Thread: Wandering in the Night [RA and Chanti]

Two things never occurred to Leah that perhaps should have. One was the code to enter the building. That was easy enough to forget, because there was not one. A little over a three months ago when she had first gotten her apartment the shady looking super had assured her the keyless entry would be fixed within the week. It still had not been done. Now she never even thought of it. The second thing was to be ashamed where she lived. Perhaps if she had sensed he was wealthy she would have been too embarrassed to have him come to her home. But with some of his vague comments she assumed he was a maintenance person for a hotel chain. Even if he was management he would not be all that wealthy. And while she had little experience with wealthy people, she had not gotten any kind of monetarily arrogant impression from him. So even though she knew he probably lived somewhere nicer than she did, she didnt believe it would have been all that different. It certainly did not help that Leah was ridiculously proud of having her own apartment, despite the lowliness of it. It was her first apartment she had on her own since graduating high school and college. Before then she had lived in tiny studio apartments, often sharing it with three or four other students. Except for those two things though, everything else occurred to her. By the time his firm knock on the door was heard she was a nervous wreck. She hadnt know if he would have eaten before coming, but just in case she had retrieved one of her precious expensive organic chickens from the freezer and roasted it with some fresh carrots, potatoes, and onions that she had bought from the farmers market that morning. She made a spiced pear cake and dusted it with powdered sugar and tucked it into the glass cake dish she had gotten from a thrift store for 3. Then she scoured the kitchen clean, vaccuumed the living room again, stripped the fresh sheets on the bed and washed them again. Just in case. Then she plundered her closet. What did one wear on the first night meeting a dom in private? She couldnt even call him a boyfriend, and quite frankly had no idea what would be appropriate. She consulted online resources, only to find nothing helpful. She couldnt wear the same dress she had worn the night before. Jeans and t-shirt? Not dressy enough. Her work outfits? Too dressy. Lingerie? Way too bold a move, and its not like she had anything better than a few matching sets of bras and panties. By the time she had everything scattered over her bedroom she was nearly in tears, and in such despair that if she had the nerve she would have called the whole damn thing off. No, I cant meet to fuck. I dont have anything to wear! The thought of it and his ensuing reaction - had her giggling and managed to divert her from collapsing in tears. She finally reluctantly settled on a mixture of cute and flirty and sexy. A white lacy frothy skirt that tumbled to just above her knees. A pale buttercup yellow ribbed tanktop. She stuffed everything else back into her closet and drawers, then took a long steaming bath where she shaved and waxed and masked and scrubbed till she glowed squeaky clean pink. Her skin was still damp from her bath when she dressed, boldly leaving out underwear. She rethought that decision at least another dozen times before he came, once going so far as to pick out some panties and a bra before stuffing them back into her drawer. She dried her hair but left it down, tumbling around her narrow shoulders in a riot of strands of silken honey. At 630 she sat at the tiny desk in the living room her laptop was on and opened her oldies list again. It would be perfect, she decided. Until it started playing The Lady is a Tramp by Frank Sinatra. No, that would never do. Then Neil Diamonds Girl, Youll be a Woman Soon. Nope. WAY too suggestive. John Phillips Sousa was fun to mop too. Not so much fun in the bedroom. Despairing of the oldies list she turned to her Beautiful Music playlist. Yes, Charlotte Church and Andre Rieu worked MUCH better. She was sitting there staring vacantly out the open window when she blushed and realized just how much of a silly schoolgirl she was acting like. She was a grown woman, she scolded herself. Time to act like it. Then he knocked on the door, and she barely stopped herself from shrieking. Oh dear God, he was here. She couldnt answer the door like this! Not like this, looking like a mix between an innocent girl from the country and a sleek stripper from some seedy dance club. She had to change, and quickly. But she couldnt change. It was far too late. And with bare feet, a sick stomach, and a heart that threatened to beat itself right out of her chest wall, she opened the door. If she had any idea just how delicious she looked with her strained face and big eyes, that thick rich hair framing her small face, and her hardened nipples denting the fabric of the tank top declaring to the world she was going bra-less, she may have been a bit more confident. But she did not know. She felt like a gauche high school girl meeting her crush, instead of a woman meeting a man she had chosen - on even terms. So instead of a confident greeting, he was met with a half whispered, half croaked... Hi.