Perhaps even the lush, vital, busty middle-aged blonde from the first floor.Perhaps even the lush, vital, busty middle-aged blonde from the first floor. Who might be persuaded to come in for a drink for the first time after five years of gentle invitations. Most likely it was some fool who couldn't be bothered reading the names on the mailboxes and wanted to ask for someone who didn't live here. Yeah, that was probably it. My building doesn't have intercoms, so answering the door was always a surprise package waiting to be opened. By the time I got to the door of my apartment and opened it, I had worked up a good mad: Who the hell was bothering me now? I opened the door as Alicia reached the midpoint on the last flight of steps. "May I come in?" See if you can guess the range of fantastic possibilities that went through my head? Got it? What did you come up with -- Two? Four? Okay -- then you can imagine why I just sort of stammered, cleared my throat, smiled idiotically and motioned for her to come up and in. "I hope I am not interrupting you," she said as I closed and locked the door behind her. "Oh, no, not at all," I lied glibly. "It's a pleasure to see you." Well, that was the truth, anyhow. I took her coat and went speechless again. She was wearing a simple, pale yellow blouse of thin fabric with her jeans and she wore nothing else. I knew that because if there'd been anything under those jeans thicker than a cellophane G-string, it would have made a bulge. And her blouse was buttoned maybe two thirds of the way, which meant that I had a great view of the tops and part of the sides of her magnificent tits, and what I couldn't see that way was almost-but-not-quite-visible through the thin, straining fabric. She was also wearing flat shoes, which meant that no matter how I moved, in the narrow hallway, I was looking down and seeing lots o' Alicia. |