Things seem to go well...

Getting out on time looked like it would be easy. As usual none of your fellow-tenants were in the bathroom, making you think just how dirty they must be if they never cleaned up. That or everyone but you had a shower. Maybe that boarded up door in your apartment actually did lead somewhere instead of leading to the plumbing like the landlord had said.

In the bathroom you pulled out the body lotion, your body buzzing in anticipation even more than usual after your erotic work-out. This was always a high-light of your day. Jacob had given you this lotion after your first date and had kept you re-supplied since. As far as you were concerned, free lotion was great, and having an excuse to rub your hands all over your body was even better. Who would have known that lotion would feel so great that you'd regularly spend half an hour just rubbing it over yourself?

Today you pour out an extra thick amount, but no matter hard much or hard you scrub your body an orgasm remains tantalizingly just out of reach. Thoroughly frustrated, and now thoroughly late, you finally scamper back to your apartment, your little robe flying open like it so often does. Thankfully none of your neighbors see you, not even as you rip it off outside your apartment, pausing a scared moment to see if anyone will catch you. It's a game you've started playing, and even though you know how dangerous it could be you can't seem to stop yourself. Today, like every other day, nothing happens other than you feeling a more profound disappointment than usual.

Inside, you put on your make-up quickly, twist your hair into pig-tails simply because there's two cute pink scrunchies handy, and as has become your habit, you grab the first clothes you see. If Jacob were there he'd have thrown you on the bed at the sight of you. The thought nearly sends you back to the pole, but a glance at the clock sends you scurrying out the door. You don't even remember to put on any underwear, but thankfully you do remember your purse.

Unfortunately your cell phone is lying on the kitchen counter, not your purse. Worse luck, it's blinking a pair of messages, one with an address, the other reading:

'Wrong address, wrong guy. DON'T GO! Sending new address...'