Stalker Problems - Chapter 16 - Double, Double, Shower Trouble
I stared in shock at the naked men. Their tattoo-covered, completely hairless torsos were like big sexy arrows pointing downward directly to their humungous erections. Chastity hadn't been kidding about stacked soda cans.
One of them raised a seductive eyebrow. “Like what you see?”
"What?” What the hell is happening?! “Why are you naked?! And who the hell are you?!” My eyes gravitated down to his penis again and then snapped back to his face.
“I’m Angel,” said the shorter one.
“And I’m Diablo,” said the other. “And we’re naked because you said you wanted to try us out.” He took a step towards me as he stroked his thick cock.
“I wanted to try the shower !” So much for this being a tame evening .
“Don’t worry,” said Angel, pushing his longish hair out of his eye. “I promise we’ll be gentle.”
“At first,” added Diablo.
Holy shit. Am I about to get raped? I glanced down again. Hot damn. How would that huge monster feel inside of me? What the actual fuck am I thinking? They were just. So. Big. Stop staring at their huge penises!
Diablo took another step toward me.
Nope. Not happening. That thing would never fit in me. Before the two men could get any closer, I screamed “RAPE!” and ran out of the bathroom. Oh God, were they following me? Was this how I died? I didn’t stop running until I was safe in the elevator.
“Where to?” asked the liftman.
Holy shit. I ignored him and frantically jammed the LOBBY button.
The doors were taking forever to close. Come on.
Come on! I slammed my fist against the LOBBY button again.
Was this how Dr. Lyons had felt when I sexually assaulted him?
Maybe this was karma. All rapists eventually got raped themselves.
“Can’t you make the doors close?!” I practically shouted at him.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
“No!” I was going to elaborate when the doors finally started to slide shut.
My overactive imagination pictured a hand reaching between them at the last second.
Or what if it was something else? What if Diablo stuck his gigantic penis between the doors?
Would it get chopped off? Joe’s would have.
No question about it. But Diablo’s? That thing was like a third arm.
If anything, it would probably end up damaging the elevator door, not the other way around.
The doors were almost closed when something really did stop them. But it wasn't a penis, or a big rapey hand. It was a feminine hand with lots of rings.
The doors slowly reopened. "You okay?" asked Frankie.
"No I'm not okay! I almost got raped!"
The liftman somehow didn’t react to that.
"They weren't going to rape you. They just thought you were asking for it."
I was asking for it? "Oh yeah, this panda shirt makes me look like such a whore."
"Not what I meant. I meant you said you wanted to try the shower..."
"Exactly!” This girl was out of her damned mind.
“I wanted to see how the shower worked. Not be double-teamed by two strangers.
Unless shower is suddenly a code word for penis, I don't see how those two things could possibly be confused.
.." And then it hit me. Oh my God. Shower was a code word for penis. I wasn’t house shopping.
I was man shopping, and all the weird house lingo corresponded to attributes about the "realtors".
That was why Frankie had referred to the floors as being completely smooth.
And why asking for colorful walls with a double shower had brought me to an apartment with two tanned and heavily tattooed men.
I suddenly felt kinda bad about repeatedly telling Ocelot how small his shower was. “Oooh,” I said. “I get it.”
"I'm sure Angel and Diablo are still willing to entertain an offer if you think that's the apartment for you.”
“Are you sure about that?” Did they actually want me? The thought was actually a little…exhilarating. What would two beautiful men like that want with a weirdo like me? Was it my fancy wig?
“Yeah, I’m sure. You saw how hard they were, right?”
“How could I not have seen?” They’d been hard. Really, really hard.
Frankie laughed. “Good point. So what’s the verdict? Are we moving on to the next place? Or do you want to sign a lease with Angel and Diablo?”
“If I do go back in…what would happen? Could I ask them to do whatever I wanted?” What am I saying? I’d officially lost my mind.
“Of course you could,” said Frankie. “Although I should warn you…Angel and Diablo do have a bit of a reputation. If you walk back in there, you better be prepared to get double-teamed.”
Holy shit. I pressed my legs together. A devil’s threesome had always been a fantasy of mine, but only in theory. I never thought it was actually a thing that could happen. “Can I look at the listing again before I decide?”
“Sure.” Frankie clicked a few buttons and handed me her phone.
A picture of the foyer was front and center.
The Spanish architecture really was beautiful, but that wasn’t what I’d been curious about.
I scrolled down until I got to a picture of the listing agents.
They were even more beautiful than I remembered.
On the left was Angel with his pouty lips and longish hair that swept in front of his captivating pale gray eyes.
And on the right was Diablo. I’d been so distracted by his uh…
jawline that I hadn’t noticed it in the bathroom, but he had a cross tattooed under his left eye.
“Does Diablo really have a face tat?” I asked.
“He does,” said Frankie. “It’s so hot, isn’t it?”
On anyone else it would have looked trashy, but the rest of his look was so polished that it somehow worked.
His tan skin and chiseled jawline didn’t hurt.
Am I seriously considering this?! My brain told me to run home.
But the rest of me wanted to run back into that apartment and make all of my wildest fantasies come true.
I mean it was a threesome. With two super hot guys. That sounded kind of amazing.
No. I couldn’t. I didn’t even know them. But that could be fixed…
“So what do you know about Angel and Diablo?” I asked.
“Not much. They’re brothers, and they do everything together. Including fucking. Most people say Angel is the nice one, but I’m not so sure. I knew a girl who spent a night with them, and she said that they’re equally devilish between the sheets. She also said it was the best sex of her life.”
Chastity would never forgive me for passing up this opportunity.
It went directly against Single Girl Rule #8 about 8 inches and 8 abs.
And I was curious... I bit my lip as I stared down at the picture of them.
What was I even thinking? I couldn’t do this.
Frankie’s story about her friend reminded me of one very important fact: these guys probably had a million diseases.
And even if they didn’t, I was way too awkward of a person for a threesome. I'd probably end up trying to make their penises talk to each other like sock puppets and totally kill the mood.
I shook my head. I needed to put a stop to this before I did something insane. Like actually have a threesome with two strangers. This was what happened when you let a sexual deviant out of her hermit cave. I needed to be locked up for good. "I think I'm done for the night."
"Oh come on!" said Frankie. "I still think I can find you the perfect home. I take it you don't want a double shower after all?"
"Single would be preferable."
"What about the size of that shower? Too big?"
No way. I needed that in my life. “Not necessarily. But a bit smaller would be acceptable.”
"Good. Because those are just about the biggest showers we’ve got. Smooth floors?"
"Uh, I’d like the upstairs to be carpeted.
Downstairs can be either. Not like a shag carpet though.
" Hopefully that's the right lingo. Wait.
..why am I answering these questions? I didn't want her to find me some random dude to bang.
The only random dude I wanted was my stalker.
Which gave me a wonderful idea. "Actually, can you find me a place where the upstairs has a long carpet?
Preferably brown. And crazy colored walls.
No, not walls." Crazy-colored walls would have meant the realtor was some neon-skinned sex alien.
"White walls. But crazy colored art." No, that's tattoos.
"Not permanent art though. Removable art. "
Frankie smiled. “I’ve got just the place.”
I had no idea if anything I’d just said made sense. So I held my breath as we entered the next apartment. Was it going to be my stalker? Nope. No such luck. Instead it was some long-haired bro in bright orange workout shorts doing squats with skinny girls in slutty workout gear.
"This place is only available for rent," said Frankie. "And you'd be sharing it with some roommates."
"Gross." I quickly backed out of the apartment before anyone noticed me.
Apparently my stalker wasn't an option. Because of course he wasn't. What were the odds that my stalker would have been part of the Society?
"I really do need to get going," I said.
"I'm starting a new job tomorrow so I shouldn't stay out too late. "
Frankie frowned. "But we've only tried a few.
The average homebuyer visits 8 to 10 apartments before they find the one.
Not to mention that I'm the best realtor in town.
What are you going to do…use an app? Every place I show you has been thoroughly vetted.
You think Zillow cares about the accuracy of their listings? "
Translation: you'll get AIDS if you hook up with some dude on Tinder. Which was probably accurate. Besides, Chastity had used an app to set me up on the blind date from hell with Matthew Caldwell. So yeah…I didn’t want to use any dating apps.
They were dead to me. Which meant my two options were to be alone forever or play along with Frankie's little real estate game. If I didn’t do this, Chastity would never let me live it down.
And…I was really curious. What could a few more places hurt?
As horrifying as tonight had been, it had also made me laugh.
I was having fun. I took a deep breath. I was living.
And if I figured out Frankie’s lingo, I might be able to order up the perfect man.
So what was my ideal man? My stalker. But I couldn't have him.
Mainly because if I ever saw him again, I'd be so embarrassed about the pie incident that I'd probably scream and hide.
Or just laugh in his face again. I didn't think he'd seen me, but there was a slim possibility.
And that was enough to make me never want to show my face near One57 again.
Damn, I was really going to miss seeing him twice a week.
But not as much as he was going to miss seeing me…
since he was the stalker in this scenario.
"Sometimes it's hard to know exactly what you want until you see it," said Frankie. "But that's where I come in. Just trust me and I promise I'll find you the perfect place."
"Okay, let's do it." It was better that way. When I’d tried to describe my stalker with man-house metaphors, I’d almost ended up being some gym bro's sidepiece.
Her first try was okay. He was handsome. He was friendly. He had a nice smile. But I just didn't get the right vibes from him. And he was like seven feet tall.
"All these high ceilings are making me dizzy," I said. "Can we go a little shorter?"
"How short?"
"Surprise me."
And she did. Because the realtor at the next place was a dwarf. The ceilings in the apartment may have been short, but the realtor assured me that the shower was huge.
No thanks.
Frankie tried a few more times. One realtor was an earthy cowboy playing a guitar, but the excessive taxidermy on the walls was a pretty big turn-off.
The next was a polished wall street type with slicked-back hair and a five o'clock shadow.
He was like Joe, only a million times better looking. But he was still like Joe. Hard pass.
The more apartments we visited, the more I wondered about the Society. How did they have such a wide variety of men sitting around waiting for me? And how did they afford all these apartments?
"I think I might not be ready for a new apartment yet," I said after I had rejected five more men.
Or rather, after I rejected four men and got kicked out of the fifth's apartment for making a particularly distasteful comment comparing the smell of Indian food to a cow's rear-end.
In my defense, I hadn't seen that the realtor was Indian when I made the comment. "I'm gonna get going."
"I just have one more," she said. "And I think it might be everything you're looking for."
"Oh yeah?" That was hard to believe. I’d decided that Frankie was terrible at her job. She had no idea what she was doing. She was an idiot person.
"Yeah. It's a gorgeous place that just recently went on the market. The molding is all custom. There's a gourmet kitchen. The ceilings are nice and tall. The realtor will probably even be baking something to make it feel homey."
Hmm. "Sounds perfect."
"As your realtor, though, I feel compelled to advise you against making an offer.
It may look beautiful on the outside, but it's all just a facade.
Behind all the paint and granite and trim, the foundation is a mess.
Bad wiring, rusty pipes. It wouldn't surprise me if there's even asbestos or some lead paint. "
It sounded like this guy was a hot mess. Which if I was being honest with myself was actually right up my alley. I was pretty sure my foundation was a mess too. And I didn’t really have anything to lose. “He sounds perfect.”
She stared at me, because she’d literally just said he wasn’t. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
I shrugged. “Something about rusty pipes. Let’s do this.”