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“I have to hide,” Ms. Nuckeby whispered forcefully to me, sounding truly frightened.

“There are many, many other closets in this house from which to choose,” I said and reached out for the door handle. But she grabbed it first and pulled it from me.

“Ms. Nuckeby, please.”

Chewing her lip nervously—and quite sensually I might add— she glanced back at Woodruff and saw, as I did, that he might actually reach the front entrance during our lifetimes. Seizing the opportunity, she leaped into the closet beside me and closed its door on us both.

“MS. NUCKEBY!” I shout-whispered.

“Sssh. They’ll hear you.”

“Ms. Nuckeby,” I whisper-shouted. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am naked.”

“So? You’ve seen me naked.”

“But I didn’t climb into a closet with you.”

“No, but I bet you wanted to.”

Her daring left me speechless. And, once again, hard. I had to turn away from her to avoid unintentional intimate contact and nearly severed my ever-ready appendage on the rough edge of a cardboard Santa Claus. I yelped, slightly, and she shushed me. Shushed me!

With my masculinity wounded in more ways than one, I stood there, sulking and throbbing. We’d been through a lot, today, my penis and I. A comic convention would be just what we needed. Something distracting, uninteresting, and completely sexless.

I turned to Ms. Nuckeby, barely seeing her silhouette in the darkness, and felt her warmth too close to me for comfort. It softened my tension a bit. Some of it.

“Well. As long as we’re trapped here, Ms. Nuckeby, I’ll take the moment to apologize for my…you know…my earlier…eh…” I let it hang there. At least the words, if not the actual item in question.

She waited, apparently a bit lost or confused.

“Erection?” she said, maybe not so lost or confused. “Oh, that’s all right. I didn’t mind. Honestly, I’d have been disappointed it if hadn’t happened.”

She laughed a bit, and I melted at the sound of her delicate tones. I could see a bit of her smile in the small amount of light coming in under the door and wished I could see more. More smile, that is.

Okay, other things too.

“As it is, I was kind of flattered actually,” she said.

That surprised me. Who would have thought? I looked down into the darkness and wondered if seeing it now would flatter her even more. It never felt so…big. Like it was filling the entire closet and at any moment might take on a life of its own, knock her down, and start rubbing itself all over her like a neglected pet.

“More importantly, Mister Wopplesdown, I hope you didn’t think I was being unprofessional, or provocative in some way. Walking out as I did. You know. Topless and all.”

“No, no. No, of course not. Many of our designs are topless—you know…by…em…design. And you were marvelously professional. Visibly professional.”

“And, of course, I don’t mind being seen that way, you know.”

Bloop.

I said nothing. I was expending all my energy fighting to keep my panting erection down, boy, down.

“Topless,” she added, taking my silence to mean—I don’t know, lack of understanding? Ignorance? Having become a eunuch since last we saw one another?

Gloop.

“Otherwise I couldn’t do it,” she continued. “Model lingerie, I mean. You have to have confidence in yourself, right? Know you’ve got something worth looking at.”

Glorp.

“Indeed,” I said.

“I just thought you should know,” she said, her voice and stance relaxing a bit. “I appreciate my job. I need my job, and I didn’t intend to jeopardize it in any way. When your grandfather came in so angry, insisting that I stay away from you…”

“Yes. Well, he has other concerns. Some of them valid.”

“Oh, I know. We’ve all heard the stories. Quite a libido your family has.”

“We pay extra for that.”

“So I hear. Anyway, it’s drummed into the models before we leave the agency that we aren’t supposed to date any Wopplesdown— male, or female,” she paused, and her voice lowered a bit. “No matter how desperately we may want to.”

There was a rather pointed edge to her last sentence fragment that made me seriously wish that I was either a) not a Wopplesdown, or b)