You hand over your laundry money

"Dammit," you grumble, and turn around, knowing that his eyes are on your ass as you grab your last few bucks.

"Here, it's all I've got," you growl, shoving the money in his hands.

"Yeah that'll do it," he says, tucking the money away and turning. "Thanks for the tip."

"Tip? What tip? Hey, come back here!" you holler as he exits the door, chasing him into the hall, only to backpedal as you see one of your creepier neighbors.

"Oh what a pleasant surpirse. Hello Jenny, I was just thinking about you!" says a balding man.

"Oh, uh, Jerry. Hi," you say, backing toward your door. Jerry was one of the last guys you wanted anything to do with. "I, uh, gotta go. Laundry."

"Yes, dirtiness is a terrible thing," he says with a creepy smile. "It's a shame the laundry machines downstairs are so old and dirty, it almost makes me want to scrub them."

"What?" you freeze in the door, forgetting that you meant to get away. "There's machines downstairs?"

"Didn't you know? A washer and a dryer, of course. As I said, they're old and dirty, and they have been known to chew the occasional sock, but by and large they function well enough, if you don't mind the ambience. It's a tad creepy down there," he says in a stage-whisper, then looks you up and down, making you feel like he'd just spunked all over you. "Of course, maybe I could escort you. Keep you safe from others."

"I, uh, gotta go," you stammer, rushing back inside.

God you hate that guy. You're never quite sure what he wants from you. Part of you thinks he might be a psycho, another part wonders if he's really just harmless. You're in no mood to find out so you walk over to the counter, pushing your netbook aside and thumping your laundry bag down next to the kitchen 'island'.

Opening the box you explore your new 'toys', putting them on the counter as you remove them from their containers.

Giant dildos and butt plugs, inflatable and otherwise, are just the tip of the iceberg. Also in the box are anal beads, vibrators, clamps with attachable five-pound weights, a **** collar, handcuffs, rope, fake tattoos, lotions and pheremones, douche and enema kits, even a multi-tailed whip are tossed onto the counter. How could Jacob have ordered all this? What was he planning?

Shaking your head you shove them aside, a few falling off the island and into your laundry bag, although you don't see that.

Should you use the laundry downstairs, you wonder? Then you wouldn't have to wait for tomorrow or pay. On the other hand, Jerry said it was 'creepy', and you really wouldn't want it to chew up any of your clothes.

Maybe Jacob might have an idea, you think.