F is for Feenin’ FuHu

So he calls and ignores the pleasantries. He asks for my address. My address?  “Text it to me” he barks and puts the phone down. A masterful man. Damn that’s so hot.

I buy myself time before sending the text. I’m not that stupid. Chucking clothes into the washing machine and more clothes into the study (hey, it’s clean washing and that’s what spare rooms are for) I quickly strip out of my onesie and into something that says I was chilling at home. I go for a tight lycra day dress. It’s black with pink flowers and a little bit 90s video ho but it matches my furry house slippers. Can’t get better than that!

Then I send the text. And then I wait.

I get up and quickly run a broom over the limestone floors. You know these tiles collect dust. Yep, this doesn’t look like I’ve tidied exactly. I sit down again.

And look at my legs. What the….is that hair? FUCK!  I run into the bathroom, sit on the edge of the bath and do an emergency shave. But I’m not going to sleep with him. We’re just friends so no, I’m not even going to go there. It’s not that….

Ok it IS that bad so the knickers are off and the Veet is slapped on with careless abandon. Maybe I can tell him that it was a Hollywood wax gone bad? I doubt he’ll be asking questions bless.

How far away is he? I should have asked. Should I text him? Should I call the besties and pontificate over what it is that he wants? But no, too many besties …I’m on my own on this one.

Wait a minute. I’m over thinking this. He probably just wants to borrow….nope there is nothing I have that he may want to borrow. Unless it’s money. Bless him he’s out of luck .I lift my arms to stretch and…yep, I’m in here I may as well get in and have a whole other shower. The thing is my precious he’s an African man and although I didn’t get an ETA I’m guessing that he’s going to be late for this spontaneous visit.

I shower, cocoa butter and I change back into the dress and slippers with delightful new M&S underwear. Gotta love M&S sales. And then I wait. And I wait. I start to snooze and then I’m woken by the door being knocked on like it’s the popo.  Opening the door he doesn’t say anything and just grabs me. Damn it I love a man that can lift me effortlessly. I’m moaning trying to close the front door with my furry pink clad foot and the rest as they say is classified….

Of course, all of this would have been lovely except I’m  here waiting for the fucker to figure out that he needs to call me! Instead I’m sitting here watching Gavin and Stacey and deciphering how many Twix in a day is too many. I’m thinking 4 is just wrong….right? But 3 is ok?

FuHu trust me, I’m not going to say no.

© Chelsea Black