I don't know if he improvised this or not.I don't know if he improvised this or not. Now that I think about it, he must have, because he took some papers out of the envelope before he gave it to me. "Go into the ladies room and put all your underwear in this," he said. I did. Bra, panties, pantyhose. I gave him the envelope. As I sat there, feeling increasingly sexy, he gave me detailed instructions for several outfits I was to make during the next few weeks while I was waiting to come to him. I know it's not a very good career move to be good with a sewing machine, but I am. And I am NOT a housewife type, as will become clear after you read about last night. First I have to fill you in on the rest. By the way, he kept his promise: he never touched me that night; the bit with the underwear was just him being him. It is a comfortable two-day drive from Chicago to his new house, though I could have made it in one. I arrived about four in the afternoon. Actually, it is not a new house: it is old. I can't tell you exactly where it is, but it is a really luscious house. [He also won't let me use the clinical names for parts of the body that nurses know so well, so if I seem a little victorian in my language, now you know the reason why. In fact, he gives a lot of instructions about everything, not just how to write this.] I can say we live in a very warm climate--almost Mediterranean. The house has high ceilings (twelve feet in the living room), tile floors, a red tile roof, and lots of stucco arches. And a fireplace with a magnificent mantle. It's one of those pseudo-Spanish houses that were so popular in the 1930's. It's still nearly unfurnished, even though he's been living here six months. |