The Best, Worst Date of My Life
by FollowerOfLadyG

Tonight will either be the best or worst date of Nora's life.

My heart's been beating like a drum at a heavy metal concert since I left home. It's been ages since I've felt this anxious, but in all fairness, I had a decent reason to be as tense as I am. Tonight I'm going on my first genuine date in what feels like forever. Trying to calm myself, I echo 'Stay calm, Nora, it's just a date, it's nothing to work yourself up over' almost to Ad Nauseam, in the hope that if I repeat it enough, I'll start to believe it.

Another strategy I employ in the hope that it will distract me from any unnecessary uneasiness is to double-check my makeup and the state of my outfit in the elevator's reflective doors to make sure it meets the high standards that the evening demands.

Gazing down at my feet, I try and fail to find any mark or muck on either heel. To try and look more sophisticated, not to mention taller, I'd chosen to wear a pair of ankle strap heels in a complementary cream to match my dress, which is the next part of my appearance I start to correct.

In short order, find and subsequently smooth out a small wrinkle on the hem of the cream silk dress I'm wearing. Sasha, my best friend and closest confidant, picked it especially for me as, according to her, its colour gave a nice contrast with my darker skin. While I do appreciate the sentiment and the effort that went into it, the dress had a flaw that only made it self-apparent once I wore it outside. It's a fair bit looser than I'd have preferred; the skirt's silky lace constantly fluttered in the air, dancing dangerously close to taking flight away from my body, caught on a particularly ill-timed gust of wind. An event I desperately prayed wouldn't happen, especially tonight, considering another series of foolish decisions I'd made.

It's not often that I would wear something so extravagant, let alone risky, but tonight necessitated me to step a little, if not a lot, out of my comfort zone. I wasn't exactly the type of girl who often captured men's eyes, so I thought that I might need a little extra help if this date was to go well.

Fusing over my ensemble unfortunately brought attention to one of the causes for my less-than-stellar confidence. While my chest wasn't anything to write home about, I wasn't ironing board flat, but I wasn't that far off of it. On a good day and at the right angle and in bad lighting, I was arguably an A-cup. Another fault of mine that I couldn't help but focus on was my height, or lack thereof. I happened to be on the shorter side; to my dismay, the number of people who've mistaken me for a kid just because I'm a bit under five feet and don't possess a pair of breasts that resulted in immense back pain is humiliating. My height is just one of many reasons I've been overlooked, no pun intended, for most of my life.

Pretty much the only part of my body I was moderately comfortable with was my butt, which, after countless hours spent exercising out my frustrations regarding my failed love life and other general irritations with life, had been moulded into an almost perfectly shaped upside-down heart. As my friends have playfully, if with slight envy, described it, my ass is perfectly plump and just waiting for the right man to take a bite out of it.

In anticipation of tonight, I had my short, curly hair dyed a light shade of red. While I wasn't a natural ginger, my date wouldn't be able to tell the difference, and in the off chance tonight went in the direction of either of our bedrooms, since I shaved a few days ago, I don't even have a carpet that he could compare my drapes to.

The only other notable aspect of my body is another one that I'm not too keen on, a small but noticeable gap between my two front teeth. I've been told that it's adorable and other endearing, affectionate synonyms by countless friends, family members and even a handful of well-intentioned strangers, but I've never been able to divorce it from how it adds to the childish appearance that I've always been desperate to escape from. Well, there's nothing I can do about it now. The most I can do now is try to smile without opening my mouth the entire duration of my date.

That is, if I'm actually able to get there, given that this stupid lift has been keeping me in suspense for going on ten minutes. You'd have thought such a building housing such a popular restaurant would have a more efficient elevator, but no, I've been forced to wait here impatiently for what feels like an eternity, caught between anxious excitement and old-fashioned fear over how tonight may or may not turn out.

Desperate to distract myself from the building panic attack threatening to envelop me whole, I start fishing through my purse, coloured a pale white like my heels to match my dress. Pushing aside my phone and other assorted unimportant items, I find what I'm looking for buried at the bottom. A simple note reading 'Fifteen', which was the number of the table I was supposed to meet my mysterious stranger at.

Our evening together was set to take place at a newly opened classy restaurant named Bateman's, found, serendipitously, on the fifteenth floor of a large skyscraper right in the middle of the city. Bateman's was an exclusive, high-class establishment tailor-made for romantic encounters. Knowing where my date was to transpire was the single piece of driftwood I had been clinging to in the ocean of uncertainty I had been caught in, as I knew literally nothing else about my date.

Sasha, who had taken on the laborious task of finding me a soulmate, had almost single-handedly organised my and my unknown lover's entire affair. Her only condition, for having put all of this effort into planning it, was that I would go into my date completely blind. And because I've, reluctantly, followed Sasha's sole rule, I know nix about my date, who I can only assume, and hope, is as ignorant as I am, other than the bare minimum that Sasha had been forced to tell me.

From what little my friend had begrudgingly divulged, I knew that my mysterious companion was a man, that he was roughly around my age, that he was a friend of Sasha's friend, and that, according to Sasha, who was admittedly a fairly decent judge of my character, I would fall in love with him the moment I laid my eyes on him. That was pretty much all I knew about the man, and despite my persistent effort to squeeze a single other clue out of her, Sasha wouldn't budge. She had claimed that if I knew one other thing about my mystery date, I'd end up overthinking it and fall into a panicked spiral, which would end with me inevitably cancelling the date altogether.

As much as I disliked her plan, I had to admit that she did have a bit of a point. It isn't exactly a secret or subtle that I am a chronic and debilitating overthinker; stick me in front of a menu with more than two pages, and it's a safe bet that I'd be paralysed for a week. This unenviable condition has led me to talk myself out of a lot of things, experiences, relationships and so on, that I wish I had been brave enough to have experienced.

So, albeit reluctantly, I'd gone along with her plan. Well, at least for a day or so, before a bout of nervousness got the better of me and I began pestering her through any means at my disposal in hopes that she eventually cracked under the pressure and confessed to anything else regarding my anonymous date.

I had asked, demanded, begged, bribed and threatened to squeeze any further details out of her. But to Sasha's credit, she had stood her ground under my pestering onslaught. Not willing to give way to even the slightest hint as to who the mystery man was, what he looked like, or even something as basic as his name.

A variety of questions had plagued me in the days leading up to tonight. What would we even talk about? The weather? Recent events? Politics? How was I supposed to know what topics to pursue or avoid like the plague, what interests we did or did not share? Would it be better to say nothing at all and just pretend I'm mute the entire night? It's a horrible idea, I know, but it's becoming more attractive the longer I let my worries fester.

On the subject of attraction, and I know it's petty of me to consider this, but would I even be attracted to him? I've never really discussed the kinds of guys I'm into with Sasha, so how would she know if I'd want to take him back to bed?

Not knowing a single thing about the soon-to-be love of my life wasn't the only issue I was facing tonight. The other major obstacle I had been braving tonight was one that I had regrettably brought upon myself. Underneath the frightfully loose gown, I was naked to the bone.

I had, idiotically, gone commando for the evening. And my regret for that uniquely poor decision had only grown since the first step I took out of my apartment. More often than not, I tended to forgo wearing a bra. It's not like I'd needed the help supporting what little chest I did have, so in my mind it didn't make sense to waste money on something that wouldn't see much use. While I'd regularly let my pert pair hang loose, I was at least sensible enough to always make sure that I was wearing a pair of panties when heading out the door. Tonight, however, was an obvious exception to that rule.

Just as I was gearing up to head out the door, at the last second, hand around the doorknob, for reasons I'm still unsure of, I bent down and slipped off my underwear before tossing it aside. Even as I guided my panties off my legs, I was screaming at myself, unable to reconcile what I was and why I was doing something so dangerously stupid.

After thinking it over, again and again a million times or more, the only semi-logical answer that I was able to put together to explain why I had done something so brazen was that I thought it would be something that a confident woman would do. The type of woman who was brave, daring and desirable. A cucumber cool girl who takes on dangerous dares for the hell of it, and as a result, men would naturally gravitate towards her. That was the kind of woman I always wished I could be. The kind of woman I knew I wasn't.

I guess I had wanted to fake the confidence I had been sorely lacking in my last, and to this day only, relationship. Yet here I was shaking in fear, not unlike a frightened pet in a thunderstorm in the lobby of a large skyscraper, a single slip, or an errant breeze away from the most intimate parts of my body being forced out onto display, betraying my modesty and allowing any late-night pedestrians the fortune of witnessing the most humiliating moment of my entire life.

I'd never done something so risky or risqué as this in my entire life. Even when Sasha and all my other friends went skinny dipping a summer or so ago, I had been the only one who chickened out and wore a swimsuit, which ironically, despite me being the only one being in a semi-decent state of dress, made me feel embarrassingly out of place. Though, to my credit, it had been a fairly skimpy bikini.

A large part of me that refused to shut up was afraid that a few of the strangers who had passed me by might have known or at least strongly suspected my shameful secret. Though it's more likely that it was just my mind playing tricks on me to try to convince me to give up in my crusade for romance. So in spite of the almost total overwhelming terror that's managed to engulf me over the past few days, my determination for love had urged me on into the skyscraper that housed Bateman's.

The building had a large, underground parking lot, which I had taken advantage of by claiming an empty spot relatively close to the elevators. The only issue was that this modern dungeon had captured all the cold that those parking their cars had brought with them, leaving the lot a frozen wasteland rivalling the third level of hell. Though it is possible that the cold was slightly exaggerated, considering how little I'm wearing.

My dress wasn't made for this kind of weather in mind. It was meant to amaze and draw the eye of any curious onlookers, and not, as the sharp knife's edge that tips my cleavage had taken on, to keep the cold at bay.

I was bored to death waiting for this elevator, and in the absence of anything to occupy myself, intrusive thoughts began to materialise.

The most prominent of these doubt-filled questions was 'Why did I even want to get a new boyfriend? Wouldn't it just be easier to submit to the role of a spinster that the universe is seemingly intent on turning me into? I had asked myself that particular query countless times since my search for a soulmate began, even though I know very well that it was, for the most part, rhetorical.

I've always been fairly anxious, but that anxiety had been greatly exacerbated thanks to my less-than-stellar first and, thankfully, ex-boyfriend. We had been high school sweethearts, deeply in love with each other, a joyous, perfect cliché. In reality, he was just using me for cheap chores and easy sex.

In all but name, I was his maid serving him hand and foot. When he wasn't lamely screwing me, he thoroughly enjoyed belittling me for his own twisted amusement, which basically summed up the entirety of our relationship. A frequent phrase he enjoyed sprinkling into our everyday conversations was 'How grateful I should be that someone like him was settling for someone like me.' Another of his favourite insults that he packaged as a compliment was just how timid I was. As if being pushed around as easily as a shopping cart was something to be celebrated. A self-centred jerk doesn't begin to properly describe him; a far more apt label would be total narcissistic bastard.

And the worst part was he didn't even have the courtesy to be good in bed. A few pathetic pumps and that was it for him. We were together for three wasted years, and I swear he never got me even close to cumming once. I'd be lying there dry and dusty, tumbleweed practically blowing through my vagina, while he would have a satisfied grin plastered on his face, quietly celebrating yet another conquest over my body. I am convinced that if given the opportunity, he would literally rather fuck himself than touch another woman.

It's an unfortunate fact that I'm not sure if I ever would have gathered the strength to leave him if he hadn't ditched me first. One night when I got back home, he was gone, didn't leave a note or a text, just vanished with his stuff like the world's worst magician. A few months after we had broken up, if that's what you can call it, I found out that he had started seeing another girl while we were still living together.

The misery I had been stewing in was only interrupted by the sudden ding emanating from my handbag; I made the obvious guess that it was probably my phone. Taking it out, I find that it's a text from Sasha that reads 'Just got a message from my friend telling me that your perfect stranger has almost arrived, have fun you two!' which relaxed the tension in me, if only a little. Sasha has always been the biggest supporter in my search for a boyfriend since it began. Actually, a little before that, now that I think about it. Even back when I was still with him, she was always trying to convince me to stop wasting my time with my ex and find someone worth my time.

While Sasha checking in with me was kind of her, it brought to my attention the fact that I was grossly behind schedule. Because of my last-minute change of wardrobe, I was a little late, not enough to call off the date altogether; it was only by a minute or so, but enough to make our initial introductions that little bit more awkward. Hopefully, my date is as desperate for love as I am and so won't mind waiting a few extra minutes for me.

Right on, or rather a decent few minutes behind, seclude the lift finally decides to open up. Letting out a subtle sigh of relief, I step into the elevator, but before I can even set a foot inside of it, a stranger walks out in front of me, like he was trying to win some imagined race, and as a result, I am nearly sent soaring off my feet.

Luckily, I'm able to steady myself before I stumble to the ground and, as such, expose anything that I'd very much like to remain hidden. I look up at him, intending on giving him, at the very least, an upset snarl of a glare, but I am shortly taken by the simple sight of the man and end up just staring blankly at him like he was a statue meant to be admired. He is, in no small way, pun not intended, a giant. He easily towers over me, even in the pump heels I'm wearing; I only barely come up to his shoulder. He is on the chubbier side, but in a strong way, like he could lift me as if I weighed less than a handful of feathers.

The first thought that ran through my head as I stared, slightly slack-jawed, at him was, and this is admittedly an odd observation to make, that he looks like he would give amazing hugs. Hidden behind a pair of glasses, he had two kind, soft and inviting baby blue eyes that it was a struggle not to lose myself in. Despite his large size, he manages to carry himself with practised grace, or maybe it's because of that wide frame that he has to be cautious of those around him and try his best not to knock them down, our introduction notwithstanding. On his face rests a neatly trimmed beard, which, combined with the smart grey suit he's wearing, gives him the appearance of a lumberjack on his way to an important interview.

Strangely, he reminds me of an oversized stuffed novelty teddy bear. I used to own one of those when I was a little kid, and whenever I got scared or overwhelmed, I'd squeeze it till all my worries faded away.

It's a distinct possibility that I might have been stuck staring at the man in an embarrassed fascination until the end of time had he not apologised for nearly knocking me down, and as a result, knocked me out of my brief hypnosis.

"I'm so sorry for bumping into you like that, Miss. I genuinely didn't see you there; even so, I'm still sorry for the inconvenience I've caused you. You aren't hurt, are you?" The look in his eye confesses to me that he was both genuinely remorseful for the accident and the possibility that he might've hurt me. For a giant, he sure seems to be quite gentle. It takes me a moment to recognise that he had asked me a question. After finally connecting the dots, I managed to answer him.

"Ah, no. I'm fine. You just startled me a little, is all." he shoots me a small smile in response, satisfied that he hadn't accidentally squashed me. Wordlessly, he takes a step back, and it takes me a moment to understand the meaning behind this gesture. He's offering to let me enter the elevator first as an apology for our collision.

The man's genuine kindness brings an equally genuine smile to my face, a sensation that had grown frightfully foreign to me. If my mystery date is half the gentleman that this stranger is, then I'll consider myself a very lucky woman. Accepting his offer, I step inside, with the man following behind me shortly into the up until now non-existent elevator.

The lift is a bit of a tight squeeze with the man's large size taking up a decent amount of space. There isn't much breathing room to speak of, so the ride up will be a narrow one, but it will only take a few minutes at most.

"What floor?" the stranger asks, once again taking me by surprise, before gesturing towards the panel on the wall to clarify his question.

After briefly recalling what level Bateman's was housed on, I tell him, "The thirty-second please."

Upon hearing this, he raises his eyebrows in mild surprise before asking, "Bateman's?" which I confirm with a slight nod. He responds with a simple observation, "Huh. What a coincidence," before turning back to press the button numbered thirty-two. He must be meeting someone at Bateman's as well. I don't dwell on what he says a whole lot longer, considering, at least in my opinion, it's not that much of a coincidence. The odds of two people who just happened to be going to the same highly popular restaurant on the same night bumping into each other aren't exactly low.

While we settle into our ride, I get the odd inclination to glance over at the stranger on my right. I spare a glance to my side, and shockingly, I find that the man was doing the same, peeking my way out of the corner of his eye. Embarrassed at our mutual interest being exposed, we both turn away in shame, hoping that this awkward moment will be forgotten as swiftly as it came.

As a low, irritatingly catchy hum of jazz music serenades our ascent, I find myself feeling strangely optimistic about my rapidly approaching date. Hope was, unfortunately, unfamiliar to me, at least where romance was concerned. I might even end tonight, finally having broken my dry spell. Best case scenario tonight's the night I meet the love of my life, and worst case scenario, I wake up tomorrow morning in bed following a fun fling. Either way, a good time is only an elevator ride away. In a sea of uncertainty, one thing is for certain: tonight will be a night I'll remember for a while to come.

I'm so caught up in anticipation and excitement about meeting my possible-soon-to-be soul mate that I don't notice a slight breeze escaping the cramped elevator that casually blows the hem of my dress into the swiftly shuttering maw of the elevator's doors.

The metal teeth snap shut around the trim of my dress as the lift begins to crawl upwards. Since the dress is so long, I don't catch onto the precious position I've found myself in until it's too late for me to do anything. The stress weighing down on the dress slowly becomes too much, and following a brief struggle, it finally gives way to the strength of the machine. Time passes in horrific slow motion, and every second feels like a century as the dress is ruthlessly ripped from my body.

One moment I'm dressed and the next I'm naked with my breasts, clit and arse exposed to the elements with a man I've had a contestation and a half with, less than a foot away. I wasn't even given the opportunity to struggle. It doesn't feel real. It was like I was outside of my own body, watching as this horrible thing happened to someone else.

Every subtle and otherwise insignificant noise is suddenly in and instantly amplified tenfold, every beat of my heart, every little click as the elevator climbed higher and higher, every stitch being undone was deafening.

The only blessing I am able to count on is that the stranger next to me somehow hadn't caught onto my horrific turn of luck. And just as I was counting that lone blessing, he started to turn around.

At first, he briefly glanced in my direction, only a little curious as to what the source of the strange tearing noise had been, before turning away uninterested. Before I have time to be glad or even offended at his indifference, his neck snaps back, and he begins to stare both aghast and aroused at my bare tragedy.

The shock of my abrupt nudity didn't fully register with me until it's already been captured by a witness. I announce the realisation of my horror with a shrill screech. It was only after the stranger had absorbed enough of my body to satisfy countless lonely nights to come that I thought to try to cover my shame. My efforts to hide myself were as futile as they were overdue. I covered my crotch with my purse while simultaneously using both my arms to guard my breasts, making a rough V shape across my torso. As far as attempts at concealing my intimates go, it was close to pointless considering the man had already seen everything I was now attempting to hide, but it gave me something I was in dire need of: denial.

Even in my wildest nightmares, I could never have imagined something like this ever happening to me. I'm caught in the most humiliating moment of my entire life. Or at least what I hope is the most humiliating moment of my life, I can't possibly imagine something worse happening to me, but then again, the night is still young.

While I was stuck in a hellish nightmare, I can only assume that the man was convinced he was somewhere between heaven and a dream. The man's face has broken out into a blazing red blush, almost as if he were more embarrassed about what's happened to me than myself. From the blank, meek look on him, you'd have thought that I was the first naked woman he's ever seen. Although maybe it's just that I'm the first woman he's seen caught in such a humiliating position. After leering at me for a moment or so, his shame caught up to him, and he averted his gaze behind his hand for what little good it did me. But I still appreciated the gesture.

Following a brief struggle, my handbag slips pitifully from my grip and hits the floor with a muted 'Thump', forcing me to imitate Aphrodite and use my hands to house my privates. It's not that difficult to hide both my breasts with one hand, for once in my life, being an A cup had its advantages. My other arm is occupied, keeping me from being peeped at by the stranger I'm trapped with. Though I know on some small level that what I'm trying to do now, salvaging some sense of dignity, is futile, akin to setting up deckchairs on a sinking ship. The man's already seen everything I have to offer; I can never fully reclaim the dignity that was just taken from me. What I'm doing now is almost entirely in vain.

There had been something akin to a small mental block within my mind keeping the fact that I was truly raw in front of a stranger from fully materialising, but after feeling my bare breast rapidly beating beneath my hand, that wall fell, and reality hit me like a knockout punch.

It becomes a war to stand, and at any moment, it feels like my feet might betray and buckle underneath me. Not unlike a frightened animal, I scamper backwards until I am met with the elevator's rear wall. The sudden metallic chill of the lift making contact with my naked skin sends an electric shock through my spine. Every rational thought I try to think up is spoken in a language I can't hope to understand.

I try desperately to convince myself that I was in a nightmare, albeit an extremely vivid one, but a nightmare nonetheless, and that at the end of it all, I'd rise from unconsciousness into the real world with all of this just being a symptom of a stressed-out and severely sexually frustrated mind. Looking back into the reflective surface of the elevator's walls, I see the truth that I'm desperate to deny.

I try to breathe. If I can do that, calm down, and stop myself from hyperventilating, then I'd at least avoid a panic attack, and I'll be able to think of a plan on how to get through this ordeal. But when I try to suck in some air, nothing comes. My lungs were already running on empty after screeching them bloody, so there wasn't a single spare molecule of oxygen left in me. This must be what it feels like to drown.

I'm not sure exactly when, but sometime during my panic, I must've fallen to my knees, as I've found myself curled into a ball, cradling myself in a rough attempt at the fetal position. With no options left as far as my exasperated mind can tell, I try my hardest to disappear into nothing at all.

The only evidence proving that I still exist are the occasional weak whimpers that I sniffle out of me.

I'm stuck in a metal coffin with everything below the neck and above the thighs out and on display. And the worst part was that my evening had only just begun. If this was how I reacted to being seen by a single stranger, then I can only imagine how I'll react when an entire restaurant's worth of nameless voyeurs get an eyeful of my bare breasts.

My night, my date and my life are ruined. How in god's name will I be able to leave my apartment, let alone go on another date ever again, after this? Something deep inside of me dies, and I reluctantly resign myself to the unenviable fate of further humiliation. Honestly, why did I ever think this would be a good idea? That is a question I am sure that I will be struggling to answer for the rest of my life.

Before I could wallow in my misery any further, I unexpectedly felt the weight of something heavy being draped over my shoulders. For a couple of moments, I mistake it as something entirely from my imagination, but when I'm finally able to open up my eyes again, an almost impossible task, I find that a large black blanket has been thrown over me.

It's only after I've looked back up to see that the stranger is now missing his jacket that I realise what's just happened. The man, whose name I still do not know, has just gifted me his coat. Without blinking, I pull the coat down as far as it can go and find that it just about covers my butt by about a half inch. However little it may or may not cover doesn't matter; I am beyond grateful that I am no longer naked. Well, obviously naked.

Glancing briefly at my now somewhat reflection and seeing that I now no longer resemble a streaking nudist but a late-night flasher. Which is, honestly and unfortunately, a lot closer to the truth than I'd like it to be. Still a marked improvement over my previous complete full frontal nudity.

When the stranger turns back to look at me for a second, I catch a quick glimpse of something in his eyes that I struggle to decipher in the moment. I think, or at least hope, that what I saw in the man's gaze was a sincere, honest desire to help me. Then again, if I did see anything, and I'm not completely convinced that I did, it was almost certainly closer to pity. Though it's not like I'm in any position to turn away charity, no matter his motivation.

After finally gathering the courage, I climb back up to my feet. Looking up at the man who generously donated his jacket to the deeply desperate cause of shielding my nudity, I see that His eyes are trained on the elevator's panel, almost like he's locked in a staring contest with it. I realise why he's glaring at the board with such focus. He's trying his level best not to look in my direction, and from the rigid way he was standing, forcing his head as far away from me as the little space in the elevator allowed him, it's apparently a bit of a challenge for him. Hopefully, I can thank him for his sacrifice when this is all over. Although I don't know how I could ever properly thank him.

My breathing has, in the relative calm, slowed to a manageable, steady pace. Enough so that I'm now once again able to think at least somewhat rational, coherent thoughts. There was, however, still the ever-present threat that the elevator was promptly approaching the thirty-second floor. Even though I am no longer butt naked, the prospect of being caught by strangers wearing nothing but a suit jacket was still haunting. Anyone looking my way for more than a second would easily be able to tell that underneath this coat, I was stripped to the bone.

Without turning around to face me, the man whispered to me a few instructions: "Stand very still right behind me. Don't move a muscle and don't say a word. I promise we will get through this." Before stepping over to place himself directly in front of me.

The man is planning to use his body to shield me from anyone whose gaze is aimed in our direction when the door pops open. Hopefully, no one in the restaurant will be able to see past his large frame.

While his plan isn't foolproof, I'm certainly in no state to come up with a better one. Fearfully glancing back up to the screen above the door, I see that we've just passed floor 31, meaning that we've only one level away from Bateman's. A muted 'Ding' sounds out throughout the cold cage I'm caught in, joyfully announcing that my imminent humiliation was finally at hand.

Any moment now, any number of strangers will catch sight of me, scarcely dressed in an ill-fitting coat. The jacket hides my nudity but not the fact that I am nude, so anybody looking my way for more than a second will be able to tell that underneath this blanket of a blazer I'm naked as the day I lost my virginity. That is, unless I do exactly as the stranger instructed and hide in his shadow, where, if I'm lucky, which, if recent events are to be taken as evidence, I am most certainly not, no one will be able to catch even a brief glimpse of me or my laid bare assets.

As the doors pop open and the first streak of light breaks into the elevator through a tiny yet hastily widening gap, I take a deep breath and shut my eyes as tight as I can. It's almost a given that I won't be taking another breath until after the doors have safely shut once again.

The door crept open at a mockingly slow pace, making sure to stretch out my horror for as long as possible. Even as I'm hidden behind this ever so generous stranger, I can still clearly make out every minute noise being made in the racing restaurant. The feet of waiters pattering across the floor, carrying menus and dinners to and from empty and soon-to-be-empty tables, raucous laughter among friends and lovers that I can't quite convince myself isn't at my sole expense. I can only assume that no one's noticed us yet by the distinct lack of someone asking aloud, 'Get a load of that naked chick, all she's wearing is a jacket! Let's all point and laugh at her debasement!" shortly followed by the aforementioned pointing and laughing at my debasement.

We've only been stuck here for a few seconds, and yet the anxiety of possibly being seen undressed like this was already beginning to overwhelm me once again. A fact proven by my legs begging to violently shake. It's honestly a miracle that I haven't collapsed under the enormous weight of my embarrassment up until this point. Let's hope that fortune holds out for at least another second.

I begin praying, not to any specific faith in particular, but to any higher powers that may or may not be listening, that no one, not a single individual, or god forbid, a couple, is planning on ending their evening early.

Slowly, a scream starts clawing its way up through my throat, demanding to escape and exclaim all the fear I've already faced and have yet to face. But knowing that that will almost certainly attract attention that I do not need, I choke down the howl like a hard pill, and when that doesn't seem to work, I treat my hand like a chew toy and bite down on it.

At any moment, anybody could glance our way and spot me in my indecent state, a petrifying possibility that brings attention to a very important question that I am desperate to have answered. Why in god's name hasn't My companion taken us away from this nightmare yet?

The longer we lingered here, the more certain it became that someone will inevitably notice my unenviable position. And yet the man continues to refuse to push the big silver button oh so helpfully labelled 'Underground parking'. It's the epitome of effortless; I'd do it myself if it weren't for obvious reasons that I hope aren't too obvious why I can't.

The most charitable excuse for his inability to perform such a simple task that I can conceive of is that he has been struck motionless with a paralysing anxiety of possibly exposing me. Which, while a great inconvenience for me, I am able to empathise with his apprehension. Even before my unexpected undressing, I had been mortified over the many, mostly negative, ways this night could end. And now the man is stuck in the precarious position of trying his best to make sure that no one else catches on to my nudity.

So while I'm sympathetic to the terror that's engulfed him, I can't exactly spare the time it would take for the man to come back to his senses on his own, so I give him a sharp pinch to his side to help usher him back to reality. Thankfully, my unorthodox blunt therapy works as he takes the hint and jabs the basement button.

Following the longest minute in all of recorded human history, the lift's doors blessedly begin to shutter closed once again, and I finally exhale an exhausted gulp of air in immense relief. The worst is over, or at least what I pray is the worst that I will be forced to face, and I can finally, if only partially, relax. The goosebumps on my skin finally start to settle and shrink as I step out from behind the man's shadow and to his side.

Considering that the elevator opens up straight into the parking lot, the risk of bumping into another soul is, while not zero, greatly reduced. While we creep ever closer to the parking lot, we enter a silent, undeniably awkward moment of peace that I am incredibly grateful for. Relatively speaking. I use this break to take stock of what other challenges I have yet to face before I can end this evening in the privacy of my home and the comfort of my bed.

There is still the chore of making my way back to my car, driving back to my apartment building, and then somehow climbing the stairs back up to my flat, all the while dressed in little more than a stranger's generosity and my own greatly diminished pride.

With nothing but time to mull over what's happened in the shockingly short period of time I've been in this lift, I realise that I had forgotten to do something very important. Not wanting to waste another thought, I turn to the man and tell him what I should have said earlier.

"Thank you." Gratitude is the only thing I'm currently able to give the man at the moment, so I hope he understands just how deeply I appreciate his help. Even then, and honestly, I don't know why, but it's a trial for me to say those two simple words. But after all he's done for me, I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself if I had never said them at all.

Without missing a beat, he simply replied, "There's no need." Even though he said it so earnestly, I'd have to disagree with him. Of course, there's a need to thank him. If he weren't here, I can't imagine what humiliating horrors I would have had to endure all by myself. While not calm, or even close to that ballpark, I am managing to settle down. My heart was only beating hummingbird fast and not a jackhammer quick, and my companion's presence was the sole reason why.

Despite that, one nagging question, dripping with doubt, kept rearing its ugly head again and again, daring and taunting me to ask it aloud, and while it wasn't the most troublesome issue I've had to contend with tonight, it was refusing to go away.

Stifling a stutter, I asked nervously, "Why did you help me?" with extra emphasis added onto 'Me'. Life, or rather my ex, had trained me to expect the worst in people. That everyone had some sort of ulterior motive, most likely at my expense. Tragically, I know for a fact that a lot of men would have at best ignored my peril or, worse, would have tried to take advantage of me in some awful way. So, despite how compassionate, generous, or any other admirable quality he may present on the surface, the cynic in me couldn't help but consider what exactly he's getting, or hoping to get, out of extending me an olive branch to hide behind.

Bracing myself for some kind of cruel revaluation, I give him the space to answer. Without much thought, and not even looking my way, he casually answered, "Oh. Well, I mean, you needed help. So I helped you. That's all she wrote, really," before giving me an earnest smile.

There was no doubt that it was a surprise to hear, a more than welcome one for sure, but a shock to the system all the same. While it was true that I was in dire need of help, and still am to be honest, that didn't mean that he had to be the one to help me.

But it wasn't just what he said that took me off guard, but how he said it. There was an earnestness in his voice that confessed proudly that he did indeed want to help me, even if it was only a little bit for a short while. This little detour didn't matter if it meant lending a hand to someone in need. "That's it?" I ask, not yet finished doubting his intentions.

Shrugging his jacket-less shoulders, he answers "Yeah, I guess so," as if everything he had done for me wasn't even an inconvenience. This was the most compassion I'd been shown by a stranger in a long time.

The kindness that the man has shown me just now, coupled with the kindness he showed me before, ironically brings the varied and numerous failures my love life has taken form into focus. Dates either showing up late or not at all, pauper poor pickup lines decades out of date since they were even halfway successful, mind-numbing conversations, countless nights spent alone resulting in a psychologist's library worth of sexual frustration brewing between my thighs for months with little to no relief. All the horrible little tragedies I'd suffered in my seemingly never-ending search for my soulmate were now swirling around my head in a chaotic typhoon.

The shame, disappointment, resentment, and every other negative emotion I'm concurrently feeling must've been obvious on my face as the man attempts, disastrously, to comfort me with a simple question.

"Are you alright?" he enquires with a concerned gaze. And in return, I shoot him a look that is a cross between completely dumbfounded and deeply irritated, as if to say, 'Did he really just ask such a stupid question?' Any admiration or gratitude I might have been feeling for him up to this point fades in an instant before transforming into a righteous anger because, honestly, in what universe, what man, woman or otherwise could be alright after suffering through what I am still currently slogging through. I quickly collect my handbag off the floor just in case I feel the overwhelming need to throw something at him in annoyance.

Harshly, with admittedly little more force than I intend to give, I retort as bluntly as a well-used sword, "No. How could I be? I'm butt naked, stuck in a metal coffin with a some guy who knows what my tit's look like while I don't even know his name. This is, with no exaggeration, the worst day of my entire life. So needless to say, I am not 'alright!'"

To his credit, the man seems to recognise the weight of how unwise his question had been, and he looks away sheepishly. I can't see much of his face from the angle he's standing at, but from what little I can see, I get the impression that he is mulling over something important to himself.

When he finishes contemplating whatever issue was plaguing him, he turns back to me and confesses a simple word, or rather a name. "Kent," he states plainly.

"What?" I ask, confused.

He continues, "That's my name, Kent. Now that you know my name, I'm no longer a stranger, so you're no longer naked in front of a stranger," before finishing with another warm grin.

The logic wasn't all that sound, but on some strange level, it did manage to strangely comfort me. At the very least, it's good to put a name to such a kind man. I'm a little ashamed that I hadn't asked for his name earlier, but I hope that the man, Kent, understands that I was a little preoccupied.

He's been trying to keep my humiliation to a bare minimum since my accident, which was decent of him even if it was for the most part redundant. After all, it doesn't matter if one thousand people see me naked or just the one; that still means someone saw me naked outside the comfort of my bedroom. Regardless of how effective it was, it did help, if a little and nothing else. I confess, "Thanks," before shortly adding, "I'm Nora."

"Well, it's Nice to meet you, Nora." before giving me a warm, comforting smile that I slowly start to mirror. Strangely, I find something hot igniting in my chest. We soon fall into another content silence.

This almost goes without saying, but I have never been more humiliated in my entire life before tonight. How on earth could I not be after all I've been put through? But despite everything that's happened over the rough half hour, and it has been a rough half hour, I'm still standing. And that's all thanks to Kent. It's likely, if not an outright certainty, that if he weren't here, I'd still be curled up into a ball on the floor waiting for the inevitable, whatever that may be.

What was strange was that I've only known Kent for the length of an elevator ride, but from our brief encounter, I have gotten the distinct, almost impossible to misconstrue gut feeling that he's the exact kind of man I've been looking for. It was a childish thought, though; this wasn't a fairy tale after all. Either this would be a fun little story I could tell at parties a few decades down the line, only after I had had a strong drink poured down my throat, or I'd be confined to a therapist's couch for the rest of my days, trying to work through the worst date of my life; either way, this wasn't a love story.

Regardless of whether I earnestly fancied him or not, or if I'm confusing plain gratitude for true feelings, our time together was quickly coming to an end. As soon as the doors opened, I raced out of here as quickly as my feet allowed me.

Just as that thought came to me, the doors sprang open. For once this evening, I am blessed with a bit of halfway decent fortune as the parking lot is, at least as far as I can tell, graveyard quiet.

Nobody is loitering or desperately searching for a free space. Apart from Kent and me, it's totally abandoned. Relief washed over me in a flood.

Unwilling to leave even the slightest bit of evidence that could confess to the tragedy that has unfolded in this cramped box, I scoop up the useless strings that used to be a dress and hastily shove the heap into my handbag. Let's hope that Sasha doesn't notice the poor state her dress is in when I return it to her.

Desperate to escape from the mobile coffin I'd been trapped in, I unwisely raced out in front of Kent. If I were smart or at least patient, I would have let Kent wander out first, but my eager desperation for privacy had won out. It's only after Kent makes a loud, strange noise, somewhere between shocked and aroused, that I would have thought only a deflating bouncy ball could make that the consequences of my most recent mistake are brought to my attention.

The back of the jacket must have peeled up in my hurried sprint, and would, as a result, have given Kent the perfect sight of my ass. A deep sigh escapes me as I realise that that was the last intimate part of my body that he had yet to properly see, and I had just flaunted it for him freely. Though I won't deny, not sure if I even could, that the noises he made after glimpsing my ample rear sent my heart running wild.

There isn't a doubt in my mind that Kent will be watching closely as I walk away, making sure to memorise every step I take and how my body sways with every slight movement. Without looking back at him, I head towards my car. The only sound echoing throughout the otherwise lifeless lot was the 'clicking' and 'clacking' of my heels hitting against the concrete floor. The tune only stopped once I reached my car.

Even though I am and will continue to be eternally grateful for what he's done for me, I'd very much like to put this entire night in the preverbal and literal rear-view mirror.

Well, maybe not the entire night. Kent, with his charm and his jokes and his earnestness to help me, turned what could have been the most traumatic night of my life into something almost halfway tolerable.

But the night has reached its end, and all that's left is to climb into my car and drive home. I start the process, almost automatically, opening the door, tossing my handbag onto the passenger's seat and even setting a foot inside, but for some reason, I can't leave. At least not yet. There's something holding me back that I can't exactly place. Then I realise what it is. It's me.

I can't, or rather don't want to, leave without saying a proper goodbye to Kent. Kent's the kind of guy I'd always thought of when I pictured my perfect man, and I'll be damned if I let him slip between my fingers. I don't want Kent to forget me anytime soon, not that I believe for a second that that's likely or anything, but I can't take that chance. I need to make certain that Kent will never forget me. So that when tonight is done and dusted, left for the history books, He'll still be thinking about me for the rest of his life. Stepping out of the car and turning back to Kent, I find him waiting by the elevator phone halfway up to his ear.

Suddenly, in another woman's voice, I speak words that I'd never thought I'd say, in a tone I'd never thought I'd speak in, that flow out of my mouth with a practised professional ease. "Hey, cutie," I call out to Kent, hoping to capture his attention. "I know you said that I could keep your jacket, but I insist." as say that I allow the coat to fall off my shoulders and drop to the ground. Placing a hand on my hip, I strike my best supermodel pose and allow him to gawk at me as much as he wants.

Kent's eyes shoot wide open in shock, and I can feel them burning against my flesh as if I were a bug underneath a magnifying glass and the blazing sun. Almost instinctively, Kent scans our immediate surroundings to check if we are truly alone. That's probably for the best, at least one of us should be concerned if were alone or not.

Slowly lowering myself down, trying to give Kent the best view I can give him, I ball up his coat before tossing it towards him. He struggles to catch it and maintain his focus on me simultaneously, but he does manage to successfully capture it following an uncooperative scramble. Only a few minutes ago, I probably would have desperately demanded that he avert his gaze, but now I can't help but feel that it'd be a waste if he didn't take advantage of his fortune.

I call out to him, telling him that "It's okay. Stare all you want. It's the least I can do for the man who's done so much for me."

The gentleman that he is, even after I've given him the all clear, Kent's still a fair bit reluctant to leer at me. Though with every second that passes, Kent begins to shed a little more of his shame. Back in the elevator, he had tried his hardest not to look in my direction. He hadn't taken more than a quick glimpse before turning away out of respect. I hope that he'll take the hint that he's free to look at me to his heart's desire. I don't have much experience in posing nude or posing in general, but I try my best to move myself in ways that best exhibit my assets.

Even as I take on ever more erotic poses, as if I were the nude model for an art class with a single, solitary, very attentive student, I still struggle to completely believe what I'm doing is actually happening. I wouldn't be shocked to discover that at some point tonight, I had been possessed by the ghost of a far more confident, self-assured, and, not to mention, flirtatious woman. My total opposite, in other words. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm not enjoying myself, it's just that I could never have imagined myself doing any of this in a million years. But this wasn't a dream or even a nightmare; all of this is real, the chill against my breasts, the heat on my slit, the lust in Kent's eyes, it was real. I really was taking control in a way I never thought I was able to.

The taboo confidence that has enraptured me is addictive, pushing me ever further in my efforts to tease Kent to his breaking point. I don't know what this hypothetical breaking point might be or how it would display itself, maybe he'll start recording me and my show for posterity so that even after my name fades from his memory he'll still have evidence of my erotic act, maybe he'll reach a hand down his trousers and start massaging his cock to relieve the stress I've thrust onto him or maybe he'll cast aside his decency and ravish me here and now like animal. Honestly, I'd be satisfied if the only reaction he let out was another round of aroused stammering just as he had sung earlier.

To this lurid end, I start giving my left breast a soft, playful squeeze and then let out a moderately exaggerated moan to Kent's stiff joy. I truly do hope Kent is having as much fun watching my performance as much I as I am carrying it out. From the low moan he slowly lets out, I get the impression that he is thoroughly captivated by my newfound self-confidence.

We could be in the middle of a stadium, my tits displayed in all their glory, I wouldn't care so long as I was wrapped in Kent's arms.

Following an indecent few minutes where I entertain both Kent and myself, I find that he has begun biting his lip. Kent is doing it so aggressively that I'm genuinely worried that he might actually chew it off. When he notices that I've caught on to this habit of his, Kent turns away sheepishly. I think it's cute that he's a little bashful, as if he hadn't just spent the better part of the last half hour with a naked woman an inch away from him.

The erotic haze that we've found ourselves in is suddenly broken by a loud clatter, which echoes throughout the basement. While I throw my hands over my muff and breasts, shame rapidly reintroduces itself to me, Kent rushes across to once again shield me from any potential onlookers. He firmly gripped both of my shoulders in his massive hands, unceremoniously heaved me with no apparent effort over to his flank, once again hoping that this would prevent any potential onlookers from catching the smallest glimpse of my skin.

From an outside perspective, we probably look like an ordinary couple caught in a romantic embrace. How I wish that were true. It's strange, even knowing what he's really like, cute, charming and kind to almost to a fault, I still expected myself to feel a smidge of apprehension or even fear at the prospect of being taken so suddenly into the larger man's grasp, naked or otherwise, but as it turned out, I felt completely at home being cradled in his hands.

We stay like this for a second, terrified that my shameful show had attracted more witnesses than I'd have liked. We only relax a moment later when a particularly fat rat scurries out from the dark and across the ground, staring at us briefly with minimal interest before racing back into whatever hole it had emerged from.

The interruption from the rodent was a rude but ultimately necessary interruption. I know for a fact that if something or someone didn't stop me now, then I'd have pounced on Kent. And while a parking garage isn't the most romantic of locations to have a spur-of-the-moment tryst, the lack of romance wasn't as concerning as the fact that at any moment someone might check out early and catch the two of us passionately exploring each other. So for better or worse, it would be smart to call it a night.

The only issue with that is that we are now standing right in front of each other, even closer than when we were stuck in the elevator and for the life of me, I couldn't separate myself from Kent. Desperately, almost pathetically, I want to stay stuck in this moment forever. Caught in the tight hold of a gorgeous, gentle giant of a man.

"We should probably call it a night," Kent said abruptly. He's right, of course, as much as I wish he wasn't, but even then I couldn't let him go. At least not before I finish tonight with one last memorable bit of recklessness to commemorate our brief, very strange time together.

"Yeah." I agree, uncertain. And just as Kent begins to back away, with a notable amount of reluctance on his part, I grab his tie and drag him down to my level. Now properly face-to-face, I leaned in for what I meant to be a quick peck on the lips, but as soon as our mouths met, I entered a heaven I never want to leave. Our kiss was gentle, fierce and bursting with passion.

Gently, he takes one hand and places it on the back of my head, drawing me in ever closer and with the other, in stark contrast to his early apprehension of being perceived as perverted, firmly grips my ass. I jump slightly at just how strong a hold he's taken of my rear, but as he begins to gently massage my rump, the shock soon fades away and is replaced with a sensual haze of relaxation I hadn't felt in a long time, if I ever had felt this at ease before.

Something large and heavy brushes against my thigh, and it takes me a moment to recognise that it's Kent's cock fighting against the fabric of his pants, desperate to escape. It's a struggle for me not to free and then subsequently devour Kent's member whole on the spot. Swallowing him inch by inch until he feeds me his seed. While I doubt that he would turn down such a service, as the rat had just proved, we shouldn't go that far, even though I desperately wanted to.

I, and it's safe enough to say that Kent feels the same, could stay like this forever, but alas, humans require air to live, and so we reluctantly uncouple. Taking a moment to bask in the afterglow of our kiss, I gaze at Kent and find that he has a dim, blissful look on his face, which I'm sure perfectly matches my own. From the longing look in his eyes, I get the distinct feeling that Kent will be reminiscing over this night and the kiss we just shared for the rest of his life. Certainly for the rest of his evening. Can't say I'll be any different. I already miss the sensation of his lips pressed against my own. The warmth of Kent's body and breath are soon replaced with the late-night cold creeping into the parking lot, which I take as a sign to say goodbye.

"See you around, Kent. And thank you. For everything." before turning around and settling into my car. The aroused stupor I'm caught in doesn't fully fade away until after I've driven out of the tower and onto the surprisingly silent streets of the city.

When my senses do return to me, they do so with the force of a runaway train. Fortunately, I am able to find an empty space on the street to park in. The street lights aren't on, and there are no pedestrians or other cars in sight, so I gather that I have as much privacy as I'm likely to receive. Which is good, as the oncoming breakdown I can feel bubbling below the surface will not be subtle.

As soon as I am certain of my seclusion, or as close to seclusion as one can in a major metropolitan city, the past thirty or so minutes hit me all at once, which I express in the only way I am currently able to. A visceral, almost feral scream.

"AHHHHHH!" I yell in a complicated cocktail of emotions, part utter humiliation, part total elation and countless more feelings that I don't even know the names of. Thank god I was already sitting down because I'm not sure how I could have stayed standing amidst my outburst. Following my harpy-like yell, something close to rational thought returns to me, and I can somewhat critically analyse my current predicament.

Hopefully, my luck holds out long enough for me to escape back home because I certainly don't want to run the risk of being stopped by a cop. How on earth would I explain anything that's happened in a way that they would believe me? Maybe I should have kept Kent's coat after all. But if I had then I wouldn't have gotten to kiss him, and that's not an opportunity I could've let pass me by.

I don't know how I'm going to get back to my apartment wearing nothing but a smile, but I'll cross that bridge when I have no other choice but to. While the chore of having to drive naked was daunting, it wasn't what was bothering me the most. No, my greatest regret of the night wasn't even that I had forgone a proper outfit; it was that I hadn't stopped to ask for Kent's phone number.

Here I was, having just met this perfect guy, tall, kind and cute. A man practically tailor-made for me, ticking every box I had, and I had no way of contacting him. I don't even know his last name. Groaning internally, and a little externally at yet another lost chance of love, I still take some comfort in the fact that I had met Kent in the first place, even if the circumstances weren't ideal. Better to have loved and lost, never to have loved at all, as Shakespeare said, or at least I think he did.

Tonight could have been the worst night of my life, but because of Kent, it wasn't all that bad. Still a deeply haunting evening I won't soon forget, but not entirely a bad memory. I realise, admittedly far too late, that I should probably let my date, the entire reason that I'd left home in the first place, who I had almost completely forgotten about due to the unfortunate twist of fate that I had suffered, know that I wouldn't be turning up.

After shooting Sasha a quick text to pry my mystery date's number out of her, a surprisingly easy endeavour considering how opposed to handing out even the slightest of hints about my date she had been previously, I'm left with the new problem of how on earth I was going to explain why I can't meet my date tonight while keeping the actual explanation as vague as humanly possible, as to not admit to the accident I'd suffered.

If I actually told him the god-honest truth of what's happened, he'd probably assume that I'd gotten cold feet and was attempting to back out while trying to save face with some lame excuse. Which, to be fair, I'd also assume as much if someone told me the same story. I'll probably just leave it fairly vague, something along the lines of Sorry, I can't make it. I've suffered a wardrobe malfunction, which, as a bonus, wouldn't even be a lie. Just the truth with a few unnecessary details left out.

Following a brief battle with myself mulling over how to best cancel a date that I'm already demonstrably late to, I finally settle on just calling him and making something up on the spot. I've never tried improv before, but I'd also never grinded up against a fully clothed man in an empty parking lot late at night while completely naked, so I suppose tonight was a night for new experiences.

Not wanting to keep him in suspense any longer, I dial my date's number to give him the bad news. I guess he must've been as excited for this date as I was, as he picked up before the call had a chance to ring a second time.

I, rather reasonably, believed that being stripped naked would be the most surprising thing that could or would happen to me tonight, but as I heard Kent's voice coming from the other end of the phone, I had an understandable change in opinion.

"Oh, what a coincidence, I was just about to call you. Sorry, I know I'm late. I just had to help a friend out with a problem they were having. Don't worry, I'll be up there in just a second. I'll be the only guy not wearing a suit jacket." Naturally, I am utterly bewildered that such a beautiful coincidence has been sprung on me, and I am unable to properly articulate a coherent thought or sentence for a short time.

I will never doubt Sasha or her insane plots ever again. She had picked out the perfect man for me, better than I bet she even knew, and for that, she will never buy another round of drinks for as long as I live.

"Hello? Sorry, but do I have the right number?" Kent asks, knocking me out of the surprised state I had been in. The confident stranger that I didn't realise I could be reappeared, and I allowed her to once again take the reins when flirting with Kent.

In as lurid a tone as I could summon, I answer, "God, I hope so." Kent goes dead silent as he recognises the words and the woman speaking them. What I wouldn't have given to be right there with him as he finally recognised me. Sadly, I can only imagine Kent's face as the dots connected in his head. Disbelieving shock or something along those lines, eyes bursting from his skull, red blush rushing to his face, a tight interest bulging in his pants.

"Nora?" he asked breathlessly. From his brief one-word question, I get the impression that Kent won't be able to take the lead in this conversation as he's too busy thanking Lady Luck for his impossibly good fortune.

"Yep, nice to know I left such an impression on you. I know it wasn't exactly a traditional date, but I had a great time all the same. What about you? Did you enjoy yourself?" he doesn't answer, verbally at least, instead he let out an audibly hard swallow as if he was trying to keep an embarrassing confession to himself. I'd pry that secret out of him one way or another, probably not tonight, though.

"How's this sound to you? For our next date, I'll dress to the nines while you strut around in your birthday suit." I meant it as a joke, but to low moan that Kent let out confessed that he wasn't totally opposed to the idea. Stifling a laugh, I confess, partially to Kent but mostly to myself, "I know tonight didn't go how either of us expected, but I still had a great time."

He struggles to speak for a moment, but when he's finally able to, all he manages to say is a short, eager "Yeah."

Continuing, I add, "I'd love to go out without you again sometime. How about sometime next week?"

After a silent beat, where I am briefly worried that I might've scared him off, Kent responds, "I'd love that," with excited, if exhausted, enthusiasm.

"Perfect," I say, "We'll talk later about the specifics. I for one can't wait." Our conversation doesn't last all that long after that, I still have to streak home after all.

Content with having set up a second first date with Kent, I start my journey home. The date went about as poorly as it possibly could have, and yet for better and for worse, this was a date I won't soon forget.