Apartment 7 Has A Golden Ticket

Carie had just stuffed the last corner of toast with honey into her mouth when she heard a knock on her door. She frowned. It was supposed to be a lazy Sunday morning. All she wanted to do was go back to her bedroom and hibernate under her duvet just like the rest of the normal people should have been doing. Who knocks on your door Sunday morning?

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound was dull and plodding; maybe it was zombies.

Carie smirked and shook her head. She knew who it was. She sighed and cinched up her robe. Her rainbow striped socks dusted the floor as she shuffled over to the door. She peered through the peep-hole; all she saw was a chest.

"What?" she asked.

"Is apartment seven." It was a deep, monotone voice.

She rolled her eyes. "I

know,

Vasily. What do you want?"

"Open door. I have

tee-kit

."

Carie pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. Always that dumb

tee-kit

. "Now?" she groaned.

From the other side of the door he started to read aloud in a heavy eastern European accent, "'This golden

tee-kit

is valid at

anytime

24/7 excluding Christmas...'"

"Yeah! Yeah! Got it!" Carie exclaimed.

"Is Christmas today?"

She sighed again. Was that a joke? After a long pause, she realized that he wasn't leaving. She drew a breath, slipped on a smile, and opened the door. "Good morning," she chimed.

The man from apartment seven filled her doorway.

Carie gave him the once over. Starting from his sandal covered feet, he wore a pair of navy-striped sleep pants over his tall legs, and a stretched out tank-top undershirt which did nothing to hide his broad and muscular shoulders and tattooed arms. He was quite the good-morning package except for the scraggly nest of mouse-brown hair crowning his head. Also, somewhere beneath all that facial fur must have been his chiseled jaw and perhaps a pair of lips which he rarely opened to speak to her, anyway.

She scoffed, "Wow. You're a real emergency, huh?"

Vasily offered a mute shrug. As he walked into her apartment, he handed her a piece of paper. Carie was familiar with it.

Three months ago, at the tail-end of a late night drinking binge with a couple of girlfriends at her apartment, months of pent up frustration of trying to gain the attentions of her beefcake neighbour across the hall in apartment seven had finally come to a head. Carie needed to vent, and she took it out on the ubiquitous shag on his face. It annoyed her like a crayon mark on a Renoir.

On a large yellow post-it note, she managed to scrawl:

"Neanderthal Special at Chez Carie! Time to get that dead rat fur off your face, Boris! This golden ticket is good for six grooming sessions with the sexiest Asian nymph with a razor. Try a Carie Special!"

After slapping it on his door, she crawled back into her apartment and passed out on the floor. Not surprisingly she forgot about it until a few days later when he knocked on her door and held it out two inches from her face. It took her a few seconds to focus on it, a few more to recognize it, but when she finally did, her jaw dropped and her cheeks went flush. Before she could sheepishly apologize for the joke, he marched right into her place, pulled out a chair, and sat stoically, hands on his thighs, waiting for her to shave him.

Bewildered, perturbed, confused, and cornered, Carie couldn't recall what happened over the next few minutes but somehow found herself haphazardly sheering off his whiskers with one of her pink lady-razors. For a moment before she began, she actually thought it might be fun. Hell, she had finally gotten a reaction from the man and he was actually in her apartment. He smelled nice, too, with a spicy musk scent.

Yet, any attempt to start some chit-chat, let a lone full-fledged flirting, was disregarded by the placid statue sitting in her chair.

However, he did answer when she asked him his name. "Vasily."

Carie sighed. It was like talking to Tarzan.

So she worked in silence, concentrating to do a proper job with inadequate tools. When she was done, she stepped back and breathed deeply; she actually felt a bit worn out.

"Okay, that's it," she said. She looked at the relatively clean-shaven Vasily. He did look much more attractive this way --the reduction of fur on his face somehow accentuating his intense, ocean-blue eyes, his high-cheek bones, and squared, dimpled chin-- but she wasn't feeling very appreciative of his looks at the moment.

Without a word, Vasily stood up and turned to leave. He suddenly paused, turned towards her and held out his hand. "

Tee-kit

," he said.

Carie tilted her head, confused.

"

Tee-kit

," he repeated, his hand still aloft.

Hesitantly, she took the piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it back to him.

"Five more," Vasily said, spreading out his fingers on his right hand.

"One, two, three, four, five," Carie counted aloud, "Good to see none of your digits have been mauled off by a bear,

Boris

."

"Vasily," he corrected, then he left.

Standing there with the pink razor in her hand, it finally dawned on her that he intended to come back. Carie sneered and scoffed to herself. This joker had some nerve! As if she would actually honour some stupid piece of paper and shave his scruffy Bolshevik mug anytime he felt like it.

Yet, four more times he came to her door unannounced holding that stupid piece of paper and four more times she let him in without a fuss. Each time was the same: Vasily sitting in stone-silence on the chair, Carie carefully shaving him. Not only that, she went out and got an electric clipper, some razors, and shaving cream to do the job properly.

At times during their sessions, Carie caught herself lingering on his scent, or gazing into his eyes, or brushing against his arms and shoulder; even the sound of his deep, steady breaths managed to tickle her nerves. Vasily always sat like a rigid watchman: painfully upright, one hand on each leg, eyes forward. His non-reaction squelched any sort of burgeoning feelings stirring in her gut and chest. Yet these sessions were the only real direct contact she ever had with her elusive neighbour.

Now, three months later, Vasily was handing her his "Golden Ticket" one last time. Though he was intruding on her normally lazy Sunday morning, Carie was ready for him.

Vasily pulled out a chair into the centre of her living room and sat down quietly.

After gathering up her razors, shaving cream, and a bowl of water, Carie came around and stood in front of him. As she tied up her long, raven hair into a pony tail, she asked, "The usual,

m'sieu

?"

He looked up at her and nodded. Then with a deliberate silence, he scanned her from her feet to her face then back down again. He cocked his head and frowned.

It took her a second to realize what was puzzling him. She was in her short-skirt silk "kimono" robe, black with pink trim, and white and red sakura designs. It was from a bargain basement store in Chinatown, but she liked it. While it kind of clashed with her rainbow fuzzy socks, it definitely revealed and highlighted her slender, cream legs.

"Hey," she said, hands on her waist, "You come in here on a Sunday morning, you get Carie in her cozies, okay?"

His expression suddenly softened. "I don't complain," he replied, "Looks nice."

"Oh. Okay. Well...good," Carie said, taken aback by his response. When she caught him tilting his head for another good look, an undeniably admiring look, her mind really started spinning; her nerves soon joined in. Or maybe she was over-thinking all of this. She chewed her lip and shook it off. "Shall we get started?"

"Clippers," Vasily said.

"Yeah, I was going to start with those."

"Shave head," he continued.

Carie stepped back. "You want me to shave your head?"

Vasily pinched his fingers close together and said, "Leave this much."

"Ah...sure. Alright, I can do that. You're the customer," Carie replied. As she reached for the short comb attachment, she said, "I should get a towel to wrap around you. Don't want hair all over your shirt."

Vasily looked down at his tank-top. "Wait," he said, and then promptly pulled it over his head, tossing it aside onto her sofa.

Not that the tight, thin material of the white top did anything to hide his frame in the first place, but it had certainly provided at least a semblance of decorum between the two of them. Now, facing his bare chest, Carie had to contend with the distracting thoughts of how much time he must have spent in the gym to get all those enticing bumps and smooth curves all over his upper body; must have been hell for the tattoo artist working the needle around all those deep muscle lines.

Carie bit down on her upper lip as she continued to ponder this thought.

"Ready," Vasily said.

"Hmm? Ready? Ready for what?" She blinked.

"Hair. You cut now," he said, "Please." He beckoned her with a slow blink of his eyes and a persuasive nod of his head.

Carie was frozen, completely caught off guard by everything about him in the last 60 seconds. She actually jumped a little when her reflexes kicked in and she switched on the electric clippers. It buzzed to life in her hand. Yet after another long pause, there was still quite the distance between her hand and his head.

With a surprising gentleness, Vasily reached up and touched her wrist, pulling her hand forward, guiding the clippers to his head.

When she heard the buzz quicken, Carie flinched and suddenly a small tuft of Vasily's hair floated onto his shoulder and the floor. "Oh! Oh shit!" she exclaimed, "Sorry!"

"Is okay," he said, turning his gaze straight ahead, "Continue."

Still chewing on her lips, Carie proceeded to shave his head, at first gingerly, with slow and short swipes. As more and more of his scalp was unburdened of twists of hair, she found an easy pace and stroke. She brushed away the hair from his shoulder as she moved on, every so often nonchalantly pushing her fingers across the soft, short hairs left on his head. It felt nice, comforting, like velvet Even the shape of his head felt pleasing.

Carie rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. "Crap, that's right," she thought, "You have a thing for close-shaved guys, don't you?"

Once his head was done, she moved on to his beard, clipping off the thick layer of whiskers. As she sculpted the clippers around his chin and cheeks, she could feel him watching her; she didn't look him in the eyes, though.

Within a couple of minutes, she was done with the clippers.

"Okay," she breathed, "Looking like you've moved up at least a few eons on the evolutionary ladder."

Vasily quietly brushed off the hair from his body and then stroked the remaining stubble on his jaw and around his mouth.

Carie nodded. "I'll clean that up," she said as she reached for a razor.

"Not with that," Vasily said, stopping her, "This."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something.

Carie frowned. "Oh. Wow. No. I've never used one of those before," she said, shaking her head.

Vasily opened up the straight-blade razor, the sharp length of steel gleaming like a mirror. He held it out to her.

Again Carie shook her head. "Uh...I'm not sure you want me to use that thing."

"You worry you would not give me good shave?"

"More like me worry me would slit your throat," she replied, forcing the levity through her anxiety.

Still he held the razor out for her. He nodded once, slowly. "I trust you," he said.

A look of intensity and encouragement settled into his eyes; it unexpectedly both unnerved and excited Carie. It was as if he was willing her to do it.

It was as if he was willing her to do

anything

he asked.

Carie still gave her head another subtle shake, almost in disbelief of the weirdness going on in her apartment this Sunday morning. The little twists and turns had finally taken her down a one way path.

"I trust you, Carie," Vasily repeated, still gazing at her. His voice cajoled her like fine rum.

And the way he said her name....damn.

Staring for a moment at the blade in his hand, she finally put down her razor and took the blade from him. Holding it in her hand, she wasn't aware of its weight. All she was aware of was the relentless way he was looking at her; it was completely different from any other time she had known him. Yet it wasn't unwelcome...not at all.

Carie felt herself breathing deeply. She was out of words, out of jests to throw back at him.

Putting down the blade for a moment, she picked up the shaving cream and dispensed a foamy swirl of it in her palm. They looked at one another in silence as she rubbed the cream in her hands and they continued to do so as she leaned over and brushed it onto his cheek. She worked the lather deliberately across his chin, above his lip, along his neck and up his sideburns, painting his face gently with her fingers.

Carie wasn't sure, but she thought she detected a slight smile pull across his pink lips. Her mouth drew a straight line. Wiping the cream from her hands, she then picked up the blade and held it steady for three deep breaths. She focused, her almond eyes narrowing to slender lines. Finally, she stepped towards Vasily.

Her first stroke was surprisingly smooth along his cheek. She knew she it had to be steady and quick; it made a satisfying scrape against his skin. She stopped to examine the smooth lane of flesh she had just made between all the lather on his face. It was a good, clean shave.

The next few swipes of the blade were just as precise. Carie appeared to be a natural at this. Having a calm and assured client like Vasily certainly helped. As she moved around him she also moved closer. She inhaled his manly scent and listened to his steady breaths, deepening her concentration on the man.

He tilted his head back as she stood behind him to do his neck. As she slid the razor up she tried not to be distracted by the two entrancing blue pools gazing back up at her.

She worked in dutiful silence, swiping away streaks of lather and wiping it off on a towel before repeating. It was as she stood to his side, working along his ear, that she felt it. His hand had slipped from his lap and brushed up against her inner thigh, lifting up the bottom of her robe.

Carie shirked back. Fortunately the blade was nowhere near Vasily at the time. She grinned and chuckled nervously, taking a momentary break, wandering behind him.

"Sorry," Vasily said.

Carie felt flushed, both dizzy yet focused if that was possible. She was sure he could hear her aching heart pounding inside her chest. She raised the back of her hand against her forehead, staring at the man in the chair in front of her. It was so warm in her small apartment. She drew a deep breath and undid her ponytail, allowing her hair to fall freely down her back.

"A little bit more," she said as she came back around to his front.

In a bold move that seemed to surprise them both, she stepped right up to him, leaning in so close that she propped her knee onto the seat of the chair right between his legs. Vasily pressed his back against the chair, tilting his head back slightly; she was that much on top of him.

Carie placed her free hand on top of his smooth head and moved it to angle his face into a position so she could shave it. She could hear the breaths surge through his pointed nose. She could feel his eyes pierce into her with torrid intent.

She also felt his warm, broad hands drift around to the back of her legs and sweep upward beneath the skirt of her robe. There wasn't going to be an apology for this move, she knew.

Carie bit down hard on her lower lip, trying to calm her nerves before they raced out of control and she accidentally drew blood with the blade. Even with his strong fingers plying her bottom, she was determined to finish the job she had started.

When Vasily pulled down the back of her panties and wedged a finger down the line of her tight crack, Carie had to lift the blade away as she gasped, impulsively pulling his face against her chest. As he continued to massage her lustfully, her body heaved and rolled as she breathed aloud. When she leaned back and looked down at him, she saw a smile; clearly it was a smile. It was unmistakable now: an unadulterated, wicked smile.

"I...I think we're done," she said, her voice trembling.

His hands still working on her smooth bottom, Vasily shook his head. "We are not done," he declared through his sharp grin, "No, Carie. Not by longshot."

The blade clattered to the floor as he quickly shifted a hand around her back and pulled Carie in. His now unobstructed lips found their mark, enveloping hers with a rough, fiery kiss.

Carie's eyes widened, her head rolling with his, feeling his tongue surge forth into her mouth; she tasted coffee. Bracing her palms against his shoulders she pushed back, breaking from the kiss with a resounding gasp.

"Wait! Uh...Va-Vasily...I-I'm...Shouldn't we...uh..." she stammered. Her mind froze, she didn't know what to say.

Vasily spoke instead, "Time for

Carie Special

."

Carie's trim dark brows arched upward. "Oh...

that

," she thought, "That stupid

tee-kit

..."

Once more Vasily pulled her down and once again their lips collided in a smouldering, loud, wet kiss. Carie was carried along in his tide of desire, feeling his tongue lash and swirl against hers relentlessly. Their lips folded over one another voraciously and as each heated minute passed, Carie's bewildered reluctance subsided.

Firm hands held her waist and guided her into position. Still seated on the chair, Vasily slid her up onto his lap, her legs spread over his thighs. They clutched each other in a heated embrace.

Carie's head lolled to the side and back, unsteady breaths streaming from her glossy mouth as Vasily indulged her with kisses and licks on her throat, brushing her with the newly revealed smooth skin along his cheeks and chin. With his hands still clasped on her bottom, she squirmed seductively on his lap. She suddenly felt the rub of a potent and hard shaft against her crotch and lower belly; it made her shudder with anticipation.

Vasily's fingers crawled up her back. With almost a delicate touch, he tugged at the robe, the soft, slippery silk sliding off her smooth shoulders, revealing her honey-milk skin. As he pasted more kisses on her collarbone, Carie looked down and watched as his hands came around and undid the sash. The robe opened up further, falling past her nude, round breasts, the sleeves bunching at the bend of her elbows. The look of admiration in his blue eyes was clear as he feasted them on her lovely white bosom.

Vasily wasted little time and moved right in, claiming a pert, round breast with his hungry mouth. Carie hitched and gasped with each stiff flick of his tongue against her aching nipple. A large hand covered her other breast, massaging it, rolling the chestnut-hued nipple between his rough fingers. As the sizzling sensations coursed through her and upon her, Carie twisted and strained at his every touch. She clutched her hand around the back of his head, her other one pressed against his shoulder and chest; every part of the Russian stud was solid and strong, not the least of which was the hard muscle now throbbing against her.

Suddenly, his hands slipped back around her bottom. With incredible ease, he sat up from the chair, lifting Carie up in his arms. He pivoted around and lowered her back down onto the chair, kneeling on the floor between her legs as he did so.

Carie gulped and gasped in a vein effort to regain her composure. She couldn't even sit upright in the chair, her bottom sliding to the edge. She looked down through her parted robe, past her shimmering breasts and her hitching belly, to Vasily's blue eyes narrowed and focused.