The day drones on incessantly. It seems as though someone has coated the wall clock in some thick viscous glue making it almost impossible for the second hand to drag itself to the next little black marker. You check your phone several times, convinced that someone has pulled some cruel joke and that it is actually hours past what the clock reads. You manage to complete some of your daily reports and menial computer tasks. Finally the clock manages to achieve the seemingly impossible task of striking 5:00. You quickly collect your belongings, along with the stack of files that your dear friend, Angela bestowed upon you at quarter to five. You make your way outside, glancing around in a non stalker kind of way, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ristain but he nor his bike is anywhere to be seen. It's a bit cloudier than earlier in the day but still warm. You rush home and jump in the shower, leaving the door open, just in case "someone" calls. The shower is quick and purposeful, making sure that every square inch is clean and smootly shaved. You run your fingers up and down your legs, ensuring there is no embarassing stubble. You imagine to yourself how it will feel when its those strong hands running up your legs. You jump out of the shower and proceed to undertake the beauty enhancement ritual that every woman meticulously carries out when faced with the prospect of hot unadulterated sex; tweezing, plucking, polishing and applying Everything done with with precision and pain until you finally look in the mirror and are satisfied with the result. You smile at yourself and practice a couple of variations of how to greet him, wavering between coy school girl and sexy pouty goddess. Anticipation begins to build in the pit of your stomach as you await his call.
Finally, primped and polished you sit down on the couch and flip on Lifetime. Ooooh, another 48 hours murder mystery. You love these shows. They always involve some poor vicitimized woman that kills her bastard adulterous husband. Your not sure what that says about you that you enjoy them so much. You watch half-heartedly, glancing periodically at your phone on the coffee table to make sure that it's still functional. You are beginning to think he isn't going to call. And really, why should he, you don't have plans tonight .
Suddenly the phone vibrates madly, nearly rattling itself right off the table. You grab it and hit the button.