I love my ex boyfriend. No, not like that. I'm not in love with him. I just love how after we split, and a few dozen reminders from me, he still hasn't come to pick up his stuff.
But that's okay. You see, I love his stuff more than him. And truth be told, I look better in half of it anyway.
My ex boyfriend was a bit of a loser, but to a degree, aren't they all. He was hot, smoking body, but as far as intellect goes, he was dumber than a pile of dogshit. In any case, this last one left me with a pile of clothes, one black fedora, a couple of silk ties and a couple of CDs.
Staring at the pile, I began to feel somewhat inspired. I sat down on the hardwood floors and began to paw through the clothes, seeing if there was anything worth keeping.
I picked up a long sleeved white shirt that once belonged to him. I grabbed one of his black silk ties and the fedora before making my way back to my bedroom.
I slipped on a pair of thigh high fishnet stockings, black lace panties and matching bra.
The door buzzes and I rush out.
“Yes?” I ask, breathlessly.
“I'm here to collect my stuff,” comes a gruff voice from the other end of the intercom.
“Come on up,” I say cheerfully as I buzz him in.
I unlock the door and rush back to the bedroom and slip his shirt on, doing it up before adding the tie and tilting the fedora so it covered one of my eyes. I slipped some sexy black heels on my feet before strutting out into the middle of my apartment.
I grab the CD and surf through the songs until I find the one I'm after. The one we made love to that first night. I press play, turn up the volume before sitting on a backwards chair, arms folded, head down.
The door opens and he walks in.
As the music plays he stops, unsure of what to do. He closes the door as he sees me.
“What the - ?” he asks.
My head rises and I begin my routine. Legs spread, gyrating body grinding softly against the chair before I stand. It is as though I were making love to the chair itself.
Skilfully, I undo the tie, tossing it at him as my body bumps and grinds to the slow number.
In awe, he sits, his mouth hanging open as I begin to unbutton the shirt, pulling it aside so he can see the lingerie that I'm wearing underneath. I discard the shirt, rubbing it against his chin, letting him smell my scent on it.
I returned to the chair, taking a seat. The chair back covered my breast which allowed me to remove my bra without him seeing anything. With a seductive look, I tossed it to him, my eyelashes batting at him. He caught it, confusion crossing his face as he battled his inner thoughts to come over and take me forcefully against the wall like he use to.
Pulling the fedora off my head, I held it in front of my breasts and began walking towards him. One foot in front of the other causes a little wiggle in my walk which no man has been able to resist. I slide to my knees in front of him, turning my back and placing the fedora back on my head.
I back up until I'm leaning against him. His hands come up to cup my breasts, but I stop them, shooting him a seductive glance over my shoulder.
“Uh-huh,” I say, wagging my finger at him.
For the faintest of moments, I could have sworn he whimpered.
I smiled as I wiggled my backside into his lap, grinding my hips against his fulsome erection.
As the song gets onto the last chorus, I stood up. Slowly I walked, wiggling my ass in his direction.
I craned my neck so I could look over my shoulder at him.
“I'm keeping the hat,” I tell him. “The rest of your stuff is over there.”
He looks confused.
“You can let yourself out, can't you?” I ask as I turn on my heel and walk back into my bedroom, closing the door, leaving my ex-boyfriend in a state of total confusion.
I lean against the door, listening to him gather his belongings before leaving. I smile with satisfaction as I hear the door shut behind him.
I catch a glimpse of myself in my bedroom mirror.
“He'll miss it,” I tell myself, smiling. “It may not be now, or tomorrow or even next year, but one day he'll wake up and realise that he misses it.”
I take the fedora off my head and place it atop my night stand, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as I think about my little ex-boyfriend peepshow.