Page 112 of Perverse Fantasies

Then the knocking started again, more insistently this time, like the person on the other side of the door knew he was home. After another moment of hesitation Henry decided to be civil and see who was there. He paused the movie, climbed up off the couch and headed over to the door.

He opened it without bothering to look through the peephole, and standing there, much to his surprise (which he was careful to keep off his face) was Jenny Stevenson. She was dressed in a sleeveless white tee shirt that covered her legs nearly down to her knees. But not even the loose-fitting clothes could mask her rocking body; she could make painter’s overalls look good. And the lack of a bra didn’t hurt her cause either. Her long black hair was mussed and she was wearing very little makeup, both of which suited her just fine.

“Hey there,” she said.

“What’s up?” Henry said, playing it cool despite the butterflies in his stomach. They hadn’t done more than briefly exchange pleasantries since their crazy New Year’s Eve and he’d convinced himself that it had been just a one-night stand, never to be repeated again. Now he wasn’t so sure. But he didn’t want to jump to any conclusions and he certainly didn’t allow his hopes to get too high.

“Not much,” Jenny replied. “I was just hanging out by myself tonight and figured you would be too, you know, b

ased on your aversion to holidays.”

“Well, you guessed right.”

“So . . . are you going to invite me in?”

“Sure,” he said. “Come on in.”

Henry held the door open and Jenny walked past him. He watched her as he closed the door, slightly saddened to see that her ass was covered up by the T-shirt. At least her shapely legs were a nice consolation prize. She sat down on the lounge chair and folded her legs beneath her, revealing nothing but panties beneath her T-shirt.

“You want something to drink?” he asked. “A beer? Some wine?”

“No thanks,” she said. “I want to see how things go when we’re sober.”

Before Henry had a chance to contemplate the meaning of this, Jenny had moved on.

“Boogie Nights, huh?” she said, glancing towards the television. “Are you a P.T. Anderson fan?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too. You ever see There Will Be Blood?”

“Only ten times,” Henry said as he sat down on the couch across from her. “It’s one of my 2 favorite movies of all-time.”

“And the other one?”

“No Country For Old Men.”

“Ahh, the Coen Brothers. Good stuff, good stuff. I had no idea you had such good taste in movies. I should have known, though. You have good taste in everything.”

Henry laughed softly. “Like you’d know.”

“I know you have good taste in music,” Jenny said.

“How do you know that?”

“You were listening to The Mars Volta on New Year’s Eve.”

“You remember that?”

She tilted her head and flashed him a little smirk. “I remember everything about that night.”

“Everything?”

“Everything,” she said, raising her eyebrows a couple of times.

Henry wasn’t sure what to make of this but he supposed it was a good thing. After all, if she had remembered everything and was coming back for more, that certainly couldn’t be bad.

“But, back to your tastes,” she said. “We’ve got movies and music out the way—two of the most important ones, the way I see it—but it doesn’t stop there. I can see you have good taste in pizza. Round Table is my favorite. You have good taste in beer. Blue Moon on New Years. And wine too; I can see Silver Oak in your kitchen. And you certainly have good taste in women.”

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