As I walked down the hall of my two-bedroom apartment, I could see Michelle's light was still on. Perfect. My apartment has a fairly traditional layout. You enter the apartment at the kitchen, which opens into the living room. From there, turn left and you head into the master bedroom, turn right and you end up in the guest bedroom. 1200 costly square feet in the Mt. Vernon section of the national capital. Hardwood floors, granite countertops, cookie-cutter luxury condo.
Crossing the living room, I could see into the kitchen. I noticed the clock on the stove said 12:30. Just past the witching hour, I thought to myself.
I pushed open the door to Michelle's bedroom, which was actually my spare bedroom. This was her third night staying with me. She lay in bed, reading a paperback novel that I couldn't see the title of. She was on the left side of the bed, the blankets pulled up around her.
She was wearing a purple tank top; tight but not too tight; cotton and comfortable. Her shoulders were slim, almost bony. Her long dishwater blonde hair fell behind her, loose and stringy. Although I couldn't see them, I knew underneath that tank top lay her best asset and her favorite weapons--her breasts--almost comically big on her small, petite frame. Michelle was never shy about wearing tight tops, low-cut tops, tops with suggestive sayings on them like "Got Milk?" and "100% Natural."
It took only a second. She noticed me at her door suddenly and started—she jumped and let out a quick shriek. Then, realizing it was only me, gathered herself together and relaxed.
"Bill—you scared me!"
"Sorry about that," I grinned, pretending everything was okay.
"I was so engrossed in my book I didn't even hear you knock."
"I'm sorry—I saw your light on, I figured you were still up."
"Yeah—couldn't sleep. All that nervous energy from all those job interviews. At least they're done now. What about you? It's so late—what time is it? Don't you need to be at work tomorrow?" She was holding the book in front of her, and had pulled the covers higher up on her body.
I didn't plan on going to work tomorrow, but I don't suppose I needed to tell her that.
"Yeah—I am probably up a little too late," I said. "But when I saw your light on, I thought there might be a problem, and I just wanted to check it out. I've never had a houseguest since moving into this place, and I wanted to make sure the Hotel Bill Casey was providing excellent service." A little false self-deprecation should help reassure her.
"Oh, no, everything's fine, no, it's been great. Your place is super-comfortable. I mean, thanks for letting me stay here while I interview, it's so much nicer and more comfortable than having to stay in a hotel. And it's so nice to be able to save a little money, too. Having to come up here from Atlanta to interview—you've just been so nice to me."
"Well, thanks again for dinner tonight, and the wine. If that's how you celebrate the end of all your interviews, I hope you're looking for a job more often!"
She chuckled along, politely, at my weak joke. We had had a fun little dinner at Sushi Taro on 17th street, and a little too much saki afterward. At dinner she wore her third of three interview suits. This last one was a conservative skirt suit, gun-metal gray. The skirt was just short enough to remind the viewer that she might be a professional, but she was still a woman. Her heels were probably the only sexy pair of sling-backs I had ever seen. Michelle amazed me—she found clothes with so much sex appeal and wore them with so much ease.
Of course, as the sushi and sashimi came out, as we moved through a bowl of edamame, as we and the conversation stayed at bloodless dissection of the interviews, the current job market and current movie releases, I realized what had to be done. And all my plans resulted in what was about to happen in my spare bedroom.
"Of course," I said, crossing the room over to the bed. It was a short distance and took only an instant till I was standing next to Michelle on the bed. "My real question is how appreciative you really are of my hospitality." I sat down on the edge of the bed in order to be—ironically as it is—less threatening.
"Uh . . ." Michelle didn't know what to say, I could tell.
"I mean, this is your third night here, Michelle, and as cute as you are, you are really getting quite a good deal, being able to stay downtown for free, you know." I'd let her offer, at least.
"Bill—"
That was it, too slow! I didn't have all night to wait for her to get the picture. With a quick--I like to think, tiger-like--leap, I was on top of her. My body pressed hard against her, as I lay on my right side on top of her, my right knee pressing hard into her abdomen. I managed to capture one of her arms under my body, the other I held by the wrist with my left. In a nod to the classic maneuvers of the genre I was now entering, my right hand shut tight over her mouth.
I put my lips up close to her as she started to struggle and scream.
"Don't'—don't! Stop it, stop it!" I growled in as menacing a tone as I could. "This is going to happen—this is going to happen, okay? Dammit, Michelle. Stop it, stop it or I will hurt you!"
Still she struggled. Silly girl—couldn't she see that as short as I was, I still outweighed her by a good seventy pounds! She wasn't going anywhere.
"I'm glad you're putting up so much of a fight," I cooed into her ear. "It's not really a rape if you want it."
That set her off into a paroxysm of fierce twisting and turning. She screamed at the top of her lungs against my hand; tried to bite me. I lifted off of her mouth. A loud wail began to escape her lips.
"AHHHH—"
Wow! Who knew that grabbing someone by the throat and choking them like I was doing actually could cut off all the sound as quickly as it did? Hmmm . . . perhaps it was because I was squeezing so hard!
Michelle didn't know it, but I didn't want to hurt her. I certainly didn't want to punch her or bruise her or anything like that. She was a pretty girl; I just wanted my turn.
Michelle was a smart girl; that was part of the attraction. She was smart enough to realize that I meant business. Her frantic attempts to escape slowed, and then stopped. Her vocal chords relaxed. Her whole body tensed into a position of worry and unease.
I let her stew with her fear and resignation for a second. A dramatic pause, if you will. I wondered what was going through her mind.
I broke the silence:
"You know what will happen if you scream, right?"
