Three doors up the street lives Jennifer, the most beautiful woman in the neighborhood. Her tousled auburn hair falls about her shoulders in a soft, sexy way. Her broad smile always seems so warm and genuine, a sensuous complement to her perfectly proportioned face. Incredibly, her husband recently divorced her (why in the world, I'll never know!).
Late one evening I stop by the mailbox on my way in from work. I pick up the mail and find a note from Jennifer, addressed to me in her beautiful, flowing script. I open it, curious and eager at the same time. It says simply, "I'm sorry to trouble you, but I'm trying to clean out my closets now that Gary has moved out. Would you mind helping me move some boxes to the basement? Jennifer."
Of course, being the helpful type, I can't wait to agree. I call her home and there's no answer. I try again the next day and again that evening yet still there is no answer. The next evening, returning from work, late again, I spot her green RX7 in the driveway. I always liked her car...the sleek lines and emerald metallic color. It matches her green eyes so well.
Determined to respond to her request, I walk up the street and knock on the front door. She answers the door barefoot, dressed in loose jeans and a cotton tee shirt, which accent her terrific figure. I explain about getting her note, trying to call, getting no answer. She smiles and tells me of course she has stopped answering her phone to avoid speaking to her 'ex.
She invites me in and thanks me in advance for helping her. I smile back, "No problem. Where are the boxes?" She tosses "this way, follow me" lightly over her shoulder as she ascends the stairs to the second floor.
She shows me into the master bedroom and over to the walk-in closet. The boxes are stacked neatly on shelves. As I reach up to grab one, and balance it in my hands, she moves in close behind me and places her hand on my shoulder. "No, not that one," she says pointing, "the one next to it."
I reach for the second one and this time she puts her other hand around my waist and says, "Is that too heavy? Would you like me to help?" I say, no, but can't help but be aroused by her touch. I muscle the box down, which is quite heavy. She touches my arm as I lift it out of the closet. "You are going to ruin your tie," she says. So while my hands are full of the box, she proceeds to loosen and remove my tie, all the while looking into my eyes rather than at the tie.
She has long, slender fingers, to match her figure, and bright, green eyes. I say, "Thank you", and she nods "not at all". I ask her where she wants the box taken and she shows me the stairs to the basement. As I turn to leave, I notice a dark spot on the front of her blouse, likely dirt from the heavy box I am carrying.
