Copyright, 2001, NCmVoyeur
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Lisa heard the sound of the front door knob turning and opening. She stopped the gentle ministrations her middle finger had been making to her clitoris. She looked at her bedroom clock across the room on her dresser. Its electrically-illuminated red letters blared "10:00." Right on time, she thought. No trouble, obviously, finding the key she'd left resting inside a hanging planter on the stoop. Lisa wasn't certain he'd come. But just planning for it had put her on edge all day.
She heard the door close. She listened more. Her two-story townhouse was completely silent, windows all closed, notwithstanding an unusually warm autumn evening. All Lisa could hear was her own breathing, and the tick of a clock downstairs in the living room.
Lisa felt a sudden chill run through her. She was tempted to pull the covers over herself, to warm her naked body, but she knew that wasn't was she had agreed to do; agreed with man whose footsteps came in slow march up the stairs. Her mind wandered . . . remembering . . .
"
Hi, are you busy?" he typed. Lisa saw the "Instant Message" window open on her monitor. At least this one's polite, she thought. She had gotten an America Online account a few months after her divorce was finalized. One of those 'trial CD's' showed up in her mailbox one day. She wasn't allowed to use the office e-mail and Internet access for anything personal. Why not? she figured.
"No, not really," she aimlessly typed back. It had been a fiew weeks after she got her account that she had wandered aimlessly into the 'chat' area. A night of looking around confirmed what she had once read; it was part community, part surreal sexual bazaar. Lisa wasn't prudish. But neither was she accustomed to the blatant, matter-of-fact way the topic of sex was promoted.
"I don't normally just approach people this way,' he typed apologetically. Lisa smiled to herself. The line had a bit of a 'what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this feel,' but it struck the right chord. Most of the others came off like the hormone-crazed frat boys of her college days.
It seemed like an eternity to Lisa as he stepped his way to the second floor. She resisted the continuous temptation to cover herself. Her bedroom was near total darkness, save for the bit of light that came through the closed curtain. And the light from the clock. But she had never felt more exposed in her life.
His name was Steve, Lisa soon learned. Age 37. Slightly older than her 33 years. Divorced long ago. A network engineer. And able to type a complete sentence, a feature she found lacking in most of the men online.
Lisa was normally guarded about her life. She had a few close 'girl friends' that were her confidants. But it had been 9 years since she had first met her husband, Mike. Discussing her life with another man had always seemed out of the question. But with Steve it seemed to come effortlessly. Maybe it was the medium, which was faceless. Maybe she just had the need to connect again with someone.
It started innocently. He was kind to let her ramble, which she was beginning to do more with each conversation. No detail seemed to mundane for him, from her routine as a small office manager, to her life growing up in the model midwestern family of 6, to the collection of cat artwork that pervaded her townhouse.
Steve's life was as mundane when put in type as was hers, she thought. But, oh, his wit! He made her laugh. Lisa hadn't done much laughing in a long while. The hours sped by.
It wasn't until well into their third discussion that they discovered the coincidence that they lived a scant 30 miles apart.
Lisa saw Steve's shadow appear in the doorway to her bedroom. She took a slow quiet breath, trying to stem the anxiety beginning to overtake her. Her thoughts raced . . . disjointedly . . randomly . . .
"can he see me ? should I have put on music ?"
A line from an old David Byrne tune danced in her head
. . "you may find yourself asking . . . 'Self . . . how did I get here'"? . . .
