He asked me to come over again today, saying he'll pay me.  This time, he didn't specify if we're going to have sex or not.  It doesn't matter.  Every time I agree, I'm letting myself fall further and further into the hole I've dug.  Brendon's digging with me like the altruistic individual he is.

The whole 20-minute way there, I repeat to myself: Don't talk about your personal life.  Don't talk about your personal life.  Don't talk about your personal life... and before I know it, I'm on his doorstep.  An envelope is at my feet, held down by a rock. Moving it and taking the envelope into my hands, I open it.  The money is inside.

Again, I can just run.  Brendon's not even out here.  I could get a reasonable distance.

Pocketing the cash, I inhale deeply as if bracing myself and knock on the door.

"It's open!"   Brendon yells.

Sometimes, I really hate myself.

I open the door and the first thing that my eyes set on is the women's clothing on the couch.  It's not folded or anything, just thrown and piled like a giant mass.  Well, that's pretty much what it is.

Brendon reveals himself from around the corner in a black shirt.  "Hey," he smiles.

I can't help but look back at the clothes.

"Sorry for the mess," he says, following my line of vision.  "I know this kind of raises eyebrows."

Uhh, yeah, the whole thing is discombobulating me.  But, remember what I said, 'Don't talk about your personal life.'  I'm holding myself true to that.

"It gets boring around here sometimes.   I clean when I'm bored."

Not assuming OCD, but will assume 'Neat Freak'.

"They're all Sarah's.  Half of which she's never worn."

Is that directed toward me?  It's not my fault my Uncle won't get me new clothes and I go around wearing the same grey, worn-out hoodie every day with a random shirt I found in my closet.  The same could be said about my converse and jeans.  I even cut my own hair because I don't know what else to do with it.  It's like Brendon's saying, 'I'm sorry you're poor'.

"Um," Brendon clears his throat.  "I'm gonna do the dishes," he says heading to the sink with his back to me.

I want to ask why I'm here.  What we're doing.  But every time I open my mouth, more shit comes out than I intend.   I feel that's the case with everybody, but it makes me stand out because I barely speak in comparison.

Looking at the clothes again, a black slip - dress with spaghetti straps catches my eye.

"Listen," he says over the roaring water.  "Last night, I didn't mean to paint Sarah as a bad person.   She's not.  If anything, she's one of the major sources of my happiness," he chuckles.

I take the dress off of the couch, holding it by the straps to look at it in its entirety.  It looks about my size, but I make sure by holding it over my body.  It stops just above my knees.

"I love Sarah, I do.  Arguments occur in every relationship.  We'll do it over the dumbest things too."

I set the dress down and unzip my hoodie, let it fall to the floor, then remove my shirt, piling it on top of my hoodie.  I do the same with my pants.

"When she's gone, I find myself missing her.   Or, maybe it's the quality of another person's presence, I don't know."

The dress practically slides on my body.   I adjust its straps over my black bra straps, straightening out the bottom.   It's a good fit.

"Don't get me wrong, I have friends, but they're more 'wild night out', and I'm 'quiet night in'. They also never invite me anywhere.   Who am I kidding, they're fake. Just acquaintances from the office..."

His voice trails off, but what switches my attention is when the water stops.  My head shoots up to see him staring at me, catatonically.  I hear him swallow lightly and clear his throat as he grabs a towel to dry his hands.   Almost tentatively, he approaches until he's standing over me, biting his lip.

"Don't do that to me," he says.

"What?"

"Tease me."

I just thought the dress was nice but okay.  "Why?"

"Or I'll punish you."

"How?"

"By throwing you on the bed and taking you right there."

"Hmm."

"Don't believe me?  Or are you pushing it?"

"Maybe it's both."

"Don't test me.  You'll regret it.  I'll have you not walking for a week."

I am sexually frustrated, but I can't just ask for it.   I have an idea.

Reaching behind me, I lift the dress and finger the back of my panties, keeping my eyes on Brendon the entire time, who's perplexed by my movements.  I slide my finger around the band, pulling them down until they fall to my ankles on their own.

I'm suddenly lifted off the ground and Brendon holds me by my legs over his shoulder, carrying me to the bedroom and throws me on the bed.  He's straddling my wrists at my sides.

"You know what that did to me.   You asked for this."  He climbs down in between my legs, lifting the dress.  My breath shivers a bit.  "I don't think you realize how beautiful you are."  He cuffs the bottom a bit.  "But you are."   He gently kisses my clit, making me relax and close my eyes. Willingly, I put my arms over my head.  He kisses there, then my stomach covered by the dress, then he's completely over me again.

I catch his erection in his sweatpants.

"It's fine, Callie.  You're doing this to me, you know?  Ya like cock."  He giggles.

I look into his eyes.

The smile falls quickly.  "Say you're mine," he says.

"I'm yours."  Did his eyes just sparkle?

"I can't wait to touch you again."

I lift an eyebrow.

He smirks. "You dirty little girl."