Try the door

Xabar stealthily approaches the door and gently turns the knob. Much to his relief, it opens. He quickly looks around to make sure he is unseen before slipping inside.

He finds himself at the back of the boarding house — an area he has not visited, so he is unfamiliar with the layout. He is in an area between the kitchen and a pantry. Hearing no sign of activity, he ventures in and looks around. Through the doorway straight ahead, he sees the low glow of a dying fireplace, signaling the location of the first floor sitting room and what is intended to be the only place for visiting males to be welcome. To his right is a door with the forbidding sign, “OFFICE — AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.”

Xabar always viewed notices like that not as warnings, but more like suggestions. They were in the same category as “Best if served by February 13,” “Do not take this medication with ****,” and “Dry-clean only.” In fact, truth be told, he frequently viewed them more as challenges that were just begging to be taken on.

“Challenge accepted,” he said to himself, as he tried the door. It was locked. Xabar flexed his fingers, preparing to unleash a spell that he had found very useful for getting into hard-to-reach places. With that spell he was able to unlock his father’s liquor cabinet, sneak into the girls’ locker room at the Academy, and even undo the vicelike clasp on Maria Higgenbottom’s bra.

Just as he was beginnng to feel the power crackling in his fingers, he heard the sound of approaching steps. Quickly ducking into a broom closet, he peered through a crack in the door and almost gave a shout of horror. Xabar’s skin grew clammy as he saw a short, fat wildebeest walking upright on two legs, wearing a brightly-patterned flowered nightgown.

What manner of demon occupies this place, thought Xabar, and he wished for the first time that he had paid more attention to the lessons in his class on magical creatures, and less attention to Celeste Djionsen’s short skirts and long legs.

Just as he was trying to decide how to best decapitate the creature while armed with nothing more than a broom and a dust rag, he heard more steps approaching, along with a voice.

“Mrs. Letcher? Are you in here?”

The hideous apparition turned at the sound of the voice. As the approaching steps grew louder, they brought the addional light of a candle, and Xabar finally saw, with a mixture of relief and a new sense of disgust that the figure was not a wildebeest, but merely the house mother, Mrs. Letcher, with her hair in curlers.

“I’m in here. Is that you, Isabel?”

The candle-bearing figure stepped into the kitchen. Through the crack in the doorway, Xabar got a look at Isabel and forgot all about Mrs. Letcher’s crimes against the senses. Isabel looked to be 18 or 19 years old. With olive skin and long, black hair that glistened in the candlelight, she looked as if she were destined to be welcoming visitors to a lush, tropical island. Her nighttime attire was a short, white, cotton nightdress with tiny shoulder straps. It was so small that it was just plain cruel that it only seemed to cover the parts of her body that Xabar most wanted to see.

“What is it, Isabel? Why are you still up at this hour?” Xabar looked at Mrs. Letcher as she spoke, and despite the renewed horror at her appearance, his brain still managed to begin filing away several possibilities of what Isabel would look like without her nightdress.

“I thought I heard someone down here,” she said. I left my window open, and I was sure I heard voices outside, and then I thought I heard the back door open. I guess I’m just a little spooked.”

“You were probably dreaming, dear,” said Mrs. Letcher. “Or you just heard me. I came down to double check the grocery list for tomorrow, but I’ll be turning in presently. Go to bed, and I’ll make sure everything is secure before I turn in.”

Isabel turns to go, and it’s all Xabar can do to keep from whistling in appreciation. The back of her nightdress is so short, that he can just make out the lower curve of her perfectly-shaped ass. To think that his vision of loveliness is having trouble sleeping on a night like this! Xabar would consider it a crime of historic magnitude to fail to offer comfort and a living, tender presence to one so in need!

He is so wrapped up in thoughts about what Isabel must look like as she slips back under her covers, that he almost loses track of Mrs. Letcher. She removes a key from around her ample neck and unlocks the door to the office. Xabar hears her rustling around inside, and his thoughts wander back to Isabel. “I wonder if she sleeps naked,” he thought, absently rubbing the growing bulge between his legs. “And I bet she shaves her pussy. And it probably smells like pineapples and coconuts....”

Xabar’s daydreaming is interrupted by the unmistakeable sound of glass against glass, followed by the musical sound of a liquid being poured. His eyes dart back toward the open office door, and he can almost smell the inviting aroma of malt liquor inviting him inside. “Medicinal, indeed,” he thought, remembering Gwendolyn’s words.

After what seems to be an eternity, Mrs. Letcher emerges from the office, closes the door, and begins to insert the key into the lock, when she stops and turns toward the back door. Frowning, she steps quickly toward it to investigate. Seeing his chance, Xabar ducks out of the closet and slips into the office, hiding behind a set of window drapes.

Looking out the window, he can see the back yard and can just barely make out two figures on a bench in the darkness. That must have been the source of the sound he thought he heard when he was still outside. From his vantage point, it looks like one of the residents is stretching the rule about men being permitted only in the parlor. Actually, it’s a lot more than a rule she is stretching, because her legs are in an almost-double-jointed, viselike embrace of her gentleman caller. He wondered if she was a contortionist or a dancer, because spreading one’s legs that way would be difficult, unless the legs were made of rubber.

A sound at the office door redirected his attention to his situation. Peering through the drapes, Xabar saw Mrs. Letcher return to the doorway, muttering something about cats and how the world would be better if “we castrated every damn thing that had jiggly bits.” With that attitude, Xabar wondered how it ever came to be that there was a Mr. Letcher at any time. For that matter, with a face like hers, how is it that Mrs. Letcher ever spread her legs for anything other than a blind Minotaur?

Xabar watched as Mrs. Letcher closed the door, and he listened for the telltale click of the lock, confirming that he was safely inside, away from prying eyes. Only then did he emerge from behind the drapes.

Looking around, he saw a pile of papers and folders on the desk and shelves filled with books on the wall. Smiling confidently, Xabar examines the shelves, stepped to the one just below eye level, and removed a thick book with some boring title. Exactly where he thought it would be was a half-filled bottle of Scotch, just begging to go on a diet!

Removing the stopper from the bottle, Xabar lifted the bottle to his lips and took several deep swallows of the powerful, burning liquid. He then sat down in Mrs. Fletcher’s chair and glanced at the papers.

The whiskey was producing a pleasant warm feeling in his stomach, and he tried to decide what the next step in his plan should be.