Thread: Catfish! (Lia && November Bleeds)

With a huge grunt, Charlie swung the eighteen okay, he was exaggerating...there were only fifteen bags shopping bags that he'd acquired onto the bed. His over-sized, four-poster bed stood in the direct middle of the room. Draped with pure white sheets and comforters and pillows, the top of the mattress nearly came up to his torso if he wasn't wearing heels. The frame was a gorgeous cherry, and the base had steps to help someone climb into it. It had been a house warming present to him from his great grandmother, who had always spoiled him rotten. Looking over, the blond haired, chocolate eyed man groaned at the thought of trying to fit more stuff into his already filled-to-bursting closets. Maybe I'll dig some stuff out to give away... Of course, he always said that every time he went shopping, and it never, ever happened. What if he wanted to wear that four-hundred-dollar skirt that he bought two years ago that he hadn't worn yet? He was only waiting for the absolutely perfect occasion to wear it! It deserved that much. I can always build another closet... But that was wishful thinking. All the money in the world which he -- okay his family -- pretty much had couldn't change the laws of physics. There were neighbors on either side of him, and therefore, the space he could expand into was hugely limited. Perhaps they'd consent to sell this year... He snorted and moved into the biggest of the three walk in closets. Reaching down, he slid the red pumps off and groaned as his feet met the plush, soft carpet. Much better. It took several hours of rearranging and creating hanger maneuvers to get everything he'd purchased into the closet, but he'd done it. He always found a way. Always. Satisfied that the rod wouldn't collapse this time, he cut the lights and went for the kitchen. It was small, but something had to be, he supposed. And he'd rather the kitchen be the smallest room in the house. He didn't cook much, and when he entertained, everything was catered in. The only thing he really needed the kitchen for was to store the wines. Oh. Wine... Charlie was eccentric by the standards of most. Twenty four, with a master's degree in business that was only collecting dust. He didn't work, happy to let his willing family support him and his shopping addiction. When he had been sixteen, he had embraced his affinity for women's clothing. That was part of why he didn't work if he did, he couldn't dress in the pretty clothes that he'd spent so much time carefully picking out. What a shame that would be. Charlie stood at six feet tall, without his heels, and had a thin, lithe frame. He was muscled and strong, but didn't look it in the least. Soft locks of blond hair fell into his eyes at times, and he was told that his eyes reminded people of the chocolate river in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. When they found out his name, they thought it was darling. And being the attention whore that he was, Charlie soaked it all in with a smile and a primp and perhaps a small curtsey. Pouring himself a glass of red wine, the blond reached over the counter and switched on his lap top. He was hoping for an email from the man he'd been talking to for years. He felt bad, because he'd at first told him that he was a she, and after he began to care about the other, and wanted to come clean, Charlie felt too far into it. But he lived in Canada! At least that was comforting. Humming, he turned on the stereo system that played throughout the house, and danced his way over to the other side of the counter, sitting while the laptop finished booting up.