Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [29]
“I suppose,” I said, “that’s not a problem though. The ‘desperately wanting to’ part, I mean. I can’t imagine any…eh…Wopplesdown appeals to you well enough that you might feel…em…in any way…you know…desperate about them.”
“Oh? You imagine that, do you?” she asked, rather too seductively I thought. Or perhaps it just felt that way, my being naked and all.
“Are you saying there may be some…” I swallowed with some difficulty. “…A little…a tiny bit of…em…desperation, you know, to date a…uh…a Wopplesdown?”
“There is one I find somewhat attractive,” she said, breathing deeply herself.
“My sister, Mimsi?”
She laughed again. A mesmerizing sound.
“She leans that way, you know,” I said.
“Everyone knows. No. It’s definitely one of the male Wopplesdowns.”
“Ah,” I said.
“Your grandfather.”
“What?”
More laughter. It melted me.
“Oh, he’s so hot,” she said sarcastically. “When he came charging at me, threatening me—it was hard to contain myself. Especially when he began verbally berating me. I love it when an older man treats me like a bad child. Particularly when I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s so sexy.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” I said, smiling. “Sooooo—not that Wopplesdown, then?”
“No. Not that Wopplesdown.”
I breathed deeply and leaned closer to her. “Any Wopplesdown within earshot.”
I felt a tantalizing bit of her brush against someplace it certainly wasn’t expected to and my temperature rose high enough to bake a potato.
“A lot closer than that,” whispered Wisper.
“Um…wow. Okay,” I said, stunned and amazed. And still naked.
“But,” she began, pulling back slightly, which made me a bit fearful. “I never imagined there even being a possibility, at all, of acting on that attraction, I mean. He and I…we come from such different worlds.”
“You mean because your closets are smaller.”
Another laugh. I was on fire.
“Actually,” she said, “I meant a difference a bit more significant than that.”
She could properly use the word ‘significant’ in a sentence. What a girl!
“The only real difference between closets,” I said, “is the clothes hanging in them.”
“Or not hanging in them.”
“A Wopplesdown could afford to fill your closets with all the clothing you could ever dream of.”
“But could a Wopplesdown be comfortable wearing what he finds in a Nuckeby closet?”
“I would wear anything you asked me to,” I said, more meaningfully than even I expected, “if it made you happy.”
She paused. I heard her breathing deepen, and I saw a smile spread warmly across her face.
“Really?” she asked, and I heard the heat in her voice. It made me weak in the knees, ankles and hips. “You think you could be happy with me—living in my world? In my closet? Wearing what I wear?”
“I could be happy with you completely naked,” I said with confidence, given that I already was happy with her completely naked.
She giggled, hotly; she felt startlingly close and seemed to be breathing harder. Was it possible for either of us to breathe harder at this point? How long before all the air was gone from this tiny room and we both passed out? I had decided I wanted to kiss her and felt it might be more romantic if I managed it without fainting in the middle.
“You see, Ms. Nuckeby…“ I said, the words hanging a bit in my throat, “if I were to ignore the combined wisdom of our many, highly paid legal counselors on this subject and be dangerously honest, I find you—truly—the most attractive women I’ve ever seen, in person or on the Internet. And your personality is certainly scoring some…eh…significant points in this closet.
“To expose myself further—I mean, legally, I mean, not…em…you know—I would love nothing more than to find some way for us to…uh,” my voice trailed off. The room was filled with quiet breathing. I slowly, cautiously, took her hand. It trembled slightly at my touch. “But—you see—I have this problem…”
And as if on cue, Woodruff finally reached the front door, and once opened, in burst my problem himself.
“Where’s Corky?