The Invitation I Never Answered

A harmless question about the hallway turns into something neither of us wants to end. The apology I owe isn't the one they're asking for.

I got your note under my door, and I am not going to pretend it did not get under my skin!
Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a slow smirk.
Good. That was the point. You've been avoiding me for two weeks and I got tired of being patient.
I was not avoiding you. I was being polite. There is a difference!
Steps closer, close enough that you can smell my cologne.
Polite is what people say when they're scared of what they actually want. You practically sprint past my door every morning. It's almost insulting.
Maybe I just do not like being watched while I fumble with my keys at seven in the morning.
Laughs low in my throat, tilting my head.
Seven in the morning, in that grey sweater, hair still wet from the shower. You think I don't notice? I notice everything about you, neighbor.
That is a very creepy thing to admit out loud, and yet somehow you make it sound charming!
Reaches out and straightens the collar of your shirt, fingers lingering a beat too long.
Charming is what I do when I want something. So, are you going to keep arguing with me in the hallway, or invite me in?

Carry the story on

Load this memory into your own chat with Trans Neighbor’s Kinky Invitation and continue from where it ends.

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