Go home with the guy

His apartment looks exactly like you’d expect a 50 year old single guy’s apartment to look when he has two priorities: functioning Wi-Fi and not dying.

A cramped living room. A desk that’s basically a command center. Two monitors, tangled cables, a mechanical keyboard that sounds like tiny gunfire. Posters of naked women everywhere—some movie posters as well, “I own hot posters to impress dates” ones. A laundry pile on a chair that has clearly been promoted from “chair” to “wardrobe.”

And a faint smell of old socks and what seemed to be cum-covered used tissues. Oh and instant soup.

“Welcome to my humble love cave,” he says, kicking the door shut with his heel. “Please ignore the aesthetic. It’s… post-apocalyptic minimalism.”

I stand there, still a little stiff, still in that weird after-procedure fog where everything feels slightly too bright. My brain does a simple check:

SAFE? maybe.

FOOD? yes.

MAN? Present!

He heads straight to the kitchen, which is basically a corner with a stove and a sink and the emotional energy of a student loan.

“Soup?” he asks, already opening cabinets. “Pasta? Eggs? A tragic but efficient combination?”

“Food,” I say.

He laughs. “Right. Food. The core pillar of your philosophy. Take of your shoe´s and sit down” he ordered.

He pulls out a pot like he’s about to perform a ritual. His movements are quick, practiced. He’s comfortable here. I’m not. A memory comes to my mind.

"Elena, get the fuck out of this place!" a voice in the back of my mind screams.

"What was that?" i think out loud.

“That was me cooking something for you. You can sit there, new girlfriend, who isn´t very bright.... BUT ...very hot” he says, giving me a pat on my ass, glancing back. “I promise the couch won’t bite. It’s just covered in… underwear.” He pushed some old clothes on the floor.

“And smells like piss and semen” i think to myself, taking a seat, while I push aside more of his used underwear.

I sit on the edge of the couch. Something slimey touches my thigh through the cushions.

"Ewwww... what is this?" i think to myself, touching the gooey substance on my tight and rubbing it between my fingers. I smell it and i taste it with my tongue. "tastes salty...weired."

Ethan doesn´t look and he starts talking while he cooks—easy, low-pressure. Little jokes. Observations. Questions that don’t feel like interrogation.

“So,” he says, “do you always wander into bakeries dressed like a hooker? Or was today special?”

“Today was… weird,” I answer.

"Get out Elena, that´s cum you just tasted! Pack your things and call Mara, you need help!" the voice said. I shurgged it off.

"I need another sip of this" is said, shaking my head.

The pot begins to simmer. The kitchen fills with warm, normal smells. It should be comforting, but my body keeps waiting for the hum of the machine to come back, like tinnitus in my memory. Pictures of my laying in his bed with spreaded legs came to my mind. Flash. Cum shooting out of the tip of a man´s cock. Flash. I became horny and wanted to get him into bed.

Ethan sets a bowl in front of me a few minutes later like he’s placing an offering on an altar.

“Okay Elena,” he announces. “You want to eat this?.”

"Hungry" i say and take the spoon.

"If you want to eat, you have to get rid of that tank-top first. My appartment my rules."

I take of the tank top and then take a spoonful. It’s simple, salty. My shoulders drop half an inch.

He sits across me, watching with that careful attention on my big boobs, like he’s making sure they are still… here.

“So,” he says, more pushy now, “How do you want to pay me back for the food, Elena?”

I hold the spoon midair. I remember my mission.

“I… had an appointment at this place,” I say slowly. “And now I want to feel good.”

Ethan’s face relaxed. An amused smile.

“Okay,” he says, licking his lips. “Thank you for telling me. That sounds… great. Take of your skirt now” he commands

I nod, and a weird thought enters my mind. “Are trying to **** me?” i ask absent-minded?

He leans back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Only if you want me too! Look!” he says lightly, “full transparency: you’re… extremely cute. And I get a boner just looking at your tittes… so…. ”

I blink. Compliments feel like they need instructions.

He adds quickly, “Elena i know you need someone to tell you what to do and i can be that someone!”

I snort. “I feel a bit wet, but I don´t know why.”

“Wet is good,” he says, pointing at me like he’s won an argument. “You are way hotter than the sluts i usually take home.”

I feel heat creep up my neck, and it annoys me because I’m not used to my body reacting faster than my brain. The old Elena would’ve analyzed this. She would have not taking beeing called a slut. The new Elena just… feels it.

He shifts a little closer—licking his lips

“I mean nothing against the sluts, that usually come home with, but you.... ” he says, voice quieter. “I usually only know girls who look like you from porn to be honest….”

I look at him. I don´t really get what he means, I can only think of going into bed with him, waiting for him to lead me there.

“You are a man and I would like to be with you.” I admit and look over to his bed.

His eyebrows lift, pleased. “Elena… you ..You are not virgin are you?”

“Sure” I say and put one hand on my left boobie to push it up a bit in my tight bra, I’m smiling at him. "I´ve never been with a man. I want to safe myself for the right one. "

“That´s interessting,” he says with a wicked smile, and there’s a boldness now, playful but commanding. “I want to touch those! ” pointing at my tits.

I freeze for half a second. "Don´t let him touch your tits for fucks sake!!" ...Then my brain produces the simplest, clearest thought it’s made all day: