A couple nights later

Needless to say, that conversation ended awkwardly. Alison and I saw little of each other for the next two days. She ate breakfast in the morning like always, but instead of hanging around to chat with her, I find that it is easier to not be around the kitchen when she's there. The nights are the worst. The night she made the request I found myself surfing for porn sites specializing in **** sex. These **** offerings basically can be broken into two categories. Some are absurd in how fake they are, 30 plus year old women with multiple tattoos and piercings and breasts the size of cantaloupes pretending to be innocent teens in ridiculously short skirts and gaping button down shirts. Worse though, are the more realistic videos showing brutal assaults on sobbing victims who are beaten and abused as they are fucked. I turned off the computer after a frustrating hour and went to bed with a hard-on dreaming about pirates and damsels-in-distress.

The next night was even worse. Alison came downstairs to raid my refrigerator while I was pretending to watch the news. I had my computer open again, this time surfing through anime sites; apparently I am less offended by big-eyed princesses being violated by inhuman demons then watching more realistic porn.

It's not like Alison was teasing me with one of her sexy tops, or sexy nighties. She had on an oversized long-sleeved tee-shirt that hung loosely from her shoulders and down well past her waist over her jeans but I can't help but stare at her as she glides silently through the room. Is that what she sleeps in? A big baggy tee-shirt that I could slide up to reveal her naked body ripe for plundering? I should look away but I can't, and something about the way she eyes me nervously me tells me that she hasn't forgotten her proposed solution to the rent problem any more than I have.

By the third night instead of my usual evening routine where I might once again be tempted by Alison wandering though the living room, I retreat to my basement workshop. As I was sorting through the cabinets I found an old leather strap that I had bought for a project years ago but ended up never using. The black leather was supple and strong and all I could think about was how good it would look wrapped around Alison's slender wrists.

I angrily shoved the strap back into a draw, refusing to think about the beautiful blonde who was probably even at that moment on her knees saying her prayers before climbing under her covers.

An hour later when I was changing into my pajamas bottoms that I slept in, the sight of the black leather belts hanging in the closet sets my imagination off again and I can no longer pretend that I'm not going through with this.

'I don't lock my door.' I can't get that simple phrase out of my head. 'I don't lock my door.'

When I converted the upstairs to a suite of rooms I put locks on all the doors, it was a way of giving my tenants a sense of ownership and security even though I kept a copy of the key. The bedroom door however I also equipped with a heavy bolt that could only be opened only by whoever was inside; until my conversation with Alison I never even thought about whether my tenants appreciated the extra level of security but now I can't help but wonder. 'I don't lock my door.' It would be a simple test to see if Alison was serious about her invitation, if her bedroom door is bolted then I could stop driving myself crazy.

And so, here I am climbing the steps as silently as I could wearing only the frayed bottoms of a old set of pajamas. By this late at night Alison is usually asleep, but if she is up late finishing a paper or studying for a test I don't want her to know that I am creeping about like a … well, like the predator I seem to be. At the top of the stairs I find all the lights off and the door to her bedroom closed. I slowly turn the knob and inch the door open listening for the 'click' of the bolt engaging so I could return to my room and put the matter to rest. It does not take long to find that this is not going to be that simple because, just as she promised, the door to her bedroom is unsecured and I am able to peek through the widening crack into the moonlit room.

The sight of her lying on the bed makes me groan softly. Now what am I going to do?