Andi, Part 4

01 Feb

We hadn’t gone to any more bars, but we decided to go back to Andi’s house because it had gotten late enough that they were all closed. She entered the security code to the side door and disappeared into the dim interior of her house, walking in that peculiar mincing way called tiptoe by people who have never actually tried to walk on the tips of their toes. Personally, I’ve always thought that walking that way increased your risk of falling over and consequently becoming super, super loud. Probably it’s better to just walk the normal way. Most people have more practice doing that.

She shuffled back to the door and waved to me where I stood near her car, speaking in the raspy, unquiet manner of people who are trying to whisper across absurd distances. We’d parked off to the side so that no one who might be leaving in the morning would have to come looking for us. I remained unsure whether Andi’s parents knew whether or not I existed, but it was with far more confidence that I knew that I had no desire to find out. I didn’t even want to look at them. How would that conversation go? “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Andi’s Dad. Your daughter and I met this morning. Why yes, now that you mention it, I am hoping to penetrate her later. You know, with my penis.” I cringed in horror.

I brushed lingering grass from my clothes and followed her inside. Earlier, she’d taken me for dinner at a clumsily Bavarian pub that, she assured me, was her favorite. “I feel kind of scandalous,” she said, pawing at my thighs beneath the bar. “I was in here last week with another man.”

I shrugged. “I doubt anyone’s keeping track of who you do and don’t bring in here.”

Her face opened briefly in surprise, expressing rare and genuine emotion. The thought clearly had not occurred to her before. Then she laughed and kissed me, pressing her face very publicly into mine.

Afterward, we’d driven circuitously around her neighborhood, parking eventually in the tiny lot abutting a community tennis court, this being the sort of place that has community tennis courts. The court itself was well-fenced and locked, but stylishly scenic stands of trees stood above the manicured grass surrounding it. We found ourselves beneath one of those, and somehow Andi’s underclothes found their way off her body and into my pocket. We kissed, and as we kissed, she pushed my head intently waistward. I obliged her.

I followed her into the labyrinthine gloom of her house. The faces of digital clocks and expanses of large-paned windows provided the only illumination. Hallways lined with pink granite tile led irregularly away from the kitchen and living room, which seemed to be the foci of the floor plan. She showed me her bedroom. I got a brief glimpse of a four-poster bed, and then she led me away. Immediately, I forgot which room it was. No rationale existed for guessing whether a given door led to a bathroom, a bedroom, or a closet. “We can’t stay here,” she whispered, and walked carefully towards the basement. I followed her closely. Dread of making a wrong turn into her parents’ bedroom sat hot and queasy in my stomach.

She pulled me into a guest bedroom and sat on the duvet. Someone had arranged the pillows with a hotelier’s precision. “Kiss me,” she said. I kissed her. She smiled. “Get undressed.”


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