of guys. A few of my friends have said it’s because I’m oblivious to it. Like I must give off some ‘fuck off’ signal when I’m out. I dunno... Maybe being brought up with boys and having lots of guy friends killed some part of my personality that enables me to flirt or something. ” “Well that can’t be true. You always seem to reel them in whenever I’ve seen you out.” "Myself included," he thought. “My. More

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