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STUCK BY A DRUMMER
This short work in progress orginally appeared on the RIGHT STUFF message board. Here it is in free-flowing, easy to read format!!
Stuck by a Drummer- The Adventure Continues
I don't know what I expected to see. Jeffrey Dahmer risen from the dead? Ted Bundy's evil twin? Whatever my tortured mind was conjuring up, I knew there was ONE thing I didn't anticipate seeing: STEVE, sitting there in the dirty pool of light cast down by the parking lot lamps, grinning up at me as he tossed another brick up and down in his hands.
I could think of only one thing to say just then: "You ASSHOLE!!"
He threw back his head and laughed. God, he was attractive, even with the swelling eye and bruised face. Even the cocky arrogance he was showing right now was turning me on.
"Good morning to you too, Miss Payden," he said smoothly. "Now, are you going to buzz me up to your flat or do I have to come in through your window too?"
I had to laugh. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"What, you don't think I will?"
"I think you're bizarre enough to try."
"Good guess." He tossed the brick to the pavement, strode confidently to the tree whose upper branches brushed my window, and with one catlike motion, hauled himself up. He disappeared among the leaves, although the rustling and swaying marked his progress, and sprang through the window in one sudden burst of energy.
I stepped back and slumped onto my sofa. "Oh my God, I don't believe this."
He arched his brow quizzically.
"I mean-" my hands waved as if trying to grasp the right words out of thin air- "I don't believe how-how- PRESUMPTUOUS you are!!"
"Meaning?"
"You PRESUME I don't mind you throwing bricks through my window and then doing an Urban Tarzan into my living room."
"I dont see you reaching for the phone or screaming for help." Steve smiled, knowing he'd won this round. "Now where's your shower? I could use one."
I pointed towards the bathroom, shaking my head and laughing. The laughter turned to a gasp of amazement as he first acknowledged the location with a nod, then started stripping in front of me. First the black T-shirt with faded lettering, then his black leather boots and jeans. As he took the waistband of his boxers and prepared to inch them down, he said, "Do you have your own washer and dryer?"
Yes, in that closet off the kitchen." My jaw dropped as he shed the boxers too, leaving him naked except for his bandana. Even marked with bruises, he was an amazing speciman: wiry without being thin, with bulging shoulder muscles, well developed legs, and a tight butt. Even in a flaccid state, his dick hung down his thigh like the massive weapon it was capable of becoming. Quickly I slapped my thighs together, determined to preserve the upholstery.
He scooped all his clothes up, whistling, and carried them into my little laundry alcove. I jumped off the sofa and followed him: Steve Coy doing his laundry in MY apartment? This I had to see!!
Whistling and bare-assed, he threw not only his stuff in the washer, but my 'darks' basket too. The precise, knowledgeable way that he measured out the detergent and got the machine going cracked me up.
"My God, you're more of an expert than a maid!!"
"Now you know why Pete's stage gear is always so perfect," he smiled wryly.
"Steve," I finally had to ask, "what are you doing here tonight, or rather, this morning?"
"The truth?" He turned around to face me, looking frustrated. "I had to get out of the hotel. Pete was telling everyone this big story about how I got my arse kicked by these big Marine corps rejects and I was getting questions, comments, sympathy, all kinds of shit I didn't want. Truth is, I'm a private person. I hate people converging on me, asking me shit, etc. Except for you." He looked me up and down and smiled with genuine warmth. "I truly enjoyed your interview. You weren't pushy, looking for dirt on Pete, etc. You were interested in what I had to say, not having me confirm your own preconcieved answers."
"I think you're a fascinating person," I replied honestly.
He actually looked shy at that. "I think I'll take my shower now," he said. "Than, if it's ok with you, crash on your sofa for a few hours."
I nodded permission. We stared at each other for one long moment, until I was convinced that he was going to grab me and kiss me. But he only said quickly, "Be right back" and went into the bathroom. The door clicked shut, and pretty soon the shower started.
I don't know how long I stood there, dazed with both desire, confusion, and fatigue. Concern over what we would have for breakfast snapped me out of my brain freeze. Seconds later, as I was rummaging through the fridge, checking out the eggs and milk inventory, a knock at my door brought me to full awareness.
I was concerned that it might be Taura Manson again as I went to the door, so I decided to use the spy hole first. But when I saw who was standing there, looking impatient, I would have welcomed Taura Manson and her evil twin any day....
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