Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms (13 page)

Then the doorbell rang again, accompanied by several laughing voices on the porch and Ms. Nuckeby’s tennis shoes squeaked harshly on the foyer floor. They squeaked again, squeaked a third time, then rapidly padded back my way until the closet door suddenly exploded outward. Ms. Nuckeby, sheer terror in her eyes, practically fell into the darkness beside me and closed us both in again with a slam.

She had seen my erection and liked it. Now she was
back
, Grandfather was
in the building
, and yet
others
had arrived.

Can you see how this might be leading to trouble?

Somewhere overhead I heard Woodruff sigh with annoyance.

THUMP

Pause.

THUMP

Pause.

THUMP

Coming
down
.

“My
clothes!”
I said, loudly enough for only Ms. Nuckeby to hear. She didn’t reply—only breathed heavily—apparently still recovering from her near miss with whoever had just arrived. And—maybe—just a little from thoughts of my magnificent penis. At least that’s what I wanted to believe.

After several more Woodruff THUMPS, the newly arrived whoever-it-was felt they’d waited long enough and opened the entry door for themselves, shuffling, clicking, removing coats, and talking amongst themselves.

“—Why doesn’t he decorate—I love this neighborhood—how did he get
this
house—he still has those damned
comics
hanging everywhere—is that smoke back by the pool?”

Several genders, mostly female. One was my sister, another my younger brother, and the third sounded oddly familiar—

“
Hellooooo
, Woodruff! How
ARE
you?”

“Miss Wopplesdown. Mister Wopplesdown. Mister Wiggen. Good to see you.”

Morgan? What was
he
doing here?

“And Miss Butterwycke. How delightful to see
you
, again.”

That’s
why it sounded familiar!

I nearly choked. Mindie Butterwycke? My lifelong secret love?

Standing naked in a closet beside Ms. Nuckeby with what seemed my entire family just outside, you couldn’t imagine it getting more awkward—but
you
are sadly lacking imagination.

“What brings
you
tonight?” Woodruff asked, apparently waiting for an answer to the exact question that I, myself, wanted an answer to. He could only be this efficient by accident.

“Well,” Mindie began, sounding oddly giddy, “it’s supposed to be a surprise for Corky, so I can’t tell you. But I think you’ll like it. I really,
really
think you’ll like it!” Her voice practically sang out, cockatiel-like.

“Who’s
that?”
Ms. Nuckeby asked.

“My…uh…er…old family friend,” I said, trying not to sound in any way interested. Curiously, my erection died like a carnival goldfish.

“Really? Because you sort of stiffened up. And not in a good way.”

“Did I? Fascinating. Because there’s no reason for me to. None whatsoever. Zip. Zero. Nada.” I considered continuing, but I still hadn’t learned Swedish.

Outside, Mindie forged on, talking about how much she loved my place, how it had everything one could want, except a woman’s touch, and that someday someone would make me get rid of all those damn cartoon books and pictures messing up the walls. She laughed. Others laughed. I gulped.

“None whatsoever?” Ms. Nuckeby asked, somehow unconvinced. What was she, psychic? “So, she’s not…like…an old flame, or anything?”

“
Hardly
,” I said, trying to come off as shocked and annoyed, but sounded mostly like I’d sucked helium.

“So you wouldn’t be nervous that she might find us in here, together. You in your ‘state of undress’ and all?”

I snorted derisively and felt something fly out of my nose. Please, God, don’t let it have landed on Ms. Nuckeby.

Outside, as if on cue, Mindie laughed, loudly and overly enthusiastically. Like Brad Pitt had dropped ice down the front of her pants and was holding it there while licking her neck.

”Wouldn’t bother her in the least,” I said confidently. If there was one thing I
was
certain of, it was Mindie’s indifference to my body. “She might be
amused
by it, as you can imagine. But bothered? No. Oh, no. Not in the least.”

“Then she couldn’t possibly mind if we were
both
naked, now, could she?”

Gloop.

It was just an up-and-down kind of day.

“I…uh…what are you saying, Ms. Nuckeby?”

“Well, I was just thinking,” she said leaning closer, “that since it seems we might be stuck in here a good,
long
while and all, that there’s no sense in you continuing to feel awkward because you’re the
only
one naked.”

I heard a button pop, and she began doing things that, mere moments ago, I would have
paid
her to do. But somehow the timing, now, was…ehhh…
not so good
.

Outside, Woodruff was directing the guests into the study with Grandfather, and I knew he was mere seconds from opening the closet door, yet again, with additional coats and derisive comments.

“Woodruff’s coming,” I said.

“I’d rather
you
were.”

I gasped in a very unmanly way for a man, yet for some reason she still moved closer and popped another button somewhere. Inexplicably, I was truly uncomfortable with her newest idea. Why, when a woman goes from being cute and sensual to overtly
sexual
it should oftentimes give men pause, I’ll never know. Something I’d learned in college about a Madonna and her whore slithered through my mind, but left only a slime trail. As I said, the thinking cells simply fail us males from time to time.

Maybe it was my inexperience with romance. Or maybe it had something to do with the growing number of people one panel of wood away, coupled with the fear of being caught and ridiculed
by
said people. They were
family
, after all, and that’s what family
does
in these situations—laugh scornfully and then dredge up the material at each and every opportunity thereafter until the end of time. Parties, family gatherings, wedding banquets, Internet blogs. Familial humiliation lives on forever, and grows funnier and funnier (to them) every time it’s remembered publicly.

It was bad enough to think of Grandfather lurking around out there, and possibly catching me illicitly engaged with an employee then disinheriting my ass. At least he might keep it a secret out of shame and lawsuit paranoia. But Morgan? Mimsi? Rupert? Daniel?

And Mindie? Why in God’s name was I thinking about
her
at this particular moment as more of Ms. Nuckeby’s buttons exploded open?

“I’m sorry, Ms. Nuckeby, but I’m really not up for something like this right now.”

She grabbed hold of the thing that proved me a liar.

“Liar,” she said.

“Whoa,” I said, swallowing something and hoping it wasn’t my tongue. “Really. I have a heart condition. Or am considering getting one. I’m just not cut out for this kind of daring.”

“I think you
need
a little daring in your life, Mister Wopplesdown. A little spontaneity! A little
fun!
” She laughed, attempting to encourage what just wasn’t there. “You’re too damned repressed for someone so young, and so cute.” Then she squeezed me in a way that would have made
any
man spontaneous, and daring, and fun. Like a Wright Brother, Jon Stewart, and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer all rolled into one.
I’m cuuuuuuuuuuude!

“Life is hard enough,” she said, laughing, “not to take advantage of a little harmless joy when it comes your way.”

Then, horrifyingly on cue, the door opened, and I had to use Santa to obscure my Christmas present for Ms. Nuckeby. She turned away and smiled at Woodruff.

“Could you give us a moment, Woodruff?” she asked. “We were just about to have sex.”

I nearly passed out.

“Very good, madam,” Woodruff said and began closing the door. I stabbed a hand out and pulled him into my small, dark, sex chamber from hell, accidentally knocking the coats from his grip as I shut him in with us. He stood immobile beside me, arms at his sides, and though it was hard to tell in the darkness, he seemed not the least bit concerned that I was naked and shaking various body parts dangerously close to him in such a confined space.

“Why didn’t you send them away?”
I asked him.

“Would you like me to, sir?”

“
Yes!”

Ms. Nuckeby rubbed a hand up the back of my thigh and I jumped. “We both would,” she said.

“No,” I corrected, my mind racing around its brain track, and narrowly avoiding mental oil slicks. “Take your pants off.”

“Okay,” Ms. Nuckeby said, instantly unzipping her tight-fitting jeans, and hula dancing out of them.

“Not
you!”
I said.

“Ah,” Woodruff said. “
Me
, then? Assuming we three are the only ones in here.”

“Of course we are.”

“Very good, sir,” he said and began unzipping.

“Leave
your
pants
on
, please, Ms. Nuckeby.”

“Too late,” she said, and I felt her bend over, and push them down to her ankles. Dear God. Bend over?
Push them down to her ankles?
“Why should you two have all the fun?” she asked, straightening up and stepping completely out of her Levis.

“It’s not fun!” I whisper-shrieked. “It’s funless! There’s no fun to be had here! I simply want to get into
Woodruff’s
pants!”

I could feel her studying me. “Are you
sure
you’re not gay?”

“It’s a question
I’d
like answered as well, sir,” Woodruff said, “before I continue.”

“Continue,” I said. “I am
not
gay.”

“Then wouldn’t you rather get into
my
pants?” Ms. Nuckeby purred, holding them out to me. “It would be easier. They’re already off.”

I began to have difficulty thinking. The image of Ms. Nuckeby standing beside me—pantsless—possibly not even wearing—Dear God—not even wearing—there had been no visible panty line…

“Are you…wearing
underwear
, Ms. Nuckeby?” I asked, the words vibrating, frog-like.

“Just a thong,” she said, and I knew she was smiling. “But you can have that too if you want.”

“Does this mean you won’t be needing
my
pants, sir?”

Things had gotten terribly out of hand here.

“Please put your pants back on,” I said.

Woodruff began refastening his.

“No, not you! Off!
OFF!”
I said.

“Very good, sir.”

“Ms. Nuckeby, please…”

“You should know,” she purred, “being in the clothes biz Mister Wopplesdown: It draws unflattering attention to oneself being the only person overdressed at a party,” she laughed. “And the last thing I want is to draw attention to myself.” She had become entirely too giddy. Maybe the air
was
getting thin in here.

“Ms. Nuckeby…”

“So here,” she said, “let me even things between us.”

She tweaked my member. It was amazing how she could hone in on that thing in near total darkness. “There’s no reason you should be the only one naked in here.”

“NO!”

She made quick work of her underwear. They didn’t come off so much as evaporate, and then with a sensual twist-lift-pull, she stripped her shirt to complete the Adam and Eve ensemble, holding the discarded garments out to me. “If you
really
feel the necessity to be dressed now, you can have
my
clothes. I won’t be needing them anymore. Of course, as you wander about the house inside them, feeling the warmth that was me, just remember that I’ll still be
here
— inside your closet—
completely
naked.”

She paused, presumably to allow me a moment to take a breath and compose myself.

I obliged.

“
Completely
…naked,” she continued. “Of course, you’ve never seen me
completely
naked. Fortunately it’s dark in here, and there are no water bottles. But take my word for it. If we had light, you’d be able to see
everything
from the tip of my nipples to the crack of my ass, because I am
completely
naked.” She paused again for maximum effect. I got the feeling she was
trying
to get a rise out of me. “To the skin,” she finished in a sensual whisper. “Here. Feel.” And with that, took my hand and guided it to something soft and warm, and pliant. I nearly fainted as blood surged everywhere but my brain.

“I’m sorry,” Woodruff said. “I didn’t get that last part. Would you mind repeating it, please?”

She gently pushed her clothes against me and let them go. Struck dumb and immobile, I failed to take hold and the loose fabric fell somewhere near my feet. As I struggled, briefly, to remember what one does in a situation like that (to this day, I have no idea, so if anyone knows, please send a letter care of the publisher) she kicked the stuff that used to make her not naked somewhere away from me and into a darkened corner of the closet.

“Oops,” she said, not really at
all
upset. “Whatever will we do,
now
, Mister Wopplesdown? Now
neither
of us has any clothes.”

“Dear God,” I wheezed.

After a moment of mouth-hanging-open silence, I shook my head to defog it.

“Ms. Nuckeby. This is highly inappropriate…”

“I know. That’s what makes it fun.”

“There are people out there…”

“And won’t they wish they’d been in here when they hear about what a great time
we
had?”

She trailed a finger down my chest, heading right for the gold. I jumped and turned around, which didn’t please Woodruff, who had his pants down to his thighs by now. Another two to three years and they’d be off entirely. When the man undressed for the night, he must have finished around dawn. No wonder he was always so tired.