Quit Looking At Me That Way, You Perv!

When things are going really, really well, renting someone an apartment is better than sex*:

There was a long pause. Neither one of us said a word. I could tell she was seriously thinking about something, but at the same time, she was staring directly at me. There was little I could do but stare back. Another few moments passed before she finally snapped out of whatever she was lost in and walked over and leaned on the window sill next to me. I started to realize that it was on and that she was going to do it. All I had to do was sit back and let it happen. I love those moments more than the actual close. “Holy shit,” I thought, “She’s going to take this place.”

I took a deep breath. So did she. I smiled. She smiled back. She was nervous, and so was I. We both began to understand how bad she wanted it. It was only a matter of making sure she didn’t feel guilty afterward. They often do when it happens this quickly. But this is my favorite part. It can still go either way, and I’m not sure of what is going to happen next. I guess it’s the uncertainty that makes it so exciting. She finally nodded her head, “Yes.” I made my move, “Really? Great, let’s get ought of here. I’ll grab a cab, and we’ll head back to my . . . office.”

*If we didn’t enjoy Rental Dementia so much, this whole metaphor would be highly disturbing . . . damn these provocative sweeps-week sex issues!